The Names
by Billy Collins
Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.
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*This poem is dedicated to the victims of September 11 and to their survivors.
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
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Analysis (ai): The poem unfolds in free verse with a loose alphabetical progression, using the alphabet as a structural spine. Line lengths vary organically, mirroring the rhythm of thought rather than adhering to metrical patterns. Enjambment is frequent but unobtrusive, maintaining a quiet, meditative pace. The form avoids rigid symmetry, aligning with post-1950 American lyrical norms that prioritize conversational cadence.
Imagery and Setting: Rain, light, and natural elements frame the poem’s transitions from night to morning to evening. Names appear as physical inscriptions—in raindrops, petals, clouds, bark—blurring the boundary between the tangible and the ephemeral. Urban and rural images coexist: storefronts and warehouses sit alongside fields, lakes, and woods, suggesting a national scope.
Function of Names: Rather than memorialize individual lives, the poem uses names as units of presence, emphasizing sheer quantity and ubiquity. The alphabetical sequence resists hierarchy, treating all names with equal weight, reflecting democratic impulses common in late 20th-century American verse. The inclusion of ethnically diverse surnames subtly underscores the pluralism of the victims.
Temporal Movement: The poem spans a single day, from night to the following evening, structuring remembrance as a cyclical, daily practice. This quotidian framing contrasts with grand elegiac traditions, aligning with contemporary tendencies to ground mourning in routine rather than ritual.
Comparative Context: Unlike the surreal turns and humor in much of the author’s other work, this poem sustains a rare solemnity. It departs from his typical irony, yet retains his accessible diction and focus on ordinary moments. Compared to post-9/11 poems that invoke political or religious language, this one resists rhetoric, focusing instead on quiet accumulation.
Less-Discussed Angle: The emphasis on reading—names hidden in a puzzle, deciphered in bark—shifts the act of mourning from listening or speaking to interpreting. The reader becomes a participant in an ongoing search, suggesting remembrance as a cognitive task rather than an emotional release. This intellectualized approach is unusual in elegies of this period.
Place in the Author’s Oeuvre: Among his lesser-performed pieces, this stands out for its sustained focus and public subject matter. Most of his work avoids direct historical engagement, making this poem a conceptual outlier. Its dedication anchors it in a specific event, rare for a poet who typically resists topicality.
Contemporary Engagement: The poem responds to post-9/11 demands for collective memory while resisting monumentalization. By dispersing names across natural and urban landscapes, it critiques the impulse to centralize grief in physical memorials. This decentralization mirrors digital-age realities, where memory is distributed and persistent.
Use of Alphabet: The alphabet functions not as a child’s tool but as a containment strategy for overwhelming loss. The progression to Z—and the deferral of X—acknowledges the limits of systems in capturing human absence. The line “let X stand, if it can” introduces doubt into an otherwise orderly sequence.
Final Imagery: The closing image of names on a pinhead recalls Donne, but without metaphysical certainty. The reference is faint, underscoring absence rather than divine presence. The “warehouse of memory” suggests storage without access, resonating with contemporary anxieties about forgetting in an age of information overload. (ai)
