"At the San Francisco Airport," Yvor Winters

Yvor Winters (1900-1968) was a poet, teacher, and critic of poetry known for his isolation. Born in Chicago, he attended the University of Chicago until he moved to New Mexico after being diagnosed with tuberculosis. He attended many other universities and worked on his doctorate at Stanford. His numerous works reflected his belief that any work of art should be “an act of moral judgement.”

This is the terminal: the light

Gives perfect vision, false and hard;

The metal glitters, deep and bright.

Great planes are waiting in the yard—

They are already in the night.

And you are here beside me, small,

Contained and fragile, and intent

On things that I but half recall—

Yet going whither you are bent.

I am the past, and that is all.

But you and I in part are one:

The frightened brain, the nervous will,

The knowledge of what must be done,

The passion to acquire the skill

To face that which you dare not shun.

The rain of matter upon sense

Destroys me momently. The score:

There comes what will come. The expense

Is what one thought, and something more—

One’s being and intelligence.

This is the terminal, the break.

Beyond this point, on lines of air,

You take the way that you must take;

And I remain in light and stare—

In light, and nothing else, awake.

In his poem "At the San Francisco Airport" Yvor Winters’s use of language beautifully tells the story of a father (probably Winters) saying goodbye to his daughter, perhaps for the last time. As they stand in the airport terminal, he realizes that "this is the terminal, the break." The word "terminal" means "an end or extremity," suggesting that his daughter will not return.

The father pays close attention to the details of the terminal. The light "gives perfect vision, harsh and hard" and "the metal glitters, deep and bright," conflicting with the darkness of the situation and the empty hopelessness he feels as he stands amid the chaos of the terminal. He recognizes that his daughter, though "small, contained and fragile" is like the planes already waiting: she has made her decision to leave, "to face that which (she) dares not shun."

Personally, I think she has decided to join the military. For whatever reason, her father knows that her chances of returning home are slim and as a result, "the rain of matter upon sense destroys (him) momently." The whole situation is hard for him to fully understand. He seems to lull himself into a false sense of security by assuring himself that they are one, that she carries him with her wherever she goes. In addition, they both share not only "the frightened brain, the nervous will," but also "the knowledge of what must be done." While she is doing an honorable and courageous thing, her father notes that "the expense is what one thought, and something more - one's being and intelligence." Even if she does manage to return home she won't be the same. She may suffer from a physical deformity or a mental illness such as PTSD.

The author's use of strong, precise adjectives and verbs convey the father's situation and emotions, but also the idea that saying goodbye and letting go is never easy. In fact we may find ourselves like the father, remaining "in light, and nothing else, awake,” as we watch them leave.

"Singapore," Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver was born in Ohio in 1935, and writes both poetry and prose. She publishes a new collection of work almost every year. According to The Poetry Foundation her main themes “continue to be the intersection between the human and the natural world, as well as the limits of human consciousness and language in articulating such a meeting.” The New York Times described her as “far and away, this country’s best-selling poet.”

In Singapore, in the airport,
A darkness was ripped from my eyes.
In the women’s restroom, one compartment stood open.
A woman knelt there, washing something in the white bowl.

Disgust argued in my stomach
and I felt, in my pocket, for my ticket.

A poem should always have birds in it.
Kingfishers, say, with their bold eyes and gaudy wings.
Rivers are pleasant, and of course trees.
A waterfall, or if that’s not possible, a fountain rising and falling.
A person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.

When the woman turned I could not answer her face.
Her beauty and her embarrassment struggled together,
and neither could win.
She smiled and I smiled. What kind of nonsense is this?
Everybody needs a job.

Yes, a person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.
But first we must watch her as she stares down at her labor,
which is dull enough.
She is washing the tops of the airport ashtrays, as big as hubcaps,
with a blue rag.
Her small hands turn the metal, scrubbing and rinsing.
She does not work slowly, nor quickly, like a river.
Her dark hair is like the wing of a bird.

I don’t doubt for a moment that she loves her life.
And I want her to rise up from the crust and the slop and
fly down to the river.
This probably won’t happen.
But maybe it will.
If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?

Of course, it isn’t.
Neither do I mean anything miraculous, but only
the light that can shine out of a life. I mean
the way she unfolded and refolded the blue cloth,
The way her smile was only for my sake; I mean
the way this poem is filled with trees, and birds.

In her poem “Singapore,” Mary Oliver uses the situation and setting in order to show the beauty of every person, place, and situation. For example, when the speaker stumbles upon the woman cleaning toilets in the airport bathroom, “a darkness was ripped from her eyes,” and she is inspired. She finds a new subject for her poem and grabs her ticket to jot down her thoughts. She describes the elements every poem should have: birds, rivers, trees, a waterfall. “A person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.”
Yet the Singapore airport bathroom is a stark contrast from the setting of a happy poem.
Throughout the poem she tries to convince herself that this is a beautiful situation. She recognizes the beauty in the woman's face, but dismisses her embarrassment. She pays close attention to details such as her small hands. She also equates characteristics of the woman to the elements of a happy poem. For example, the woman "does not work slowly, nor quickly, but like a river." In addition, "her dark hair is like the wing of a bird." The speaker also doesn't "doubt for a minute that she loves her life."
However, eventually the speaker realizes that she cannot make the woman's pain into a "happy place, in a poem." Though she states that she wants the woman to "rise up from the crust and the slop and fly down to the river," she knows this probably won't happen. And yet Mary Oliver has made a beautiful poem out of a dark and dirty setting and a dismal situation. She uses her poem, it's situation, setting, speaker, and details in a unique way to show "the light that can shine out of a life" that may otherwise be overlooked.