In keeping with the theme of tragedy, a dark piece...
The Froce That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower
Dylan Thomas
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
Dylan's poem is complex in its simplicity.
This poem describes the cycle of life and death, while acknowledging that destruction is a key part of the same process, both for man and for nature. Each stanza presents the flow of time moving towards its conclusion.
This poem is saturated with imagery and metaphor. Imagery is evident in the first stanza with descriptions of death in relation to “wintry fever”. The green “fuse” is the stem which is the life-blood of the flower, connecting it like a baby to its mother through its umbilical cord.
Violent words such as “force” to describe something as beautiful as the growth and maturation of a flower is unlikely, and this poem is dark in that these violent images are often used to take the focus off of the beauty and progression of life, and rather remind us that death is inevitable for the weathered flower.
This poem compares the human existence to that of nature represented as a flower. It reminds us that we are all ‘one with the earth’, we all experience similar stages towards death, we all experience the process of aging, and that we will all eventually meet the same fate.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Italians and Englishmen
Elizabethean dramatic poetry assisted the English language as it awakened a certain consciousness within it. Language in literature became “rich and alive” as “the world is a text”(Lecture: 01/17). Representation of the times became important with elaborate costumes and visuals to unify theatre and literature.
Comedy and Tragedy are examples of dramatic poetry.
The following is an example of a dramatic monologue which comes from Robert Browning’s “My last Dutchess”:
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart---how shall I say?---too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace---all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,---good! but thanked
Somehow---I know not how---as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech---(which I have not)---to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"---and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
---E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
This poem is a classic example of a monologue and grammatically uses poetic structures such as enjambment, and the speaker is identified as being separate from the poet. The character of the Duke is seen as ‘ridiculous’ as his personality is slightly off-colour. He mimics other characters, imitates them, suggests situations which are not evident (all which suggest irony to the audience as the reader is clearly able to see truth while he does not have the capability to see past his madness).
This poem places emphasis on aesthetic value and explores issues of sex and violence as the idea of self-consciousness and immorality are heightened as the Dutchess is punished for her sexual exploration.
Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much,"
As this poem is a monologue, the audience could consider that the “madness” and anger came from a ‘war of consciousnesses’ in the characters mind.
The poem places emphasis on the word “last” implying that the Duke is in the midst of finishing with one, and is in search of another Dutchess. This adds a certain element to the poem as it demonstrates the treatment of women and the way in which feminine qualities are appreciated and/or abused.
Irony is evident that while the Duke is in constant conversation with himself, and the audience is able to see the value of the entire situation and piece together another level of psychology that exists in the context, we see humour in his madness and irrationality. The fact that men are attracted to female sexuality, yet become engaged in an ever-constant battle to conserve these qualities.
Comedy and Tragedy are examples of dramatic poetry.
The following is an example of a dramatic monologue which comes from Robert Browning’s “My last Dutchess”:
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart---how shall I say?---too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace---all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,---good! but thanked
Somehow---I know not how---as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech---(which I have not)---to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"---and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
---E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
This poem is a classic example of a monologue and grammatically uses poetic structures such as enjambment, and the speaker is identified as being separate from the poet. The character of the Duke is seen as ‘ridiculous’ as his personality is slightly off-colour. He mimics other characters, imitates them, suggests situations which are not evident (all which suggest irony to the audience as the reader is clearly able to see truth while he does not have the capability to see past his madness).
This poem places emphasis on aesthetic value and explores issues of sex and violence as the idea of self-consciousness and immorality are heightened as the Dutchess is punished for her sexual exploration.
Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much,"
As this poem is a monologue, the audience could consider that the “madness” and anger came from a ‘war of consciousnesses’ in the characters mind.
The poem places emphasis on the word “last” implying that the Duke is in the midst of finishing with one, and is in search of another Dutchess. This adds a certain element to the poem as it demonstrates the treatment of women and the way in which feminine qualities are appreciated and/or abused.
