The speaker of Elizabeth Bishop's "Filling Station" describes a seemingly derelict gas station and the dirty, "greasy" family running it. Though first struck only by the station's thick layer of grime, the speaker soon begins to notice homey, decorative details that suggest that the family lives there and that "Somebody" is taking tender care of things. This realization, in turn, pushes the speaker to reflect that love exists in even the most ordinary, uninspiring places. "Filling Station" was published in Bishop's third poetry collection, Questions of Travel, in 1965.
The speaker describes an alarmingly filthy little gas station. It's absolutely drenched in oil, to the point that the whole place seems covered in a sheer, unsettling layer of black. It's definitely not safe to light a match in there!
The father who runs the station wears a filthy uniform that's also drenched in oil and fits him too tightly beneath his arms. The gas station is a family-run business, and some of the father's quick, cheeky, grimy, and equally filthy sons help him out.
The speaker wonders if the family actually lives in the filling station, given that there's a concrete porch behind the gasoline pumps, on top of which is a cluster of run-down wicker furniture that's utterly saturated with grease. A filthy dog is sitting on the wicker couch, looking rather cozy.
The one hint of any color in the gas station comes from a stack of comic books, which rest atop a large, dingy crocheted mat that's been laid across a small table or cabinet, next to a big, fuzzy begonia plant.
What's the point of the unnecessary begonia, the speaker wonders, or of the little table? And what on earth is the point of that crocheted mat, embroidered using decorative, floral stitches in dense, gray material?
There's someone, the speaker says, who made that decorative mat and who waters that begonia (or, better point, oils it, the speaker jokes). Likewise, there's someone who neatly organizes the "Esso" brand oil cans, arranging them in a way that allows the "so" part of their labels to stand out; it looks like they're gently whispering that "so" over and over again to the temperamental vehicles that come to the gas station. There's someone, the speaker concludes, who loves each and every one of us.
The speaker of "Filling Station" describes a small, dingy gas station, initially seeming aghast at how "dirty" and "greasy" the space is. The speaker's disdain soon gives way to curiosity, however, as they begin to wonder about the family running the station and notice the subtle but tender work that they've done to make the place more comfortable. The closer the speaker looks, the more they realize that, despite the station's rundown appearance, a lot of love and care go into maintaining it. The poem thus suggests the value of setting aside judgment for curiosity, something that encourages empathy by pushing people to see beyond the surface of things.
The speaker isn't impressed with this shabby little gas station at first, which they say is so thoroughly "permeated" with oil that the whole place looks "black." They note that the "Father" who runs the station "wears a dirty, / oil-soaked monkey suit" (uniform) that's too small for him, while his "greasy sons" are also "quite thoroughly dirty." The speaker also notices some oil-saturated wicker furniture, including a "sofa" where a "dirty dog" is curled up. Even the bit of brightness "provide[d]" by a pile of "comic books" seems somehow distasteful to the speaker, contributing to the overall squalor of the scene.
The closer the speaker looks, however, the more their thoughts move from judgment, to curiosity to, eventually, appreciation. They begin to notice small signs of domesticity, which prompt them to wonder if the family who runs the station in fact lives there and to see the place in a new light. There's a "cement porch / behind the pumps," for instance, where the family must sit and rest. Those comic books are piled on top of a "doily" (an ornamental lace mat) that's draped over "a taboret" (a word referring either to a stool or a low cabinet/stand), which stands next to a huge, fuzzy "begonia" (a flowering, decorative plant). The doily may be "dim" with dust or oil, but its decorative presence still stands out in this harsh and utilitarian environment.
Startled by these observations, the speaker wonders: "Why the extraneous" (inessential) "plant? / Why the taboret?" In other words, why is the family bothering with decoration when the place is so filthy? "Why, oh why, the doily," the speaker asks, bewildered by the presence of this delicate and utterly unnecessary object.
Yet these objects (along with some carefully arranged oil "cans") speak to the human need for beauty, comfort, and entertainment. The speaker notes that the dog on the sofa is "dirty," but also "quite comfy," suggesting that it feels safe and at home around its owners. And it occurs to the speaker that "Somebody" spent time "embroider[ing]" the beautiful doily; maybe the doily and comic books are how the family passes their time when they're not working.
The speaker thus begins to see the humanity that exists in the gas station and concludes that "Somebody loves us all," ending the poem on a warm note that contrasts with its skeptical opening. Curiosity is a powerful tool, the poem suggests, one able to lead people away from judgment and towards empathy.
