After Dinner Declarations
Poetry by Nicanor Parra / Translated by Dave Oliphant
Available: December 2008
Host Publications
"What is Poetry?" begins a Nicanor Parra poem that sets the stage for an experience in poetry I never knew I wanted. All right, so you have to get halfway through the book before you read this snippet of thought I'm beginning with, but sometimes we have to be in the middle to realize the value of what came before. Parra describes himself as an anti-poet and I could, at best, be described as anti-poetry. Don't get me wrong, I like some of it, and my generalized opinions haven't miraculously changed due to this reading, but I do believe a gem has been found. I think most critics can agree it's difficult to find good poetry saying something remotely interesting. What was appealing about Parra's style is that he's not pretentious, nor is he cliché.
Parra writes many of his poems in succession to each other offering you to read as if he were thinking aloud and letting his mind wander. Readers might not be familiar with many of the other authors Parra frequently mentions, but think of it as a chance to depart from the formulaic writings that are thrust into our Hollywood society and jump into new ideas for your next booklist. It doesn't take away from the experience. Parra's unique way with words, if not somewhat cryptic, creates a sense of humility (sometimes self deprecating) while simultaneously pompous. And he certainly knows how to serve up a bowl of irony that's palatable while still being thought-provoking.
In one particular poem, Parra utilizes Hamlet's most famous soliloquy, commentary sprinkled throughout for a modern context, in a blatantly honest and humorously somber look into the human condition. The genius that is "After Dinner Declarations" could only come from someone who has lived long enough to know or was born with more wisdom than he deserves. He has seen the pain of politics, life, and ignorance. And yet he maintains the outrage and innocence of a youth who has not yet seen the remainder of his poems. That sort of passion dies with "I've lived long enough to understand," "I've seen things over the course of my life," and the ever so slightly bitter and accepting; "The world is going to hell in a hand basket." He sees idealism as a requirement for young people and insanity for old, but you can't help but see sparks of optimism in his own ideas. Maybe as you reach a certain age, you're able to suppress it and by the time you pass age 70, you can afford to think like a young man/woman, provided the excuse "eccentricity" is readily available.
There are few poets (and for that matter, authors) who can illuminate a problem with such calm and normalcy to be effective in inspiring voluntary brainwork. Parra's "Remarks by the Minister in Charge" relates a social dilemma as if it were the fault of the victims, not unlike the style of Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal." The creativity of this reverse psychology tickles the poetic ivories until you hear the sound of truth ringing in your ears.
The book, on the whole, is very enjoyable. In fact, I quite enjoyed this work for its honesty, complexity, irony, and entertainment, (not to be confused with modern entertainment which lacks the essential effort it takes to realize your being entertained). Parra without a doubt has a way with words, and more importantly, ideas, which explains why he has been nominated several times for a Nobel Prize. But his work speaks for itself, so, to return to the question and poem that I began with, "What is Poetry?" I step down from my podium and ask someone better than me to answer. Mr. Parra, would you mind taking the floor?
Monday, December 08, 2008
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Decoding The Love Song
T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” brings to life the inner workings of an aging man who worries about isolation and loneliness because he lacks a mate. With only a cursory glance, a reader might believe that this epic journey is but a mere dirge to a life which lacks love. However, deeper analysis brings forth another conclusion about this poem’s true intent. It is in fact a veiled social commentary, focusing on various aspects of human society.
Perhaps the biggest elucidation would be the plot of Prufrock itself. The speaker of the poem is a balding man who it seems cannot find love no matter how hard he tries. As he grows older, his chances become slimmer due to physical unattractiveness which is at odds with the preconceived notion of physical beauty that his community holds when courting. He lives with the knowledge that the women he seeks will say things about him like “'but how his arms and legs are thin'” (678)! Controversially, Prufrock also lets the women he sees blend together into a singular being in the respect that he has “known their eyes already, known them all” (679). Here the speaker is pointing out how all of the women have the same values in a man, and that they are in a way all the same, and thus almost gives up by not knowing how to “presume” due to the repetitive nature of the females in his world. However, eventually, later in the poem he seems to succumb to the situation by deciding that the proper way to handle his age is to take up the latest fashion, wearing the “bottoms of [his] trousers rolled” (680). Even though he still seems dejected and maintains that he will probably never find a woman, he trudges onward and carries on with his quest to attain love. This interpretation of the ending helps us see the conformity that is imposed upon a person who is for the entirety of their monologue and objector to the statues queue. He goes along with the concepts he hates only because he it seems to be the only means to his end. As such, much of his dialog can bee seen as a commentary of the social standards one has to go though for even the most minuscule prospect of love.
One way Eliot illustrates his social qualms is with the many historical references he makes, one of the most noteworthy being “In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo” (678). We can imagine that he is talking of perhaps the most famous Michelangelo who created the Sistine Chapel, reputed to be on of the greatest artists of all time. For approximately a hundred years now there have been rumors and evidence circulating claiming that he was a homosexual, this timeline would of course put the start of the rumors within the same time period that Eliot was writing this composition (Alberge). Homosexuality was something of a taboo practice in the early 20th century; it can be assumed that one of the most noteworthy people of all time possibly partaking in same sex relations would be the hot button for gossip. With rumors, there is no need for truth in the matter, only that people are willing to spread it to others who will do so in kind. So when a critical question is posed in the poem we “make our visit” to the place where women talk “of Michelangelo” (678). It would seem as if the speaker is saying that we as a society put the most stock in the gossip of a sewing circle, rather than focusing on what is actually important in the bigger picture. His connotations to rumors are supplemented by those of other literary classics.
Elliot makes numerous allusions to other great works including, but not limited to, Hamlet, The Bible, and Dante’s Inferno. The sheer number of references he makes is a testament to his poetic style, and simultaneously turns the poem itself into something of a social commentary in that only the learned people of the world could read and understand it. Perhaps this was intentionally done to help drive people into become more scholarly, and have a greater appreciation for the various forms of the written word. It has been suggested that he intentionally made his poetry so complex in order to pull in the reader and make them “involved” (Brooker). Is there any doubt that today almost a hundred years later, in the U.S.A, our educational system seems to be in at least quasi dire straights? Moreover, this idea can be further expounded upon when the connection is made that out of all the works both the editors Schilb/Clifford and I could not find a single one which was spawned from the mind of an American. This development helps show his lack of respect for American Literature which was riddled with Romanticism during his time period. In fact he was often noted to “[react] against Romanticism” (Brooker). Perhaps the numerous allusions he makes are in a sense a challenge to the contemporary writers of the era to change their style and become noteworthy enough to be made reference to in a literary work.
Arguably, the most interesting reference in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is made in the very beginning of the poem; it is a selection written in its original Italian from Dante's Inferno. This epic poem is but the fist in a three part masterpiece which chronicles a man’s trip though the various settings of the after life (Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven); the Inferno corresponding to Hell. After translation we find that the excerpt is that of a person in Hell telling Dante that no one returns from Abaddon (Eliot 677). The primary purpose for this opening line would seem to be to tell us as readers that we are already in the fiery pits even if we may not know it. But what is this Hades which Eliot wishes us to see and realize we are in? The rest of the poem would is centered on the social scene of the era with lines like “I have measure out my life with coffee spoons” (678). It is not unfathomable that Eliot might be saying that the communal environment of the time is very much like the dankest of abysses.
Yet another connection occurs in stanzas 5 and 7 in which Eliot some what mimics the biblical poem Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 by repeating the phrase “There will be time” and a pattern of listing two opposing acts such as “plant” and “uproot.” Following the allusion are various metropolitan aspects such as “yellow smoke” (smog) and “taking of toast and tea” (678). Here it is almost as if he is attempting to show us how venerated such facets of life have become, by comparing them in a biblical sense. Furthermore, he goes on to in the same list tell us of time to “murder,” an act which helps bring forth the darker connotation he seems to be going for. As it stands both these stanzas seem to cast light onto some of the “evil” areas of modern life (Brooker).
