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The Victorians
For Christina to be around so much death, this must have taken its toll
on her. She was especially close to her brother whose wife killed
herself after the death of their still born child. The poem called;
Song has the feeling of melancholy, and yet there is an unmistakable
sense of ones mortality, life’s ephemeral quality.
When I am dead my dearest.
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
(Song, 75)
The magical world of goblins and fruit has a childlike quality amidst
the succulent fruits plucked from vines. One hears how the Victorians
really enjoyed their sumptuous feasts?
In the United States post Industrial age, everything is drive-through
and 5 minutes meals. The closest I have come to a more leisure time was
in Iran, with my Persian family, and with the Italians in Italy (where
one works to live.
The Victorians were not as repressed as the undergarments they were
made to wear. The floor length dresses hid feminine curves, all the
more erotic when you read the fervent unconscious desires of Christina
Rossetti! The poets and painters of the day do however, offer a glimpse
into thie world and provide an intimate view. Reading the lives of the
poets, even from a Norton Anthology is a rather compressed perspective,
but it does offer a glimpse.
Confession: I love reading the introductions to learn about the
lives of the poets, sometimes more than the actual works. Side by side
however, it gives one a complimentary view.
Interesting factoids: Chastity Belts: is it fact or fiction? Turns
out it may have sprung up during the 19th century, not the middle ages
as some might think. In fact, they were “anti masturbation devices for
both men and women, although now they appear to be more S& M props.
Sexual repressions aside, some of the written works are wonderful!
Even Oscar Wilde’s quotations taken out of context are great fun.
Quotes like:
Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.
I’m a bit late in getting my 10 quotations for my journal (To span one
month's time, so the following will contain at least 20 some odd quotes
and journalistic prose to compliment what I’m learning.) Of course what
are words without pictures? So, I will try not to disappoint in this
regard.
Lord Tennyson
Imagine growing up in a dysfunctional family of eleven children; I
cannot fathom this.
Madness, epilepsy, addiction and a patriarch who was a raging
alcoholic? From this world sprung a poet, Alfred Tennyson, a poet
through and through. According to Norton's Anthology of British Literature, Alfred was haunted by fear of the “black blood of the Tennysons.” (584)
I suppose this was his legacy, saved for the warmth of his mother.
But, it’s from this background that Tennyson read the books of poets and lived the life of a poet. From a literary standpoint maybe a dose of Camelot and the Arthurian Legends produced lines such as:
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."(592)
While some poets live a life of obscurity and only find fame after
their death. Tennyson was well regarded during his life. Yet, the
familiar quest in the balance of art and life, it seems Tennyson had a
business deal go awry. (A scheme for carving wood by machinery where he
lost all his money) I can appreciate the desperation of a poet who
takes a chance even though there is the risk of losing. I find this a
struggle for myself in my own life. The life of an artist how does one
prosper?
I was quite taken by Ulysses. In it Tennyson imparts tender morsels of breadth and depth.
Of course Greek Mythology, always pulls me in (My name Lygeia comes from the story of the siren women—half bird)
“I am part of all that I have met………….
For always roaming with a hungry heart……
From that eternal silence something more..”
(593)
And to know of death and the affect of one so dear, Tennyson as a poet
was influenced by his supporter and closest friend. In Memoriam A.H.H.
a tribute to a mentor and a healthier representation of “family” if not
by blood. As a writer moving from the music sphere…I hope to find the
same. One must seek it out, be willing to risk those who don’t always
“get” who you are. Or, try to stifle your passions.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise
Like dull narcotics numbing pain.
(601)
Hopefully Academia will not cause too much static and dissonance.
Form has its place, I know. The mechanics are part of this journey, yet
I know that which cannot be contained and measured
is not an exact science.
Elizabeth Browning
Most intriguing is a writer who marries at 40 years of age, and names
her son “Pen” Hopefully I may one day meet someone as well...who
accepts me as I am. While I do have son with three letters (Kai) I have
yet to meet the kind of man, a kindred spirit who sought her out. Is it
not possible to meet someone with whom you can be yourself?
