From the outset of "Eating Poetry," the scene is peculiar, and it builds toward an even stranger, extraordinary climax at the end. The first line has us picture a man with ink running from his mouth. Notice that the verb Strand chose is not "drips" or "drizzles" or "seeps," but runs. It gives the impression of someone eating very hungrily, "shoveling it in," so to speak. We do not have to wait long to find out if this gluttonous act is painful for the speaker, for in line 2, he tells us, "There is no happiness like mine." Now we know that the ink running from his mouth is comparable to the juice of a thick steak on a beef lover's lips or a refreshing sports drink pouring down the chin of a happy athlete. But what causes such glee for the speaker here is not food or drink. Rather, his reason is: "I have been eating poetry." This line—as all the others—is very simply put, as though a common statement of fact. The fact here, though, is anything but common, and as we move through the next lines, the speaker acknowledges such.
Line 4 introduces a second character in the poem, and she appears quite a bit more normal than the narrator. In learning that "The librarian does not believe what she sees," we are drawn back into a fairly realistic world—one in which we may have the same reaction and share the feeling of the person who has just witnessed something bizarre. Lines 5 and 6 depict the librarian's initial response to her unusual patron, portraying her as "sad." Her eyes apparently show sympathy, and by walking "with her hands in her dress," she demonstrates a helplessness to do anything about the situation. Resigning herself to pace with hidden hands also indicates cautious behavior and a desire to protect herself. While there is nothing strange about the librarian's responses at this point, she is still a part of an abnormal scene, and her own behavior will take a turn for the odd side as she becomes more and more caught up in the weird actions of the man who is eating poetry.
The third stanza sends us back into the surreal world of the speaker. In this scene, he has finished devouring whatever pile of books he had in front of him, and states very simply, "The poems are gone." Just as simply, he tells us, "The light is dim," and it may be because the library is closing and someone is turning off the lights or it may refer to evening coming on with its loss of sunlight. Whichever "literal" meaning this line refers to, it also lends figuratively a gloomy, darkening aura to an already eerie setting. In line 9, Strand demonstrates his tendency to introduce further oddities into a poem by suddenly shifting to completely different characters (in this case, dogs) whose presence is incongruous to everything mentioned so far. "The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up" is a puzzling statement that only evokes questions: What dogs?...
(The entire section is 1202 words.)