Fear

Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I've been told won't bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children's handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they'll die before I do, and I'll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.

I've said that.

Raymond Carver’s “Fear” goes into depth of how life carries more fears than securities. “Fear” is told from a parent’s point of view and is depicting his or her numerous fears that occurs on a daily basis about one’s child. For example, when the reader in the poem says: “Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night”, “Fear of seeing a police car pull into the driveway”, and “Fear of my children’s handwriting on envelopes”. The worried emotion that runs through each parent’s mind when their child is out at night, driving back from an event, or living far away from their parents and contact each other by sending mail instead of visiting on the weekend. The rest of the poem goes into the thoughts and fears of anyone. There are some fears that some would consider to be small fears: “Fear of not falling asleep” and “Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine”. Carver then describes the fear of death and says it two times. Carver talks about the possibility of waking up and discovering a child is gone and the possibility of a parent outliving one of their children. Carver was a parent of two children and this poem is one that he has experienced. He had many fears each day about his future and his children’s future. Carver uses metaphors in this poem and is not meant to be a literal meaning. For example, the fear of dogs when one has been told they won’t bite means his distrust of someone. Carver knew he was living a life that would not see a long road. Carver’s life was hard on himself and with this poem the reader can see that Carver clearly had more fears than securities in his life. 

http://www.mahalo.com/raymond-carver/

Timeline of major events in Carver's life

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oapV2DzeYBw

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/22/books/review/King-t.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

"Stupid"

It's what the kids nowadays call weed. And it drifts
like clouds from his lips. He hopes no one
comes along tonight, or calls to ask for help.
Help is what he's most short on tonight.
A storm thrashes outside. Heavy seas
with gale winds from the west. The table he sits at
is, say, two cubits long and one wide.
The darkness in the room teems with insight.
Could be he'll write an adventure novel. Or else
a children's story. A play for two female characters,
one of whom is blind. Cutthroat should be coming
into the river. One thing he'll do is learn
to tie his own flies. Maybe he should give
more money to each of his surviving
family members. The ones who already expect a little
something in the mail first of each month.
Every time they write they tell him
they're coming up short. He counts heads on his fingers
and finds they're all survivng. So what
if he'd rather be remembered in the dreams of strangers?
He raises his eyes to the skylights where rain
hammers on. After a while --
who knows how long? -- his eyes ask
that they be closed. And he closes them.
But the rain keeps hammering. Is this a cloudburst?
Should he do something? Secure the house
in some way? Uncle Bo stayed married to Aunt Ruby for 47 years. Then hanged himself.
He opens his eyes again. Nothing adds up.
It all adds up. How long will this storm go on?

This poem is about a troubled boy who turns to marijuana for all of his problems and anxiety. The boy seems to be deeply disturbed, lonely, depressed, and suicidal. The boy  then looks at the people around him such as his aunt and uncle and sees their relationship and how long it lasted but at the same time he focuses on how his uncle killed himself and ended their marriage. The boy does not care to be remembered by his family but would rather be remembered by strangers. Then the boy contemplates what to do with his money before he goes. Should he give it to his family members or give it people who are less fortunate and already collect their money on the first of the month? There isn’t much known about Carver’s childhood when it comes to abuse by his alcoholic father but Carver may have experienced these same thoughts as a child. Carver’s alcoholism in a early stage of his life was a reason to numb the feelings he had as a young man and those same feelings may have lingered early in his childhood. This poem could have very well been written about Carver’s adult life but in the mind of a boy to reveal innocence and a need for someone to help. Carver had a troubled adult life with the alcoholism, troubled marriage with almost killing his wife, and some subtle psychological problems such as depression and anxiety. Carver may have considered these possibilities that are in this poem. For example, he may have considered if he took his own life, where would he give his money to or how would the lives around him be affected. This poem is possibly about Carver’s adult life or child life but the overall question that he has is how long will it last?

"Circulation"

By the time I came around to feeling pain
and woke up, moonlight
flooded the room. My arm lay paralyzed,
propped up like an old anchor under
your back. You were in a dream,
you said later, where you'd arrived
early for the dance. But after
a moment's anxiety you were okay
because it was really a sidewalk
sale, and the shoes you were wearing,
or not wearing, were fine for that.