Irony is evident that while the Duke is in constant conversation with himself, and the audience is able to see the value of the entire situation and piece together another level of psychology that exists in the context, we see humour in his madness and irrationality. The fact that men are attracted to female sexuality, yet become engaged in an ever-constant battle to conserve these qualities.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
The Lovers
Poetry is about passion. It can be terrifying and destructive, and it should convey sensitivity and sincerity to its audience.[1]
Greece:
Sappho was a female Greek lyrist who, in reflection of the times, wrote lyrical poetry that was accompanied by a lyre (which was discussed in class prior to the break). She was the inventor of the Sapphic metre which is: A line that consists of five equal beats, of which the central one alone is of three syllables, while the others consist of two each. [2]
Her style is sensual and melodic. She composed songs of love and reflection and centered much of her focus on woman in art, and was later considered for its homoerotic content. Her writing suggests that the expression of same-sex love was not frowned upon then as it was in more recent times. She has been known to be the “lesbian writer” of love poetry or the “undying Aphrodite”.[3]
Rome:
We’re taken to a time much different from the period of Sappho.
Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius represent the emergence of lyric poetry in Rome from approximately 60 to 10 BC.
It is at this point where we see men writing about love. Historically the ideas of lyric poetry involve much sexuality (Sappho) with romanticized ideas incorporating love, politics, sex and self-expression.
These poets are often referred of as writing in a time of “luxury”. Cattulus in particular was noted for writing during a period where the former conservative Roman empire became revolutionized by need for extravagance and bourgeois displays of wealth.
Catullus wrote:
"At leisure, Licinius, yesterday
We'd much fun at my writing-tablets
As we'd agreed to be frivolous.
Each of us writing light verses
Playing now with this metre, now that,
Capping each other's jokes with toasts,"[4]
This depicts a period where there was time for luxury: feasts, lavish dinners, and extravagance.
You'll dine well, my Fabullus, at mineOne day soon if the Gods are kind to you,If you will bring with you a dinnerGood and large plus a pretty girl And wine and salt and all the laughs. If, I repeat, you bring these with you, Our charmer, you'll dine well; for your Catullus' purse is full of cobwebs. But in return you'll get love neat Or something still more choice and fragrant; For I'll porvide the perfume given My girl by Venuses and Cupids And when you smell it you'll ask the Gods, Fabullus, to make you one large nose.
Translated by Guy Lee [5]
This is an example of a very sexual poem which insinuates the sharing of women, love-play, and eroticism.
As discussed in lecture, Ovid wrote a series of poems called “elegies in elegiac meter which were sophisticated poems about life and times and sex.
The first work is called “The Theme of Love” is his writings of Amore.
I interpret book one, “The Theme of Love” as a discussion between himself and his conscious (“Cupid”) as inevitably his passion for love outweighs the realities of violent times.
A discussion on Ovid’s Amores…
A selection from “The Theme of Love.”
Book I, Elegy I
Just now, I was preparing to start with heavy fighting
and violent war, with a measure to fit the matter.
Good enough for lesser verse – laughed Cupid
so they say, and stole a foot away.
‘Cruel boy, who gave you power over this song?
Poets are the Muses’, we’re not in your crowd.
What if Venus snatched golden Minerva’s weapons,
while golden Minerva fanned the flaming fires?
Who’d approve of Ceres ruling the wooded hills,
with the Virgin’s quiver to cultivate the fields?
Who’d grant long-haired Phoebus a sharp spear,
while Mars played the Aonian lyre?
You’ve a mighty kingdom, boy, and too much power,
ambitious one, why aspire to fresh works?
Or is everything yours?
Elegy II is entitled “Love’s Victim” and compares the idea of love to war, as they are both about passion and violence and unrequited desires.
How to say what it’s like, how hard my mattress
seems, and the sheets won’t stay on the bed,
and the sleepless nights, so long to endure,
tossing with every weary bone of my body in pain?
But, I think, if desire were attacking me I’d feel it.
Surely he’s crept in and skilfully hurt me with secret art.
That’s it: a slender arrow sticks fast in my heart,
and cruel Love lives there, in my conquered breast.
Shall I give in: to go down fighting might bank the fires?
I give in! The burden that’s carried with grace is lighter.
I’ve seen the torch that’s swung about grow brighter
and the still one, on the contrary, quenched.