And of the writing, the words and the spaces between…?
"Will write my story for my better self,
As when you paint your portrait for a friend,
Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it
Long after he has ceased to love you, just
To hold together what he was and is."
(Aurora Leigh, Book One)
In all my cosmological wonder Ms. Browning reflects these words back to me in a
happen chance:
"That murmur of the outer Infinite
(Book One)
Robert Browning
“Art Remains the one way possible…of speaking truth”
Browning
Note to self: I have the sense that Elizabeth may never have
married if not for Robert Browning, who was 7 years her junior. Just a
hunch I guess.
What an interesting man. Peculiar that as ones life expectancy was
brief during the Victorian age, that Browning lived with his parents
till he was 34? His mother was a non- conformist I can appreciate that.
Also, his creative life was fully expressive he dabbled in many art
forms. On a side note Susan from English 206 class was reminded of me
when she read his intro. Hmmm OK..
The first poem I read of his Porphyria’s Lover? The unexpected dark
turn, when Porphyria is strangled with her golden hair? The murderous
act, a dramatic departure from Words worth and the Romantic poets that
came before. Do people have unconscious desires to be enacted in the
verses of a poem? Or is life so tenuous that one realizes that as one
holds
on to a lover that he or she may die so suddenly?
"No pain felt she"
(Porphyria’s lover, 662)
"And yet God has not said a word!"
(663)
Matthew Arnold
Like many artists, Arnold was a bit “tortured.” The emotionality
of art, and creating art, is something I can relate to. Also, was
Matthew Arnold’s love of outdoors and away from the confines of the
classroom. I can surely relate to that!
So, as an exercise I will allow myself to go there. Let my mind travel to a wider expanse of earth and sky.
“Where the sea meets the moon blanched land, Listen!”.
(Dover beach, 751)
“For the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams”
(752)
Arnold wasn’t all about poetry though, he also ventures into the
critical essay as a means of expression. Culture and Anarchy, is the
name of his important works. He was after all a Professor of Poetry at
Oxford, so he was a learned man, and was a believer in teaching respect
for “beauty and light.” I think I would have liked to have sat in on
one of his lectures!
“The disparagers of culture make its motive curiosity;
sometimes, indeed,
they make its motive
mere exclusiveness and vanity.”
(Sweetness and Light, 752)
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So long to have been silent, but technical snafus aside----------I am back!
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| After a long sojourn I will resume my entries. The cause of my absence?
Perhaps I was hiding, immersed in schoolwork----but I return now to
chronicle thoughts and scattered images. I was prompted to return to W
o r d S h i f t, because of an assignment for my English 206 class. I
needed a bit of a push, so here’s a shout out to my Professor, Mr.
Moore. Thanks for being the catalyst that help words flow forth again!
This entry relates to readings from Longman’s text, British Literature
Volume B. I was instructed to pull 10 quotations from my readings with
commentary. So, without further adieu here’s a taste of William Blake,
in a poem entitled, The Fly.
The Fly
Little fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death,
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
William Blake (1757-1827)
I’m reminded of my childhood when everything shifted and I
became more conscious of a world bigger than my physical sphere.
Without defining my spiritual practice, I suppose I lean towards
animism, this took a leap as a girl of 7 or 8 years old when I gave
birth to my senses. Blake’s, The Fly reminds me to that change, when a
small winged creature was no different than I. The ephemeral quality of
life, for in an instant to swat a fly whose demise is sudden and swift
has consequence. That I may become aware of how infinitesimally small I
am as I relate to the universe. Just a speck am I, when I became aware
of all living things and my connectedness. It began with catching
butterflies and setting them free in the garden, and took a more tragic
turn one hot summer day in Tehran, the day a bird I had somehow trapped
in a shed died, from lack of air and light to see.
