For this analysis, a co-writer, Chris, was nice enough to contribute his ideas on “A Spiral Notebook” by Ted Kooser. Here’s what Chris thinks of the poem:
Hello! My name is Chris, author of the Improving Introvert blog, and as a guest post, I’ll be doing a little bit of an analysis of Ted Kooser’s poem “A Spiral Notebook”, and how it relates to the introverts among us.
Now, upon first reading this poem, you might wonder to yourself, “How does this relate to introversion at all? He’s talking about a notebook!” And to a certain extent, that’s true.
But from my perspective – perhaps affected by a bit of confirmation bias – this poem is also about the contemplation of a notebook, and about contemplation, in general. It’s about seeing something more in everyday life, admiring the detail in things that are often overlooked by others. All are characteristics that introverts are typically known for.
The poem begins in such admiration, using words to shape metal and cardboard into magnificent mental imagery. If not for the poem’s title, you might not know quite what this author is referring to, such is the depth of the transformation:
“The bright wire rolls like a porpoise
in and out of the calm blue sea
of the cover, or perhaps like a sleeper
twisting in and out of his dreams,
for it could hold a record of dreams
if you wanted to buy it for that”
The last two lines above start to bring the reader from fantasy to reality, with the following realization that perhaps this notebook is “meant for more serious work”, not so much for the musings and reflections of a creative mind (which introverts commonly possess). The suggested usage, to “hold a record of dreams”, seems to be a message for the introspective, almost a sort of defiance against the banality of this spiral-bound construction.
The poem continues in what appears, at first glance, to be a simple lamentation of age:
“. . .It seems
a part of growing old is no longer
to have five subjects, each
demanding an equal share of attention,
set apart by brown cardboard dividers,”
Having such simple and common subjects to focus on, as a notebook’s dividers recommend, is obviously something that fades away as we grow older and have more responsibilities to be mindful of, more complicated lives to lead. But the poem’s statement also holds true for introverts of all ages.
Being defined in large part by the amount of time we spend in our thoughts, an introvert’s attention often goes beyond such limitations. We don’t just see what’s on the page; we read between the lines. We write in the margins. In all aspects of life, so much of an introvert’s time is spent in analysis that subject dividers are all but meaningless; we delve so deeply into those subjects that they all seem to be connected in some way, even the topics taught to us in school.
Which brings us to the final lines of the poem:
“but instead to stand in a drugstore
and hang on to one subject
a little too long, like this notebook
you weigh in your hands, passing
your fingers over its surfaces
as if it were some kind of wonder.”
Here again reality taps us on the shoulder, shaking us out of the depth of thought we introverts often get lost in. The point, as mentioned earlier, is finally driven home in the poem itself: “This is all about a simple notebook.” And to some, that might be all it is! I’m sure most of us would silently question the sanity of a person so enamored with school supplies.
But perhaps there’s more to that man with the notebook. Perhaps there’s more to the notebook itself. Perhaps it’s a reminder that things are worth a second glance, a second thought. Perhaps it’s a subtle suggestion to dig deeper, to discover and focus your lens on things you might have otherwise overlooked. Because when you really think about it, even a notebook isn’t as simple a thing as we perceive it to be.
Poet Professor Presents 