The oxen that shirk when first seized for the yoke
get more lashes than those that are used to the plough.
The hot steed’s mouth is bruised from the harsh curb,
the one that’s been in harness, feels reins less.
Love oppresses reluctant lovers more harshly and insolently
than those who acknowledge they’ll bear his slavery.
Look I confess! Cupid, I’m your latest prize:
stretching out conquered arms towards your justice.
War’s not the thing – I come seeking peace:
no glory for you in conquering unarmed men.
Once love has overtaken duty, this poetry continues to describe various levels of consciousness and describes encounters where, in great detail, love and sex are discussed as giving-way to great need for passion.
Elegy VII:
If there’s a friend here, tie my hands –
they merit chains – while my fury wanes!
Just now my fury thoughtlessly struck my girl:
my darling’s weeping, wounded by my mad hands.
Then I could have done violence to my dear parents
or savagely taken a scourge to the sacred gods!
Well? Didn’t Lord Ajax of the seven-layered shield
lay out the sheep he caught all over the fields,
and didn’t lawless Orestes’s, avenging his father
on his mother, dare to call up a spear for the secret Sisters?
So can’t I tear at her done-up hair?
Here it is seen again that through the stages of seeking and yearning for love, falling in love, courting love, enjoying love, testing love, finally lends way to violence, characteristic of Book I and depicts the violence that can be found in love, as it is found on the battle-field.
Elegy IX is adequately entitled: Love is War. It lends to the admission and recognition of the violence found in nature and in love.
Every lover’s in arms, and Cupid holds the fort:
Atticus, believe me, every lover’s in arms.
The age that’s good for war, is also right for love.
An old soldier’s a disgrace, and an old lover.
That spirit a commander looks for in a brave army,
a lovely girl looks for in a love partner.
Both keep watch: both sleep on the ground,
one serves at his lady’s entrance, the other his general’s.
A long road’s a soldier’s task: but send the girl off,
and a restless lover will follow her to the end.
I interpret this next part as a kind of revolutionary thought, meaning, the once inexperienced lover has now gone through the elements and stages of having loved, and has tasted both the good and the bad, and now reflects on love as mature, wiser, and experience lover.
Elegy X:
I feared eagles and bulls, for you,
and whatever else great Jupiter might make love as.
Now all fear’s gone, my mind is healed of error,
now your beauty can’t captivate my eyes.
Why am I changed, you ask? Because you want gifts.
That’s the cause that stops you from pleasing me.
Once you were innocent, I loved you body and soul:
now your beauty’s flawed by this defect of mind.
Love is a child and naked: without the shabbiness of age
and without clothing, so he’s all openness.
And…
When making love pleases both partners alike,
why should she sell and the other buy?
When a man and a woman perform a joint act
why should the pleasure hurt me and profit you?
It’s wrong for witnesses to perjure themselves for gain,
it’s wrong to open the purse of the chosen judges.
It’s a disgrace to defend the accused with a bought tongue:
a disgraceful court makes itself wealthy:
it’s wrong to swell family wealth with the bed’s proceeds,
or prostitute your good looks for money.
un-purchased, things deserve our thanks, on merit:
no thanks for the evil of a bought bed.
The buyer loosens all bonds
In the last elegy of his first book, he reflects on what he has experienced in love, hurt, and death. This also sets a dark, moody, and restless tone to his work.
So, while granite, while the unyielding ploughshare
perish with the years, poetry will not die.
Leaders and countries yield to the triumphs of song,
and the lavish waters of gold-bearing Tagus yield!
Let the masses gaze at trash: let golden-haired Apollo
offer me a brimming cup of Castalian waters,
and I’ll wear a wreathe of myrtle, that hates the cold,
and be read by many an anxious lover!
Envy feeds on the living: it’s quiet after death,
while everyone who’s dead gets their due honours.
So even when I’m given to the final flames,
I’ll live, and the better part of me will survive.
It’s a more humorous approach to writing for his time. It is sophisticated and incorporates the reality of love with descriptions that give-way to a sense of naivety and despair.
I think looking at Ovid is a great example of passionate and sophisitcated poetry.
