Overview

It is almost impossible to approach an Ashbery poem with any reasonable hope of coming up with a nice, round, compact gist, a satisfactory statement or two that allows you to reenter the poem and look around more appreciatively or critically. I am working here on the assumption (and my preference) that all good poetry has a meaning that can be articulated, not exhaustively, and not as a replacement or substitute for the poem, but simply as a reference point, a room, big or small, within which the language of the poem, the various sounds, images, thoughts, and feelings can resonate, where one can explore the nuances and complexities of its furnishings. Of course it doesn't have to be a rational or discursive meaning, which is what most people, with a less committed interest in poetry, seem to want: "what's he saying". The meaning could be an emotion, a conflict of emotions and thoughts, thoughts and situations. There could be multiple meanings on different levels. And of course the presentation, the diction, the explorations of language, the methods by which the poem unfolds, in the end the furnishings can cover a vast spectrum of practice and technique; and these—understanding what the poet is doing with the language—are a critical part of the appreciation of poetry.

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Ashbery's methods can be particularly confounding. He tends to write from multiple perspectives in sequential shifts that leaves you wondering who's talking now, and to whom. This blurring of agents is almost never prepared but thrust at you; just turn the corner and you'll bump into someone else. In the best of his poems they can be facets reflecting their own brilliant colors; in some of the mediocre ones they seem to be merely idiosyncratic gimmicks, irrepressible forays into obscurity. This can be all the more disconcerting because, although the shifting personae are difficult to reconcile, the voice is the same; it's his poetic voice. That voice is highly unique and hard to characterize, but it combines an articulate but informal, sometimes offhand diction, with sudden twists of language or frequently unusual juxtapositions of images, dropped without notice and any gesture toward reconciliation. He will occasionally make a verbal mess, and never cleans it up. But most of the time the language remains fresh and surprising, where even common idioms, because of their unexpected placement, will have an unusual impact.

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Line by line analysis: 

(1-4) The concept of a city by the lake (“lacustrine”) has so many positive associations. One freely imagines a tranquil mountain scene, peaceful and productive waters spawning industries, connections and commerce, recreational possibilities,...; and for us mostly city folk, a city in itself seems a necessary context for living. But here it is immediately turned into a source of loathing, a monstrous and intrinsic evil that has generated the very city itself. All of that formative energy is reduced to something ugly and despicable, a stain that cannot be escaped, and masks all other aspect of city life, rendering all forgettable. And unforgiveable, as the still raw history surfaces as an anger. So whatever positive associations we anticipate in the title are quashed immediately with these powerful and negative emotive judgments.

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(3) We are told more about this loathing, that it comes from an idea, "that man is horrible, for instance". And of course this is the thought of a man, but the speaker doesn’t bother to separate himself, perhaps implying self-loathing.   Notice the "for instance". We usually instantize small offhand examples, not broad generalizations, particularly of such a highly charged nature. This language thus has a kind of blunting effect, as if we have become inured to this horrible idea. This is a good example, characteristic of his style, where a common phrase can have an unusual impact because of its atypical usage.

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(4) "though this is only one example". In a discourse such a line would generally be accompanied by other examples or additional qualifications, but here, after the broad accusation, man is horrible, it has an almost  matter of fact perfunctory tone that is a little disturbing, as if the speaker doesn't think he has said anything particularly shocking or  controversial. One can only wonder at what other charges might be.  

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(5) "They emerged until a tower". Powerful image of emergence, from the waters of the lake. You could expand this to a vison of life arising out of the evolutionary waters to conquer the land, but it is still that loathsome force that drives the emergence. The tower image suggests dominant values and established authorities which then found symbols ("dipped back / into the past for swans") that expressed more noble feelings and sentiments. These symbolic forms are held up as values, but it is merely lip service, a kind of self-justification and whitewashing, since they were never honored or invoked by the dark energies that forged the cities. Religion is implicated in this manipulation via "Controlled the sky." The superficial nature of this celebration is underlined by the 'artifice' (artificiality) and the 'dipping'. Thus these symbols are "transformed into useless love" (8), hollow words and hypocrisy, useless because they never really informed human life, but merely masked its ugliness.

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(9 - 12) Up to this stanza the poem has apparently been general, about the people of the cities, about mankind in general, but now it turns its attention to some unspecified 'you', an individual who is defined by this history, and whose life has apparently grown progressively more meaningless. Note the irony of 'ascending' associated with the afternoon, the sun descending. And now a social dynamic is introduced; the you is contrasted with others who are embarrassed by this individual's depression, and 'fly by', do not want to be concerned with him or the source of his negative feelings, and thus avoid the source issues. Perhaps these others are better representatives of the city's history, more in tune with its nature than this poor sensitive soul. Their indifference to his discomfiture is felt as a ‘charge’, as if he is an accused criminal for questioning the dominant order.  But why are they 'beacons'? Representatives of the accepted order? Models for a well-adjusted citizen? There's room to maneuver here, but in any case it suggests that the voice who has made the initial accusations is the odd man out, a sole and lonely voice protesting.

