A museum is literally the abode of the muses, goddesses of poetic, dramatic, and astronomical inspiration. The Swedish cart is a “put-away/museum piece.” When Moore went to check on it a decade after she first saw it, it was gone. Thus, in a sense, her poem operates like Keats’s as pure ekphrasis, for now the cart exists only as words. She remembers it was made in Sweden, “therea sweeter airthan we have here;/ a Hamlet’s castle atmosphere.” Hamlet may have known something was rotten in Denmark, but, on the whole, Scandinavia has a “sweeter air” than the poet’s Brooklyn. Yet the poet is very comfortable in her own place: “At all events there is in Brooklyn/ something that makes me feel at home.” Like the cart, the poet has been made by her atmosphere. Whatever is true of the cart is likely to be true of her as well.
Not a perfect place, hers is a “city of freckled/ integrity” against which the Swedish cart stands with “resined straightness” as if to take the city’s measure. Aware of the shortcomings of her native place, Moore prays, “Washington and Gustavus/ Adolphus, forgive our decay.” The rectitude of these two men is proverbial. The fabled George Washington, who could not tell a lie, and the worthy King Gustavus Adolphus, who ruled the land of the cart, are imposing standards of behavior.
A paradox of the carriage from Sweden is that now “no one may see this put-away/ museum piece.” Things in museums are meant to be seen. Yet even when they are on display, some inner quality of the art object, “that inner happiness made art,” is quite invisible. It is for the words of the poet to make this quality visible to the reader. As a standard of beauty and inner happiness, the carriage has a Platonic otherworldliness, a universality which can be grasped only in bits and pieces. Moore tries, by invoking bits and pieces of Swedish history and culture, to grasp the fullness of the cart’s meaning.
The fourth stanza praises the cart’s design from “a flowered step [and] swan-/ dart...
(The entire section is 840 words.)