The final line of "Filling Station" reveals that the poem is an unlikely commentary on love—or, perhaps, a commentary on unlikely love. This dirty gas station turns out to be a testament to the closeness of the family who runs it, as well as to the kind of love that hard work demands. Eventually, the filling station seems to fill the speaker with warmth and affection as they notice all its homey, even charming, details. The poem thus suggests that love isn't always picturesque or easy. Its sources are often humble and its upkeep is challenging, but people can find it everywhere—if they know how to look.
The speaker's descriptions of the station suggest that this is a difficult business maintained by both hard work and a strong family foundation. The speaker specifies that this is "a family filling station," run by a "Father" and the "sons" who "assist him." These sons are described as "quick and saucy" (or cheeky), suggesting that they have a teasing, casual relationship with their father. The speaker feels a kind of warmth and playfulness emanating from them as they go about their work.
The poem may also hint at the presence of a mother or other family member, as the speaker imagines "Somebody" who must have "Embroidered" the doilies "in daisy stitch / with marguerites." That the speaker recognizes the specific patterns of "crochet" suggests this kind of work is familiar to them. It might not be as obvious as the main work of the gas station, but it reflects the overall homey spirit of the place.
The speaker adds that "Somebody waters the plant, / or oils it, maybe," again recognizing the work that goes into running this station (even if they're still a bit snarky about how dirty it is). The station may be covered in grease, but someone takes the time to carefully align"cans" of motor oil "so that they softly say: / ESSO—SO—SO—SO." In other words, someone put effort into making an attractive display; somebody cares about this place and puts real love into it. This love might not be grand and showy, but it is real. It's the love of people working together—a love that can be felt even by a complete stranger.
Oh, but it ...
... with that match!
The speaker begins the poem with vivid imagery, conveying just how utterly filthy the filling (or gas) station of the title is. Notice how short /i/ assonance adds intensity to these opening lines, emphasizing the speaker's shock as they exclaim:
Oh, but it is dirty!
—this little filling station,
The station is dirty, the speaker continues, because it's "oil-soaked, oil-permeated." These two descriptions mean the same thing, and the repetitiveness of the speaker's language draws attention to the culprit for the gas station's less-than-stellar appearance: motor oil.
It makes sense that a filling station would have motor oil everywhere, but the speaker's insistence suggests that there is more than a normal amount of grease in this particular spot. Still, the speaker is being a bit hyperbolic; the station certainly has oil residue all over the place, but it isn't literally drenched through and through with grease. The exaggeration here helps to convey the speaker's distaste for the scene at hand.
Asyndeton (the lack of coordinating conjunction between "oil-soaked" and "oil-permeated") speeds things up, as does the enjambment across lines 3-5 ("oil-soaked [...] translucency"). This speed creates the sense that the speaker is looking around quickly and dismissively.
According to the speaker, the place is so dirty that it's "disturbing," the whole place smothered in the translucent "black" of oil. The speaker warns someone (A fellow visitor to the station? The reader?), "Be careful with that match!" The place is liable to go up in flames, not simply dirty but dangerous.
Father wears a ...
... quite thoroughly dirty.
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Get LitCharts A+Do they live ...
... dog, quite comfy.
Some comic books ...
... big hirsute begonia.
Why the extraneous ...
... with gray crochet.)
Somebody embroidered the ...
... loves us all.
The "doily" stands out amidst the dirty, utilitarian environment of the filling station, symbolizing the love and care that "Somebody" (perhaps the unseen mother of this family) put into making the station feel more like a home. Its presence reminds the speaker that "Somebody loves us all."
The speaker's descriptions of the doily slowly reveal its significance. When they first notice it "draping a taboret" (a small, portable cabinet or table), they describe it as "big" and "dim," suggesting that it's smudged with dirt and oil. Something so delicate doesn't seem to belong in such a practical environment.
But as the speaker wonders about the point of the doily ("Why, oh why, the doily?"), they begin to think about the work that went into making it. It's "Embroidered in daisy stitch / with marguerites," decorative floral patterns at odds with its dingy surroundings. Whoever made this doily seems to have taken their time.
Note, too, that embroidery, traditionally, has been linked with women's work. The lacy doily, with its "daisy stitch," stands out not just because it's decorative, but also because it suggests a female presence in the otherwise masculine world of the filling station, occupied by the father and his "greasy sons."
