Brooks and Stevens

Michael Kleinman
Engl 261 Essay 1

“The Emperor of Ice Cream”

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

-Wallace Stevens

Wallace Steven’ The Emperor of Ice Cream, when analyzed from a Brooksian perspective, creates in the mind a central tension between vibrant concupiscence and austere decay. A close reading reveals two interrelated paradoxes: that mold and decay generates all pleasure and, conversely, that the greatest pleasure is knowing the source of mold and decay. By critically unifying two highly energized and paradoxical scenes, readers experience feelings of satirical irony, shocking repulsion, and finally, enlightened appreciation of the Now Moment.

In order to procure these paradoxes, we must first live within the experience of the poem. By this I mean that we must feel how the different connotative meanings of the poem support one another, as if to draw a defined space for our mind. Now, to procure this ‘architectural meaning,’ it would be wise to look for structural similarities. We have before us two stanzas of nearly identical shape, each containing the same ending line. The two stanzas then procure a same sense, albeit in a different way. Thus they are like two beams supporting the same roof, or two rooms sharing the same house. Ultimately, our goal is to look at the ceiling and feel inspired.

Living in the first room feels like a party, but we sense some paradoxical tension:

“Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds”

The speaker calls out to the reader to fetch a Latino cigar roller. He uses haughty, proper language. Imperialist, aristocratic words like bid, cigar, and concupiscent mix with slave-like words: muscular and whip. The speaker-and-reader, sharing this linguistic bond, yet participates in the party (strange indeed). We let ‘the wenches’ dawdle in housedresses, and we let the ‘boys’ bring flowers wrapped in newspapers. So that when we let be be finale of seem, we are admitting something. Dropping all pretensions, we pay homage to utility and celebrate the democracies of pleasure. Thus, fraternity shines behind paternalism, and the bonds strengthen paradoxically for the fact that paternalism still exists.

But we have to leave the party room, and so we mysteriously enter a bedroom:

“Take from the dresser of deal.
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once”

The lower-class theme continues: the dresser of deal consists of cheap wood, the knobs have fallen out, the sheet hosts the humble embroidery of someone skilled in manual labor. Perhaps the sheet is for a tablecloth: we don’t want ice cream melting all over the table. But now comes the shocker and the poem’s main dramatic movement. We, the readers, are to take the sheet and cover the face of a cold, pronate woman: a corpse! The language reflects the drama of our discovery: the feet protrude just as we, the readers, discover the nature of our circumstance. We’re reveling at a wake, so let the lamp affix its beam saith the speaker ironically, not only to the democracy of pleasure, but to the totality of concupiscence.

Our curtain lifted for us, we begin to draw metaphorical connections along a structural framework, and the irony only strengthens and bites harder. For instance, the first three lines of each stanza signify an imperative action. Calling the cigar-roller insists indulgence, while preparing the sheet insists resolution, and both actions assume equal significance. Our justified lust “shakes the knobs from the dresser” as the three nails fall from the cross. In this house, we fear not the sins of concupiscence. Further, while the wenches dawdle and the boys bring flowers, the corpse lies stiff. Too bad for her, the ‘dumb’ broad; she had her chance at ‘horniness.’ Now she must have her face covered while her living relatives enjoy exposing themselves.

To tie up a loose end: We may be asking at this point, “Why the class-discussion from the first stanza?” Just to satirize the aristocratic tendency to conceal the unsavory, biological aspects of highly-charged human moments. The wenches display sexual familiarity and slurp down ice cream while dawdling at a wake. This image contrasts sharply with the aristocratic counterpart. There the guests would wear suits and eat hors d’oeuvres with toothpicks. As the upper class aestheticizes death and sex, the lower class draws little distinction, thereby displaying a more open disposition generally toward the crudeness of human realities.

Through all this talk, something draws us closer to that ceiling; we want to really inhabit the space of that affixed lamp; we want to dig deeper into the meaning of let be be finale of seem. That couplet becomes our space of poetic unification, and we read outwards from that point as the reflective line between an object and its image. Sounds nice, but soon our pleasant irony turns disgustingly sour.

The wenches dawdle in such dress as they are used to wear; maybe grandma embroidered some of their clothing. As they wear grandma’s spirit, we begin to see them dawdling in the far future: as senile folk, even corpses dawdling underground. Underneath the affixed beam of the poetic lamp, a suspended moment of young lust becomes unbound from time. We see future carrion engaging in a revolting display of carnality. And it gets worse. Grandma’s human face is covered, but her ‘horny’ feet protrude. Her skin being pale, the feet look kind of like globules of ice cream. Naturally, the ‘concupiscence’ of the ice cream links with the ‘horniness’ of the feet, and sweet food fuses with carrion into a unified Frankensteinian flesh. Now that the ice cream reminds us of flesh, the cigars remind us of phalluses. The anticipated ‘concupiscent’ curds recall semen. Finally, Grandma’s corpse appears as the later stages of huge ejaculation. Let be be finale of seem: ‘knowing’ life requires experiencing it as the drawn-out echo of an un-graspable orgasm. Makes sense, because that’s how life starts. Still, what a revolting way to expose the mold and decay behind all life and pleasure.

This can’t be it: we are doing poetry, and poetry is beautiful. Our lamps affixed on runny, messy comedown, we scramble away from science to the poetic source of the orgasm. Soon we will know, beyond words, the unifying meaning of let be be finale of seem.

Scientific lamps often shine on the corpse, on the semen, on the
metaphysical ‘ice cream’ of reality. In poetry, however, the lamp shines on the whipping of curds, the beautiful dawdling of ladies, the incomprehensible miracle of love that produces Grandmother. Let “be” be [always the] finale of SEEM: allow so-called being to always appear as the constantly unfolding finale of ‘seem,’ which is the ungraspable NOW of perpetual orgasm. Cover the ‘Corpse’s’ face with a sheet and enjoy your ice cream in the moment, before it melts.

Which takes us to the over-looked image: let the boys bring flowers in last month’s newspapers. NOW we see it; it’s not the ice cream, it’s the flower! Wrapped in last month’s newspaper, it feeds off the death printed on the pages as it yet shines forth brilliantly. When it dies, more flowers spring up from the dead carrion. And this is existence. Viewing the flower wrapped up this way, we come asymptotically close to capturing in an image the Godly love-explosion, the life-wrapped-in death and the death-wrapped-in-life.

A final word on poetry: given that ‘reality’ is only the runny, messy residue of divine whipping, what is the poem on the page? Is it just an unholy ejaculation? A cigar rolled up to be smoked? Is it ice cream slowly melting and molding? Yes, it is all three, but it becomes newly alive through close, meditative reading.