The next quotation is pulled from Mary
Wollstonecraft, a vindication of the Rights of Woman. (162) Mary was
drawing a comparison Between Newton being a superior being trapped in
the human body. To somehow equate this with a women who are perhaps
trapped in a designated role by virtue of their femaleness.
“I have been led to imagine that the few
extraordinary women who have rushed in eccentrical directions out of
the orbit prescribed to their sex, were male spirited, confined by
mistake in a female frame. But if it be not philosophical to think of
sex when the soul is mentioned, the inferiority must depend on the
organs; or the heavenly fire, which is to ferment the clay, is not
given in equal portions…”
Mary Wollstonecraft
It’s an interesting parallel, and considering Mary wrote this
first as “Anonymous” followed by the second edition in 1791 in her name
is remarkable. Although much has changed since this time it still is
quite evident that in my own experience as a woman the body in which I
am born and the choices I have made are connected to my femaleness and
how others view me. I ‘m reminded to one day in Manhattan having just
arrived when a man with carefully measured advice told me New York was
too tough for a girl like me and I should run back to California where
I belong. I remember turning to him and exclaiming, “No, I’m fiercely
independent” My visceral response had much to do with his perception of
me as a woman. It’s interesting to note that I stayed in New York for
some time, but my choices in work had very much to do with being a
young woman, I soon became, "Maria the Go-Go girl" (Ok that’s another
story….)
Also from a Vindication of the rights of Woman, is the following
passage from Chapter 3 (163)
“The first care of those mothers or fathers who really attend to
the education of females should be, if not to strengthen the body, at
least not to destroy the constitution by mistaken notions of beauty and
female excellence; nor should girls ever be allowed to imbibe the
pernicious notion that a defect can, by any chemical process of
reasoning, become an excellence….”
As a returning college student in the year 2008, I’m well aware of the
progress since Mary’s time. And yet there is still the pervasive view
of a sensible path, and the proper course one must take in life.
Fortunately I don’t prescribe to this view, nor do I feel that should
impede on my progress. On a side note, while I’m thrilled that a woman
is running for President I have the right to chose as a constituent,
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The heat... if it were not for the smog it would be OK. I find myself longing for a vista, a patch of green, the sound of trickling water, friendlier neighbors. Instead, I get buzz gossip, drunken chica’s, and an attention whore, who the kids call, “ice cream lady”. I try and avoid the slightly crazed round-in-the-face-frothing-at-the-mouth loon who has already spewed her venom at me, but she creeps around like a rat ready to claw. In my Apartment complex with it’s Melrose place pool, the ripped actor who sometimes to forget to wear his clothes with the blinds half open, plays the bongos at 2:00 A.M. our resident male hottie. There's more of course..
I have been silent for too long, but this will change! School starts soon: Italian, Algebra, English, and Astronomy. So, expect a few numbers, cosmological talk, mentioning of literary works, and Italian woven in passages.
Please come back. Tell me your out there... (It makes me feel less alone) and stay cool in the shade. Tonight I will dream about something lush, someplace warm, and a purple orange sky that turns into Indigo with the brightest of stars.
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Peoples fear of the
written word has resulted in the banning of books, being kept from
library shelves, or burned and scorched till turned to dust. The truth
will always reveal itself though. The hypocrisy that may exist from
those most fearful of words and the spaces between them should know the
truth always reveals itself in time. The following list is a mere
sample of books that have been banned over time. Sad but true.
“[I]t's not just the books under fire now that worry me. It is the
books that will never be written. The books that will never be read.
And all due to the fear of censorship. As always, young readers will be
the real losers.”
---- Judy Blume
1. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.
Banned in China (1931) for portraying animals and humans on the same
level, "Animals should not use human language."
