On Tracy K. Smith’s “The Everlasting Self”

from Tracy K. Smith, Wade in the Water

THE EVERLASTING SELF

Comes in from a downpour
Shaking water in every direction—
A collaborative condition:
Gathered, shed, spread, then
Forgotten, reabsorbed. Like love
From a lifetime ago, and mud
A dog has tracked across the floor.

This short poem immediately intrigues—an everlasting self? Eternal? Inescapable? A self that participates in its own messy engagement with the natural world and with living, unable to hide away in dry domestic security. But it is the image—which compares love to the raindrops and storm flung from a dog’s fur, from the mess left by a dog simply responding as a dog, despite human ownership—that delights. The poem reveals a “love / From a lifetime ago,” love presumably connected to the speaker’s older self. Ah, the everlasting self, the self that is . . . shed . . . forgotten. But the poem implies that love shares the self’s condition. Love is also ongoing, reabsorbed, and like the self it is “collaborative”: not without agency, not passive. Love, self, and by implication the past (“a lifetime ago”) are all bound together, leaving messes. What can we do but clean them up?

“The Everlasting Self,” from Tracy K. Smith, Wade in the Water, Graywolf Press, 2018

JNH