Larkin is not likely to be called aRomantic poet or even a Transcendental poet. I don't care for the anti-romantic poetry Larkin embraces. It is simply too cold, too hopeless and dreary. I believe that he does manage to bring a wisp of transcendent fragrance to the two poems that I have chosen. "Coming" and "An Arundel Tomb" are very different stylistically; however, each poem reveals a soft spot in Larkin's heart. You will find that Larkin has invoked Nature to bring about a childlike happiness in "Coming." He chose free verse for "Coming" and completes his poem in three sentences of different lengths that require close attention to punctuation to fully understand the description of the singing thrush and its location. On the other hand, "An Arundel Tomb" has an unusual rhyme scheme of A,B,B,C,A,C throughout the seven stanzas, giving it a more formal presentation. While "Coming" is a shorter poem with a simple theme, "Tomb" deals with loyalty and love. In both poems, Larkin reveals a desire to express a sentimental mood, even though in "Tomb" he has his cynical moments as well.
For the Transcendental writers, Nature was seen as the gateway to God. Man need only to immerse his attention in the works of Nature, the cycles of the seasons, the manifestation of life quite literally in its basic forms to achieve a heightened sense of awareness of the spiritual axioms upon which life existed. In "Coming" Larkin heralds the coming of Spring by way of a singing thrush surrounded by laurel (the sacred plant of poets) in a bare garden. The house nearby, having been personified earlier as having a forehead, now has its bricks "astonished" by the voice of the bird. Everything is alive! By repeating the line "It will be spring soon" we hear a chant that is almost child-like with excitement. Though he incorporates his own childhood described with such apathetic detail as "a forgotten boredom," he conveys the sense of wonder a child might have at an "adult reconciliation." Clearly Larkin cannot help himself as he interjects the grown-up world and something that is unfathomable by a child, but he delivers a sensational line regarding the unusual laughter that we can almost hear, and the realization that he starts to be happy. Simply put in three words: Nature evokes happiness.
Now we shift gears as we are taken to the Arundel Castle to observe the centuries-old stone carving of an earl and his countess lying together. Larkin painstakingly details for us their attire, as well as the fact that little dogs are under their feet: this is a symbolism of loyalty even though he describes it in a mocking tone. Next we are informed that the earl's hand is not in the left-hand gauntlet, but surprisingly enough, it is holding the hand of his countess. Note the alliteration Larkin uses in these two lines: "and/ One sees, with a sharp tender shock,/ His hand withdrawn, holding her hand." Why is the viewer shocked at this sight? Is there some custom being broken here that a Brit would respond in such a manner? I wouldn't know. Is Larkin's cynical attitude towards relationships threatened here? What is he saying about love? Notice how he juxtaposes "sharp" and "tender." Several stanzas of the poem recount what the statuary has endured through the years: onlookers, snow, birdcalls, and more onlookers. The last stanza, preceded by the line "Only an attitude remains:/" culminates in an interesting conclusion. First he declares that "Time has transfigured them into/ Untruth." Okay, this coming from a misanthropic poet could mean anything. He continues, "The stone fidelity/ They hardly meant has come to be/ their final blazon/." Larkin has taken great privilege here aspiring to tell us their commitment was "hardly meant." And yet he goes on to finish the poem ". . . and to prove/ Our almost-instinct almost true:/ What will survive of us is love." What an ending! By using the word "almost," and even repeating it, we sense that yearning Larkin seems to have toward what is sacred. He has immortalized love, and he has also immortalized the earl and the countess by writing a poem about them. This tomb and the castle where it is located is very rich in the history of Great Britain. Larkin has esteemed it by writing a very sophisticated poem in memory of it.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Time, Tulips, and two Fists
"February" by James Schuyler was published in 1969 in his collection Freely Espousing. Gazing out the window (. . . wasn't he always?) he registers with paper and pen "A chimney, breathing a little smoke." Presumably he is in New York City, as his later reference to seeing a woman at the window leads me to believe he is, and with personification he brings a stack of bricks to life. The City is Alive. His attention is drawn to the late afternoon sky, in particular, the pink afterglow of sunset on the blue sky made by the sun "I cannot see." Using repetition, he writes of the pink "I can't quite see." Why does he point out this inability to see? Perhaps Schuyler's insecurities are up a bit at this time; maybe he is feeling impaired, inadequate, cut off from reality. It's February and in line six, using a very O'Hara-like style, he records the time and date: "at five P.M. on the day before March first." Now his focus is on the five tulips standing in a glass of water on his desk, and more importantly, the green of the stems and leaves "like something I can't remember," a similar repetition of inability only this time it is memory failure. And then he takes us back in time to December, a time when he was by the sea looking at temples when he notices a green wave that is movingin a violet sea . This poetry is full of colors! Striking colors! He references a violet sky. We are pointed to the sky again. The sound of trucks brings him back to the present; he describes them going over a hill on Second Avenue "into the sky." How grounded is he in his present condition one might ask. But then the cement of the poem is poured by the following lines: "I can't get over / how it all works together / like a woman who just came to her window /and stands there filling it / jogging her baby in her arms." What seems to be disjointed imagery, thoughts and memories is brought together by this "how it all works together". After all, it is just life. It is being here Now, in the Moment. "I can see the little fists" Schuyler relates to these little balled up hands. He can see them unlike the images in the beginning of the poem. The baby beyond his window is alive like the pink tulips in his room, like the heart beating in the poet as he pens his observations.