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(13) "The night is a sentinel." This is a powerful line, and it could go so many places. Sentinels, guardians, to the degree they are required, are especially needed at night. But the night itself is a sentinel. It is a wary watchfulness itself. It is also a time of dreams and nightmares, of brooding (consistent with the dominant mood expressed in the poem). It is also symbolic of death. These and other rich connotations, though not explored, contribute to the tone of the poem, the pervasive apprehension, the deep pessimism.

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(14 - 15) "Your time…creative games." This could very easily be an autobiographical reference to his poetry, mere games since they seem to be no satisfactory antidote to the power of that tower, the established order which gets personified in the following 'we' and their all-inclusive plans  which provoke a sense of inescapability, a fate decided. (Notice how this different perspective is thrust upon us, without preparation; again, this is characteristic of his style.) This possible turn to self-reference in the poem could cast a whole different light on the interpretation. For example, "These lacustrine cities grew out of loathing…" could be the poets progressive loathing as he reacts to and reflects upon human motivations and interactions, and the perceived peripheral nature of his poetry, its incapacity to affect the greater culture.  

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(16 – 19) Our subject’s fate is either isolation (“middle of the desert”, an appropriate post for prophets) or destruction (“a violent sea”, in marked contrast to the lacustrine powers). But there is a third alternative: after these relatively clear cut images there follows; the “closeness of others be air / to you” (an odd construction), an unusual confrontation that overpowers, “pressing you into a startled dream”. This sounds nightmarish, but it is immediately given, perplexingly, a benign turn “as sea-breezes greet a child's face” . What is going on here? My take: we may find much to despise in humanity (particularly its ‘inhumanity'), but after that is said and deeply realized, we still need each other.  The image of a child here is evocative; it embodies both irresistible exploration and questioning, and at the same time dependency.  These lines may also express a deep awareness of how little control we have over our lives, so easily shaped by external and internal forces, by fates that sometime yield an unexpected and fresh perspective ("sea breezes"). You and I are both free to personalize this one.

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(20-28) Between the “past is already here” and “You will be happy here”, the speaker seem to be talking to himself, the “you” he is now addressing, and summarizes his current situation.  He accepts his fate, indeed, embraces it even though “the worst is not over”, and he finds meaning in his “private project” which he has been "nursing".  It is this project (and I would presume he is talking about his poetry) that is the past here and now, a long-term vocation.  The “logic” of his situation (22), his poetic ambition, is not subject to the control of the external forces that he has disdained. He reassures himself of the “mountain” he has built, a “monument of thought and energy. And then the beautiful lines, trying to capture that energy and purpose:

     “Whose wind is desire starching a petal,

       Whose disappointment broke into a rainbow of tears.”

The climatic language: the poet tries to capture in language (“starching”, as in freezing a moment) the dynamics of beauty symbolized by a flower petal, and at the same time acknowledges the illusiveness and poignancy of his quest. This ending is all the more powerful because, in embracing his vocation, he has prevailed over all the dark forces that could have silenced him.

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So are these the depressing thoughts of a poor poet, a sensitive soul, who feels alienated from the mainstream of human life and culture, who reacts with repugnance to its crass and barbaric forces and energies, who feels his own attempts to capture beauty in language will fall disappointingly on deaf or indifferent ears? That would be a biographical interpretation, and a relatively closed and limited treatment of the poem.

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I know, in fact, very little about the biography or personal characteristics of John Ashbery. I know that he was celebrated in his life, won multiple awards and honors including a Pulitzer. I know that he was gay, and thus to some degree estranged from mainstream life due to the pervasive anti-gay sentiments of a dominant majority. (This is slowly changing, but prevailed through most of his life—he died age 90 in 2017.)  However, this is all superficial, and moreover quite irrelevant to the meaning of a poem. If poetry/literature were merely a doorway to biography, it would largely be a waste of time. This is true of all writing, the point of which is to reach out (communicate) and describe some common ground, to inform or share thoughts and feelings about some area of real or possible shared experience. Poetry and literature have the additional obligation of doing something "interesting" with language, of calling attention to its medium.

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So then the important question, the most important question becomes—what does this poem mean to me, and secondarily what could/should it mean to us inasmuch as we have shared experiences. You don't have to be a poet to feel alienated from the dominant powers in a society, a culture. Anyone who is appalled by the political disfunction in this country and its “leaders”, particularly but not exclusively the Republicans who enabled and encouraged the dysfunctional Presidency of Trump, must experience a deep estrangement from the consequential policies, practices, and events. Anyone who has watched the various religious hierarchies implode in ugly sex and finance scandals, and their related coverups, must know the empty rhetoric of authority. And certainly we all harbor secret projects, that we may or may not build; we all have hopes and expectations for a better life, a better world that will always remain unrealized, dreams that evaporate in a "rainbow of tears". All of these, in their different embodiments, are referenced in this beautiful and powerful poem.