T.S. Eliot's style and life experiences give credence to the conclusion that “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is a social commentary. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” was the culmination of the first portion of his career, and was only preceded by a few poems titled respectively "Portrait of a Lady," "Preludes," and "Rhapsody on a Windy Night.” All four of these poems set themes that Elliot would revisit “time and time again.” This concept should be taken into account when we consider his land mark work, known as “The Wasteland” in which he “diagnosed” the troubles not only of his epoch, but of “Western Civilization” as well. His time spent as a literary critic is also quite telling as so many of his essays included “social and religious criticism.” His other works show that he has something of a predisposition for societal appraisal; it would stand to reason then that Prufrock could be thought of as a stepping stone to the greater annotations of his later career (Brooker).
T.S. Elliot has riddled this piece with social commentary galore. He has masterfully woven in many differing views on the way things were accomplished in the world then, and has managed to keep it applicable for today’s world almost a hundred years later. His primary overtone being that of reforming the dating system, we find him even going so far as to compare the dating pool to a circle of Hell. Some of his undertones use historical and biblical connections to show our dependency on rumors and ritual. He even, in a very round about way, goes so far as to make the assumption that American literature is not worthy, and that our educational system is in adequate. The surface of the brimming pot of social commentary has only been scratched, but even soaking in at this level leads me to believe that this is no mere souls lamentation of loneliness.
Works Cited
Alberge, Dalya. "Michelangelo was not gay, says scholar." The Times (London, England) (Feb 22, 1999): 8. InfoTrac Custom Newspapers. Gale. Cerro Coso Community College. 20 Nov. 2008 .
Brooker, Jewel Spears. Dictionary of Literary Biography Volume 329. Literature Resource Center. Gale. 2007. 18 Nov. 2008. Cerro Coso Community College.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, New International Version. BibleGateway.com. 2008. 18 Nov. 2008
Eliot, T.S.. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Making Arguments About Literature. Ed. John Schilb and John Clifford. Boston: Bedford/St. Martins, 2005. 677-680.
Perhaps the biggest elucidation would be the plot of Prufrock itself. The speaker of the poem is a balding man who it seems cannot find love no matter how hard he tries. As he grows older, his chances become slimmer due to physical unattractiveness which is at odds with the preconceived notion of physical beauty that his community holds when courting. He lives with the knowledge that the women he seeks will say things about him like “'but how his arms and legs are thin'” (678)! Controversially, Prufrock also lets the women he sees blend together into a singular being in the respect that he has “known their eyes already, known them all” (679). Here the speaker is pointing out how all of the women have the same values in a man, and that they are in a way all the same, and thus almost gives up by not knowing how to “presume” due to the repetitive nature of the females in his world. However, eventually, later in the poem he seems to succumb to the situation by deciding that the proper way to handle his age is to take up the latest fashion, wearing the “bottoms of [his] trousers rolled” (680). Even though he still seems dejected and maintains that he will probably never find a woman, he trudges onward and carries on with his quest to attain love. This interpretation of the ending helps us see the conformity that is imposed upon a person who is for the entirety of their monologue and objector to the statues queue. He goes along with the concepts he hates only because he it seems to be the only means to his end. As such, much of his dialog can bee seen as a commentary of the social standards one has to go though for even the most minuscule prospect of love.
One way Eliot illustrates his social qualms is with the many historical references he makes, one of the most noteworthy being “In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo” (678). We can imagine that he is talking of perhaps the most famous Michelangelo who created the Sistine Chapel, reputed to be on of the greatest artists of all time. For approximately a hundred years now there have been rumors and evidence circulating claiming that he was a homosexual, this timeline would of course put the start of the rumors within the same time period that Eliot was writing this composition (Alberge). Homosexuality was something of a taboo practice in the early 20th century; it can be assumed that one of the most noteworthy people of all time possibly partaking in same sex relations would be the hot button for gossip. With rumors, there is no need for truth in the matter, only that people are willing to spread it to others who will do so in kind. So when a critical question is posed in the poem we “make our visit” to the place where women talk “of Michelangelo” (678). It would seem as if the speaker is saying that we as a society put the most stock in the gossip of a sewing circle, rather than focusing on what is actually important in the bigger picture. His connotations to rumors are supplemented by those of other literary classics.
Elliot makes numerous allusions to other great works including, but not limited to, Hamlet, The Bible, and Dante’s Inferno. The sheer number of references he makes is a testament to his poetic style, and simultaneously turns the poem itself into something of a social commentary in that only the learned people of the world could read and understand it. Perhaps this was intentionally done to help drive people into become more scholarly, and have a greater appreciation for the various forms of the written word. It has been suggested that he intentionally made his poetry so complex in order to pull in the reader and make them “involved” (Brooker). Is there any doubt that today almost a hundred years later, in the U.S.A, our educational system seems to be in at least quasi dire straights? Moreover, this idea can be further expounded upon when the connection is made that out of all the works both the editors Schilb/Clifford and I could not find a single one which was spawned from the mind of an American. This development helps show his lack of respect for American Literature which was riddled with Romanticism during his time period. In fact he was often noted to “[react] against Romanticism” (Brooker). Perhaps the numerous allusions he makes are in a sense a challenge to the contemporary writers of the era to change their style and become noteworthy enough to be made reference to in a literary work.
Arguably, the most interesting reference in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is made in the very beginning of the poem; it is a selection written in its original Italian from Dante's Inferno. This epic poem is but the fist in a three part masterpiece which chronicles a man’s trip though the various settings of the after life (Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven); the Inferno corresponding to Hell. After translation we find that the excerpt is that of a person in Hell telling Dante that no one returns from Abaddon (Eliot 677). The primary purpose for this opening line would seem to be to tell us as readers that we are already in the fiery pits even if we may not know it. But what is this Hades which Eliot wishes us to see and realize we are in? The rest of the poem would is centered on the social scene of the era with lines like “I have measure out my life with coffee spoons” (678). It is not unfathomable that Eliot might be saying that the communal environment of the time is very much like the dankest of abysses.
Yet another connection occurs in stanzas 5 and 7 in which Eliot some what mimics the biblical poem Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 by repeating the phrase “There will be time” and a pattern of listing two opposing acts such as “plant” and “uproot.” Following the allusion are various metropolitan aspects such as “yellow smoke” (smog) and “taking of toast and tea” (678). Here it is almost as if he is attempting to show us how venerated such facets of life have become, by comparing them in a biblical sense. Furthermore, he goes on to in the same list tell us of time to “murder,” an act which helps bring forth the darker connotation he seems to be going for. As it stands both these stanzas seem to cast light onto some of the “evil” areas of modern life (Brooker).
T.S. Eliot's style and life experiences give credence to the conclusion that “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is a social commentary. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” was the culmination of the first portion of his career, and was only preceded by a few poems titled respectively "Portrait of a Lady," "Preludes," and "Rhapsody on a Windy Night.” All four of these poems set themes that Elliot would revisit “time and time again.” This concept should be taken into account when we consider his land mark work, known as “The Wasteland” in which he “diagnosed” the troubles not only of his epoch, but of “Western Civilization” as well. His time spent as a literary critic is also quite telling as so many of his essays included “social and religious criticism.” His other works show that he has something of a predisposition for societal appraisal; it would stand to reason then that Prufrock could be thought of as a stepping stone to the greater annotations of his later career (Brooker).
T.S. Elliot has riddled this piece with social commentary galore. He has masterfully woven in many differing views on the way things were accomplished in the world then, and has managed to keep it applicable for today’s world almost a hundred years later. His primary overtone being that of reforming the dating system, we find him even going so far as to compare the dating pool to a circle of Hell. Some of his undertones use historical and biblical connections to show our dependency on rumors and ritual. He even, in a very round about way, goes so far as to make the assumption that American literature is not worthy, and that our educational system is in adequate. The surface of the brimming pot of social commentary has only been scratched, but even soaking in at this level leads me to believe that this is no mere souls lamentation of loneliness.
Works Cited
Alberge, Dalya. "Michelangelo was not gay, says scholar." The Times (London, England) (Feb 22, 1999): 8. InfoTrac Custom Newspapers. Gale. Cerro Coso Community College. 20 Nov. 2008 .
