There is a poignant irony in the poem. The traveler is physically moving at high speeds, yet emotionally, they are paralyzed, stuck "looking at." Tan suggests that the faster we move, the harder it is to truly touch the places we pass. We become ghosts in our own narratives—present, but intangible.
For students or readers analyzing this work, it is helpful to look for recurring symbols of "thresholds"—doors, windows, or arrival gates—which represent the moments between who we were and who we are becoming. Poetic Devices | Definition, Types & Examples - QuillBot
Unlike Elizabeth Bishop’s “Questions of Travel,” which wrestles with the morality of being a tourist, or Matsuo Bashō’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North , which finds spiritual elevation in walking, Tan’s poem is decidedly post-9/11, post-globalization. There is no romance of the open road. Instead, “Journeys” aligns more with the disquiet of Mark Strand’s “Eating Poetry” or the urban alienation of Frank O’Hara—where movement leads not to discovery but to further dislocation.
Depending on your academic or personal interests, you might approach "From Journeys" through one of the following lenses:
Memory is portrayed as a physical, challenging landscape to be navigated. Conclusion: The Universality of the Journey
Tan’s color palette is also worth noting. The poem is drenched in red: "orange-sun," "red silk-cotton flowers," "blood red morning sun," "brownish red ginger-flavoured" tea, and "red roasted flesh". This chromatic obsession links disparate elements (the natural, the culinary, the violent) into a single, oppressive atmosphere. The final lines collapse the distinction entirely: "the red colour sometimes sun, sometimes silk-cotton flowers / or the blood which I mistook for flowers". In the world of "Journeys," to look at a flower is to see blood, and to see the sun is to see a great, fiery wound in the sky.
The tone balances a longing for the past with a quiet apprehension about the future. This is reinforced by a speaker who frequently admits to "forgetting," suggesting that memory is as much a part of the journey as the road itself. Poetic Devices