Three Poems about Work – Analysis and Commentary

I Hear America Singing by Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,

The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

The Child's Bath (1893) by Mary Cassatt

One of the great poems of the English language, “I Hear America Singing” by Walt Whitman depicts a compelling metaphysical vision—expansive, joyful, hopeful, and confident—that of a working-class chorus singing “strong melodious songs,” not literally but rather in the poet’s imagination reveling in the transcendent reality of a nation newly conceived: democratic America.

To Be of Use by Marge Piercy

The people I love the best

jump into work head first

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.

They seem to become natives of that element,

the black sleek heads of seals

bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,

who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,

who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,

who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

Herakles and the Nemean Lion, with Theseus and the Minotaur (540-530 BCE)

See: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57673/to-be-of-use

The poem is a lyric exposition roundly closing, “the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies.” Principal strength of this poem lies in the series of striking metaphors—“black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half-submerged balls,” “pull like the water buffalo,” and so on—that serve as the vehicle for the expression of profound, deeply felt sentiments about work. The verses show depth and insight—“the work of the world is common as mud, “the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.” Overall effect is vivid, cumulative, and climactic.

Edward Hopper’s Office in a Small City by Victoria Chang

The man could be the boss or could have a boss the man could have a

heart or could not have a heart the man is not working should be working

should be making profits not in fits but constantly the man looks out over

the yellow building over everything he must be the boss must be someone

significant because he is constant is above everything maybe the man is

deciding who to fire who to lay off who to slay with a fire maybe he is deciding

who to hire who is the best liar but the man doesn’t smile doesn’t smell the

flowers below or look at the people walking in the streets or the cars honking below

the man sits and stares at the shapes of vents on the roof of a building rearranging

them people are just shapes a circle for a head rectangles for the body and arms and

legs this man’s head over this woman’s body this woman’s head with another

man’s legs maybe the man is looking at the horizon wondering why a plane in

the sky is pointed downward towards the morning glories or the okra plants in the
meadow or a building with five sides

Office in a Small City (1953) by Edward Hopper

This poem was originally published in New England Review, Vol. 33, No. 1 (2012), page 8. See:

http://www.nereview.com/back-issues/vol-33-1-4-2012-2013/vol-33-no-1-2012/victoria-chang-edwardhhopper/

Using stream-of-consciousness, the poem almost rambles, with curious, unpredictable twists and turns. Subtly satiric—“the man doesn’t smile doesn’t smell the flowers below,” “people are just shapes”—the subtext introduces into our contemplation of Hopper’s classic oeuvre, meanings fresh, provocative, unexpected, and surprising. Both painting and poem are mutually enriched.

The poem alludes to the 9/11 attack on the Pentagon—notice it?