Brooker, Jewel Spears. Dictionary of Literary Biography Volume 329. Literature Resource Center. Gale. 2007. 18 Nov. 2008. Cerro Coso Community College.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, New International Version. BibleGateway.com. 2008. 18 Nov. 2008
Eliot, T.S.. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Making Arguments About Literature. Ed. John Schilb and John Clifford. Boston: Bedford/St. Martins, 2005. 677-680.
Using Masks as Tools of Self-Discovery
The Poems Of Vikram Babu
Poetry by Jesús Aguado / Translated By Electa Arenal / Beatrix Gates
Available: January 2009
Host Publications
There exists within every culture the desire to delve into the innermost workings of human nature and expose the conflicts and hypocrisies that divide every person from his or her Self. The poet has always served as a facilitator and mentor in this task, guiding those with the fortitude and desire for such a journey through the darkest passages of their own minds. The Spanish poet, Jesus Aguado, performs this sacred charge by adopting the guise of a seventeenth-century Indian mystic and basket-weaver called Vikram Babu. In his newest book of poems titled The Poems of Vikram Babu, Aguado presents the reader with dark scenarios and sometimes rather comical situations, and then poses questions that dare the reader to explore his or her relationship to the words on the page. But why does Aguado choose the persona of an Indian mystic? And why do the poems in this collection follow such a rigid pattern? While the specific reasons why Aguado imbues his poetry with these characteristics may not be known, it can be inferred that he uses the persona of an Indian mystic to create a sense of the student/teacher relationship between the speaker and the reader. This guise also allows Aguado to detach himself from his creation, giving the poetry in this collection a distinct personality that is not necessarily defined by the author’s own emotions and convictions. The rigid structure used by Aguado may be nothing more than an example of the way in which an Indian mystic may query his students, or it may be a way of inviting the reader to compare him or herself to the subject of the poem.
The persona has always been a standard tool of many of the greatest poets throughout history. Jeannine Hall Gailey, in her essay, “Why We Wear Masks,” writes, “a persona is the “I” of a narrative or the implied speaker of a lyric poem” (1). This is, of course, a rather text book definition for an element used in writing for as many different reasons as there are writers. But Gailey goes further by explaining that the use of the persona is “an exercise in empathy and analysis” (1) that frees the writer and allows the reader to feel what the speaker feels, and see what the speaker sees. In her poem, “Phantasia for Elvira Shatayev,” poet Adrienne Rich speaks through the voice of Elvira Shatayev, leader of a woman’s climbing team who died, along with the other women in her party, while climbing Lenin Peak during a storm in 1974. Addressing her husband, the speaker lists her reasons for undertaking such a dangerous climb, and explains the depth of comradery and love the women have for each other (4). Through this persona Rich is able to convey to the reader the struggle for validation and acceptance a woman in a male-dominated society must undergo, sometimes losing her life in the process. Many of Rich’s poems are written through the personas of real people with tragic stories, inviting the reader to view these individuals as being more than just media fodder, but real people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams.
There are other ways that a poet can employ the use of a persona effectively in his or her works. Some poets pose riddles, enticing the reader to guess at what mask they have chosen to wear. Emily Dickinson does this with exceptional skill. She has been everything from an insect to a cloud, hiding behind clever metaphors and hints. Sylvia Plath’s poem, “Metaphors,” does essentially the same thing, although after reading the first line most will already guess the answer. When the speaker describes herself as “a riddle in nine syllables” (726), there is not much left to puzzle over for the reader. However, the riddle may not have been Plath’s main theme, but a vehicle to drive home another message.
Vikram Babu, the persona used by Jesus Aguado in his latest book of poems, is obviously not used in the same way that the previously mentioned poets choose to incorporate theirs. Instead, Aguado has more in common with Kahlil Gibran and his poetic masterpiece, titled The Prophet. Both Aguado and Gibran channel their inspiration through spiritual teachers who are sought out by those in need of guidance and instruction. Gibran’s persona, named “Almustafa,” (3) answers questions posed by the inhabitants of the city of Orphalese, where he has lived for the past twelve years. The narrative structure employed by Gibran works to draw the reader into the poetry, but more from the perspective of a bystander that is hearing, vicariously, the teachings of Almustafa to his followers. Aguado’s speaker is given no such background information or narrative context, and the reader must create for him or herself the conditions under which these poems are presented. This approach works well for Aguado, and I found myself reading the poems as if Vikram Babu was speaking directly to me, as we both sat meditating by the banks of the river. Both Gibran and Aguado, however, use their personas similarly, to create a textbook of sorts, to guide the reader on a path of truth seeking and self-discovery.
Through Vikram Babu, Aguado dissociates his Self from his poems, making it easier for the reader to claim ownership of the ideas they contain. He is also able to transcend the boundaries of time, religious belief, and cultural constraint by donning the mask of such a benevolent character. In comparison, Gibran’s persona runs a striking parallel to the character of Jesus Christ. Even the way in which Gibran’s speaker addresses his followers is reminiscent of Christ’s sermons. But while Gibran’s speaker is addressing the inhabitants of a fictional city, Aguado’s speaker seems to be posing his questions directly to the reader.
Another important difference between Gibran and Aguado is in the way the poems are written. Gibran’s poems are free-flowing statements advocating a spiritual approach to everyday life, but Aguado’s poems are questions posed in the form of a simile, each one following a strict pattern of structure. Aguado deliberately uses the same format for all fifty of the poems in this collection, presumably to give a traditional voice to his mystic Indian speaker. But repetition is used quite frequently in poetry for a number of reasons. Some poets repeat significant phrases throughout their poems to help guide the reader’s interpretation. Others may incorporate the techniques of poetic meter to present their message in a more subtle way. Aguado’s use of repetition seems to be a way of connecting the poems to each other and to the reader. George Szirtes, author of an essay called, “Formal Wear: Notes on Rhyme, Meter, Stanza and Pattern,” says that patterns “can be the beginnings of religious vision” (5). Like the words a Buddhist monk chants in order to induce a state of pure meditation, the repeated structure in Aguado’s poems works to direct the reader’s gaze inward, until the message is completely absorbed into his or her consciousness.
One more definitive characteristic of The Poems of Vikram Babu is the use of simile found in every one of the poems. All of the poems begin with an almost identical format, such as, “Like the one who attempts” (Aguado 7). Using a Simile as structural support in these poems is a creative way of getting the reader to compare him or herself to the subject of the poem, even before the speaker asks the question, “you too?” (7). Although the use of the simile is by no means new to the poetic landscape, Aguado is able to incorporate this literary tool in such a way that the reader has no choice but to acknowledge the familiar aspects connecting him or her to the poem.
There are many different paths that lead to self-discovery, and some form of truth can be found through all of them. It is the poet’s task to create a map for the reader to consult in order to find his or her bearings in a world where society, like a thick fog, can sometimes bring fear and doubt to a confused and weary traveler. Through The Poems of Vikram Babu, Jesus Aguado has fashioned a map that will serve well the reader who decides to embark on this most serious of expeditions. The defining trait of a great poet is that “if he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind” (Gibran 56). A debt of gratitude is undeniably owed to Electa Arenal and Beatrix Gates for translating The Poems of Vikram Babu, so that many more people around the world can now add a new and powerful tool to their inventory of indispensable equipment for the journey of self-discovery.
Works Cited
Poetry by Jesús Aguado / Translated By Electa Arenal / Beatrix Gates
Available: January 2009
Host Publications
Say not, “I have found the truth,” but
Rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.”
Say rather, “I have met
the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
-Kahlil Gibran
There exists within every culture the desire to delve into the innermost workings of human nature and expose the conflicts and hypocrisies that divide every person from his or her Self. The poet has always served as a facilitator and mentor in this task, guiding those with the fortitude and desire for such a journey through the darkest passages of their own minds. The Spanish poet, Jesus Aguado, performs this sacred charge by adopting the guise of a seventeenth-century Indian mystic and basket-weaver called Vikram Babu. In his newest book of poems titled The Poems of Vikram Babu, Aguado presents the reader with dark scenarios and sometimes rather comical situations, and then poses questions that dare the reader to explore his or her relationship to the words on the page. But why does Aguado choose the persona of an Indian mystic? And why do the poems in this collection follow such a rigid pattern? While the specific reasons why Aguado imbues his poetry with these characteristics may not be known, it can be inferred that he uses the persona of an Indian mystic to create a sense of the student/teacher relationship between the speaker and the reader. This guise also allows Aguado to detach himself from his creation, giving the poetry in this collection a distinct personality that is not necessarily defined by the author’s own emotions and convictions. The rigid structure used by Aguado may be nothing more than an example of the way in which an Indian mystic may query his students, or it may be a way of inviting the reader to compare him or herself to the subject of the poem.