Texts:
[1] 2110 Tutorial: Love. Jan 3, 2005
[2] Encyclopedia.org/s/sa/sapphic
[3] 2110 Lecture: Love. Jan 3, 2005
[4] Lee, Guy. The Poems of Catullus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.
Reference: www.tonykline.co.uk/browsebages/latin/amoureshome
[5] Lee, Guy. The Poems of Catullus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.
Greece:
Sappho was a female Greek lyrist who, in reflection of the times, wrote lyrical poetry that was accompanied by a lyre (which was discussed in class prior to the break). She was the inventor of the Sapphic metre which is: A line that consists of five equal beats, of which the central one alone is of three syllables, while the others consist of two each. [2]
Her style is sensual and melodic. She composed songs of love and reflection and centered much of her focus on woman in art, and was later considered for its homoerotic content. Her writing suggests that the expression of same-sex love was not frowned upon then as it was in more recent times. She has been known to be the “lesbian writer” of love poetry or the “undying Aphrodite”.[3]
Rome:
We’re taken to a time much different from the period of Sappho.
Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius represent the emergence of lyric poetry in Rome from approximately 60 to 10 BC.
It is at this point where we see men writing about love. Historically the ideas of lyric poetry involve much sexuality (Sappho) with romanticized ideas incorporating love, politics, sex and self-expression.
These poets are often referred of as writing in a time of “luxury”. Cattulus in particular was noted for writing during a period where the former conservative Roman empire became revolutionized by need for extravagance and bourgeois displays of wealth.
Catullus wrote:
"At leisure, Licinius, yesterday
We'd much fun at my writing-tablets
As we'd agreed to be frivolous.
Each of us writing light verses
Playing now with this metre, now that,
Capping each other's jokes with toasts,"[4]
This depicts a period where there was time for luxury: feasts, lavish dinners, and extravagance.
You'll dine well, my Fabullus, at mineOne day soon if the Gods are kind to you,If you will bring with you a dinnerGood and large plus a pretty girl And wine and salt and all the laughs. If, I repeat, you bring these with you, Our charmer, you'll dine well; for your Catullus' purse is full of cobwebs. But in return you'll get love neat Or something still more choice and fragrant; For I'll porvide the perfume given My girl by Venuses and Cupids And when you smell it you'll ask the Gods, Fabullus, to make you one large nose.
Translated by Guy Lee [5]
This is an example of a very sexual poem which insinuates the sharing of women, love-play, and eroticism.
As discussed in lecture, Ovid wrote a series of poems called “elegies in elegiac meter which were sophisticated poems about life and times and sex.
The first work is called “The Theme of Love” is his writings of Amore.
I interpret book one, “The Theme of Love” as a discussion between himself and his conscious (“Cupid”) as inevitably his passion for love outweighs the realities of violent times.
A discussion on Ovid’s Amores…
A selection from “The Theme of Love.”
Book I, Elegy I
Just now, I was preparing to start with heavy fighting
and violent war, with a measure to fit the matter.
Good enough for lesser verse – laughed Cupid
so they say, and stole a foot away.
‘Cruel boy, who gave you power over this song?
Poets are the Muses’, we’re not in your crowd.
What if Venus snatched golden Minerva’s weapons,
while golden Minerva fanned the flaming fires?
Who’d approve of Ceres ruling the wooded hills,
with the Virgin’s quiver to cultivate the fields?
Who’d grant long-haired Phoebus a sharp spear,
while Mars played the Aonian lyre?
You’ve a mighty kingdom, boy, and too much power,
ambitious one, why aspire to fresh works?
Or is everything yours?
Elegy II is entitled “Love’s Victim” and compares the idea of love to war, as they are both about passion and violence and unrequited desires.
How to say what it’s like, how hard my mattress
seems, and the sheets won’t stay on the bed,
and the sleepless nights, so long to endure,
tossing with every weary bone of my body in pain?
But, I think, if desire were attacking me I’d feel it.
Surely he’s crept in and skilfully hurt me with secret art.
That’s it: a slender arrow sticks fast in my heart,
and cruel Love lives there, in my conquered breast.
Shall I give in: to go down fighting might bank the fires?