The night is falling. Schuyler closes with a list. It's the this, it's the that. He ends his poem with "It's a day like any other." Pure Schuylerean. It is the ordinary. He makes it beautiful and worthwhile.
The night is falling. Schuyler closes with a list. It's the this, it's the that. He ends his poem with "It's a day like any other." Pure Schuylerean. It is the ordinary. He makes it beautiful and worthwhile.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Jane Freilicher: Early New York Evening, 51 1/2 x 31 3/4 inches, 1954
The Still Life and the Landscape: It’s right there as simple as pie, but there is so much to it. The more you gaze the more you see. Delicate irises on a windowsill overlooking brick buildings, windows, more buildings, vivid colors and then, swoosh, you are in the gray with four delicate smokestacks pumping blue smoke into purple haze canopied by a gorgeous blue sky.
Poetry is exciting to me. When I write and the creative juices are flowing, I feel vibrant with energy. This scene is lively; it has energy. There is repetition: the windows, bright in the lighter red building but few in number as opposed to the windows beyond the sill that flow in a diagonal across the lower half of the painting. Each one of these windows is dressed differently just as a poem has repetition that is distinctly unique. I like a poem that has a rhythm flowing through it, and I sense a rhythm in the painting as it cascades across the canvas.
I like an abstract thought or theme – something that is not obvious at first in my poetry. I really want to engage my reader, challenge my reader, and Freilicher has done this with her precision, her attention to detail, her ability to take industrialism and give it beauty. Art stimulates. A reaction or response is the result. Subtly we are changed some “nth” of a degree. That is art.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Skunk Hour: Voyeur and Varmint
Lowell takes a long, cold look at himself, his art, his life, and his longing to break free of the chains that bind him to the past, and then reveals himself in "Skunk Hour." If we look for Lowell in every stanza, we see that he has immortalized himself in this confessional poem he chose to place at the end of his Life Studies. Does it provide a satisfactory resolution to the poems of the book? I believe that it does when you see that this poem is the most candid revelation of Lowell's life in the series.
In the first stanza Lowell writes of an aristocratic, possibly crazy with old age, lonely woman who lives in her "Spartan cottage" on Nautilus Island. Lowell is an aristocrat: he's very familiar with being an island-type figure in the world of poetry and in society as well. Throughout Life Studies he has shown us the details of being from a very well known family, the lonliness he felt when his uncle was dying, the embarrassment his father caused him, and the difficult assessment in "Waking in the Blue" of having a mental disorder. All these aspects of his life have a degree of isolation involved.
The details of the woman that follow in the second stanza speaks of one who "thirsts" for the old days, the past, the "has-beens". Lowell fears that this describes him as a poet in his earlier years, and attempts to break away from meter and rime, although in "Skunk Hour" we find he is still riming some of his lines; however, these are not conventional rimes. It is more open-verse compared to his earlier writings. The yawl that he references was auctioned off could represent that spiffy, harmonious and sharp style that he is giving up now in order to embrace the poetry that the Beat poets were writing. The red fox stain, perhaps "blood," is the residue remaining of killing off of poetry as he knew it.