The persona has always been a standard tool of many of the greatest poets throughout history. Jeannine Hall Gailey, in her essay, “Why We Wear Masks,” writes, “a persona is the “I” of a narrative or the implied speaker of a lyric poem” (1). This is, of course, a rather text book definition for an element used in writing for as many different reasons as there are writers. But Gailey goes further by explaining that the use of the persona is “an exercise in empathy and analysis” (1) that frees the writer and allows the reader to feel what the speaker feels, and see what the speaker sees. In her poem, “Phantasia for Elvira Shatayev,” poet Adrienne Rich speaks through the voice of Elvira Shatayev, leader of a woman’s climbing team who died, along with the other women in her party, while climbing Lenin Peak during a storm in 1974. Addressing her husband, the speaker lists her reasons for undertaking such a dangerous climb, and explains the depth of comradery and love the women have for each other (4). Through this persona Rich is able to convey to the reader the struggle for validation and acceptance a woman in a male-dominated society must undergo, sometimes losing her life in the process. Many of Rich’s poems are written through the personas of real people with tragic stories, inviting the reader to view these individuals as being more than just media fodder, but real people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams.
There are other ways that a poet can employ the use of a persona effectively in his or her works. Some poets pose riddles, enticing the reader to guess at what mask they have chosen to wear. Emily Dickinson does this with exceptional skill. She has been everything from an insect to a cloud, hiding behind clever metaphors and hints. Sylvia Plath’s poem, “Metaphors,” does essentially the same thing, although after reading the first line most will already guess the answer. When the speaker describes herself as “a riddle in nine syllables” (726), there is not much left to puzzle over for the reader. However, the riddle may not have been Plath’s main theme, but a vehicle to drive home another message.
Vikram Babu, the persona used by Jesus Aguado in his latest book of poems, is obviously not used in the same way that the previously mentioned poets choose to incorporate theirs. Instead, Aguado has more in common with Kahlil Gibran and his poetic masterpiece, titled The Prophet. Both Aguado and Gibran channel their inspiration through spiritual teachers who are sought out by those in need of guidance and instruction. Gibran’s persona, named “Almustafa,” (3) answers questions posed by the inhabitants of the city of Orphalese, where he has lived for the past twelve years. The narrative structure employed by Gibran works to draw the reader into the poetry, but more from the perspective of a bystander that is hearing, vicariously, the teachings of Almustafa to his followers. Aguado’s speaker is given no such background information or narrative context, and the reader must create for him or herself the conditions under which these poems are presented. This approach works well for Aguado, and I found myself reading the poems as if Vikram Babu was speaking directly to me, as we both sat meditating by the banks of the river. Both Gibran and Aguado, however, use their personas similarly, to create a textbook of sorts, to guide the reader on a path of truth seeking and self-discovery.
Through Vikram Babu, Aguado dissociates his Self from his poems, making it easier for the reader to claim ownership of the ideas they contain. He is also able to transcend the boundaries of time, religious belief, and cultural constraint by donning the mask of such a benevolent character. In comparison, Gibran’s persona runs a striking parallel to the character of Jesus Christ. Even the way in which Gibran’s speaker addresses his followers is reminiscent of Christ’s sermons. But while Gibran’s speaker is addressing the inhabitants of a fictional city, Aguado’s speaker seems to be posing his questions directly to the reader.
Another important difference between Gibran and Aguado is in the way the poems are written. Gibran’s poems are free-flowing statements advocating a spiritual approach to everyday life, but Aguado’s poems are questions posed in the form of a simile, each one following a strict pattern of structure. Aguado deliberately uses the same format for all fifty of the poems in this collection, presumably to give a traditional voice to his mystic Indian speaker. But repetition is used quite frequently in poetry for a number of reasons. Some poets repeat significant phrases throughout their poems to help guide the reader’s interpretation. Others may incorporate the techniques of poetic meter to present their message in a more subtle way. Aguado’s use of repetition seems to be a way of connecting the poems to each other and to the reader. George Szirtes, author of an essay called, “Formal Wear: Notes on Rhyme, Meter, Stanza and Pattern,” says that patterns “can be the beginnings of religious vision” (5). Like the words a Buddhist monk chants in order to induce a state of pure meditation, the repeated structure in Aguado’s poems works to direct the reader’s gaze inward, until the message is completely absorbed into his or her consciousness.
One more definitive characteristic of The Poems of Vikram Babu is the use of simile found in every one of the poems. All of the poems begin with an almost identical format, such as, “Like the one who attempts” (Aguado 7). Using a Simile as structural support in these poems is a creative way of getting the reader to compare him or herself to the subject of the poem, even before the speaker asks the question, “you too?” (7). Although the use of the simile is by no means new to the poetic landscape, Aguado is able to incorporate this literary tool in such a way that the reader has no choice but to acknowledge the familiar aspects connecting him or her to the poem.
There are many different paths that lead to self-discovery, and some form of truth can be found through all of them. It is the poet’s task to create a map for the reader to consult in order to find his or her bearings in a world where society, like a thick fog, can sometimes bring fear and doubt to a confused and weary traveler. Through The Poems of Vikram Babu, Jesus Aguado has fashioned a map that will serve well the reader who decides to embark on this most serious of expeditions. The defining trait of a great poet is that “if he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind” (Gibran 56). A debt of gratitude is undeniably owed to Electa Arenal and Beatrix Gates for translating The Poems of Vikram Babu, so that many more people around the world can now add a new and powerful tool to their inventory of indispensable equipment for the journey of self-discovery.
Works Cited
Aguado, Jesus. The Poems of Vikram Babu. Trans. Electa Arenal and Beatrix Gates. Austin: Host, 2008.
Gailey, Jeannine Hall. “Why We Wear Masks.” Poemeleon. 2008. 20 Nov. 2008. http://www.poemeleon.org/gailey-why-we-wear-masks-essay/
Gibran, Kahlil. The Prophet. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1994.
Plath, Sylvia. “Metaphors.” Perrine’s Literature: Structure, Sound, and Sense. Ed. Thomas R. Arp and Greg Johnson. Boston: Thomson Wadsworth, 2006. 726.
Rich, Adrienne. The Dream of a Common Language. New York: Norton, 1993.
Szirtes, George. “Formal Wear: Notes on Rhyme, Meter, Stanza, and Pattern.” Poetry 187.5 (2006): 416(9). Expanded Academic ASAP. Gale. Cerro Coso Commuity College. 20 Nov. 2008. http://find.galegroup.com/itx/start.do?prodld=EAIM
Gailey, Jeannine Hall. “Why We Wear Masks.” Poemeleon. 2008. 20 Nov. 2008. http://www.poemeleon.org/gailey-why-we-wear-masks-essay/
Gibran, Kahlil. The Prophet. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1994.
Plath, Sylvia. “Metaphors.” Perrine’s Literature: Structure, Sound, and Sense. Ed. Thomas R. Arp and Greg Johnson. Boston: Thomson Wadsworth, 2006. 726.
Rich, Adrienne. The Dream of a Common Language. New York: Norton, 1993.
Szirtes, George. “Formal Wear: Notes on Rhyme, Meter, Stanza, and Pattern.” Poetry 187.5 (2006): 416(9). Expanded Academic ASAP. Gale. Cerro Coso Commuity College. 20 Nov. 2008. http://find.galegroup.com/itx/start.do?prodld=EAIM
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Met Meetings
Hi guys,this is your new blog editor Pliskin42. We have had two meetings on the KRV campus these past two Tuesdays and we came up to several difficult decisions during them.
