At first, I was going to respond to PowerPoint I or perhaps Tocqueville by Khaled Mattawa, however I decided upon reading further into the poems. Tocqueville was a long narrative poem and the story that it told me was incredibly, however I feel that I lack the background contextual information in order to understand a lot of the metaphors. PowerPoint 1 is also quite an interesting poem, and I incredibly relate to one stanza that states "for to love one person / you must contemplate loving the whole world" but past that, I couldn't really synchronize with the rest of the poem, as it's structure is just too confusing for me. However, I feel as if I have read Mattawa's magnum opus being the final poem in the collection of poems. I know that this is most likely not actually his magnum opus, but considering how much I like it (and considering this is, after all, my blog lol) I just feel compelled to use the term. The poem that I am going to be reflecting upon for this blog post is Khaled Mattawa's Before.
In this poem, the narrator, who I believe to be Mattawa, reflects upon the time where he fed a cat who belonged to a friend. It is obvious that Mattawa truly enjoyed this exchange, as that is what it became, for he "talked with her" for a while and eventually fed her a bowl of milk to drink. Strangely, the cat takes a single sip of the milk and then proceeds to reject it. For quite some time, I sat attempting to wonder what this was a metaphor for, if anything. However, continuing on with the poem I'm not so sure if it is a metaphor for anything, however it is still incredibly important.
Mattawa continues with other fragmented stories, such as a child running "for the simple flame that must burn" or when he visited grave sites and tombstones and "ran through the cemetery and laughed [his] Cairo laugh". Both of these short moments are related through the theme of running, and it could be possible that the boy initially running at the beginning of the poem is him, however Mattawa declines by stating that "the child is not a memory, / only a gesture on [his] part" meaning that the story of the child is but written and not lived, however I still believe this can be used to argue that Mattawa was this child, being that the story of the graveyard is not lived but written to us. It is his gesture that allows us to know of the story, and while his living of that moment is directly related to him using a gesture to inform us, it is still words that share the child, not the memory.
What is the importance of establishing this link? To be brutally honest, there is only one valid view in my eyes. This poem focuses on time and moments, and how each moment happens affected by another one, but independent. The feeding of the cat, the rejection of the milk, the child running for the flame, the Cairo laughing in the cemetery, all of these moments comprise up someone's life, and they each happened in some specific order. On paper, Mattawa can choose to state them in any order that he wishes, as he is the poet, however in actuality the moments occurred in an order. This all comes together with the final section of the poem, "Billions of snowflakes in between, / and the befores that follow the first before." This means that all of these moments, these snowflakes, they fill the air that is life, the space between the start and the end of life. They swirl about in the air, seemingly infinite, however there is always a snowflake before that one right in front you, and so on so forth. This is how the passage of time is, there is always a moment before a moment, and there's even things before the first moment, the first snowflake.
This poem really is something special, in my opinion. It's like a quick snapshot into Mattawa's life and his perception of time. Time truly is such a magnificent and epic thing, and to truly be self aware of our place in time is incredibly daunting. Even personally, it's easy to state that "oh yeah like 7 years ago I was in middle school and I was tutoring a fellow student" but that's just a perception from one side of the edge of time to the next; from the here to the then. To fully comprehend every moment, every snowflake in between... it's stupefying, stunning, in awe. It puts me in a state of complete consternation, as I am anxious because time will continue on like a cliché ravaging endless river. The river that, despite the mass of snowflakes that flow through it, will never freeze.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Reader Response 1/22/2015 - Writing Down the Bones
For this blog post, I will be reflecting upon a work that we were required to read the first 1/3 of, being Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones. This is a collection of short chapters meant to teach and inspire aspiring writers to learn more effective methods of writing and other techniques meant to enhance writing. But at the same time, it's so much more, as Goldberg's background in Zen meditation peeks it's head from time to time, making for somewhat of a mild spiritual experience. It's a manual that one can use, and to be brutally honest, it's half education and half de-education; while it contains a plethora of ideas, strategies, and techniques that one can utilize in order to better their writing and experience, it also contains a great deal of ideas that break down common notions and stereotypes. For this response, I will be discussing a few chapters in particular, being "Living Twice", "One Plus One Equal a Mercedes-Benz", and "A Tourist in Your Own Town". Through these chapters, I will simply discuss and comment on the content that Goldberg has in each, and reflect upon it and how it applies to my own life.
First, "Living Twice" was a chapter that was brought up seldom in class discussion, which prompts me to discuss it more in depth. I really enjoy how this brings up how different writers are compared to the average stranger on the street, and while artistic distance is incredibly cliché and pretentious, there is some truth in it when you realize that while the smart individual would avoid rain while the writer would step out into it and experience it firsthand in order to write and reflect upon it later. Goldberg talks about how writers are dummies when it comes to certain things, and to be honest I couldn't agree more. Not only do we often do dumb things to write about, our writing into the self aware realm can often be seen as dumb. We make ourselves feel things that sometimes we never knew were emotionally possible. It's like rewatching that one season finale of your favorite tv show that punches you right in the gut no matter how many times you see it. It's an emotional stupor, and maybe that what makes us so dumb. Goldberg says it's ok to be dumb every once in a while, but you have to be a smart writer to make it in this world. Finding the perfect balance between being a dumb writer and a smart writer is part of what makes a good writer, in my opinion.