The "fairy decorator" refers to the changes that are being made to his place of comfort. The gaudy orange represents the "in your face" style of Ginsberg and his peers, and their lack of reverence for artistic poetry material. Lowell is telling us about his work, his shop, the sharp awl that is used to place holes in a material. Lowell's style is becoming like the awl: he is writing personal information for the world to read, and in doing so he is puncturing himself to allow the real Lowell to flow.
The next stanza, "One dark night," is about voyeurism. As he describes spying on lovers making out in their cars, he is really talking about his own voyeurism realized as he writes of his family in the previous poems. He doesn't just look at them, though, he writes about them. One could argue that he has taken a voyeurs approach to looking at himself and writing what he sees. He concludes "My mind's not right." This is definitely true for Lowell.
In the following stanza what stands out is his statement: "I myself am hell." Another confessional statement about Lowell himself - his life is hell. Hell is a place of punishment and Lowell struggled with feelings of guilt and inadequacy as he tries to live up to the standards of the family legacy.
At last! The varmint. Skunks marching up Main Street with their white stripes and red eyes underneath the church. Lowell, as skunk, dares to take up the sacred hymnal of the church (poetry) and defile it by writing against the standards, against conventional poetry, no longer respecting the poets of years gone by. He thinks he stinks as a poet with his new style, but march on to the new, contemporary swell of the poetry of his peers.
The last stanza he stands on the back steps, his own backyard and breathes the rich air. Is it rich with skunk stench? The skunk goes about her business oblivious of the voyeur and standing her ground - "will not scare." The skunk/the poet will not be frightened away by the onlooker. She remains strong in her survival. Lowell is attempting to survive; he will not give in to those who criticize his work. He will continue to look through his own life, his garbage can, for sustenance.
In the first stanza Lowell writes of an aristocratic, possibly crazy with old age, lonely woman who lives in her "Spartan cottage" on Nautilus Island. Lowell is an aristocrat: he's very familiar with being an island-type figure in the world of poetry and in society as well. Throughout Life Studies he has shown us the details of being from a very well known family, the lonliness he felt when his uncle was dying, the embarrassment his father caused him, and the difficult assessment in "Waking in the Blue" of having a mental disorder. All these aspects of his life have a degree of isolation involved.
The details of the woman that follow in the second stanza speaks of one who "thirsts" for the old days, the past, the "has-beens". Lowell fears that this describes him as a poet in his earlier years, and attempts to break away from meter and rime, although in "Skunk Hour" we find he is still riming some of his lines; however, these are not conventional rimes. It is more open-verse compared to his earlier writings. The yawl that he references was auctioned off could represent that spiffy, harmonious and sharp style that he is giving up now in order to embrace the poetry that the Beat poets were writing. The red fox stain, perhaps "blood," is the residue remaining of killing off of poetry as he knew it.
The "fairy decorator" refers to the changes that are being made to his place of comfort. The gaudy orange represents the "in your face" style of Ginsberg and his peers, and their lack of reverence for artistic poetry material. Lowell is telling us about his work, his shop, the sharp awl that is used to place holes in a material. Lowell's style is becoming like the awl: he is writing personal information for the world to read, and in doing so he is puncturing himself to allow the real Lowell to flow.
The next stanza, "One dark night," is about voyeurism. As he describes spying on lovers making out in their cars, he is really talking about his own voyeurism realized as he writes of his family in the previous poems. He doesn't just look at them, though, he writes about them. One could argue that he has taken a voyeurs approach to looking at himself and writing what he sees. He concludes "My mind's not right." This is definitely true for Lowell.
In the following stanza what stands out is his statement: "I myself am hell." Another confessional statement about Lowell himself - his life is hell. Hell is a place of punishment and Lowell struggled with feelings of guilt and inadequacy as he tries to live up to the standards of the family legacy.
At last! The varmint. Skunks marching up Main Street with their white stripes and red eyes underneath the church. Lowell, as skunk, dares to take up the sacred hymnal of the church (poetry) and defile it by writing against the standards, against conventional poetry, no longer respecting the poets of years gone by. He thinks he stinks as a poet with his new style, but march on to the new, contemporary swell of the poetry of his peers.
