Simple Thoughts

Simple Thoughts

So much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.

“I could write that,” was my first thought having just read William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheelbarrow.” Only sixteen words, none longer than two syllables, arranged non-rhythmically in the precision of the imagist style. What does it mean, other than exactly the rendition of the image of a red wheelbarrow slicked with rain water, in a farm yard, with white chickens wandering around? What depends on a red wheelbarrow? Is that ALL it means? If that is so, then what’s the point? More questions seem to be generated by this prose than answers presented.

And right there was the flaw in my approach to this poem – looking for the “answer.” How few times have I, in the past eighteen months in academia, paused to truly soak in an image, a scene, a still life, without seeking an answer? Too few times have I paused is the answer. And even in those instances in which I have managed some level of contemplation, I have gone there with a question on my mind – seeking an answer. Somewhere between literary definitions and trigonometric operations, between the Peace of Paris and the piece written defending deontological ethics, between worrying about theories of knowledge and worrying about my kids, somehow finding the answer became the first priority. I do not have time for a red wheelbarrow – apparently to my detriment.

The strength of the imagist craft is the simplicity of the image rendered. While the demands of day-to-day living requires, perhaps, more than simple images; my spirit thirsts for simple thoughts. This only becomes evident to me as I approach dehydration! In this state, what answers may exist become elusive to me, frustration sets in and the chickens and red wheelbarrow become just so much self-indulgent high-brow nonsense. But, as a spiritual advisor of mine recently pointed out, at heart I’m mostly a small-time self-pitying jerk! I love that guy.

What depends on a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens? Everything. Our willingness to lose ourselves in this scene, without thought of answer, for even the briefest of time – is exactly the degree of our willingness to recognize the true simplicity of life. In effect, the complexity of my life is directly proportional to my willingness to discern the simplicity of life. Without the red wheelbarrow, there is nothing for the rain to glaze, nor is there a contrast to the white of the chickens. In a sense, Williams got the scene so perfectly that we cannot say that it just rained on the chickens, or that there was a rain glazed wheelbarrow, or even that it was just raining. The wheelbarrow, the rain and the chickens are so dependent on each other that subtracting any of the three leaves the scene incomplete.

This brings me back to my original statement, “I could write that.” The fact is I wouldn’t recognize the integral elements of a simple image right now if they hit me in the face. In this sense, Williams’ still life is perfect, and not just sixteen simple words that could easily be jotted out on the back of a notebook while fussing over the area of triangle ABC. Why it is that I have somehow equated complexity with the profound is beyond me. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that is true. In fact, the contrary seems to hold – the simplest thoughts carry the deepest truths.

More red wheelbarrows, figuratively, and less answer seeking seems to be the order of the day. Simple thoughts brought about by simple images, images composed of simple indispensable elements – may ultimately lead to answers. But for now, let us just consider the red wheelbarrow, upon which so much depends.