The Carousel by G.C. Oden

The Carousel

by G.C. Oden

I turned from side to side, from image to image to put you down.—Louise Bogan

An empty carousel in a deserted park

rides me round and round, ’forth and back,

from end to beginning,

like the tail that drives the dog.

I cannot see:

sight focusses shadow where once

pleased scenery,

and in this whirl of space

only the indefinite is constant.

This is the way of grief:

spinning in the rhythm of memories

that will not let you up

or down,

but keeps you grinding through

a granite air.

This poem is another poem published in an anthology of poetry that was in my house's library when I was growing up: American Negro Poetry, edited by Arna Bontemps (Hill and Wang Publishers, 1963). My parents had numerous poetry books, mostly by African-American, British, and Japanese poets (at least, those are the ones I remember). Go to the blog poem on October 25, 2025 to read Invocation by Helene Johnson, another poem from that book.

This poem uses its epigraph perfectly. It alludes to what is to come without giving it away. This can be tricky. I have learned to use epigraphs sparingly because they are sometimes too much, or way off base, or just confusing.

We then have the first two stanzas, full of description. The first stanza also uses slant rhyme (park and back, -ing and dog). Stanza two goes for lots of "s" sounds in its end words: see, once, scenery, space, and constant. Not only that, but the entire stanza is full of "s" sounds. Great word play in both stanzas with just very slight hints that all is not joy and happiness on this carousel: deserted park, I cannot see, shadow, and a biggie: only the indefinite is constant. Honestly, that last line should be on tee shirts and tote bags.

The last stanza gives us the reveal: this poem is an extended metaphor (a conceit) for grief. You see. It is difficult to see. You are/feel completely alone and deserted. You go around in circles. You go up and down. The last two lines are particularly true:

keeps you grinding through

a granite air.

Yes, grief makes you feel as if just moving is close to impossible, and the grief is grinding you. What a perfect word there, grinding. Oden continues, and gives us more word play with grief, grinding and granite all in this stanza. But it is the image created--the grief not only makes the grieving feel as if getting along is torture, but grief makes the air itself feel like an element that adds to the futility of movement.

Adding to the perfection of the word granite here, it is often used for tombstones. It is that hard and durable, which also makes it a great way to describe air in this poem.

This poem captures the nature of grief while also being an amazing study in poetic technique. I hope you will seek out more of Oden's poetry.

Gloria Catherine Oden was a poet, an editor, and a professor who also had a law degree from Howard University. She never practiced law. She taught at University of Maryland-Baltimore County and died in 2012.