The Elements of San Joaquin by Gary Soto
"The Elements of San Joaquin" by Gary Soto is a long poem that explores the harsh realities of agricultural workers' lives through its seven sections. The title suggests a blend of scientific observation and personal reflection, emphasizing the connection between the workers and the natural elements—earth, air, fire, and water. The poem begins with "Field," which vividly illustrates the struggles and physical scars endured by laborers in a challenging environment, marked by the relentless forces of nature. Despite occasional glimmers of hope, such as the suggestion of growth, the poem ultimately reveals a profound irony: the land yields no sustenance for those who toil upon it.
In the subsequent section, "Wind," Soto depicts nature as an omnipotent force that intrudes upon the human experience, intensifying the sense of vulnerability. The concluding section, "Daybreak," contrasts the lives of the laborers with the oblivious consumers who benefit from their hard work, highlighting the emotional disconnect between the two groups. Through these themes, Soto's poem powerfully illustrates the struggles of those who labor in the fields, grounded in real-life experiences rather than idealized notions of nature. This work invites readers to reflect on the invisible lives behind the agricultural industry and the societal structures that often overlook their plight.
The Elements of San Joaquin by Gary Soto
Excerpted from an article in Magill’s Survey of American Literature, Revised Edition
First published: 1977
Type of work: Long poem
The Work
The Elements of San Joaquin is a long poem divided into seven sections that together make up the “Elements” of this agricultural workers’ world. “Elements” is an interesting word choice, as it has connotations of scientific, objective discourse, while the poem is a direct personal statement. “Elements” may also refer to the four classical elements of the universe: earth, air, fire, and water.
The first section of the poem is titled “Field.” The field is described in harsh, naturalistic terms; forces of nature impose their presence and will upon the impoverished workers who work the field. One of these forces, the wind, “sprays dirt into my mouth/ The small, almost invisible scars/ On my hands.” The speaker is literally marked by these natural forces; this is not a pastoral communion but a painful union. In the second stanza, there are some positive suggestions, as the speaker’s pores “have taken in a seed of dirt of their own.” Yet the seed image is ironic because it is not a seed that will flower or produce anything that will sustain life.
The forces in the field continue making marks upon the speaker as they create “lines/ On my wrists and palms.” The last stanza brings together the separate parts of the poem. The speaker is “becoming the valley”; humans and nature are, apparently, united. That unity, however, is ironically reversed in the last two lines, when the speaker realizes that the soil “sprouts nothing/ For any of us.” The perspective has now widened to include all those who work this land. For them, there is no sustenance to be wrought from the land that they work.
The third section, “Wind,” deals with the power of this natural force. The poem presents a human figure waking in the morning beneath a blazing sun. The sky darkens, and a cold wind begins “moving under your skin and already far/ From the small hives of your lungs.” Once more, nature is a destructive force. It can burrow under the skin, but it will not bring its life-giving breath to the lungs that need it.
The last section of the poem, “Daybreak,” portrays the workers entering an onion field at dawn. They are contrasted to the distant consumer who will literally feed on their labor: “And tears the onions raise/ Do not begin in your eyes but ours,” the poet notes. The consumers will not know or see that other world, but the laborers “won’t forget what you failed to see,/ And nothing will heal/ Under the rain’s broken fingers.” The rain does not give life but only shatters those who are vulnerable to its power. The poem ends with an image of rain that first suggests a flourishing world and then denies it. Soto’s poems are rooted in actual experience and not in transcendence.
Bibliography
Blasingame, James. “Interview with Gary Soto.” Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy 47 (November, 2003): 266-267.
Bruce-Novoa, Juan. “Patricide and Resurrection: Gary Soto.” In Chicano Poetry: A Response to Chaos. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982.
Candelaria, Cordelia. Chicano Poetry. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1986.
Cooley, Peter. “I Can Hear You Now.” Parnassus 8, no. 1 (1979): 297-311.
De la Fuentes, Patricia. “Mutability and Stasis: Images of Time in Gary Soto’s Black Hair.” American Review 16 (1988): 188-197.
Murphy, Patricia. “Inventing Lunacy: An Interview with Gary Soto.” Hayden’s Ferry Review 18 (Spring/Summer, 1996): 29-37.
Olivares, Julián. “The Streets of Gary Soto.” Latin American Literary Review 18 (January-June, 1990): 32-49.
Soto, Gary. “The Childhood Worries: Or, Why I Became a Writer.” Iowa Review 25 (Spring/Summer, 1995): 104-115.
Williamson, Alan. “In a Middle Style.” Poetry 135 (March, 1980): 348-354.