I give in! The burden that’s carried with grace is lighter.
I’ve seen the torch that’s swung about grow brighter
and the still one, on the contrary, quenched.
The oxen that shirk when first seized for the yoke
get more lashes than those that are used to the plough.
The hot steed’s mouth is bruised from the harsh curb,
the one that’s been in harness, feels reins less.
Love oppresses reluctant lovers more harshly and insolently
than those who acknowledge they’ll bear his slavery.
Look I confess! Cupid, I’m your latest prize:
stretching out conquered arms towards your justice.
War’s not the thing – I come seeking peace:
no glory for you in conquering unarmed men.
Once love has overtaken duty, this poetry continues to describe various levels of consciousness and describes encounters where, in great detail, love and sex are discussed as giving-way to great need for passion.
Elegy VII:
If there’s a friend here, tie my hands –
they merit chains – while my fury wanes!
Just now my fury thoughtlessly struck my girl:
my darling’s weeping, wounded by my mad hands.
Then I could have done violence to my dear parents
or savagely taken a scourge to the sacred gods!
Well? Didn’t Lord Ajax of the seven-layered shield
lay out the sheep he caught all over the fields,
and didn’t lawless Orestes’s, avenging his father
on his mother, dare to call up a spear for the secret Sisters?
So can’t I tear at her done-up hair?
Here it is seen again that through the stages of seeking and yearning for love, falling in love, courting love, enjoying love, testing love, finally lends way to violence, characteristic of Book I and depicts the violence that can be found in love, as it is found on the battle-field.
Elegy IX is adequately entitled: Love is War. It lends to the admission and recognition of the violence found in nature and in love.
Every lover’s in arms, and Cupid holds the fort:
Atticus, believe me, every lover’s in arms.
The age that’s good for war, is also right for love.
An old soldier’s a disgrace, and an old lover.
That spirit a commander looks for in a brave army,
a lovely girl looks for in a love partner.
Both keep watch: both sleep on the ground,
one serves at his lady’s entrance, the other his general’s.
A long road’s a soldier’s task: but send the girl off,
and a restless lover will follow her to the end.
I interpret this next part as a kind of revolutionary thought, meaning, the once inexperienced lover has now gone through the elements and stages of having loved, and has tasted both the good and the bad, and now reflects on love as mature, wiser, and experience lover.
Elegy X:
I feared eagles and bulls, for you,
and whatever else great Jupiter might make love as.
Now all fear’s gone, my mind is healed of error,
now your beauty can’t captivate my eyes.
Why am I changed, you ask? Because you want gifts.
That’s the cause that stops you from pleasing me.
Once you were innocent, I loved you body and soul:
now your beauty’s flawed by this defect of mind.
Love is a child and naked: without the shabbiness of age
and without clothing, so he’s all openness.
And…
When making love pleases both partners alike,
why should she sell and the other buy?
When a man and a woman perform a joint act
why should the pleasure hurt me and profit you?
It’s wrong for witnesses to perjure themselves for gain,
it’s wrong to open the purse of the chosen judges.
It’s a disgrace to defend the accused with a bought tongue:
a disgraceful court makes itself wealthy:
it’s wrong to swell family wealth with the bed’s proceeds,
or prostitute your good looks for money.
un-purchased, things deserve our thanks, on merit:
no thanks for the evil of a bought bed.
The buyer loosens all bonds
In the last elegy of his first book, he reflects on what he has experienced in love, hurt, and death. This also sets a dark, moody, and restless tone to his work.
So, while granite, while the unyielding ploughshare
perish with the years, poetry will not die.
Leaders and countries yield to the triumphs of song,
and the lavish waters of gold-bearing Tagus yield!
Let the masses gaze at trash: let golden-haired Apollo
offer me a brimming cup of Castalian waters,
and I’ll wear a wreathe of myrtle, that hates the cold,
and be read by many an anxious lover!
Envy feeds on the living: it’s quiet after death,
while everyone who’s dead gets their due honours.
So even when I’m given to the final flames,
I’ll live, and the better part of me will survive.
It’s a more humorous approach to writing for his time. It is sophisticated and incorporates the reality of love with descriptions that give-way to a sense of naivety and despair.