*

"Help me," I said. And tried to hoist
my arm. But it just lay there, aching,
unable to rise on its own. Even after
you said, "What is it? What's wrong?"
it stayed put -- deaf, unmoved
by any expression of fear or amazement.
We shouted at it, and grew afraid
when it didn't answer. "It's gone to sleep,"
I said, and hearing those words
knew how absurd this was. But
I couldn't laugh. Somehow,
between the two of us, we managed
to raise it. This can't be my arm
is what I kept thinking as
we thumped it, squeezed it, and
prodded it back to life. Shook it
until that stinging went away.

We said a few words to each other.
I don't remember what. Whatever
reassuring things people
who love each other say to each other
given the hour and such odd
circumstance. I do remember
you remarked how it was light
enough in the room that you could see
circles under my eyes.
You said I needed more regular sleep,
and I agreed. Each of us went
to the bathroom, and climbed back into bed
on our respective sides.
Pulled the covers up. "Good night,"
you said, for the second time that night.
And fell asleep. Maybe
into that same dream, or else another.

*

I lay until daybreak, holding
both arms fast across my chest.
Working my fingers now and then.
While my thoughts kept circling
around and around, but always going back
where they'd started from.
That one inescapable fact: even while
we undertake this trip,
there's another, far more bizarre,
we still have to make.

This poem is interesting because it puts you in the middle of the night with Carver and his lover.  He describes how they wake up due to the sensation in his arm that has fallen asleep holding her.  Their struggle to resuscitate his arm goes on for a short while until they are successful. Things go back to normal, and she goes to sleep, while Carver lay awake in thought.  However, his thought that concludes the poem is what made me want to read the poem again. The first time I read the piece, I thought it was a strange instance between Carver and his lover in the middle of the night. Then he describes the occurrence as a trip, which made me think it had to be something more than just a random disturbance in the night. When he said this, it made me want to read deeper into the poem.  I began to read it as a trip, and as I did, I began to see it as his relationship and love for the woman he lay with.  The events and subjects described in this poem act as metaphors and symbols for their relationship.  I believe that his arm represents his love for her, and their struggle to wake it up, is a rough patch in their relationship. The struggle concludes with things going back to normal as they speak words of reassurance to one another.  This is where he leads the story back to the present time. The love in their relationship had been revived as Carver laid awake thinking about how things played out. He was contempt with the course that his trip had taken, and relieved that it had landed him in the place he desired.  He ponders this until his thoughts lead him to the thought that is constantly lingering in his mind.  Carver states, “Even while we undertake this trip, there’s another far more bizarre, we still have to make.”  His thoughts are in tune with the important aspects that make up his present life, but he is distracted by the thought of the next trip he will make. I believe the “more bizarre trip,” that he speaks of refers to death.  As he goes through life dealing with his current situations he is always thinking about what lies next. It is as if he is awaiting death, curious to discover what lies beyond the known.      

     Raymond Carver was born in Clatskanie, Oregon on May 25, 1938 and grew up in Yakima, Washington. He was born into a working-class family and would influence his writing throughout his entire career. His father was a sawmill worker, fisherman, and a heavy drinker while his mother worked on and off as a retail clerk and a waitress. Raymond was a heavy drinker throughout his adult life and hit rock bottom numerous times. He became good friends with fellow writer John Cheever while working at the Iowa Writers' Workshop in the 1970's. Raymond met his wife, Maryann Burke, while she was working in a Spudnut Shop in Washington in 1955. Raymond and her married in 1957 when she was just two months from turning seventeen years old and pregnant.
     Carver's alcoholism was at an all-time high when he caught his wife flirting with another man. He struck his wife in the head with a wine bottle and almost killed her by severing an artery near her ear. Carver then started to clean himself up by becoming sober with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous in the summer of 1977. After all of the physical and emotional pain that Maryann suffered from Carver, she still stuck by him even when her friends urged her to leave him. After becoming sober, Carver took a job in a teaching position at the University of Texas, El Paso where he met Tess Gallagher who was a fellow writer. Carver was with Gallagher less than half the time he was with Burke and he died in 1988 from lung cancer.
   

Fear

Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I've been told won't bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children's handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they'll die before I do, and I'll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.

I've said that.