Walt Whitman’s A thousand Splendid suns

29 09 2012

The change of perspective in a poem depending on the connections it has with the author’s life

 

    At the first glance, the person behind “Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun” sounds like a boundless, greedy, exuberant young soul. The ‘youthfulness’, a motif accompanying the poem is created by the indecisive yet exited and expectant mood of the poem – 3 attributes characteristic to a young person, who has not yet been disappointed by life. The presumption that a youthful person wrote the piece turn out to be wrong, and as we can see for ourselves, the poem has been “written in 1865”, when Walt Whitman was 46 years of age. Apparently, the author was a very vernal 46 year old man.

 

     Another thing that might change one’s view of the poem is author’s belief in “America as the great democracy” and “the sense of equality and community among all the people”. Clearly, the writer was a patriot of his country, a detail that emphasizes even more the vivid description of both of America’s rural and urban lives, information that gives depth and reason for the observant way the details are handled and presented to the audience. America is depicted as a glorious, fair country, with a place for everyone. “Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun” is no longer a contrasted portrayal of nature versus city, but an aesthetical tribute to America.

      Whitman has been a witness to the impact the Civil War has had on the American society. Seeing his brother after was motivated him to assist medically the hospitalized Confederate and Union soldiers. Line 30 has been put in brackets, and for a reason: it’s a fresh breath of realism in the middle of the utopian context. The awareness of writer’s experience turns the line into a little back-to-reality drop of grief which slows down for a split moment the crescendo of ebullience that is being build up from the beginning of the poem.

       According to a prior research, Walt Whitman’s sexual orientation was either homosexual or bisexual, information that clashes with the lines 8 and 25, in which the poet talks about his desire for both short and long relationships with women, making the poem only half-autobiographical, only seen through the eyes of another person. This argument can be justified with the given information on Whitman which states that he “attempted to project himself into the identities of ordinary Americans from all walks of life and to incorporate their lives into his own”. Therefore, Walt Whitman was mostly a passionate observer of life and his poems can testify for that.





Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice Gone Wrong: a rant about silent irritations.

29 09 2012

No sugarcoating, here’s the deal: we’re young, sometimes angry and we rarely talk about what we feel. By that I don’t mean the organized, double spaced kind of emotional expression, with a deadline attached to it. No, I mean the basic on-the-spot anger.

There are some specific kinds of situations where you’re expected to lay back and keep quiet. Sudden misogynist joke, half-serious homophobic statement, some sort of mocking comment about something we feel passionate about, etc. There’s plenty of material to choose from. We’re surrounded by things we’re not supposed to be openly honest about, unless other people do so first. Not rude, but honest.

One of the first problems, the root of all evil, is that our generation supports indifference. Caring isn’t cool, it’s better to have a sarcastic comment about everything and it’s ok to be unmotivated, who needs passionate attitude towards life when we’re all ~smart individuals~ who ~struggle with the society and the weight it lays on our frail shoulders~ on a daily basis? First of all, welcome to the real world. Second of all, caring is the coolest thing ever, forever. So when someone who happens to be of the male gender comments on something that involves mostly the female part of the community (that you happen to be part of), go ahead and get angry.

Things that made me frustrated recently: “Rihanna deserved it”; “slut-walkers should be ashamed”; legitimate rape and its magical consequences; “no more Oreos for me, because of (gasp!) The Gay Advertisement”; “Women should not be allowed to do abortion because I said so”- random dude. The list goes on and it includes Jane Eyre, girls who have these cults where they worship each other and take pictures in the mirror and I will stop here.

I dare you; I double dare you to make a list like the one above. Thank me later.

Truth is, honesty can be misinterpreted for rudeness. And it usually is. And you get scared and you keep it inside. No need to spoil everyone’s evening with a feminist comment, eh? Blend in, laugh and rant later. You go guys, keep up the good work, talk behind backs, smile and say nothing at all. Good job, y’all. There goes your trophy and the title of ‘Miss Too Good for This’ and “Mister I Don’t Care’. Meanwhile, for the rest of us I have prepared a list.

1)     Care. Self-explanatory. Accept it and acknowledge the responsibility. Defeating ignorance is arguably the next best thing to post-break-up ice cream.