I think looking at Ovid is a great example of passionate and sophisitcated poetry.
Texts:
[1] 2110 Tutorial: Love. Jan 3, 2005
[2] Encyclopedia.org/s/sa/sapphic
[3] 2110 Lecture: Love. Jan 3, 2005
[4] Lee, Guy. The Poems of Catullus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.
Reference: www.tonykline.co.uk/browsebages/latin/amoureshome
[5] Lee, Guy. The Poems of Catullus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Side Note,
Another thought on love and music…
I was thinking about the concept of the oral tradition and the importance of “hearing” literature as opposed a conventional (or a more modern way) of reading literature.
Something just occurred to me: music.
Although it’s simple enough to understand on its own, the impact of the Oral tradition didn’t really hit home until I thought about “new music”. By vocalizing literature you gain the power to manipulate a text just by the way you pronounce key parts, and, that by doing this you can bring a new meaning to the text, context, or subtext, each time.
In relation to new music, more often than not, the written work (I'm refering to compositions, songs) have potential to be garbage as far as anything near intellectual, insightful, or revolutionary is concerned. A result of "pop-like" materialisim which sells aesthetic promises instead of real value or worth...
I’m generalizing...
But I’m going with this unfinished thought; trying to make a point…a point which came to me loud and clear when I payed close attention to a song I fully enjoy, and realized there is little to no substance at all…and being one to appreciate music on various levels, I found it both hilarious and insulting.
I jam to this song.
I love this (great) song.
I need a new word for this song.
It’s called:
“We Haven’t Turned Around Yet” - Gomez
We came, we came, we came again
To stem the tide and point the blame
Came back from more
Came back to see what you had in store
Everyone join the line, everyone
Yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Won’t you send it right over to me
I got some time
Everybody running high
The same, the same, the same again
To steal the time and haunt the graves
Just because it’s there
Don’t mean you see it anywhere
Maybe it’s a trick of the light
Maybe, yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Don’t you send it right over to me
I got some timeEverybody come alive
Yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Don’t you send it right over to me
I got some timeEverybody running high
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you say we haven’t turned around?
So you say we haven’t turned around?
Just everybody else is going wrong
Going wrong
The matter is simple. Before you can fully understand what I mean by any of this, you must HEAR this song. It exudes feeling. It is an incredible song at face value and it makes you feel profound just standing alone- a mess of yourself- there, in your living room, and it invokes emotion in you, it inspires you, it makes you feel…lovely.
And then you read the lyrics…and you feel tricked, or maybe you feel ridiculous, or maybe you still feel the same, only…
You really ‘get it’ now.
I feel this song is a perfect example and alludes to the fact that the “oral tradition” really is more than what we take it for, at first. Sure we all “get” the concept…but you don’t really “get it” until it affects you on your own, personal level with your select choice of material.
It’s worth checking out…hearing those lyrics and reading those lyrics…really are night and day.
So what gives it essence? The sound, the tone, the “accidental” grammatical features, it’s cohesiveness: it’s lexicality in repetition and metaphor. Maybe?
Which leads me into another thought that, beauty if found in the most simple of things…
...and this song as beautiful as it is simple, leaves me confused and appreciative, because I can value its worth in terms of a discovered feeling, found, in accidental simplicity.
(It pissed me off) I was sure it was deep...
Just a rant.
I was thinking about the concept of the oral tradition and the importance of “hearing” literature as opposed a conventional (or a more modern way) of reading literature.
Something just occurred to me: music.
Although it’s simple enough to understand on its own, the impact of the Oral tradition didn’t really hit home until I thought about “new music”. By vocalizing literature you gain the power to manipulate a text just by the way you pronounce key parts, and, that by doing this you can bring a new meaning to the text, context, or subtext, each time.
In relation to new music, more often than not, the written work (I'm refering to compositions, songs) have potential to be garbage as far as anything near intellectual, insightful, or revolutionary is concerned. A result of "pop-like" materialisim which sells aesthetic promises instead of real value or worth...
I’m generalizing...