2. The Call of the Wild by Jack London. Banned in Italy (1929), Yugoslavia (1929), and burned in Nazi bonfires (1932).
3. The Diary Of Anne Frank by Anne Frank. Its hard to believe a
book as important as this one, that chronicles a young girls
harrowing ordeal was challenged in areas of the United States, due to
"sexually offensive" passages and dark subject matter.
4. Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. As successful as this
series has become, banning was advocated mainly in the United States by
Christian fundamentalists because of its references to witchcraft.
There have been several incidents of Harry Potter books being burned,
instigated by Christian fundamentalist groups
5.. The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. Banned in some Islamic
countries and in India for blasphemy against Islam. Mr. Rushdie also
had a death warrant for many years. And this was against speaking out
against Islam.
6.. The Art Of Love by Ovid. This was burned in Florence in 1497. The author was also banished from Rome by Augustus.
7. The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain. This classic piece
of literature was banned from the children's section of the Brooklyn,
New York public library in 1876, as well as the Colorado public
library that same year. Some libraries in the USA banned the book
over objections to the "questionable character" of the main character
and racism.
8. On The Origin Of Species by Charles B. Darwin. Harvard Univ.
Pr.; Macmillan; Modern Library; NAL; Morton; Penguin; Rowman; Ungar.
Banned from Trinity College in Cambridge, UK (1859); Yugoslavia (1935);
Greece (1937). The teaching of evolution was prohibited in Tennessee
from 1925-1967. The creationists and Intelligent Design folks are
always fighting it.
9. Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare. Airmont; Cambridge Univ.
Pr.; Methuen; NAL; Penguin; Pocket Bks.; Washington Square. Removed
from a Merrimack, N.H. high school English class (1996) because of a
policy that bans instruction which has "the effect of encouraging or
supporting homosexuality as a positive lifestyle alternative."
10. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. This powerful book has been challenged numerous times despite being on Oprah’s book club in
2000. Apparently, the subject of racism and child molestation is
too potent a subject. To keep such a book from schools
and libraries across the U.S is more of a concern.
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I wrote a passage that accidentally got wiped from oblivion, so...here
goes another. It's likely that the readers of this blog are close to nil and I
may have the occasional eavesdropper from a random google search? On a
side note a Webmaster friend puts "naked pictures of Brittney Spears"
in the Meta tags to increase his own readership, but I would never stoop so low (heheheh) Ok...I'm a writer who
needs to feel the spaces between words in order to feel the flow, so when it comes to
academic writing It feels more like I
have to force words to paper like Velcro. The rigid dogma of correct
syntax makes me feel like E.E Cummings. Shit, sometimes I become
weary from too much structure and red markings to correct my misuse of
"style” GRRRR.......
Cross my T's and dot my I's please let me banish the grammar police. My
summer class is no walk in the park, recently I've had to explore the
semiotic analysis of SUV’s, and support my position of why Will &
Grace was pivotal for gays. I also began to rethink an English degree.
Please talk back to me. It’s lonely in my blogosphere.....
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I am immersed in my Anthropology class, and I have to say it is
fascinating stuff. The most interesting of which is Darwin's,
Evolutionary Psychology. If 99% of the human race has been spent as
foraging peoples, gathering, hunting, and finding mates, what a strange
world our ancestors would find themselves in today! In the blink of
an eye---we’ve had the Industrial age, the invention of the plow, and
especially our recent Technological age that has morphed us into
another realm. Our Stone Age brains circuitry is suddenly thrust in a
science fiction time. And what about Aliens from outer space?
Perhaps we are the Aliens, and "Danger Will Robinson" is among us.
Recent news of, "Human remains found in a 1,400-year-old Chinese tomb
belonged to a man of European origin, DNA evidence shows."
will likely prompt speculation, from whence did we come? The ozone
layer with its big gaping hole in the sky will surely melt more than a
few solar ice caps. Will we find something buried beneath the ice
frozen in time?
