“Ex-Basketball Player”
One of the great joys of reading Updike’s poetry—especially for those who are not really big poetry fans—is that except on the rarest of occasions, if he puts a subject in the title you can be bet that the poem will actually be about that subject. Such as this one about Flick who back ’46 sank almost 400 points worth of shots on the court, a record still standing. Back then Flick was a big deal, all right, but these days he’s just the guy who changes flat tires, checks your oil and pumps your gas down a the station.
“Back from Vacation”
This poem is not about anyone in particular. It could be about Flick or it could be about anyone who pulls in for gas or it could be about the reader. It is about anyone who has gone away from their real world vacation and returns back to that world to the depressing reality that absolute nothing has changed during their brief absence. Even more depressing is discovering that few even realized you were gone.
“Planting Trees”
This is a perfect example of one of Updike’s many poems that disguise the fact they are somewhat depressing meditations upon mortality by making the death part seem to be about something other than our own. The thematic trek of this verse has the speaker philosophically comparing the lifespan of trees to that of humans from both sides of the equation. On the one hand, a tree planted in childhood that is easily leapt over as a child becomes a towering mammoth that rising high in the sky. On the other hand, an entire grove of trees can grow smaller and less populated as one ages as the trees become victims of nature and man.
“Relatives”
Updike’s poetry is among the most accessible available because he most writes about the smaller aspects that make up daily living. For instance, those occasional but unavoidable rituals mandating that family members must congregate, such as Thanksgiving dinner. We all love our relatives to one degree or another, but Updike forces the issue by demonstrating the things they constantly do which make us glad Thanksgiving comes but once a year.
The almost whimsical imagery of hours spent in airplanes and hotel rooms almost makes one overlook the fact that this is one of the most depressing poems ever written. The only thing worse than the imagery of hotels and airports is that of the home life of speaker which spurts the rhetorical question, “This is life?” And the wife and tricycle in the hallway becomes the things which makes life on the road flying and sleeping in business class things to be considered precious treasures.
“Bridge”
At first glance, one would most likely jump to the conclusion that poem is about some bridge over perhaps troubled waters. Not a famous bridge like those on Brooklyn or gleaming in the sun like a golden gate, but perhaps some covered bridge somewhere in Updike’s New England. It is important to remember, however, that Updike is a master portrait painter of middle class suburban life and so this poem is not about an engineered structure, but a quartet of card players. At one time around the middle of the 20th century it was actually not unusual for neighbors to get together one a week like clockwork to play bridge. Seems unspeakably impossible now, of course.
“Chambered Nautilus”
While most of Updike’s poems feature titles that are actually about what they seem, even he is not averse to engaging that thing about poetry that creates people who hate poetry: symbolic titles. One would assume that perhaps this is a poem about collecting seashells since Updike really does enjoy writing about the mundane things of life. But the title here is entirely symbolic, a metaphor to describe the way that growing up is, to a point, merely a series of ever-increasing places to sleep. The imagery covers everything from the smallest bedroom in the house always assigned to the youngest child through to the college dorm room, the hotel room, the fancy mansion with the canopy bed straight to—of course—the hospital room where sleep comes last and never ends.
“Down Time”
The speaker is waiting for Tom who is the guy who can figure out why his computer isn’t working if anyone can. And while he waits and since he can no longer effectively do his job of writing, he figures this rare intrusion of down time is the perfect opportunity to contemplate the meaning of life. But distractions like the smoke from his neighbor burning trash and the cluttered quality of his desk occupy this down time instead. The down time ultimately last too long and the desire to write even if it were possible passes because, after all, what is left to write about but all the human misery in the world.
“Elderly Sex”
Although the title of this promise carries an implicit warning considering how much Updike likes to telegraph content in the title, fortunately it does not go quite the way one fears it might. It is not an explicit description of two older people engaging in intercourse, but rather a meditation upon how the act of sexual congress manages to change considerably over time, turning it from an act tantamount to uncaging a dangerous tiger to the threat of that tiger having escaped and left the cage disappointingly vacant.