But I’m going with this unfinished thought; trying to make a point…a point which came to me loud and clear when I payed close attention to a song I fully enjoy, and realized there is little to no substance at all…and being one to appreciate music on various levels, I found it both hilarious and insulting.
I jam to this song.
I love this (great) song.
I need a new word for this song.
It’s called:
“We Haven’t Turned Around Yet” - Gomez
We came, we came, we came again
To stem the tide and point the blame
Came back from more
Came back to see what you had in store
Everyone join the line, everyone
Yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Won’t you send it right over to me
I got some time
Everybody running high
The same, the same, the same again
To steal the time and haunt the graves
Just because it’s there
Don’t mean you see it anywhere
Maybe it’s a trick of the light
Maybe, yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Don’t you send it right over to me
I got some timeEverybody come alive
Yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Don’t you send it right over to me
I got some timeEverybody running high
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you say we haven’t turned around?
So you say we haven’t turned around?
Just everybody else is going wrong
Going wrong
The matter is simple. Before you can fully understand what I mean by any of this, you must HEAR this song. It exudes feeling. It is an incredible song at face value and it makes you feel profound just standing alone- a mess of yourself- there, in your living room, and it invokes emotion in you, it inspires you, it makes you feel…lovely.
And then you read the lyrics…and you feel tricked, or maybe you feel ridiculous, or maybe you still feel the same, only…
You really ‘get it’ now.
I feel this song is a perfect example and alludes to the fact that the “oral tradition” really is more than what we take it for, at first. Sure we all “get” the concept…but you don’t really “get it” until it affects you on your own, personal level with your select choice of material.
It’s worth checking out…hearing those lyrics and reading those lyrics…really are night and day.
So what gives it essence? The sound, the tone, the “accidental” grammatical features, it’s cohesiveness: it’s lexicality in repetition and metaphor. Maybe?
Which leads me into another thought that, beauty if found in the most simple of things…
...and this song as beautiful as it is simple, leaves me confused and appreciative, because I can value its worth in terms of a discovered feeling, found, in accidental simplicity.
(It pissed me off) I was sure it was deep...
Just a rant.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
bits n' bites
On Love,
The most passionate love song I have ever encountered is one called “Be Mine” by R.E.M. It is a very simple song but (by that principal alone) exudes extraordinary feeling. It takes you from the beginning of life in love, through the trials and tribulations of life lived as one, through to our final course in life, death.
I never thought of this as funny
It speaks another world to me
I want to be your easter bunny
I want to be your christmas tree
I’ll strip the world that you must live in
Of all it’s godforsaken greed
I’ll ply the tar out of your feathers
I’ll pluck the thorns out of your feet
You and me
You and me
You and me
And if I choose your sanctuary
I’ll want to wash you with my hair
I’ll want to drink of sacred fountains
And find the riches hidden there
I’ll eat the lotus and peyote
I’ll want to hear the caged-bird sing
I’ll want the secrets of the temple
I’ll want the finger with the ring
You and me
You and me
You and me
And if you make me your religion
I’ll give you all you will need
I’ll be the drawing of your breath
I’ll be the cup if you should bleed
I’ll be the sky above the ganges
I’ll be the vast and stormy sea
I’ll be the lights that guide you inland
I’ll be the visions you will see
Visions you will see
You will see
You will see
You and me
- REM
In consideration of the Iliad, and our previous discussions concerning epic poetry, I continued to think (a little abstractly) about love, the condition and theme of it all as being a thread which weaves it’s way through most all poetry. Love is found in the making of a poem, if not all together evident in the poem itself, it can be found in the passion of the poet which by this vehical, lends to his creation. Passionate, highly descriptive and strong, articulate phrases add character and tone to a poem. These grammatical elements acsentuate and are highly representative of the poets determination, or love.
Love is often distinct in its in-distinction.
As a side-note…
I’ve been thinking about love and music. My first thought, off the top of my head, was that, as poetry has dramatically changed over time, as has music changed, evidently so have the ways in which we express love.
Typical of written material and especially material meant for oral composition, as poetry often is, I was considering the “epic” music of the earlier centuries as compared to the poetry of those times…were they representative of each other?