National Geographic is one of the sponsers of the Genographic Study which will surely be the great link-
up. For a mere $100
anyone can be apart of it. I will definitely participate and will be
sure to post my findings! The intensive 5-year plan to map our
migratory patterns will be the human race’s ancestral tree. The
creationists will be all in a tizzy to know that Adam and Eve were not
lily white, but were black and originate from Africa.
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If the heading gets attention....so be it. It has been
quite a spell that I have been hiding. Somewhere between midterms, a
peculiar virus (physical not computer), spring break, and a trip to the
mountains...(where I got naked) I have been far removed from
blogland. Do I dare reveal more? Is anyone even reading these
passages?
I ponder about isolation, how a mentally ill man of 23, was so lost
that no one knew him, not even his family. My condolence to
friends and families of the victims at Virginia Tech. Life is fragile,
tenuous and ever so fleeting. I ponder my own time to live and create.
In a small window of time, a speck a thrust of light, energy and
kinetic spark, life is transitory.
This weekend I met the woman with the saintly name, my ex's
girlfriend. She gave me flowers. An offering? It's never as you
picture it. The weird thing is she resembles me. Go figure.
Someone can rattle on about the picture they have of the ideal person,
their physical manifestation. She is a slightly younger version,
far more domesticated. She bakes.
Heck I love to cook to.... but I am more apt to finger paint, than bake
a cake. I do have a confession to make: I used to have an easy bake
oven as a child, which I loved.
I watched them from the corner of my eye, and I saw the dynamic. She is
in love with the man I wish would go away, but is now not possible. She
makes him feel every bit the man. They complete each other. I could be
wrong but overly ambitious she does not seem to be. She dotes on her
man, tends to his needs and that of her son. And what of the funny pick
up truck she drives? Well that was unexpected.
Oh and Harbin, my mountain escape with a man I met from hotornot? It
began with bunny ears, and it ended with live tapes from Philo T.
Farnsworth, the inventor of television, and the cathode ray.
"If it weren't for Philo T. Farnsworth, inventor of television, we'd still be eating frozen radio dinners."
-- Johnny Carson
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As I delve into subjects like; Science, Biology and Anthropology I have
had to coax my left-brain into a kind of mental aerobics. Discussing a
Darwinian world I ponder, Lamarck's (incorrect) theory of the
inheritance of acquired characteristics. I wonder about my Simian
cousin the chimp whom I share 99% of the same DNA, and get dizzy with
microbes and Cellular life. It's an interesting fusion, trying to meld
my life outside of the classroom with the academic world. A Molotov cocktail perhaps?
If knowledge is power than what can be said of the combination of
experiential living, street smarts and academics? Some of the
best teachers I’ve had can openly admit to learning from their
students. Most of my instructors are inspiring, but on occasion there
is the empty swagger, bravado, and hollowness from an Instructor who
love the sound of their own voice. Sure, I can leave a meandering
comment on Ratemyprofessors.com
a subtle hint to take a stab at student-centered learning. I think its
important to get out of ones comfort zone. I am speaking now of the
student who may be afraid of asking a question, and the teacher who is
afraid to listen to a response that causes them to reflect. Whether I
get around to reading Paulo Freire's, Pedagogy Of The Oppressed—the subject is fascinating.
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I have been a lover of dance since I was a child. When words were not
enough, as a young girl in Iran I remember finding rythym and
moving as if I were in a timeless spell. I found my own version of
trance as I slithered my arms, the skinny pale girl, a gypsy in a
whirling dance. Remember when as a child you were spun around as you got dizzy, asking to be spun around again?
When one thinks of a Whirling Dervish, it is likely to conjure up an
image of the tall hats perched precariously, long white robes and the
spinning than in continuum. Arms outstretched head cocked to one
side, the Whirling Dervishes trace their origins to the 13th
century Ottoman Empire. Islam is imbedded in those roots, where beauty
and history merge. The dance is often practiced by the, "Mevlevi Order (Sufis) in Turkey aligns the physical and religious ecstasy."
The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word.
Mata Hari
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