In the first meeting we discussed very broad guidelines that we wanted to use when selecting which submissions we would want to make it into print. things that tend to denote amateur writers were to be avoided, such as overtly simple rhyme scheme.We also came to something of a agreement on how to weigh in the ratings on the number scale given already (two or more tens was defiantly worth discussion, ect). Then we eventually delved in, began judging the pieces, and weeded out those who it seemed did not to cut it. There are still a few pieces that are on the proverbial fence, so you editors who have not put in any input throw in your two cents.
During the latter meeting we came to the conclusion that since the Graphic design class is not in session this semester, and we had in the past worked hand in hand with them for art and layout design, it would most likely be best to push back production of this years Met in order make use of their services. This decisions holds a two fold benefit, the first being the aforementioned use of the classes on campus, and the second being that we can now open for new submission and hopefully flush out the few areas where we were seemingly lacking ( for instance we only had a single art submission.) As such we had to go back and come up with new deadline dates. February 28 is now the last day we will be taking submissions for this upcoming Met. March 16 is the deadline we set to have all the submissions that we have chosen in the order we wish them to appear in our final cut. March 31 is our final due date, this is the day on which we must have everything edited as well as ordered and then sent off to the Digital Imaging class for lay out and construction. After Deciding on dates we then discussed how we could foster more support. We came to the conclusion that we needed to advertise more around the various campuses here in Cerro Coso and that it could be done both by word of mouth and by creation of posters. Additionally to foster a greater following with our web based community, the ideas were thrown out to promote the blog with more contributions from the various members of the creative writing community. So all you creative writing community members who want to help make this blog great come on forward! lastly we created a couple new positions in the club, the first being the blog editor (that would be myself) and the second was that of calendar editor ( which went to Margret).
If there is any more questions, concerns, or comments feel free to let us know!
-Pliskin
In the first meeting we discussed very broad guidelines that we wanted to use when selecting which submissions we would want to make it into print. things that tend to denote amateur writers were to be avoided, such as overtly simple rhyme scheme.We also came to something of a agreement on how to weigh in the ratings on the number scale given already (two or more tens was defiantly worth discussion, ect). Then we eventually delved in, began judging the pieces, and weeded out those who it seemed did not to cut it. There are still a few pieces that are on the proverbial fence, so you editors who have not put in any input throw in your two cents.
During the latter meeting we came to the conclusion that since the Graphic design class is not in session this semester, and we had in the past worked hand in hand with them for art and layout design, it would most likely be best to push back production of this years Met in order make use of their services. This decisions holds a two fold benefit, the first being the aforementioned use of the classes on campus, and the second being that we can now open for new submission and hopefully flush out the few areas where we were seemingly lacking ( for instance we only had a single art submission.) As such we had to go back and come up with new deadline dates. February 28 is now the last day we will be taking submissions for this upcoming Met. March 16 is the deadline we set to have all the submissions that we have chosen in the order we wish them to appear in our final cut. March 31 is our final due date, this is the day on which we must have everything edited as well as ordered and then sent off to the Digital Imaging class for lay out and construction. After Deciding on dates we then discussed how we could foster more support. We came to the conclusion that we needed to advertise more around the various campuses here in Cerro Coso and that it could be done both by word of mouth and by creation of posters. Additionally to foster a greater following with our web based community, the ideas were thrown out to promote the blog with more contributions from the various members of the creative writing community. So all you creative writing community members who want to help make this blog great come on forward! lastly we created a couple new positions in the club, the first being the blog editor (that would be myself) and the second was that of calendar editor ( which went to Margret).
If there is any more questions, concerns, or comments feel free to let us know!
-Pliskin
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Buffalo Carp Flash Fiction Contest
BUFFALO CARPQuad City Arts’ Literary Magazine
*GUIDELINES for Buffalo Carp’s FLASH FICTION CONTEST*
-Prize is $250 USD, plus five copies of Buffalo Carp, Volume 6. All entries will be considered for publication.
-Send no more than three (3) flash fiction stories, each one being no longer than 600 words. ONLY unpublished flash fiction stories may be submitted.
-Entry fee is $10 for each submission of up to three (3) flash fiction stories; please make checks payable to “QUAD CITY ARTS”. All entrants will receive Buffalo Carp, Volume 6 (winning story will be published in Volume 6) with paid entry fee.
-Email submissions are accepted, but will NOT be processed until the $10 entry fee is received.
-Please include a SASE for notification and cover sheet with all contact information (name, address, phone #, and email), title of all stories submitted, and a brief bio. Name and contact information should NOT appear on the stories themselves.
-Judging will be done by the editorial staff of Buffalo Carp.
-Simultaneous submissions are accepted, as long as you notify Buffalo Carp immediately should your work be accepted elsewhere.
-Deadline for submissions is January 16, 2009. Winners will be announced February 2009.
Please send entries to:
Flash Fiction Contest
Buffalo Carp
Quad City Arts
1715 Second Avenue
Rock Island, IL 61201
OR email submissions to: buffalocarp@gmail.com
If you have questions, please contact Ryan Collins: (309) 793-1213 ext. 107, or email: rcollins@quadcityarts.com
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Camp Shakespeare
This may seem like an advertisement, like I'm being paid to say such glowing things. But I assure you I've got nothing at stake here. This is pure love!
I've just returned from a week-long, ultra-intensive and very fun week of Camp Shakespeare at the Tony Award winning Utah Shakespearean Festival, and words, words, words can hardly describe the experience. I feel like I've just woken up form a strange dream--a dream that an Elizabethan English playhouse had been magically transported to the red sandstone mountains of Southern Utah, that Shakespeare fans and students of all ages were now traveling to Utah in droves to see stellar performances of the bard's plays, that actors and audience members alike were partying after hours in cabarets, that world renowned scholars and directors and stage designers were drawn inexplicably to Cedar City to create some of the best Shakespearean theater in the world ...
(Slide show photos by Gary Enns, Gary Graupman, and Michael Flachmann)
If you have never been to the Utah Shakespearean Festival, then you are in for a shock. There is not much that seems regional about this regional theater. For forty-six years, Fred Adams and USF supporters have been building this festival into something spectacular. The festival grounds now boast three stages, indoor and outdoor lecture spaces, concessions, and a center with bookstore and gift shop. The USF produces nine--yes, nine--plays per year. Needless to say, Southern Utah is now a magnet for professional actors, directors, and other drama professionals. For its excellence, in 2000, The USF achieved international attention when it won a Tony Award for Outstanding Regional Theater of the Year.
The Adams Memorial Theatre is the crown jewel at the USF. An open-air theater designed in the spirit of Shakespeare's Globe, it's the space of choice for traditional period productions of the plays of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. For musicals, contemporary plays, and non-traditional productions of Shakespeare, the USF utilizes the beautifully gilded indoor Randall L. Jones Theatre.
For anyone even remotely curious about the Shakespeare and the theater, Camp Shakespeare is a fantastic introduction. In five intense days, you see six plays (three of Shakespeare's and three by other playwrights and/or composers), attend seminars and classes and workshops on all things theater, and eat extremely well in SUU's beautiful and elegant Great Hall. Lodging and all meals are included. World renowned Shakespeare scholar and official festival dramaturg Michael Flachmann heads up the camp, wearing several hats--host, teacher, party coordinator, and general fun guy. And if you are a student, valuable university undergraduate and graduate credit is available through SUU and CSUB.
The 2008 Summer season that I just attended includes The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Othello, The Taming of the Shrew, Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac, Moliere's The School for Wives, and Bock, Harnick, and Stein's popular musical Fiddler on the Roof. The highlight for me was Rostand's play directed by David Ivers. The chemistry between leads Brian Vaughn and Melinda Pfunstein was first rate and brought great pathos to this melodramatic play.
For more information on Camp Shakespeare options (including Mini CS and CS for Seniors), visit Camp Shakespeare Online. Hopefully I'll see you in Utah for Summer 2009!
I've just returned from a week-long, ultra-intensive and very fun week of Camp Shakespeare at the Tony Award winning Utah Shakespearean Festival, and words, words, words can hardly describe the experience. I feel like I've just woken up form a strange dream--a dream that an Elizabethan English playhouse had been magically transported to the red sandstone mountains of Southern Utah, that Shakespeare fans and students of all ages were now traveling to Utah in droves to see stellar performances of the bard's plays, that actors and audience members alike were partying after hours in cabarets, that world renowned scholars and directors and stage designers were drawn inexplicably to Cedar City to create some of the best Shakespearean theater in the world ...
