Access to the universe of
information available on the Internet helps with interpreting Berryman’s
references. This poem uses as a metaphor the balloon voyage and famous
turn-of-the-century disappearance of Saloman August Andrée, Nils Strindberg and
Knut Fraenkel, three Swedish explorers who attempted a journey to the North
Pole in a balloon in 1897. Their system of drag ropes and sails for steering
the balloon were totally ineffective, and they were at the mercy of wind,
frost, and a sinking balloon. They landed on pack ice, made their way through
great hardship to a deserted island, and ultimately died there. They subsisted
on the supplies they salvaged from the foundered balloon and the polar bears
that stalked them constantly, several of which they were able to shoot. When their
bodies were discovered by walrus hunters 30 years after they disappeared, their
diary and the photos they took were remarkably preserved, and their fate became
known. Strindberg was likely killed by a polar bear, and he seems to have gone
down shooting. The other two died side by side under a tent made from their
balloon, possibly from exposure and exhaustion, more likely from the massive vitamin
A overdose that comes from eating polar bear liver, and also from trichinosis
they contracted by eating undercooked or raw bear meat. It is also quite
possible that they deliberately overdosed together on opium to end their
extreme suffering. The bodies of all three were devoured by polar bears once they
finally died, so in that way did things come full ecological circle.
The poem tells us that we
are born into the safe beds of our mothers but that doesn’t last. Our hearts
break, we are tormented by the various incarnations of bullies, monsters and
blockheads out there waiting for us, and in the midst of it we dream of flying
away to some kind of patriotic fame. Sometimes it happens, much more often the bears are waiting. “Up
in pairs / we go not, but we have a good bed.” The would-be heroes lie together in a final
tormented iteration of the first bed they were born into, but they still die alone.
This poem is supposed to
be depressing, but nah, you don’t get to ruin every day this year, Mr.
Berryman. A balloon voyage to the North Pole was incredibly foolish. The bears
were hungry. Lighten up. I have said what I have to say.
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