Conventional wisdom suggests that humans stand apart from animals due to their possession of language and an acute consciousness of their own mortality. This awareness, which visits some more often than others, can drive individuals to act in ways they might ordinarily avoid. Take, for instance, a notable poem, “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota,” by James Wright, a friend of Bly. Here, the speaker is mesmerized by the stunning marvels of the natural world, such as butterflies flitting by, "a field of sunlight between two pines," and a soaring chicken hawk. Yet, in the midst of this beauty, he arrives at a haunting realization: “I have wasted my life.”

In contrast, Bly's speaker, equally enthralled by the snowy landscape seen from the confines of a car rather than the serene repose of a hammock, reaches a different conclusion. He resolves to "waste more time" by simply "driving around." The stark divergence in these responses, each journeying from external observations to internal reflections, speaks volumes about their distinct perspectives on the significance of their pasts and their current existence.

Another renowned poem that mirrors the emotional journey of both Bly and Wright’s works is Rainer Maria Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo.” Here, Rilke delicately examines a statue of Apollo, rather than the natural world, before arriving at the powerful conclusion: “You must change your life.”

Since the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, the contrasting worlds of bustling cities and tranquil countryside have captivated literature, often portraying rural life as a haven of agrarian dreams, innocence, simplicity, and vast, open landscapes. Meanwhile, urban settings are painted as beacons of opportunity, sophistication, and frenetic energy. Bly hints at these contrasts through the title of his poem, though he refrains from directly depicting the traits of either realm. Intriguingly, by describing the town’s "main street" as "deserted," he flips conventional expectations; a town’s main street typically teems with life. His need to travel to town just to mail a letter suggests his home lies nestled in the state's remote, isolated corners.

Further, he defies typical urban stereotypes in the poem's closing line: “Driving around, I will waste more time.” Cities are traditionally viewed as vibrant centers of activity and culture, bustling with endless opportunities to "waste time" through shopping, dining, or engaging in countless other pursuits. Yet, Bly’s depiction challenges this notion, inviting readers to reconsider the essence of city life.

The Object of Consciousness

Consciousness is invariably tethered to an object; it is perpetually aware of something beyond itself. Bly’s narrator becomes acutely aware of the vast emptiness surrounding him as he maneuvers his car into the town, preparing to dispatch a letter. His choice of words, with "deserted" and "the only things moving," underscores this desolation. This profound sense of solitude, exacerbated by the wintry snowfall and noticeable absence of people, cultivates a peculiar "privacy" that envelops him.

Despite the stark emptiness, he surprisingly discovers a subtle enjoyment, as it gently nudges his focus inward, towards the landscape of his emotions. In the poem's closing line, he experiences a sudden, enlightening realization—a revelation of the depth of his affection for this solitude and his desire for it to endure unbroken.