Reading in the Dark
Carl Phillips on Randall Jarrell’s “The Meteorite”
The Meteorite
Star, that looked so long among the stones
And picked from them, half iron and half dirt,
One; and bent and put it to her lips
And breathed upon it till at last it burned
Uncertainly, among the stars its sisters—
Breathe on me still, star, sister.
“The Meteorite” from The Complete Poems by Randall Jarrell. Copyright © 1969, renewed 1997 by Mary von S. Jarrell. Used by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
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Jarrell’s poem speaks strangely of tenderness and intimacy—the longing to be chosen by a single other, to be the recipient of another’s breath as a way of being released from ‘mere’ stasis into motion, a kind of life. Something here, too, about transformation, from half iron and half dirt to uncertain burning. The poem reminds me that to burn uncertainly is pretty much what it means to be alive—to be bright and dangerous, to shine without guarantees, to be unpredictable. More by implication, it also reminds that life is finite, for all of its fiery energy, eventually the meteor burns out, must die; but what a gift, to have been kin to the stars, to have shone among them and also been able to leave one’s own memorable mark. These seem things to remember and be grateful for at any time, but maybe especially now when so much of life can feel uncertain and frightening—a time when perhaps we feel life most keenly.
—Carl Phillips
Carl Phillips teaches at Washington University in St. Louis. His recent books include Pale Colors in a Tall Field, Wild Is the Wind, and the prose collection The Art of Daring: Risk, Restlessness, Imagination. He is Professor of English at Washington University in St. Louis.