The last stanza he stands on the back steps, his own backyard and breathes the rich air. Is it rich with skunk stench? The skunk goes about her business oblivious of the voyeur and standing her ground - "will not scare." The skunk/the poet will not be frightened away by the onlooker. She remains strong in her survival. Lowell is attempting to survive; he will not give in to those who criticize his work. He will continue to look through his own life, his garbage can, for sustenance.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Howling against the Machine
Picture a lone wolf on a mountain peak at dawn's break with a few Fading Stars applauding the howling creature. Alone, yet in time and space. Crying out to whomever will listen. A soul-piercing howl that continues.
"Howl" is Allen Ginsberg as "Wolf on a Mountaintop." It is a celebration of his life as well as the lives of his contemporaries whose lifestyles were non-conventional and controversial. It is a poem written to be read aloud; Ginsberg uses base words such as "who," "Moloch," and "I'm with you in Rockland" repetitively which provide cohesiveness, rhythm, and style to "Howl." The first section is a lengthy assertion of a life that has traveled many places, with many people, in altered states of consciousness - exalting heterosexual and homosexual experiences with a frankness that was considered by some obscene. The second and third section name the enemy and provide insight into madness.
Ginsberg gives voice to those "best minds of my generation" as he profusely elaborates on their collective experiences as they traveled all over the world, seeking transcendence spiritually and via illegal drugs, all the while suffering from the oppression of life. Ginsberg is painstaking in his deliberate effusion of strings of words depicting horrific injustices, disturbing existences, and struggles that pull at the nerves of the audience as they try to grasp the magnitude of aversion expressed by the speaker. In this section it is the WHO that Ginsberg is focused on; the majority of the stanzas begin with "who." He also details "where" with so many differing places listed. This sets up the narrative and tone of the poem.
Ginsberg wrote the third section after the first, and then followed with the second stanza. Consider how smooth the transition is from the end of section one to the salutation: "Carl Solomon!" Here he expounds on madness which he claims in the opening line of the poem destroyed the best minds of his generation. Ginsberg continues to live at Rockland even though now it is only in his mind. Solomon is the vehicle/machine/device that allows this possibility for Ginsberg while maintaining some form of respectability while he lives in San Francisco. Ginsberg longs for the freedom the mental institution provided for total unrestricted expression of madness without judgement. His descriptions of Solomon are likely autobiographical (some of these like playing the piano are documented as Ginsberg's actions) and exaggerated. The expressions of section three are his definitions of madness which has claimed victims in Ginsberg's life from childhood until his late twenties, not excluding himself. It could be said that Ginsberg exalts the condition of madness here.
In section two Ginsberg names the enemy: Moloch. Moloch is responsible for all he deems wrong for society, for his generation, for his country. Moloch as capitalism, as sacrifice, as machine, as industrialism, as government, as heartless judge of man: Moloch is the epitome of evil. Why is this necessary for the poem? As a poet Ginsberg must name the demon that haunts him or else his poetry fails. By naming Moloch the killer of souls, imagination, and generations, Ginsberg assumes power over it. His revelation to society will raise their awareness and give them an opportunity to save themselves. Therefore, in section three Ginsberg gives the anticipation of freedom to the lost. It is the lost whom he writes about: the rest have a Savior.
"Howl" is Allen Ginsberg as "Wolf on a Mountaintop." It is a celebration of his life as well as the lives of his contemporaries whose lifestyles were non-conventional and controversial. It is a poem written to be read aloud; Ginsberg uses base words such as "who," "Moloch," and "I'm with you in Rockland" repetitively which provide cohesiveness, rhythm, and style to "Howl." The first section is a lengthy assertion of a life that has traveled many places, with many people, in altered states of consciousness - exalting heterosexual and homosexual experiences with a frankness that was considered by some obscene. The second and third section name the enemy and provide insight into madness.
Ginsberg gives voice to those "best minds of my generation" as he profusely elaborates on their collective experiences as they traveled all over the world, seeking transcendence spiritually and via illegal drugs, all the while suffering from the oppression of life. Ginsberg is painstaking in his deliberate effusion of strings of words depicting horrific injustices, disturbing existences, and struggles that pull at the nerves of the audience as they try to grasp the magnitude of aversion expressed by the speaker. In this section it is the WHO that Ginsberg is focused on; the majority of the stanzas begin with "who." He also details "where" with so many differing places listed. This sets up the narrative and tone of the poem.