Like the doily, the begonia symbolizes the love and care that the family put into taking care of the filling station. When the speaker first notices that "big hirsute" (or bushy) plant, they think it's "extraneous" (or unnecessary). They can't understand the point of trying to spruce the place up with a plant when it's so dirty; it seems pointless.
Yet as the speaker thinks about the fact that "Somebody waters the plant," they begin to see the station a little differently. There's someone who takes the time to tend to that plant, to keep it alive. Its presence speaks not just to the fact that "Somebody loves us all," but that this love is essential to life itself.
The poem uses lots of repetition, which creates rhythm, musicality, and emphasis.
Some repetitions occur across stanzas. For instance, the word "dirty" appears in lines 1, 7, 13, and 20:
The repetition makes it impossible to ignore this key element of the gas station: it is almost shockingly unclean. The speaker also frequently repeats some version of the words "oil" and "grease":
All in all, these repetitions emphasize that oil and grease have infiltrated every square inch of this place as well as the people who work and possibly live there.
There are other forms of repetition in the poem too. For example, listen to the polysyndeton in lines 10-11, which makes the adjectives describing the sons pile up in a potentially limitless list:
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
It sounds like the speaker could go on and on describing just how filthy these sons are.
Finally, note that the poem can practically be broken in half based on the words the speaker repeats:
The repetitions in the poem's first half highlight the gas station's utilitarian ugliness, while those in the poem's second half highlight the human touch that nevertheless fills the space. The gas station might be filthy, but it's also speckled with evidence that someone cares for it and the people working there.
(The poem also contains a great deal of anaphora, discussed in a separate entry in this guide.)
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A place where people can refuel their vehicles, get oil changes, and so on (a gas station).
"Filling Station" contains 41 lines broken up into six stanzas of 6-8 lines apiece. Though they lack a perfectly regular meter or rhyme scheme, the lines are fairly uniform, each between 5 and 9 syllables in length. The poem thus feels consistent and controlled but not rigid. Frequent enjambment pulls readers down the page as the speaker begins to take a closer look at the filling station and discover the love that exists beneath all the grime.
While it looks, at first, like it's written in pure free verse, "Filling Station" actually features a loose accentual meter. This means that, instead of using a strict pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables, each line contains a similar number of stresses that can appear in any order. Here, lines generally contain three stresses. Take lines 16-20, for example:
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a dirty dog, quite comfy.
As readers can see, the pattern isn't rigid; some lines have two or four stressed beats, and some are open to interpretation. Accentual verse allows the poem to feel rhythmic and musical without feeling overly controlled. This loose use of meter makes the poem sound more conversational and casual rather than formal. This makes sense, given that the speaker is detailing a very ordinary place.
"Filling Station" doesn't use a rhyme scheme. Like many poets of her generation, Bishop preferred more natural-sounding rhythms. The poem's language feels casual and conversational, while frequent assonance, consonance, and alliteration create subtle music (as in "little filling," "dirty dog, quite comfy," "gray crochet," and so on).
It makes particular sense to skip a steady, obvious pattern of rhyme in a poem about a gas station. The lack of regular rhyme mirrors the station's lack of obvious beauty and charm. The speaker has to dig a little deeper to find what makes this place special, and this is reflected in the poem's understated lyricism.
The speaker of "Filling Station" is anonymous—they don't share anything about themselves, such as their age or gender. They've presumably stopped at this "dirty" filling station to refuel or tune up their vehicle. Instead of focusing on themselves, the speaker observes (and, at first, judges) the appearance of the gas station and the people who run it.
The speaker only refers to themselves once throughout the entire poem, in fact, when they notice a certain kind of "Embroider[y]" used to make the doily:
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)
This aside implies that the speaker is somewhat familiar with embroidery and understands the effort that must have gone into creating this decorative object. Indeed, right after this observation, the speaker reflects that "Somebody embroidered the doily" as an act of love and care. By setting aside their judgment for curiosity, the speaker is able to feel a sense of connection and perhaps even kinship with this place and the family running it.
The poem takes place, as the title reveals, in a filling station: a place for people to refuel their vehicles, get an oil change, etc. This particular station is extremely "dirty," so drenched with motor oil that the whole thing looks coated in a layer of slick, "black translucency." The "Father" running the place is just as dirty as his surroundings, and he wears an ill-fitting "oil-soaked monkey suit" (or uniform). His sons are "greasy" and "quite thoroughly dirty as well." The filth of this place seemingly penetrates everything, and everyone, it touches.
