Tracer Workshop: The Smithian "It"

Welcome to the first Tracer Workshop! In these workshops, you will learn about specific techniques, stylistic choices, poetic decisions, etc. that Tracy K. Smith frequently uses and makes throughout her several books of poetry. I have “traced” such techniques across all of the collections that I have read thus far and will be sharing my findings, observations, and commentary with you via these workshops. 

This first workshop deals with the infamous Smithian “It,” which refers to Smith’s ambiguous use of the word “it” as a means by which to convey a singular idea across one individual poem, or to convey a larger, deeper, and more complex and metaphorical concept across several poems in a collection in order to reveal a greater truth. In Symposium class, this Smithian “It” has been a great source of friendly, intellectual debate, with peers and I going back and forth on what we think the “it” in a certain circumstance represents: Is it the universe? Is it some existential being that is beyond our comprehension and our control? Is it supposed to remain a mystery, embodying a multitude of things at once so as to emphasize the unknown that marks our everyday lives? These are the questions that I myself will be exploring in today’s workshop. Hopefully after Smith’s in-person visit, I will be able to provide you all with concrete answers about what she is truly looking to convey through her use of “it” in select poems! But for now, I will provide you with my own observations and analysis. I will specifically be looking at the use of “it” in select poems from Life on Mars.

Generally in Life on Mars, Smith uses the word “it” with the purpose of  delving into the important questions one confronts when facing grief and loss — is there really a God, are we, in actuality, alone on this Earth, and where do we go when we die — as she searches for a sense of peace and grounding while honoring and recognizing her father. Until we get to the poem “It & Co” in Life on Mars, Smith weaves in this “it” in a way that is quite mind-boggling and confusing, but, above all else, fascinating to me as a reader. At times, “it” has no clear forerunner, and at other times, the “it” shifts into different roles within one stanza. 

Poem #1: “Museum of Obsolescence” from Life on Mars

So much we once coveted. So much

That would have saved us, but lived,

Instead, its own quick span, returning

To uselessness with the mute acquiescence

Of shed skin. It watches us watch it:

Our faulty eyes, our telltale heat, hearts

Ticking through our shirts. We're here

To titter at gimcracks, the naïve tools,

The replicas of replicas stacked like bricks.

There's green money, and oil in drums.

Pots of honey pilfered from a tomb. Books

Recounting the wars, maps of fizzled stars.

In the south wing, there's a small room

Where a living man sits on display. Ask,

And he'll describe the old beliefs. If you

Laugh, he'll lower his head to his hands

And sigh. When he dies, they'll replace him

With a video looping on ad infinitum.

Special installations come and go. “Love”

Was up for a season, followed by “Illness,”

Concepts difficult to grasp. The last thing you see

(After a mirror—someone's idea of a joke?)

Is an image of an old planet taken from space.

Outside, vendors hawk t-shirts, three for eight.

In the beginning of this poem, Smith writes, “So much we once coveted / So much that would have saved us, but lived, / Instead its own quick span, returning / To uselessness with the mute acquiescence of shed skin.” Here, the “it” might be easily grazed over by the reader because of its subtlety. But in reality, Smith’s use of “it” here is powerful and fresh, taking on the role of extending to the reader a unique perspective: Here, “it” refers to the abstract idea of all the things that could have possibly saved humanity. And then in the following line, Smith guides the reader in their understanding by making “it” more tangible, writing “It watches us watch it” (14). In a way, Smith kind of shape-shifts the “It” here, which I think is a really fascinating approach and one that I truly applaud her for. 

We see the same idea of this shape-shifting “it” in “My God It’s Full of Stars,” again from her collection Life on Mars, where “It” takes on a new role in what seems like every single line. 

Poem #2: “My God It’s Full of Stars” from Life on Mars (Section I)

 1. 

 

We like to think of it as parallel to what we know,

Only bigger. One man against the authorities.

Or one man against a city of zombies. One man

 

Who is not, in fact, a man, sent to understand

The caravan of men now chasing him like red ants

Let loose down the pants of America. Man on the run.

 

Man with a ship to catch, a payload to drop,

This message going out to all of space. . . . Though

Maybe it’s more like life below the sea: silent,

 

Buoyant, bizarrely benign. Relics

Of an outmoded design. Some like to imagine

A cosmic mother watching through a spray of stars,

 

Mouthing yes, yes as we toddle toward the light,

Biting her lip if we teeter at some ledge. Longing

To sweep us to her breast, she hopes for the best

 

While the father storms through adjacent rooms

Ranting with the force of Kingdom Come,

Not caring anymore what might snap us in its jaw.

 

Sometimes, what I see is a library in a rural community.

All the tall shelves in the big open room. And the pencils

In a cup at Circulation, gnawed on by the entire population.

 

The books have lived here all along, belonging

For weeks at a time to one or another in the brief sequence

Of family names, speaking (at night mostly) to a face,

 

A pair of eyes. The most remarkable lies.

When Smith writes, “We like to think of it as parallel to what we know / Only bigger,” I recognized the “it” as taking on the role of the universe, the “cosmic mother” Smith refers to shortly after in the poem. But then, a few stanzas later, “it” morphs into “a library in a rural community. / All the tall shelves in the big open room. / And the pencils in a cup at Circulation, gnawed on by the entire population.” This is so interesting to me, the fact that Smith employs “it” as a sort of moving target before coming to a concrete conclusion. It keeps readers on their toes, which is so smart of her as a writer and so admirable. 

But finally, as I briefly mentioned earlier, Smith pins “it” down for a moment in It & Co, allowing the reader to catch on to what exactly she is referring to. 

Poem #3: “It & Co” from Life on Mars

We are part of It. Not guest. 

Is It us, or what contains us?

How can It be anything but an idea,

Something teetering on the spine

Of the number i? It is elegant

But coy. It avoids blunt ends

Of our fingers as we point. We

Have gone looking for It everywhere:

In Bibles and bandwidth, blooming

Like a wound from the ocean floor.

Still, It resists the matter of false vs. real

Unconvinced by our zeal, It is un-

Appeasable. It is like some novels:

Vast and unreadable.

When Smith writes, “We/ Have gone looking for It everywhere: / In Bibles and bandwidth, blooming / Like a wound from the ocean floor. /Still, It resists the matter of false vs. real. / Unconvinced by our zeal, It is un- / Appeasable. It is like some novels: / Vast and unreadable,” to me, “it” embodies the truth, whatever that may mean for Smith and for the reader. Therefore, “it” carries so much weight and so much impact, which I think is such a beautiful choice that Smith decided to make here.