Ginsberg wrote the third section after the first, and then followed with the second stanza. Consider how smooth the transition is from the end of section one to the salutation: "Carl Solomon!" Here he expounds on madness which he claims in the opening line of the poem destroyed the best minds of his generation. Ginsberg continues to live at Rockland even though now it is only in his mind. Solomon is the vehicle/machine/device that allows this possibility for Ginsberg while maintaining some form of respectability while he lives in San Francisco. Ginsberg longs for the freedom the mental institution provided for total unrestricted expression of madness without judgement. His descriptions of Solomon are likely autobiographical (some of these like playing the piano are documented as Ginsberg's actions) and exaggerated. The expressions of section three are his definitions of madness which has claimed victims in Ginsberg's life from childhood until his late twenties, not excluding himself. It could be said that Ginsberg exalts the condition of madness here.
In section two Ginsberg names the enemy: Moloch. Moloch is responsible for all he deems wrong for society, for his generation, for his country. Moloch as capitalism, as sacrifice, as machine, as industrialism, as government, as heartless judge of man: Moloch is the epitome of evil. Why is this necessary for the poem? As a poet Ginsberg must name the demon that haunts him or else his poetry fails. By naming Moloch the killer of souls, imagination, and generations, Ginsberg assumes power over it. His revelation to society will raise their awareness and give them an opportunity to save themselves. Therefore, in section three Ginsberg gives the anticipation of freedom to the lost. It is the lost whom he writes about: the rest have a Savior.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Rear Window: A Revelation re: Relationships
Can a voyeur see his own life experience while watching the lives of others? In Rear Window, Alfred Hitchcock sets out to prove that L.B. Jeffries (Jimmy Stewart) does indeed peer into his own relationship with girlfriend/fiance socialite Lisa Carol Freemont(Grace Kelly) as he watches the lives of his neighbors through his rear window.
We see the ballerina as she practices her dance steps around her rooms which parallels with Jeffries own dancing around he does with Lisa as she tries to talk seriously to him about their relationship. He doesn't want to commit to marriage, and with a witty dialogue he outmaneuvers Lisa in the conversation. The ballerina entertains several men at once, the same as Jeffries work as photographer entertains many different subjects. He uses his line of work as an excuse for not being able to marry Lisa. She is not suitable for the rough environments that his work takes him. Although Ms. Torso entertains quite a bit, a soldier "comes home" and she greets him. He may represent the war that is going on between Jeffries and Lisa regarding marriage.
Then there is Ms. Lonelyheart who attempts to entertain an imaginary guest for dinner; this occurs at the same time Lisa is preparing dinner and wine for Jeffries but he is absorbed with his neighbor, and lifts a toast with Ms. Lonelyheart while ignoring Lisa. Ms. Lonelyheart eventually collapses in dismay at her failure to enjoy the evening. Jeffries and Lisa argue about their future or lack thereof. Later on in the film, Ms. Lonelyheart goes to dinner and brings home a young man. But when he tries to get fresh with her, she slaps him and makes him leave, collapsing again in tears. There is a sexual energy at play there across the terrace. There is distance between Jeffries and Lisa created by their different lifestyles, and each display a somewhat lonely appearance. Lisa shows frustration with Jeffries because their relationship is stagnant and not going anywhere. Jeffries is immobile and impotent. Lisa is all over New York City and and a whirlpool of sexual energy.
Now consider Mr. Composer. He composes a sad tune that reflects the sadness in the stalemate of the Jeffries/Lisa relationship. Then he entertains and the music is livlier and more festive. As Lisa joins Jeffries in solving the murder mystery they are more involved with each other; she becomes the sleuth that Jeffries needs, and their energy stimulates each other. There is excitement in the air!
The newlyweds enter their apartment in love as can be expected and close their blinds as they consummate the marriage. Eventually we see them quarrelling representing the future of marriage as Jeffries pictures it to be. Status Quo. So this may be a possibility for him and Lisa, but given her personality and character, highly unlikely. She's not your average woman.