2)     The impact (or lack of?). Is the person worth it? Was her/his statement a simple blurt made out of ignorance or purposeful desire to piss people off? There’s two types of people: type A) considerate of different options and opinions or type B) a fixed I’ve-been-taught-this-was-leave-me-be. No need to struggle against the wall.

3)     Humor. Don’t force it. Basically try not to make the person look like a fool, present your perspective instead (hard to do with the pancake-make-up-bimbos but still manageable)

4)     Question. ‘You’re wrong and I hate you’ used to work when life was simple and the moon was made out of cheese. The method that works the best is (ta-dah!), the question. ‘What do you mean by that?’; ‘Do you know that’s actually sounds offensive?’, etc. Justifying your peculiar sort of homophobia/ sexism/ racism/ whatever-ism is very frustrating business. Bonus: extra time to think of a comeback.

5)     Don’t be ashamed. Unless you’re purposefully hurting someone. Mother Nature gave you a mouth; life filled it with words, might as well do something useful about it. A little burn in your stomach is your cue that THOU SHALT SPEAK. So, yeah, do that. It’s all about ~facing fears~ and dealing with life and becoming this big honest person. After supposedly you’ll become a successful person with lots of good things happening (bad too: honest straight forward girls have this lovely descriptive word attributed to them all the time that starts with ‘b’ and ends with ‘itch’. OH WELL). Honesty is pathological if used correctly. You can make thing happen. You have this power. Use it, and use it well. And don’t treat it like something unordinary. The idea that blunt truth is frowned upon is past vintage and already in the ancient era of morals, move on. Say it, dammit.

6)     Don’t preach. Don’t try to ‘convert’ everyone. You’re entitled to your own beliefs and so is everyone else.

7)     Don’t laugh. As simple as that. ‘I am not amused’.

8)     If they say ‘Chill. It’s a joke’ just punch them in the face. Seriously. And then belly-dance your way out of the room singing ‘Here I go again’ by Whitesnake. Go hard or go home.

 

Hypocritically,

What’s-her-name.





the age of silence

29 09 2012

“The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people’s hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.

During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less an expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious. When a hand was used to shield one’s face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one’s lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn’t go round with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they’d understood correctly. Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I’ve always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me.”

„If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms – if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body – it’s because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what’s inside and what’s outside, was so much less. It’s not that we’ve forgotten the language of gestures entirely. The habit of moving our hands while we speak is left over from it. Clapping, pointing, giving the thumbs-up, for example, is a way to remember how it feels to say nothing together. And at night, when it’s too dark to see, we find it necessary to gesture on each other’s bodies to make ourselves understood.”





O prietenă din aceea…

14 05 2012

E o Dorothy tânără în tricouri negre şi largi,încălţări roşii ca în poveste,înşiretate pe gleznă.
Vrăjitorule din Oz,cum ajung acasă?
 Ruj mat,roşu creponat.Dungi pe pleoape,să se asorteze cu ochii.
Buze roşii ca sângele,părul ca de smoală,piele de zăpadă.
E o Albă-ca-Zăpadă mâncătoare de mere roşii,imună otrăvii lor.Nu are nevoie de tot soiul de prinţi pe cai albi şi săruturi.Flăcăii bărboşi nu au nevoie de cai albi,de păsărele ciripitoare peste tot.
Rapunzel în turn,ea se uită în sus şi drept în jos.
Îşi taie manual părul şi-l aruncă pe fereastră.Vântul îl ia pe sus şi-l ascunde în buzunarele bărboşilor pletoşi maisusamintiţi.Celibatarii nu au de unde a ştii unde anume e turnul prinţesei.Oraşul e mare şi înnalt,prea multe turnuri smucite în labirinturi cu semafoare,împodobite cu ordinul „buline roşii de pericol seismic”.
E o fată…
Are o atmosferă ca un câmp magnetic în jurul ei. Are un miros de cântăreaţă în întuneric. Se cuibărește ca o pupăză și cântă ca o inima frântă, miorlăie cuvinte și zâmbește luminos când înfige cuțite în piepturi. As vrea să o prind din nou dar am zburat mult prea departe, mult prea târziu. Am rămas cu cuvintele, măcar. Le împrăștii pe ciment, le las duse de vânt. Auzi.





Gusturile Muzicale ale unui Somnambul Iluminat.

