The Burden of the Gods

An Interpretation of "A Much Too Heavy Yoke" by J.Z. Schafer

You can find Schafer’s poem here

I recommend you give it a read before you continue.

J.Z. Schafer is a poet of staggering talent. His verse is exceptional and his intuition is profound. You would do your self well to pay attention to his poetry. If you wish to know whether or not our language is still capable of sublimity, look no further.

What then, are we to take from this poem? For those who dare to seek, much will be found. Perhaps more than the reader bargains for. You may find something of surpassing value—a treasure indeed. Caveat emptor.

This poem is slightly unusual compared to Schafer’s other work. Its sound is heavier; Its tone—frank; Its focus—escalating. Pay attention to his metaphors, there is much profit in them.

As we shall see, this poem is about fathering, or more precisely, what it means to be fathered. It is about the heart of man, both what is inside and what wishes to enter. It is about the world between inspiration and illumination. Who can hold all of this? That is the question the poem addresses. The father is the one who holds. What does it mean to be father? Let us begin.

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“Call no one father but the Lord.”

The poem begins with a command, an exhortation. We, the reader, shall not call, that is to say, to name. Just as Adam called creation, such is our responsibility.

This commandment is portentous. As the poem moves forward, it will explain its importance. Keep this at the center of your mind as you read.

"Before the sun was up a man
Drave furrows in the earth;"

In darkness a man tilled the soil to plant. What will he sow? Acorns, perhaps. Furrows has a deeper connection here. As a man furrows his brow so does he furrow the earth. That is to say, man’s agricultural activities are a metaphor of and connected to his mental energies.

"The soil was orange and O his heart was black."

Orange soil is clay. He’s digging into himself. His heart is black—dark like the sky before the sunrise.

"By evening the wild horses have come in
Trampled carrot and wheat,"

Note well that it is evening—darkness still. The wild horses crush the man’s fruitful planting. The carrot and wheat—that which grows below and that which grows above. I’m tempted to read something of the masculine and the feminine into the carrot and wheat, and the following post and fence image.

"...their hot white breath,
White like the fumes at strange Delphi." 

What are these horses? They are filled with the same life that animates the Delphic shrine. The breath of the sibyl who, out of her wits, utters prophecy and oracle. She inhales the sweet fumes of the decaying serpent Python and exhales the will of Apollo. There is immense depth here, let the reader understand.

"Sleep has the man in thrall."

Sleep, the world of dreams and ecstasy. Perhaps one could say a world of oracle? Sleep is time when things come out of man. Let us remember that Eve was divinely built during Adam’s sleep from the rib which came out of his side.

"His angel stands
With lance upright at foot of bed,"

This land of dreams is dangerous. A man must be guarded. Note, he is guarded by both weapon and light. And much space is dedicated to the light.

"And a lamp that never was lit"

In the poem, all is dark. This lamp, the light of divine illumination, serves as our source of enlightenment. The fact that the lamp will not be put out is repeated twice. This is in contrast to elsewhere in the poem, where the light fails.

"...man
Who in the desert ate honey
And had a storm-god in his throat;" 

John the Baptist, surely. His word calls in the storm. Notice the connection between the sweetness of John’s honey and that the wild horses sweetened the air with their breath.

John, who was able to consume the contraries of locust and honey, is able to speak out the raging storm.

"Between two mountains lies a valley; they
Are but the flightless earth’s wingspan,
White and stony and storm-addled."

I think there is an image of the firmament between the waters here. In this valley of our lives, we are surrounded by the storm-weathered rocks. Weathered by the proclamation of The Baptist? I think so. What did he preach? Repentance.

Now, this 5th stanza may strike a reader as odd. The man has disappeared and the whole earth has been brought in. Remember that we are exploring “what not to call father”. This poem is taking us somewhere. We’ve been spiraling outwards towards larger and larger contexts. If we extrapolate men, we can encompass the entire earth. We’ve gone from the smallness of a carrot, to the hugeness of cosmic mountains.

"The air being a much too heavy yoke
Has brake the sunlight’s back;" 

In the poem we return to darkness. The storming clouds of the sky have made it dark. The Baptist’s thunder has revealed the true weight of what it means to be father.

"The name of father is a heavy name,
O do not seek it for yourself."

The Baptist’s proclamation has ensured that this world cannot provide father. Within this world nothing can hold the name of father; The title is too heavy. We are now about to see what father means and why it is so weighty.

"There is no Atlas that can hold
A mustard seed of man’s desire;"

A father, in the poem’s sense, is the terminus of man’s desire. There is no soil, no land, no dream, no world and no mythic god which can bear the weight of man’s growing desire. Just as the mustard seed, our desire will grow to an unfathomable magnitude.

"The whole is in the part
The part is in the whole;"

This is why Atlas, or any idol, cannot bear the crushing weight of our desires. Though he might bear a mere part, the whole will quickly snuff him out.

And consequently, because the part is in the whole, no matter which small piece a man grabs a hold of, that piece will take him to the pinnacle of existence—the entirety of all things.

"And thrice as bright..."

Why thrice? The Trinity.

"As oaks are in acorns
So gods are in the heart."

Yes, what we’ve been coming to. The acorn fathers the oak, the oak fathers the acorn. What we plant in our hearts will grow. If we plant Atlas, he shall grow, and he shall die, and we with him. Our father is what grows in us, grows out of us. Father is before us and after us. Father is what masters us. Father is what lightens our darkened hearts. Can the weak light of a false god shine bright? Call no one father but the Lord.

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Now that we’ve reached the end, I heartily recommend you read the poem again. We’ve have certainly not exhausted it. I have left certain things unsaid. I encourage you to find some of the subtle ironies and ruminate on their tension.

If you allow it, this poem will move you. It will move you somewhere new. And remember the wild horses that trample our wheat, and the angel that guards us in our sleep. And consider what god germinates in the soil of your heart.

In matters of interpretation, there is always missteps on the part of the interpreter. It goes without saying that my understanding is imperfect, but my hope is that I did more to elucidate than to confound.

Please don’t hesitate to leave a comment. A poem, such as this, compels conversation.