The Thorwalds are the epitomy of the ruined marriage. The sickly, nagging wife, suspicious of the unfaithful husband, he carries out her murder and hides the body under the guise of sending her on a trip. Their relationship parallels with Jeffries pessimistic and unhealthy views of marriage. Lisa, on the other hand, confronts Mr. Thorwald, indicating that she holds the power in the relationship, and can outsmart the villian. Unlike the sickly Mrs. Thorwald, Lisa has personal power; by solving the murder mystery she shows Jeffries she has all the qualities of the woman he is searching for.
By allowing the viewer to see into the lives of the other apartment dwellers, Hitchcock reveals a number of possible relationship problems. When these issues are acted out openly, we can compare what is happening behind the rear window to the activity beyond it. Hitchcock puts in on the table in full view for Jeffries and Lisa to see and either relate to or resist what is being acted out. Hitchcock also plays upon the notion that what is obvious is not always what is readily seen. Does he turn it around to the notion that what is seen is not always what is obvious? You tell me.
We see the ballerina as she practices her dance steps around her rooms which parallels with Jeffries own dancing around he does with Lisa as she tries to talk seriously to him about their relationship. He doesn't want to commit to marriage, and with a witty dialogue he outmaneuvers Lisa in the conversation. The ballerina entertains several men at once, the same as Jeffries work as photographer entertains many different subjects. He uses his line of work as an excuse for not being able to marry Lisa. She is not suitable for the rough environments that his work takes him. Although Ms. Torso entertains quite a bit, a soldier "comes home" and she greets him. He may represent the war that is going on between Jeffries and Lisa regarding marriage.
Then there is Ms. Lonelyheart who attempts to entertain an imaginary guest for dinner; this occurs at the same time Lisa is preparing dinner and wine for Jeffries but he is absorbed with his neighbor, and lifts a toast with Ms. Lonelyheart while ignoring Lisa. Ms. Lonelyheart eventually collapses in dismay at her failure to enjoy the evening. Jeffries and Lisa argue about their future or lack thereof. Later on in the film, Ms. Lonelyheart goes to dinner and brings home a young man. But when he tries to get fresh with her, she slaps him and makes him leave, collapsing again in tears. There is a sexual energy at play there across the terrace. There is distance between Jeffries and Lisa created by their different lifestyles, and each display a somewhat lonely appearance. Lisa shows frustration with Jeffries because their relationship is stagnant and not going anywhere. Jeffries is immobile and impotent. Lisa is all over New York City and and a whirlpool of sexual energy.
Now consider Mr. Composer. He composes a sad tune that reflects the sadness in the stalemate of the Jeffries/Lisa relationship. Then he entertains and the music is livlier and more festive. As Lisa joins Jeffries in solving the murder mystery they are more involved with each other; she becomes the sleuth that Jeffries needs, and their energy stimulates each other. There is excitement in the air!
The newlyweds enter their apartment in love as can be expected and close their blinds as they consummate the marriage. Eventually we see them quarrelling representing the future of marriage as Jeffries pictures it to be. Status Quo. So this may be a possibility for him and Lisa, but given her personality and character, highly unlikely. She's not your average woman.
The Thorwalds are the epitomy of the ruined marriage. The sickly, nagging wife, suspicious of the unfaithful husband, he carries out her murder and hides the body under the guise of sending her on a trip. Their relationship parallels with Jeffries pessimistic and unhealthy views of marriage. Lisa, on the other hand, confronts Mr. Thorwald, indicating that she holds the power in the relationship, and can outsmart the villian. Unlike the sickly Mrs. Thorwald, Lisa has personal power; by solving the murder mystery she shows Jeffries she has all the qualities of the woman he is searching for.
By allowing the viewer to see into the lives of the other apartment dwellers, Hitchcock reveals a number of possible relationship problems. When these issues are acted out openly, we can compare what is happening behind the rear window to the activity beyond it. Hitchcock puts in on the table in full view for Jeffries and Lisa to see and either relate to or resist what is being acted out. Hitchcock also plays upon the notion that what is obvious is not always what is readily seen. Does he turn it around to the notion that what is seen is not always what is obvious? You tell me.
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