(Slide show photos by Gary Enns, Gary Graupman, and Michael Flachmann)
If you have never been to the Utah Shakespearean Festival, then you are in for a shock. There is not much that seems regional about this regional theater. For forty-six years, Fred Adams and USF supporters have been building this festival into something spectacular. The festival grounds now boast three stages, indoor and outdoor lecture spaces, concessions, and a center with bookstore and gift shop. The USF produces nine--yes, nine--plays per year. Needless to say, Southern Utah is now a magnet for professional actors, directors, and other drama professionals. For its excellence, in 2000, The USF achieved international attention when it won a Tony Award for Outstanding Regional Theater of the Year.
The Adams Memorial Theatre is the crown jewel at the USF. An open-air theater designed in the spirit of Shakespeare's Globe, it's the space of choice for traditional period productions of the plays of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. For musicals, contemporary plays, and non-traditional productions of Shakespeare, the USF utilizes the beautifully gilded indoor Randall L. Jones Theatre.
For anyone even remotely curious about the Shakespeare and the theater, Camp Shakespeare is a fantastic introduction. In five intense days, you see six plays (three of Shakespeare's and three by other playwrights and/or composers), attend seminars and classes and workshops on all things theater, and eat extremely well in SUU's beautiful and elegant Great Hall. Lodging and all meals are included. World renowned Shakespeare scholar and official festival dramaturg Michael Flachmann heads up the camp, wearing several hats--host, teacher, party coordinator, and general fun guy. And if you are a student, valuable university undergraduate and graduate credit is available through SUU and CSUB.
The 2008 Summer season that I just attended includes The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Othello, The Taming of the Shrew, Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac, Moliere's The School for Wives, and Bock, Harnick, and Stein's popular musical Fiddler on the Roof. The highlight for me was Rostand's play directed by David Ivers. The chemistry between leads Brian Vaughn and Melinda Pfunstein was first rate and brought great pathos to this melodramatic play.
For more information on Camp Shakespeare options (including Mini CS and CS for Seniors), visit Camp Shakespeare Online. Hopefully I'll see you in Utah for Summer 2009!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Aeron's Review: Down to a Sunless Sea by Matthias Freese
Down to a Sunless Sea was a challenging and emotional read, but one I took on with interest and intensity. I saw reflections of myself, turned this way or that in the glass of the book, responding to the pictures that are so sharply and courageously drawn of people in inescapable pain, some of whom who seem to be mourning or experiencing deep anguish or torment. It was as if the book were a pool of dark water that revealed a hall of mirrors as I broke the surface in my dive into the deep.
I very much like Freese’s title for this collection, and saw it interlaced throughout the book in the deep and disturbing nature of the stories he tells. I felt drawn to many of his characters, fascinated in a tender way by their dark, even sad, yet striking portraits. To say that I felt their struggles resonating within me would be an understatement. The experience of reading the book may have been heightened somewhat for me by a recent personal loss, but even without fresh pain, reading Down to a Sunless Sea will strike in most readers that common chord of humanity, as they see so clearly before them the desolate, and yet recall the undying hope so many of us carry within.
Matthias Freese’s writing is sensitive, yet starkly illustrative of the sometimes frantic, sometimes muted angst of mental illness and emotional turmoil that his work reveals to readers. It’s as if, at certain moments, I felt the author’s voice as well as hearing it, and I responded with an array of feelings – from anger to compassion, and everything in between.
Every now and then, a turn of the phrase would capture me and take me to another level in my life as a reader. For example, in the story “Unanswerable,” the phrase “…the dead are alive in us…” really struck me – and not simply due to my recent loss, but more because “…that memory is as present as time itself…” I could feel the pain of distance and disappointment, of fear and loathing, mixed with love and confusion and loss in this story, for both the child and the man. As an anthem to numbness, I resonated with the words “…he had no there in him.”
I cannot name a favorite from among the stories; they are each unto themselves unique, and yet that golden thread unites them all and I did not find it difficult to transition from one to the other. Instead, I seemed to want more. I tend to put a book down and then pick it up again, and, true to form, I did that with this collection of stories – the natural breaks from one to the other making my habit fit easily within its covers. Still, I would find myself thinking about the last story I had read and anticipating, not in a voyeuristic fashion but in a sense of being drawn to, the next. I would pass by my study and see the book on the arm of my chair and find myself stopping in when there were other things to do.
I plan to spend more time with Freese’s stories, and encourage especially those who are interested in the mind and in exploring in more detail the inner lives of human persons to read his work. I have recently read The i Tetralogy, and found it a welcome arrival when I was ready to move on from Down to a Sunless Sea. I admit that I was not altogether willing to move on, but after a time of self-reflection, found my footing and did so, eager for more of the rich descriptions to which I had become accustomed. The i Tetralogy did not disappoint, but I did find myself wanting to revisit the intensely personal worlds of Down to a Sunless Sea.
I noted some typographical errors in the printing (errant punctuation such as a comma and period residing in the same location), but – even with my perfectionistic bent as an editor – simply wished them away. Usually, those items of housekeeping distract me when reading, and, were I to be completely honest, they did here – but they did not detract from my overall experience of this read and may have, in some spiritual way, been fitting. My attention was certainly not taken at any point from the sometimes jarring but somehow tranquil journey through the landscape of emotional and mental life, and I dare say that I came away from the reading with a new place opened up inside myself – yet another tender access to my already captivated mind and willing heart.
I congratulate Matthias Freese on a challenging work expertly done.
Aeron Hicks, reviewer
Crossfield Consulting Literary Agency
©2008
I very much like Freese’s title for this collection, and saw it interlaced throughout the book in the deep and disturbing nature of the stories he tells. I felt drawn to many of his characters, fascinated in a tender way by their dark, even sad, yet striking portraits. To say that I felt their struggles resonating within me would be an understatement. The experience of reading the book may have been heightened somewhat for me by a recent personal loss, but even without fresh pain, reading Down to a Sunless Sea will strike in most readers that common chord of humanity, as they see so clearly before them the desolate, and yet recall the undying hope so many of us carry within.
Matthias Freese’s writing is sensitive, yet starkly illustrative of the sometimes frantic, sometimes muted angst of mental illness and emotional turmoil that his work reveals to readers. It’s as if, at certain moments, I felt the author’s voice as well as hearing it, and I responded with an array of feelings – from anger to compassion, and everything in between.
Every now and then, a turn of the phrase would capture me and take me to another level in my life as a reader. For example, in the story “Unanswerable,” the phrase “…the dead are alive in us…” really struck me – and not simply due to my recent loss, but more because “…that memory is as present as time itself…” I could feel the pain of distance and disappointment, of fear and loathing, mixed with love and confusion and loss in this story, for both the child and the man. As an anthem to numbness, I resonated with the words “…he had no there in him.”
I cannot name a favorite from among the stories; they are each unto themselves unique, and yet that golden thread unites them all and I did not find it difficult to transition from one to the other. Instead, I seemed to want more. I tend to put a book down and then pick it up again, and, true to form, I did that with this collection of stories – the natural breaks from one to the other making my habit fit easily within its covers. Still, I would find myself thinking about the last story I had read and anticipating, not in a voyeuristic fashion but in a sense of being drawn to, the next. I would pass by my study and see the book on the arm of my chair and find myself stopping in when there were other things to do.
I plan to spend more time with Freese’s stories, and encourage especially those who are interested in the mind and in exploring in more detail the inner lives of human persons to read his work. I have recently read The i Tetralogy, and found it a welcome arrival when I was ready to move on from Down to a Sunless Sea. I admit that I was not altogether willing to move on, but after a time of self-reflection, found my footing and did so, eager for more of the rich descriptions to which I had become accustomed. The i Tetralogy did not disappoint, but I did find myself wanting to revisit the intensely personal worlds of Down to a Sunless Sea.
