Lines 1–3

Raymond Carver's "The Cobweb" lures readers into its seemingly straightforward tapestry, woven with the unruly threads of free verse. Instead of adhering to conventional poetic structures, Carver dances to the cadence of sentences, which unfurl with natural rhythm rather than fixed meter or rhyme. His verses, particularly those penned in his later years, pulsate with autobiographical nuances, granting those familiar with his life a richer understanding of the poem's depths. While the setting could be any place kissed by the proximity of water, aficionados of Carver's work know from his and Gallagher’s posthumous writings that this creation emerged from Port Angeles, Washington, nestled in a waterfront abode. As the speaker steps onto the deck and muses, “From there I could see and hear the water, / and everything that’s happened to me all these years,” it becomes clear that he is revisiting his tumultuous past—an era marked by the struggles of writing and battles with alcoholism. In this instance, "seeing" is metaphorical, alluding not to literal sight but to a reflective vantage point from which the speaker perceives the transformation and growth borne from the passage of time.

Lines 4–6

Carver's portrayal of the weather in these lines is succinct and vivid, capturing the "hot and still" air that pervades the scene with a serene emptiness. This tranquility mirrors the speaker's introspective mood. As he leans into a cobweb, it becomes evident that his focus is more inward than outward. Cobwebs, often evoking entanglement or confusion, hint at the internal struggle or reflection gripping the speaker. With the introduction of this image, readers are enticed to explore its significance further.

Lines 7–9

The moment the speaker retreats indoors echoes his inward turn towards the emotional resonance of the moment. His peculiar admission, “No one can blame me that I turned / and went inside,” invites curiosity, as there seems to be no onlooker to judge his actions. This mysterious self-address points to an unspoken internal occurrence. Why mention the seemingly mundane act of entering the house to disentangle a web, unless it signifies something deeper?

Inside, the speaker contemplates the day's unusual stillness, remarking on the "dead calm," a prerequisite for the cobweb's fragile existence. This repeated emphasis on the weather, even from within the house, suggests a metaphor for the speaker's "internal weather," a reflection of his emotional landscape.

Hanging the cobweb from the lampshade, the speaker displays a gentle, contemplative nature. The cobweb becomes an object of focus for meditation, an emblem of his own life's complexity and fragile beauty.

Lines 10–13

Within the confines of the house, the speaker leans close to the cobweb, observing how it quivers under his breath. The trembling web, described in terse, fragmented sentences, mirrors the ebb and flow of tides, the rhythm of breath, and the delicate architecture of the web itself. This fragility and complexity offer a poignant parallel to human existence. The poem's concluding lines, "Before long, before anyone realizes, / I’ll be gone from here," subtly allude to the speaker's meditation on mortality—a preoccupation that would sadly become prophetic just two years after the poem's publication. Carver's rumination on life’s transience pervades not only "The Cobweb" but resonates throughout the collection Ultramarine.