Yes poetry was rich and expressive and complex but was music just as expressive?
I am not considering the great composers (Bach, Mozart, or Beethoven). I am considering prior to 1200c with the emergence of baroque-type music. Music which was popular and contrasted the literature of the time, as it was quite simplistic in nature and detail.
Not unlike today? Where simple “pop-like” lyrics dominate. Simple songs of a simple nature, with little detail, with little to no depth in context, rule. Simplicity dominates the popular vote. Not unlike today, as poetry does not receive the popular vote.
Simple…easy…mindless…
These are valuable assets.
Anyone want to pick-up on what I’m putting down?
The Ingrediants:
Ween-out the sense of it all,
Add a little glam,
Ten minutes or less,
You have a top ten plan.
The method:
Turn your mind off,
There’s no time to think,
If you want to make it big,
You’ve gotta have what it takes,
A gimic.
Gone are the days,
Of taking your time,
Enjoying eachother,
A piece of work, a good rhyme,
We just can’t seem to wait,
To re-create another fake.
Thus, an unfinished thought.
Quite fitting.
The most passionate love song I have ever encountered is one called “Be Mine” by R.E.M. It is a very simple song but (by that principal alone) exudes extraordinary feeling. It takes you from the beginning of life in love, through the trials and tribulations of life lived as one, through to our final course in life, death.
I never thought of this as funny
It speaks another world to me
I want to be your easter bunny
I want to be your christmas tree
I’ll strip the world that you must live in
Of all it’s godforsaken greed
I’ll ply the tar out of your feathers
I’ll pluck the thorns out of your feet
You and me
You and me
You and me
And if I choose your sanctuary
I’ll want to wash you with my hair
I’ll want to drink of sacred fountains
And find the riches hidden there
I’ll eat the lotus and peyote
I’ll want to hear the caged-bird sing
I’ll want the secrets of the temple
I’ll want the finger with the ring
You and me
You and me
You and me
And if you make me your religion
I’ll give you all you will need
I’ll be the drawing of your breath
I’ll be the cup if you should bleed
I’ll be the sky above the ganges
I’ll be the vast and stormy sea
I’ll be the lights that guide you inland
I’ll be the visions you will see
Visions you will see
You will see
You will see
You and me
- REM
In consideration of the Iliad, and our previous discussions concerning epic poetry, I continued to think (a little abstractly) about love, the condition and theme of it all as being a thread which weaves it’s way through most all poetry. Love is found in the making of a poem, if not all together evident in the poem itself, it can be found in the passion of the poet which by this vehical, lends to his creation. Passionate, highly descriptive and strong, articulate phrases add character and tone to a poem. These grammatical elements acsentuate and are highly representative of the poets determination, or love.
Love is often distinct in its in-distinction.
As a side-note…
I’ve been thinking about love and music. My first thought, off the top of my head, was that, as poetry has dramatically changed over time, as has music changed, evidently so have the ways in which we express love.
Typical of written material and especially material meant for oral composition, as poetry often is, I was considering the “epic” music of the earlier centuries as compared to the poetry of those times…were they representative of each other?
Yes poetry was rich and expressive and complex but was music just as expressive?
I am not considering the great composers (Bach, Mozart, or Beethoven). I am considering prior to 1200c with the emergence of baroque-type music. Music which was popular and contrasted the literature of the time, as it was quite simplistic in nature and detail.
Not unlike today? Where simple “pop-like” lyrics dominate. Simple songs of a simple nature, with little detail, with little to no depth in context, rule. Simplicity dominates the popular vote. Not unlike today, as poetry does not receive the popular vote.
Simple…easy…mindless…
These are valuable assets.
Anyone want to pick-up on what I’m putting down?
The Ingrediants:
Ween-out the sense of it all,
Add a little glam,
Ten minutes or less,
You have a top ten plan.
The method:
Turn your mind off,
There’s no time to think,
If you want to make it big,
You’ve gotta have what it takes,
A gimic.
Gone are the days,
Of taking your time,
Enjoying eachother,
A piece of work, a good rhyme,
We just can’t seem to wait,
To re-create another fake.
Thus, an unfinished thought.
Quite fitting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)