My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.

Simply stated. The author lets us know he is alone. His friends have gone somewhere else. Where they went is not important. His darling too is at a great distance. I find it interesting that this poem does not attempt to fix the words into a specific time or place. This poet could be writing from anywhere, at anytime, to anyone. For all we know, the darling could be half-way around the world, and the friends could be long lost companions whom the author will never see again. There is something simple about the two opening sentences, yet they pack a tremendously powerful punch. Tough, terse, effective word choices.

Outside, it's as dark as pitch.

Not only is the author alone, but the outside world is long gone. Again, the words are simple but they explain much. I picture the author looking out his window as these two opening lines force their way into his head. To understand his story, we need to take a look at his life as it is right now. Dark. Alone. This sets up the images and ideas for the rest of the poem. It's now between the author and the reader. He will tell us his darkest secrets because there is no one there to stop him. It's late at night anyway. Who will find his memories disturbing?

I'm saying words to myself, words that are white

Perhaps he has taken a step back from his situation and realized how strange he's acting. He asks, Why am I talking to myself in such a manner? I'm not too sure what to make of the words being described as white. Obviously, there's a contrast between the darkness of the outside world and the light that shines forth from his mind. The images in his head are easier to see than the physical surroundings of his home, which is a bit unnerving. I associate the word white with cleanliness. Perhaps he can remember things in his past that were much better than his situation today. His words are white. The words that belong to the world now, however, are dark.

in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin

He sits alone by lamplight, nearly falling asleep. A perfect time to recollect and assess life. Consciousness has started to fade just a bit. The images that enter his mind now will not be altered by his social circumstances or superego. We can find out just what it is that makes this man's life important. How does he feel deep down inside, away from the fake smiles and handshakes. Of course, since he's falling asleep, he can assume that no one will hold him accountable for his memories. He lets us know that he's half-asleep because its more real to him than being awake.

to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.

To me, this signifies a bond with his mother that was so strong and loving that he's having trouble giving it up. This reminds me of my first week or so of being at college. At night, when I jumped in to bed, something would just strike me in the chest and say, You are alone up here, mother is nowhere near. Needless to say, it was a scary and sad feeling. It seems that such images always come to me in times when I'm about to fall asleep, when, like in this poem, the outside world is dark and my friends are far away. Then a person must come to terms with life as it is. When such memories would creep into my mind, I would always place myself back at home, away from my scary floormates and such. I could distinctly picture my family going on with life, even though I wasn't around. What is mom doing now? And dad? The images in my head were more realistic than anything I could ever try to describe in words. That is, they defy description but exist as they were and are.

everything--even what my mother is doing now.

Images of the past continue to spring forth. There is something extremely realistic about his memory. Not only can he picture the actions of his mother, but he is truly with her now. It is winter in his memory. Cold outside, dark and unfeeling. But his mother is his protector. Now, when the author lets us know about the darkness outside, there is nobody there to protect him.

toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,

I like Hirsch's interpretation of this line of the poem. In his home, his mother is much smaller than she appeared to him as a child. Now she is vulnerable and prone to the difficulties of life, just like anyone else in the world. I remember growing up and assuming that my parents didn't have any connection to the difficulties of life. Our home was a safe haven. My parents never seemed to get down on life or struggle to make ends meet. Today, however, I recognize that they had difficult times just like everyone else.

she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but

The repetition of the small child's stove is interesting, especially since he notes that it's the kind that nobody uses today. He seems to feel alienated by the modern world. The feeling is so intense to him that he seems to lose control. I picture the sights, sounds, smells rushing through his mind so fast that he cannot keep up with them. For that reason, some things are repeated and he jumps around in his recollections.

she basks in its heat. Mother. My diminutive mom.

Here, the author notices the heat of the room first. This leads him to a general feeling and picture of his mother. A one word sentence. Mother. A sentence as short as it is important to him. I like how these words come forth from his mind just as they enter it. For example, he goes from "Mother." to "My diminutive mom." just like real memory would. There is no real reason for the words to follow each other like that, except that they exist and move about in his head. This tells me the author is not holding anything back. The words are coming to us before he has a chance to censor or alter them.

my father, who died years ago.

