In this blog post, we will explore Stevens' poem "Domination in Black" and its vivid imagery, abstract ideas, and emphasis on the power of imagination.

Wallace Stevens

I love Wallace Stevens for several reasons. Firstly, he was born in Pennsylvania, where he spent

his early years. Secondly, his poetry delves into the intricate relationship between imagination

and reality, as well as the role of artists in society and the nature of language and perception.

Moreover, his poems often employ stark and evocative images that hint at the existence of a

potent, concealed force or principle that shapes the world.

Background

Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) was an American poet known for his modernist and philosophical approach to poetry. He was born in Reading, Pennsylvania. His poems often explored abstract themes, such as the relationship between imagination and reality, the role of the artist in society, and the nature of language and perception. Shortly before his death, Stevens was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1955 for his Collected Poems. Today, he is considered one of the most important American poets of the 20th century.

Wallace Stevens did consider “Domination of Black” (first published in 1916) to be one of his best poems, but it is not entirely clear why he thought so. One possible reason is that “Domination of Black” exemplifies many of the key themes and techniques that Stevens used throughout his poetry. The poem is known for its vivid imagery, use of language as a tool for exploring abstract ideas, and emphasis on the importance of the imagination in shaping our world experience.

Another reason Stevens might have considered “The Domination of Black” to be his best poem is that it is particularly effective at conveying a sense of mystery and depth, qualities that he valued highly in poetry. The poem uses a series of stark and evocative images to suggest the presence of some powerful, hidden force or principle that governs the world.

The Poem

“Domination in Black”

By Wallace Stevens

At night, by the fire,

The colors of the bushes

And of the fallen leaves,

Repeating themselves,

Turned in the room,

Like the leaves themselves

Turning in the wind.

Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks

Came striding.

And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.

The colors of their tails

Were like the leaves themselves

Turning in the wind,

In the twilight wind.

They swept over the room,

Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks

Down to the ground.

I heard them cry—the peacocks.

Was it a cry against the twilight

Or against the leaves themselves

Turning in the wind,

Turning as the flames

Turned in the fire,

Turning as the tails of the peacocks

Turned in the loud fire,

Loud as the hemlocks

Full of the cry of the peacocks?

Or was it a cry against the hemlocks?

Out of the window,

I saw how the planets gathered

Like the leaves themselves

Turning in the wind.

I saw how the night came,

Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks

I felt afraid.

And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.

Jane turns the poem into prose.

As I sat by the fire at night, I noticed the colors of the bushes and fallen leaves repeating themselves and turning in the room, resembling the leaves turning in the wind. However, the heavy hemlocks' color stood out, striding into the room, and I couldn’t help but recall the cry of the peacocks. Their colorful tails were like the leaves, sweeping over the room as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks down to the ground. I heard their cry, wondering if it was against the twilight or the leaves turning in the wind, just as the flames turned in the fire. The peacocks’ tails turned in the loud fire, similar to the hemlocks full of the cry of the peacocks. I wondered if the cry was against the hemlocks themselves.

As I looked out the window, I noticed how the planets gathered, like the leaves turning in the wind. The night arrived, striding into the room like the color of heavy hemlocks, and I couldn’t help but feel afraid. The cry of the peacocks echoed in my mind, haunting me.

Emily Dickinson Poem (from Poem 64)

Some Vision of the World Cashmere --

I confidently see!

Or else a Peacock’s purple Train

Feather by feather -- on the plain

Jane marries Stevens and Dickinson’s peacock imagery and creates this:

Some Vision of the World Cashmere -- I confidently see!

Or else a Peacock’s purple Train Feather by feather -- on the plain.

Out of the tepee flap, I saw how the planets gathered,

Turning in the wind like the leaves themselves.

And I felt awe, remembering the cry of the peacocks.