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triumph of the present moment. The poem's central theme challenges our conventional
attitudes toward mortality and asks a radical question: Why mourn death when life itself is
fleeting and meant to be enjoyed?
Life vs. Death: The Central Conflict
The poem is structurally divided into two stanzas—one focusing on life (the kitchen, the ice-
cream, the party) and the other on death (the dead woman lying in her bedroom). This
division creates a stark contrast, yet Stevens deliberately refuses to treat death with
traditional solemnity.
In the first stanza, we see vitality and sensuality: muscular men rolling cigars, women
bringing flowers, boys carrying cups. There's movement, energy, and indulgence—
particularly in the ice-cream, a symbol of pleasure and the sweetness of existence.
The second stanza shifts to the bedroom where a woman lies dead, covered with an
inadequate embroidered sheet that reveals her "horny feet." Yet even here, Stevens refuses
sentimentality. The dead woman is not idealized or mourned poetically—she's presented
realistically, almost bluntly.
The Emperor of Ice-Cream: Symbol of the Present
The repeated line "Let be be finale of seem" is the poem's philosophical core. Stevens is
saying: let reality be reality; stop pretending or romanticizing.
The "Emperor of Ice-Cream" represents the supreme authority of the present moment and
sensory experience. Ice-cream is temporary—it melts, disappears, exists only in the now.
It's pleasurable but impermanent, much like life itself. By crowning ice-cream as "emperor,"
Stevens elevates the fleeting, the enjoyable, the immediate over the permanent, the
solemn, the eternal.
This is not disrespect for the dead—it's a celebration of what it means to be alive. The poem
suggests that death is final, absolute, and unchangeable, so there's no point in elaborate
mourning rituals or false sentimentality. Instead, we should honor life while we have it.
Rejecting False Sentimentality
Stevens deliberately uses crude, unpoetic details—"horny feet," "wenches," "concupiscent
curds"—to strip away the comfortable illusions we construct around death. We embroider
fancy sheets (like the inadequate one covering the dead woman) to hide death's ugliness,
but they never truly cover it.
The message is clear: Stop pretending. Death is real, ugly, and final. Life is temporary,
sensual, and meant to be experienced fully.
The funeral becomes almost a party, not out of cruelty but out of a profound acceptance.
The living should live—loudly, fully, indulgently—because they too will die. The dead
woman had her time; now it's the turn of those still breathing.