6 05 2012

ce este muzica:
-răspunsul la ”de ce adormi așa de târziu”
-răspunsul la ”pe cine vei lua cu tine pe o insula pustie”
-o colecție de sunete lucrate, încâlcite, mișunătoare, special pentru o tânără duduie așa ca dumneamea
-*metafora adâncă și plina de inspirație*
-etc. etc.

‘muzică nocturna pentru persoane care adorm cu chitare în pat’

Mogwai – I Know You Are But What Am I? (live)

Julie London – Cry Me a River

Low – Lullaby

Pur și Simplu Sunete de Noapte pe care le ascult uneori.

Robin Pecknold – Katie Cruel

^notă: Dintr-un interviu cu Devendra Banhart am găsit-o pe Dalton, pe urmă m-am îndrăgostit de Katie Cruel, pe urmă am nimerit în Narnia youtube-ului prin sugestii și sugestii clickclickclick, și l-am găsit pe Mr. Fleet Fox cântând așa ceva. Ca atunci când am aflat ca lui JS Foer îi plăcea Joseph Cornell în colegiu.

Cat Power- Say

^Moon Prix este albumul meu favorit din lume,

Santo and Johnny – Sleepwalk

^ din Ghosts pe Futureshorts.





Despre magie, cuvinte si carne.

7 04 2012

 

Cred ca magia nu era in ploaia care cadea sau viitoul care se petrecea, ci in cuvintele rostite

Odata rostite,cuvintele octrotite de timp inăuntru fac propria lor magie : fac lucrurile sa para mai adevaate

Este la fel ca recunoasterea unei greseli cu voce clara
Ca primele cuvinte de afectiune in doi fara nimeni in jur
Ca un secret de mult putrezit scos afara pe limba si prin buze rostobolit in poala pentru bisectare
Ca arunci cand nu te indragostesti de o persoana pana nu ii spui alteia de petentiala afectiune 
Pentru ca ai o frica de riscul acelui tip de intamplare sau cum nu esti pierdut pe spirala in jos pana nu o rostesti altui suflet.

Arunci are sens cum nusi spuneau numele decat celor in are aveau incredere sau cum varsau sange la incantarile de magie neagra
Cum magia alba nu are nevoie de carne doar de strangerea de inima cand sufli ceva ce trebuia incuiat 
Dar orice secret vede lumea prin crapaturi si odata ce ai un secret vezi si tu lumea din alta perspectiva ca o culoare in nori de care nu stii pana nu au stat zii dua zii sa o prinzi pe foaie si pe care nu o poti evita după.

Si durerea face magie,asa spune ea.Pentru ca durerea e mai puternia decat fericirea in materie de magie si sacrificiu.Dar ce e deasupra durerii?

Speranta?
E speranta acolo in general?
Ce sens au intrebarile astea daca singura magie pe care o stiu e scrisa in negru si incantata prin neoroni cu semnale electrouniversale atat de nemagice?

Era mai usor sa traiesti si sa crezi ce vrei tu sa crezi cand nu stiam ceea ce stim.
Sa crezi ca stelele sunt pentru mine si soarele este pentru mine si iarba si genele de vaca si strigatele de cocos de dimineata si povetile tot e scris pentru mine si Dumnezeu sta si ma priveste iubitor din cuibul lui si e asa feicit si mandru si  imi da soare si stele si poveti si strigate de cocos in fiecare dimineata …
Neam dezvatat sa cuvântăm
Știm doar sa vorbim
Sa vorbim asa ca avem un scenariu de raspunsuri corecte si corecatarea raspunsurile celorlalti
 Stim doar sa intonam replicile bine si suntem prea atenti pentru nimerim semnele de punctuatie pentru a realiza la ce sunt ele puse.
Cine a inventat semnele de punctuatie, oricum? Cine a dispert noptile si zilele pentru a semnala in tipat de uimire sau o soapa de tristete sau un oftat.
Cum sa simtit cand in sfarsit a putut sa puna un semn de exclamare sau un punct la sfarsit si sa inceapa totul ca la andrea?

Cum isi descarau dragostea oamenii inainte de puncte sau cuvinte sau litere sau grai?




Alta conversatie din biblioteca.

7 04 2012

Eu: Stii de ce unii baieti isi iubesc parul?

El: E un fel de compensare pentru penisurile micute?
Eu: Haha. 
El: De ce, atunci?zi-mi.
Eu: Pentru ca nu sunt destul de destept pentru a iubii ceva mai interesant.