I noted some typographical errors in the printing (errant punctuation such as a comma and period residing in the same location), but – even with my perfectionistic bent as an editor – simply wished them away. Usually, those items of housekeeping distract me when reading, and, were I to be completely honest, they did here – but they did not detract from my overall experience of this read and may have, in some spiritual way, been fitting. My attention was certainly not taken at any point from the sometimes jarring but somehow tranquil journey through the landscape of emotional and mental life, and I dare say that I came away from the reading with a new place opened up inside myself – yet another tender access to my already captivated mind and willing heart.
I congratulate Matthias Freese on a challenging work expertly done.
Aeron Hicks, reviewer
Crossfield Consulting Literary Agency
©2008
Friday, May 09, 2008
Drumroll please!
The moment we've all been waiting for is here at last! The release of Metamorphoses 2007-08 is finally here!
Many apologies to those of you, if any, who have not yet given up on us and are still eagerly awaiting your copies. The change in funding and everything became a little more than we could chew... in a timely manner. Switching from being a school funded production to an independent project brought on many new obstacles that proved a bit much, but we have made it at last and are thrilled to present the culmination of our efforts.
To all of those wonderful individuals and businesses who supported our funding, as well as those who contributed all the great art, poems, and stories that make up this edition, we will be sending you a copy of the journal just as soon as we can get them all packaged and labeled. We thoroughly hope you can all be as proud of the first independent edition of Met as we are, knowing that it couldnt have happened without the support and contributions of people like you! Thank you for making Met what it is this year, and we hope you will join us to see the progress in years to come and know that it all started here.
For those who are not getting copies shipped to you, you can pick yours up at the Cerro Coso campus or online at http://www.cerrocoso.edu/metamorphoses/. As I understand, we are going to try to keep this publication free of cost to CCCC students, and for non students it will be $5 per copy (plus shipping for both students and non-students if you order online). Please continue to support by telling all of your family and friends!
Id like to congratulate our cover artist, Michael Batty, both on his awesome art work and on the award he recieved at the 2008 Awards Banquet at the Ridgecrest campus yesterday. I didnt get the chance to talk with him, but he recieved recognition from the Fine Arts department as the student of the year for that subject. I have to say just from seeing your work and hearing all the great things that were said about you that you deserve it! Keep up the good work, and were proud to have your work displayed as the cover of our very first independent publication!
Many apologies to those of you, if any, who have not yet given up on us and are still eagerly awaiting your copies. The change in funding and everything became a little more than we could chew... in a timely manner. Switching from being a school funded production to an independent project brought on many new obstacles that proved a bit much, but we have made it at last and are thrilled to present the culmination of our efforts.
To all of those wonderful individuals and businesses who supported our funding, as well as those who contributed all the great art, poems, and stories that make up this edition, we will be sending you a copy of the journal just as soon as we can get them all packaged and labeled. We thoroughly hope you can all be as proud of the first independent edition of Met as we are, knowing that it couldnt have happened without the support and contributions of people like you! Thank you for making Met what it is this year, and we hope you will join us to see the progress in years to come and know that it all started here.
For those who are not getting copies shipped to you, you can pick yours up at the Cerro Coso campus or online at http://www.cerrocoso.edu/metamorphoses/. As I understand, we are going to try to keep this publication free of cost to CCCC students, and for non students it will be $5 per copy (plus shipping for both students and non-students if you order online). Please continue to support by telling all of your family and friends!
Id like to congratulate our cover artist, Michael Batty, both on his awesome art work and on the award he recieved at the 2008 Awards Banquet at the Ridgecrest campus yesterday. I didnt get the chance to talk with him, but he recieved recognition from the Fine Arts department as the student of the year for that subject. I have to say just from seeing your work and hearing all the great things that were said about you that you deserve it! Keep up the good work, and were proud to have your work displayed as the cover of our very first independent publication!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
"Met" Minutes
Greetings, all! I hope you're all doing well.
No, Met has not been published yet, but when I asked Gary about it today he said "March, March March!" so hopefully that means March...
In the meantime, I would like to give you a little bit of a preview of what is to come, and maybe my reviews of a few pieces.
This is "Pair of Feet" by M. Batty. He is a Cerro Coso student from Ridgecrest, and I absolutely love his work. We are featuring several of his pieces, including the cover piece, which you will have to wait to see!
This is "Rousing the Whirlwind" but Aunia Kahn. She is one of the non- Cerro Coso students we have fought to be able to feature. We are also featuring more than one of her pieces, and each one of the pieces submitted by her have a very unique statement. I like the way she expresses herself through her work.
"Desert Dreams II" by Jeani Sunday. I love this piece. Not many photographs of deserted buildings make me want to be in the picture, but I almost get a feeling of weightlessness looking at this. It's beautiful.
"Amusing" by Donna Fitch. I have taken art classes with Donna, and she does some amazing work. This is one of my favorite pieces of hers.
COMBING by ANDREW SHELLY
I.
Stilled dusk of washed-out louring light
rain-tense day silted down to a black line of cloud on the horizon
sense how everything goes quiet and freezes
just before the storm crumbles and boils over
cloud violently colliding with itself to crush and fracture the curdled light brighter
feel how everything goes silent just before the fall of autumn or that of night
see how a life goes still and turns in on itself at evening just before it ends
as if viewed through a soundproof screen of doom-tinted glass/shade-stained glaze
element stained to slurry with black ink
cloud-streaks of blue-black aquatint
whose sleek perspectives trailing back into the sky's past
converged upon us and trapped us standing there at an odd angle to each other
drawn across the landscaped page
with a paint-drenched brush pressed firmly to the surface
shot across the ether's sheet
or dashed angrily in savage black against the feverish background greys
held back beyond the dulled rim of the looming horizon ruthlessly planed down
flush with the pert cut scar of your flat prim mouth
slowly disintegrating like a jet's ragged wake
as torn tares into the close-heated thickness of afternoon-muted light
earth line brought so near as to be a gulch between us
by the storm-borne air of haze-saturated heat/waterlogged lead
heavy as tears in a pain-soaked skull-shell of scree and sand/sunburst earthhead
rimful of intimate distance brimming with unshed, grey theatre rain
yellow-purple bruise of sunset storm-sky just before it breaks in blood
low-humming of near-pent water muted ominous booming
threatening to bulge and burst out as the first or final flood
retreating and retrenching to silt over the parched terrain
to fresh growth teeming from black mud.
II.
Stiff, dry grass in the swamp-heavy air
combed obliquely back and forth between green and paler matte lime
I stood slightly slantwise on the uneven rain-thirsty plain
rigidly ruled into plots by cotton twined round short planted stakes
pock-marked with hollows and unburst shell-holes,
I untangled your hair, as your bare face wept
unraveled the knots in your clammy hair carefully
washed out the matted strands of your hair in the river water
pecked cloth-balls from your crummy clothes ruefully
your baggy rumpled skirt and wind-shocked top
while you cried, bare-faced,
while ineptly you wept, your bald face wet
a trickle of wincing tenderness seeped out through the cracks in our broken hearts
vulnerable pulp or sap to salve the knife-cuts in the tree's bark
which slashed our sticky initials into the fresh white wood flesh
such that they oozed glue but obstinately refused to adhere together
separated by a thin line like a joy division sign
like a flat cut pert mouth primly shut and silent
me over you doesn't go or leaves a remainder of precisely zero
flung an 0 echoing down the deserted street of days in the bleak light of spastic dawn
popped us like a plastic spit-bubble
pricked to the shape of a flame-burnt scar-tissue heart by a red-hot needle
hovering over our heads forever like a trembling speech-balloon
empty but for an exclamation that twists itself up to the shape of a question mark
or an illegible rune that bursts in a pretty tinkle of little spit-specks like a teardrop tree
and vanishes into clean air, into lean air.
I dried you, while you cried, your bare shame-face
turned up to the sky which dropped a fine
freckling of scattered rain-flecks upon the pale
sliver-of moon opal thumbnail of your face's plane,
my finger chucking you lightly under the chin
tilted the beaten-thin disc of your visage's skin
slightly to the grey light the grim sky
like a jagged diamond turned slowly between fingertips
in the hard light of exact appreciation,
precise pencil-beam trained seekingly upon the smooth of your round moon-face
fused first as pixel points of dense intensity
into the surrounding dawnrise silence
as you smiled a little in the hot pre-storm half-dark
shattered blue of your eyes' metalled crystal ovals
faint against the stark zinc light
like almond-facets of pastel quartz
touched into the neuter pre-downpour twilight
bleached colorless and drained off-white like strained rinds
by a blunt thumb's end dipped in stain.