Apparently, this was an important image for the author as he was growing up. Perhaps this was the one time where he could not cure his mother's pain. She would think about her husband who passed away, but the child could do nothing to bring him back. From the moment of his father's death, the memories of his childhood were forever changed. It could be that his father's death made him mature much quicker than he would have liked. A normal child goes through childhood once, but a man-child cannot relive childhood except through his memories.

in the room. Sitting right next to her. You've got to see us,

This experience is so real and vivid that the author wants to share it with us. Take a look, he says. This is how beautiful my life once was. On the surface, this memory appears pretty normal, but to the author, the feelings and emotions are so great that they cannot be reproduced again. If we want to see what his life was like, we must look now,

God, you bully, who took so much. How

The comparison of the past and today is too painful for him. God took all those happy times away from him. Doesn't God understand what he's done? I like Hirsch's interpretation of this line as well. The author takes on a child's language because his memory has placed in back into life as a child. Therefore, God is a bully. I find it interesting too that the poet pleads for God to see him and his mother as though he could not before. It's like he assumes that God would never let such a happy image fade, and so He must not have seen how happy he was before. I can tell that he has anger for God, but I can't blame him. I think the anger has its roots more in questioning and misunderstanding than true feelings of disrespect. As such, he calls God a bully, but then drops the subject there, so as not to say something that would be inappropriate or too harsh. Perhaps my interpretation differs a bit from Hirsch's, but that's okay.

Oh, yes, now I remember. Because

Speaking to God and recognizing his situation today, the vivid memories disappear for a moment. He's trying to tell us a story through pain and happiness, but it gets lost for a moment in the transition. He takes a look outside and once again recognizes how dark it is--how isolated he is from the rest of the world. No doubt, this darkness is even more intense because of the light from his memory (lamplight). It's like stepping out of the sunshine into a dark and dusty building. Everything appears much darker at first than it really is, and it takes a person a moment or two to regain bearings on the world around them. That is what's happening to the poet.

nights, because of all those loved ones who are deep

Contrast his nights of sleeping calmly and soundly with tonight. Before, he was tucked into bed by his mother and slept a nice, soft, dream-filled sleep. Tonight, he is alone in complete darkness, with no one to care if he should drop dead. He had many loved ones as a child, but now his friends are away and his darling is asleep. He wonders why such changes have taken place. He brings his complaints before God.

I can't stand being here by myself. The lamplight's too strong.

The happy memories, connected in word by the author to the lamplight, make this man realize how pitiful his life has become. He has no one to talk to anymore, at least not in the same way he could talk to his mother. This reminds me of a quote that appears before the text of Willa Cather's novel My Antonia, which is probably my favorite book to read. I believe it is a quote from a work by Virgil that goes something like "Optima dies....prima fugit," which, I'm told, translates to "The best days are first to flee" (The wording of and origin of the quotes may be slightly off as I don't have the book with me.) I don't know if this a such a sad thing, but it is often a realistic one. To me, it speaks a lot about enjoying each moment as you live life. When I was younger, I wanted to be older. Now that I'm older, I often want to be younger. But then I need to remember the way that life works. To be happy always, I must enjoy life as it comes and goes.

I will not live long.

When I first read the poem, I soon felt a stark loneliness in the tone. I think this started with the first sentence, "My friends have left." This sentence is very short, simple, and straight to the point. I noticed this again with the second line: "Outside, it's dark as pitch." This inversion of the familiar saying "pitch dark" is striking, and ending the sentence with the word pitch, clipped and short, adds to the starkness I felt. (I guess the use of the word "pitch" the translator's addition, but the short, simple sentences would resonate from the original poem, I would think.) The phrase "words that are white" somewhat stumps me. One thought is that it seems it must be something very much charged with emotion; like a person who is blind with anger. Hirsch had quite a different reading of this, thinking instead that "white" meant pure. But in some ways, a great, overwhelming emotion, unkempt, is a very true and pure one.

Two of the most important words in the poem for me were "Autumnal recollection." The word "autumnal" brings to me the idea of a fading, slowly dying image, his memory of his mother. It also, however makes me think of how before autumn ends it has a sudden flourish of brightness and glory; then it fades away. This vibrant flourish brings to mind the comment Hirsch made about the memory of the narrator, which seems to have a similar suddeness--and vividness. He is describing his memory of his mother and suddenly moves to present tense, saying, "I am / in the room. Sitting right next to her." I liked Hirsch's take on this; he says:

This is an instance of what Proust calls 'involuntary memory,' when the entire world of the past comes flooding back. It is not something willfully recalled, but something that comes unbidden--suddenly, overwhelmingly present.