Louis Simpson’s “American Poetry” imagines the art form as a strange, hungry creature. It isn’t delicate: it must be able to swallow rubber, coal, uranium, moons, and even other poems. That list mixes industrial waste, cosmic objects, and poetry itself, as if American poetry survives by taking in almost anything. The image of a shark containing a shoe pushes that idea further — a predator carrying something ordinary and indigestible inside it, a hint of the absurd. Then the creature must swim through a desert, a fish out of water, making cries that are almost human. The mood is surreal and wry but also a little lonely. The speaker seems both amused and uneasy, suggesting that American poetry is powerful, adaptable, and slightly monstrous, yet still reaching for a human voice in a harsh, empty landscape.
American Poetry — Summary
Whatever it is, it must have A stomach that can digest Rubber, coal, uranium, moons, poems. Like the shark, it contains a shoe. It must swim for miles through the desert Uttering cries that are almost human.