We stood slightly bent towards each other-
I stood sagging in low-slung loose trousers at an awkward angle
one foot higher than the other and skewed shoulders slanting sideways
in the spitting pre-deluge drizzle
on the stumpy marsh-land studded with clumps of hard sod
crumpling into myself like a used tissue screwed up in a fat fist
having absorbed all the snot and sweat and filth of the world
you ran off over a fence, leapt like a lamb,
heavy space weighed me down, drooping greens
all around, early haze, pre-summer moist,
rain-freighted shale while
the vivid bright stile closed its colors.
This is another one of the people who submitted that we almost didn't get to publish. Andrew Shelley is from London, and I'm glad we are able to publish this work.
PUTTING DOWN MY RAKE, I TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK ABOUT GETTING OLDER by Shawn Aprill.
September leaves fall.
Beige hand holds brown—see myself:
Fragile. One more year…
Shawn Aprill is local but is not a Cerro Coso student. All the wonderful work we wouldn't have been able to use without all the fundraising we did!
No, Met has not been published yet, but when I asked Gary about it today he said "March, March March!" so hopefully that means March...
In the meantime, I would like to give you a little bit of a preview of what is to come, and maybe my reviews of a few pieces.
This is "Pair of Feet" by M. Batty. He is a Cerro Coso student from Ridgecrest, and I absolutely love his work. We are featuring several of his pieces, including the cover piece, which you will have to wait to see!
This is "Rousing the Whirlwind" but Aunia Kahn. She is one of the non- Cerro Coso students we have fought to be able to feature. We are also featuring more than one of her pieces, and each one of the pieces submitted by her have a very unique statement. I like the way she expresses herself through her work.
"Desert Dreams II" by Jeani Sunday. I love this piece. Not many photographs of deserted buildings make me want to be in the picture, but I almost get a feeling of weightlessness looking at this. It's beautiful.
"Amusing" by Donna Fitch. I have taken art classes with Donna, and she does some amazing work. This is one of my favorite pieces of hers.
COMBING by ANDREW SHELLY
I.
Stilled dusk of washed-out louring light
rain-tense day silted down to a black line of cloud on the horizon
sense how everything goes quiet and freezes
just before the storm crumbles and boils over
cloud violently colliding with itself to crush and fracture the curdled light brighter
feel how everything goes silent just before the fall of autumn or that of night
see how a life goes still and turns in on itself at evening just before it ends
as if viewed through a soundproof screen of doom-tinted glass/shade-stained glaze
element stained to slurry with black ink
cloud-streaks of blue-black aquatint
whose sleek perspectives trailing back into the sky's past
converged upon us and trapped us standing there at an odd angle to each other
drawn across the landscaped page
with a paint-drenched brush pressed firmly to the surface
shot across the ether's sheet
or dashed angrily in savage black against the feverish background greys
held back beyond the dulled rim of the looming horizon ruthlessly planed down
flush with the pert cut scar of your flat prim mouth
slowly disintegrating like a jet's ragged wake
as torn tares into the close-heated thickness of afternoon-muted light
earth line brought so near as to be a gulch between us
by the storm-borne air of haze-saturated heat/waterlogged lead
heavy as tears in a pain-soaked skull-shell of scree and sand/sunburst earthhead
rimful of intimate distance brimming with unshed, grey theatre rain
yellow-purple bruise of sunset storm-sky just before it breaks in blood
low-humming of near-pent water muted ominous booming
threatening to bulge and burst out as the first or final flood
retreating and retrenching to silt over the parched terrain
to fresh growth teeming from black mud.
II.
Stiff, dry grass in the swamp-heavy air
combed obliquely back and forth between green and paler matte lime
I stood slightly slantwise on the uneven rain-thirsty plain
rigidly ruled into plots by cotton twined round short planted stakes
pock-marked with hollows and unburst shell-holes,
I untangled your hair, as your bare face wept
unraveled the knots in your clammy hair carefully
washed out the matted strands of your hair in the river water
pecked cloth-balls from your crummy clothes ruefully
your baggy rumpled skirt and wind-shocked top
while you cried, bare-faced,
while ineptly you wept, your bald face wet
a trickle of wincing tenderness seeped out through the cracks in our broken hearts
vulnerable pulp or sap to salve the knife-cuts in the tree's bark
which slashed our sticky initials into the fresh white wood flesh
such that they oozed glue but obstinately refused to adhere together
separated by a thin line like a joy division sign
like a flat cut pert mouth primly shut and silent
me over you doesn't go or leaves a remainder of precisely zero
flung an 0 echoing down the deserted street of days in the bleak light of spastic dawn
popped us like a plastic spit-bubble
pricked to the shape of a flame-burnt scar-tissue heart by a red-hot needle
hovering over our heads forever like a trembling speech-balloon
empty but for an exclamation that twists itself up to the shape of a question mark
or an illegible rune that bursts in a pretty tinkle of little spit-specks like a teardrop tree
and vanishes into clean air, into lean air.
I dried you, while you cried, your bare shame-face
turned up to the sky which dropped a fine
freckling of scattered rain-flecks upon the pale
sliver-of moon opal thumbnail of your face's plane,
my finger chucking you lightly under the chin
tilted the beaten-thin disc of your visage's skin
slightly to the grey light the grim sky
like a jagged diamond turned slowly between fingertips
in the hard light of exact appreciation,
precise pencil-beam trained seekingly upon the smooth of your round moon-face
fused first as pixel points of dense intensity
into the surrounding dawnrise silence
as you smiled a little in the hot pre-storm half-dark
shattered blue of your eyes' metalled crystal ovals
faint against the stark zinc light
like almond-facets of pastel quartz
touched into the neuter pre-downpour twilight
bleached colorless and drained off-white like strained rinds
by a blunt thumb's end dipped in stain.
We stood slightly bent towards each other-
I stood sagging in low-slung loose trousers at an awkward angle
one foot higher than the other and skewed shoulders slanting sideways
in the spitting pre-deluge drizzle
on the stumpy marsh-land studded with clumps of hard sod
crumpling into myself like a used tissue screwed up in a fat fist
having absorbed all the snot and sweat and filth of the world
you ran off over a fence, leapt like a lamb,
heavy space weighed me down, drooping greens
all around, early haze, pre-summer moist,
rain-freighted shale while
the vivid bright stile closed its colors.
This is another one of the people who submitted that we almost didn't get to publish. Andrew Shelley is from London, and I'm glad we are able to publish this work.
PUTTING DOWN MY RAKE, I TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK ABOUT GETTING OLDER by Shawn Aprill.
September leaves fall.
Beige hand holds brown—see myself:
Fragile. One more year…
Shawn Aprill is local but is not a Cerro Coso student. All the wonderful work we wouldn't have been able to use without all the fundraising we did!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Coleridge’s Contribution to Creativity
To go on a voyage resonates as something fantastic and breathtaking. The word “voyage” in itself brings to mind indistinct, exotic places. However, when one reads The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, an expedition conveys a completely different significance. In this narrative ballad, the Mariner discloses the harrowing account of his own unforgettable voyage. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is regarded by some as Coleridge’s greatest contribution to poetry. This work took poems to a whole new level with meter, imagery, and the never-ending quest for penance. 
Though one can presuppose that Coleridge was at least moderately inspired by his addiction to laudanum, this literary scholar would prefer to concentrate exclusively on the poem—isolated from all outside influence. So, please--read this poem and post your thoughts here. Do you think the old Mariner ever attains peace? What do you think is the message here?
Though one can presuppose that Coleridge was at least moderately inspired by his addiction to laudanum, this literary scholar would prefer to concentrate exclusively on the poem—isolated from all outside influence. So, please--read this poem and post your thoughts here. Do you think the old Mariner ever attains peace? What do you think is the message here?
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