The scholar of one candle

I have been thinking about readers of poetry, and a phrase by Wallace Stevens keeps occuring to me - "the scholar of one candle" in The Auroras of Autumn. Various writers have interpreted this as Stevens himself, the poet, and the reader...

.......He opens the door of his house
On flames. The scholar of one candle sees
An Arctic effulgence flaring on the frame
Of everything he is. And he feels afraid.

(Auroras of Autumn, section VI.)

The scholar, here most identifiable as Stevens/the poet, only has one candle, a meager source of light (truth), energy, force, beauty, transformation, power. As a late poem this naturally seems to reflect on Stevens' sense of approaching death as well as the power of nature (the aurora borealis) over the puny skill of individual humans. This isn't a summary of the poem, however - not only is it 10 sections long, but Stevens can skilfully compress ideas into powerful symbols that mean more than he states.

Nevertheless I have often come across this poem, and the short lines I have quoted above, discussed as key aspects of Stevens' work, and when thinking about the idea of "the reader of poetry" (in which I include myself, of course), as someone overwhelmed with a light that they also possess in part - someone who is afraid of, but recognises and loves, this light. For me the idea of a reader is not a distant, passive, objective function, but immediate, passionate, and active - the poem is not complete unless the text is read or listened to and responded to. The poem is not just words on a page or in the air, but the creator, creation and recipient interacting together.

This is not an original idea; I have found it in many guises, including in poets and poems. One of these is another Stevens poem, The House was Quiet and the World was Calm. The word scholar is used for the reader, who blurs into the book which blurs into the house and the world. The activity of reading becomes or makes a quiet, calm space in which everything, including the reader, is indistinguishable from everything else:

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

Reading this poem, I recognise that special space I have often felt when reading, especially poetry.