On Ambivalence

A.R. Ammons wrote a poem without metaphor, without rhyme, without allusions:

One can't

have it

both ways

and both

ways is

the only

way I

want it.

It's a poem about ambivalence. The speaker both would, and wouldn't, like a certain thing. The speaker acknowledges this, and also admits that conflicting desires make for an uncomfortable situation. ("One can't have it both ways.")

I think this is a funny poem, and I think it's funny because of the word "and." We're *not* reading this sentence: "One can't have it both ways, but both ways is the only way I want it." We're *not* reading this sentence: "One can't have it both ways, and yet both ways is the only way I want it." Ammons doesn't give us a comma, and his choice of conjunction doesn't underline or spell out the fact that the two halves of the poem are in tension (a "but" would accomplish that).

By leaving out the "but," and the comma, Ammons seems to be creating a "rambling" quality, and to be smirking just a little bit: Yes, I know that life is a ridiculous undertaking, even as I behave coolly, or faux-coolly.

I also like that "both ways" functions as both an adverb and a noun. I want it both ways. "Both ways" is the only way I want it. In the second case of "both ways," there is a line break between the "both" and the "ways," and this break conveys a sense of subtextual madness or exasperation (at least if you ask me). Small cracks under an apparently smooth surface.

Am I reading too much into a sentence? You decide! Happy Wednesday to you.