There are also some markers of domesticity, which prompt the speaker to wonder if the family "live[s] in the station." For example, the speaker describes "a cement porch" where the family keeps some "grease-impregnated wickerwork" (woven furniture utterly soaked through with grease—not exactly an enticing place to sit, but a place to sit nonetheless). A "dirty dog" is curled up on the furniture, looking "quite comfy" despite the filth.
There is also one splash of "color" from a pile of "comic books" that sit atop a "doily," but even this piece of decoration is "dim" with dust or grime. The speaker doesn't linger on its filth, however. Instead, they notice that the "taboret" (or low table/cabinet) the doily rests on is one of a "set" (presumably the wicker furniture set on the porch) and that there is a big, bushy "begonia" (a kind of plant) sitting next to it. These are purely decorative touches, there to make the station feel homier.
The speaker also observes that the doily is "Embroidered in daisy stitch / with marguerites." That the speaker is familiar with these specific stitches suggests they know a thing or two about embroidery, and perhaps their feelings of empathy and connection with the family stem in part from this small realization. Though this place and everyone in it is covered in grease, the sight of these little details prompts the speaker to reflect that "Somebody" cares deeply for the station and the people working there.
In the last stanza, the speaker describes the "rows of [Esso motor oil] cans" that are arranged so that their labels are all aligned, seeming to whisper to the cars that come and go. This again suggests the effort that goes into taking care of the gas station, even if it isn't immediately apparent.
Elizabeth Bishop was a celebrated American poet, as well as a short story writer, painter, and translator. Bishop created visual art throughout her life and kept multimedia journals. Her work is sometimes described as imagistic; she tends to describe the physical world in minute detail, often while exploring themes of loss, belonging, and yearning. "Filling Station" is a great example of Bishop's distinctive style, with the speaker's close observations of their environment eventually giving way to the revelation that love abounds in even the unlikeliest places. Bishop published "Filling Station" in her third poetry collection, Questions of Travel, in 1965.
The time frame of Bishop's career places her within the generation of Confessional poets. These poets—who included Bishop's peers Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath, as well as her longtime friend Robert Lowell—emphasized the autobiographical in their poetry, often highlighting intense emotional and psychological experiences. Bishop, however, was critical of this mode of writing and resisted including such detailed or direct personal accounts in her poems. Though her poems draw on her life, they often do so with a degree of distance and convey their feeling in indirect or ironic ways.
Bishop was also a gay woman writer in the male-dominated 20th-century literary world, and even her implied portrayals of same-sex love led to rejections from publications like Poetry and the New Yorker. It's fair, then, to see her restrained, indirect approach as both an artistic decision and a professional prerequisite. She asserted that she didn't want to be judged on the basis of her sexual orientation or gender, but on the quality of her work as a poet.
Bishop had a difficult, traumatic early life: her father died when she was only a baby, and her mother was institutionalized not long after. She lived with her mother's parents in Nova Scotia until her father's family (whom she hardly knew) demanded custody, and at the age of six, she had to move to Massachusetts to live with them. She bounced between cold and often abusive households until she finally escaped to Vassar College, where she met fellow poet Marianne Moore and, inspired, began to develop a whole new style of writing.
Bishop also traveled extensively throughout southern Europe and northern Africa, recording many of her observations in verse. Half the poems in Questions of Travel, the collection in which Filling "Station" appears, were written in Brazil, where Bishop lived for 15 years. (The others—including this poem—were written elsewhere.)
The wider 20th-century world around Bishop was chaotic and troubled. She lived through World War I, World War II, and the turbulent 1960s and '70s. But for the most part, the painfully shy Bishop strove to avoid the outside world: she was most at ease when traveling to secluded islands, or holed up in the Library of Congress (where she worked for a time as a poetry consultant).
All through these difficult times, poetry was Bishop's escape and solace. The detailed portrait of the filling station in this poem suggests that pure, focused attention was one way she learned to transcend an often painful life.
The Poet's Life and Work — A biography of Bishop from the Poetry Foundation.
A Breakdown of Bishop's Poetic Style — A brief video introduction to Bishop's work.
A Reading of the Poem — Listen to "Filling Station" read out loud.
Read an Interview with the Poet — Bishop discusses her poetry and influences in this 1977 Ploughshares interview.