How to Build a Fire- The Power of Poetry in “This Big Fake World” – Mary Collins

How to Build a Fire: The Power of Poetry in This Big Fake World

MARY COLLINS

Ada Limón’s poem “Epilogue: This Big Fake World” (see Appendix) is a call to readers to live lives that break through the mundane nature of daily tasks in order to make sense of the world. Through a series of sharp and sometimes unexpected images, Limón builds a case for the reader to join her in constructing the best possible lifestyle out of whatever situation they find themselves in, without worrying about what others are doing around them. As the title implies, the piece is grounded in the ‘fake’ and monotonous nature of the world, but it creates an incredibly hopeful message within this bleak context. In just sixteen lines of free verse, the poem captures and enacts a rich perspective on the purpose of life. It ultimately suggests that each person contains within themselves the power to break free from a stifling culture by tearing down the confining aspects of life and transforming them into something positive. Exercising the power to both destroy and create conventions is portrayed as an essential obligation for every individual.

The poem’s message of empowerment is revealed through a compelling mixture of imagery and rhetoric. Limón balances specific, vivid details with generalized calls to her readers in order to create a comfortable yet persuasive tone. She opens with an inviting statement: “The object is to not simply exist in this world / of radio clocks and moon pies” (lines 1-2). This first phrase seems effortless, but it is really doing a lot of work. Within the initial two lines the poem shifts its focus from a very wide discussion of the nature of existence to a small, specific image (“radio clocks and moon pies”) without losing the reader along the way. By establishing this train of thought, the poem begins to attribute enormous significance to everyday objects that would otherwise be considered mundane or unimportant. The opening also functions to establish the credibility of the poem’s speaker. The speaker clearly has a message that they are confident about sharing, as conveyed through the poem’s invitational stance. They have a unique perception of

the world shown through their descriptions, which makes the reader want to know more, but their tone is relatable and natural. The confi dence and accessibility of the speaker amplifies the poem’s call to action. The poem itself becomes situated firmly outside of the monotonous aspects of life it initially describes, promising to reveal the speaker’s compelling secret about intentional living. From the very first lines this promise demands our attention because it contrasts with our surrounding world that is full of mindless words. Unlike the advertisements and news headlines that surround us throughout our daily lives, the poem begins by transforming and enlivening the language of the everyday. And since the speaker appears to be drawing from personal experience, it seems likely that we will be capable of following their advice.

Our confidence in the speaker is essential because it is not immediately clear what they are asking us to do. The heart of the argument is encoded in a string of metaphorical actions. Images of destruction and creation take a central place in the piece: Shouldn’t we make a fire out of everyday things, build something out of too many nails and not wonder if we are right to build without permission from the other dull furniture? (5-8) This question is posed directly after the poem’s opening description of the state of the world, offering the beginnings of a nonconformist action plan. The speaker advises us to burn and build within the same breath. At first this advice may seem self-contradictory—making a fire is practically the opposite of constructing anything. But both images rely on the idea of taking risks without fear of the danger represented by fire or nails. Through the use of metaphor, Limón is creating an argument for a lifestyle that incorporates risk-taking as a way of overcoming mundane conventionality. The imagery is deliberately rich and simultaneously vague, as each reader will have a different idea of what they want to burn or what they want to build. With this room for interpretation comes room for hope. It becomes clear that burning, as described here, is not a purely destructive act. Instead, it is part of a radical act of creating agency that is phrased not merely as a choice but as a responsibility. Through these lines, Limón draws readers into a mutual

obligation to live a daring life. Readers are afforded a certain comfort and security by being acknowledged as part of such a collective, one that is based on individuality and a rejection of “the other dull furniture.” In this way the poem creates a fellowship out of its readers. Its members are called to both defy and transform the conventions of mainstream culture. According to the speaker’s hopeful stance, rejecting one’s culture isn’t enough—life is best lived when we are defiantly inventing new things out of the old. This relationship between endings and beginnings can also be seen in the fact that the piece is framed as an epilogue. An epilogue is generally meant to end a story, but it also signifies the start of a new story, situating a specific narrative in the vast continuity of time. Similarly, Limón’s poem calls for an ending to conventionality that is not really an ending but a beginning of something strange and exciting and new. What initially seems like a destruction or rejection of culture is actually part of the construction of a new personal culture driven by our own preferences.

The structure of the piece echoes its ethos of destructive creation. It opens with descriptions of disjointed aspects of life, moves to a portrayal of destruction through fire, and ends with the idea of picking up these pieces. By the end of the poem, the focus is entirely on creation and reclamation. The speaker suggests a way forward: “[L]et’s make a nest, each us, of our own pieces / of glass and weeds and names we have found” (12-13). In a way, the poem itself is creating this nest. The pieces that it collects are the “radio clocks and moonpies”, the “holidays and lunch breaks”, the “too many nails”. It weaves these dissonant images together in order to form a hopeful ending. Limón is demonstrating through her composition of the poem that it is possible to follow the speaker’s advice. On another level, the poem utilizes a circular structure to reveal its message. It begins with a statement that is inherently a promise. Readers understand that by the end of the piece they will have been introduced to a perspective on “the object” of existence. At the end of the poem, after illustrating a series of metaphorical courses of action, Limón reaches this conclusion: “let all of us hold close to the lost and the unclear, / and, in our own odd little way, find some refuge here” (15-16). The importance of the last two lines is emphasized by the end rhymes, which do not occur throughout the rest of the piece. The poem completes the circle by

landing on a clear answer that directly corresponds to the question implied at the beginning. The speaker has finally revealed their secret: the ability to live rather than to simply exist lies within each one of us, and we can rest easy knowing that “the lost and the unclear” can be accepted without being solved. The clarity here contrasts with the confusion present in the poem’s earlier imagery. Yet this confusion and complexity is exactly what makes the piece so captivating, and what makes poetry in general such poignant form of expression. Poetry itself can be seen to function by embracing complexity and chaos—by following the very advice imparted by this poem’s closing lines.

In the end, the power that this poem draws through its structure, imagery, and rhetorical moves provides a model for a defiantly optimistic lifestyle. Ideas of destruction and uninspiring chaos are secondary to the uplifting goal of making something beautiful out of this messy life. It is an epilogue in that it is a promise of endless new beginnings. The impact of this piece speaks to the power of poetry as an art form. By writing this poem, Limón is performing her own radical act of creation, synthesizing her observations of the world into a meaningful piece of art. For readers, encountering the poem offers a chance to pause and reflect on the greater purpose of life, no matter what busy thoughts are crowding their heads at the moment. Choosing to read poetry— to actually absorb it and let the words settle underneath your skin—is a way of enacting Limón’s epilogue.

WORKS CITED

Limón, Ada. “Epilogue: This Big Fake World.” This Big Fake World: A Story in

Verse, Pearl Editions, 2006, p. 66.

APPENDIX

Epilogue: This Big Fake World

The object is to not simply exist in this world of radio clock and moon pies, where holidays and lunch breaks bring the only relief from the machine that is our mind humming inside of its shell. Shouldn’t we make a fire out of everyday things, build something out of too many nails and not wonder if we are right to build without permission from the other dull furniture? Out of this small plot we are given, small plot of cement and electrified wires, small plot of cement and electrified wires, small plot of razors and outlandish liquor names, let’s make a nest, each of us, of our own pieces of glass and weeds and names we have found. Somewhere along the banks of this liquid world let all of us hold close to the lost and the unclear, and, in our own odd little way, find some refuge here.

- Ada Limón