Next, "A Tourist in Your Own Town" is a shorter chapter however it is also one of the most important ones. Goldberg states that "a writer's job is to make the ordinary come alive, to awaken ourselves to the specialness of simply being", and I think that this phrase is one of the truest thing that I have read in a long time. The special characteristic of a writer is to take something that is completely ordinary, such as an old coffee mug, a table sitting outside of a restaurant, or a simple piece of fruit, and turn it into a masterpiece. It is the ability of the writer to write the still life of the world; to take a snapshot of a world and turn that picture into golden words. Just as a painter can turn a simple bowl of fruit into a beautiful still life painting, the writer can take the most simple of coffee shops and turn it into the greatest place on the face of the planet, where someone met their first love, where moments were shared that become faded with time, but the memory remains nonetheless. We become accustomed to our own surroundings, as humans are creatures of habit. But when we awaken our ability to see the ordinary in our own surroundings as something incredible, then we write gold. For me, I live in Wyandotte, which is the gem of Downriver, and even though it's a pretty basic and plain town, the bars and coffee shops and restaurants make it perfect. At least in my eyes.
Moving onto the final chapter for discussion "One Plus One Equal a Mercedes-Benz", at first I was attracted to this chapter because of the comical title, however I never knew that I would personally synchronize with it on such an emotional and spiritual level. When I write, I often go into this space that I can't describe. It usually happens whenever I see something that inspires me and I transport my mind into whatever that I am inspired by and write off of what I experience. For example, on the drive home, my dad pulled out a cigarette and I remembered how at our Christmas work party I would often take hits off of cigarettes of my coworkers and how intimate that exchange felt. I then kept thinking and swirling around those thoughts and before I knew it I had pulled my laptop out and began to write poetry about the moment. Goldberg states that we ought to "disappear into everything you look at" which is what happened in the moment that I saw the cigarette my dad pulled out. Suddenly I was nothing but a cluster of memories of that night.
I never would have imagined that this book would have been such an experience for me. When assigned it I thought "oh great another reading and writing inspirational book" but little did I know what I was in for. This is definitely a book that I would recommend to others, but not just yet. I want to keep this gem to myself for a while first.
First, "Living Twice" was a chapter that was brought up seldom in class discussion, which prompts me to discuss it more in depth. I really enjoy how this brings up how different writers are compared to the average stranger on the street, and while artistic distance is incredibly cliché and pretentious, there is some truth in it when you realize that while the smart individual would avoid rain while the writer would step out into it and experience it firsthand in order to write and reflect upon it later. Goldberg talks about how writers are dummies when it comes to certain things, and to be honest I couldn't agree more. Not only do we often do dumb things to write about, our writing into the self aware realm can often be seen as dumb. We make ourselves feel things that sometimes we never knew were emotionally possible. It's like rewatching that one season finale of your favorite tv show that punches you right in the gut no matter how many times you see it. It's an emotional stupor, and maybe that what makes us so dumb. Goldberg says it's ok to be dumb every once in a while, but you have to be a smart writer to make it in this world. Finding the perfect balance between being a dumb writer and a smart writer is part of what makes a good writer, in my opinion.
Next, "A Tourist in Your Own Town" is a shorter chapter however it is also one of the most important ones. Goldberg states that "a writer's job is to make the ordinary come alive, to awaken ourselves to the specialness of simply being", and I think that this phrase is one of the truest thing that I have read in a long time. The special characteristic of a writer is to take something that is completely ordinary, such as an old coffee mug, a table sitting outside of a restaurant, or a simple piece of fruit, and turn it into a masterpiece. It is the ability of the writer to write the still life of the world; to take a snapshot of a world and turn that picture into golden words. Just as a painter can turn a simple bowl of fruit into a beautiful still life painting, the writer can take the most simple of coffee shops and turn it into the greatest place on the face of the planet, where someone met their first love, where moments were shared that become faded with time, but the memory remains nonetheless. We become accustomed to our own surroundings, as humans are creatures of habit. But when we awaken our ability to see the ordinary in our own surroundings as something incredible, then we write gold. For me, I live in Wyandotte, which is the gem of Downriver, and even though it's a pretty basic and plain town, the bars and coffee shops and restaurants make it perfect. At least in my eyes.
Moving onto the final chapter for discussion "One Plus One Equal a Mercedes-Benz", at first I was attracted to this chapter because of the comical title, however I never knew that I would personally synchronize with it on such an emotional and spiritual level. When I write, I often go into this space that I can't describe. It usually happens whenever I see something that inspires me and I transport my mind into whatever that I am inspired by and write off of what I experience. For example, on the drive home, my dad pulled out a cigarette and I remembered how at our Christmas work party I would often take hits off of cigarettes of my coworkers and how intimate that exchange felt. I then kept thinking and swirling around those thoughts and before I knew it I had pulled my laptop out and began to write poetry about the moment. Goldberg states that we ought to "disappear into everything you look at" which is what happened in the moment that I saw the cigarette my dad pulled out. Suddenly I was nothing but a cluster of memories of that night.
I never would have imagined that this book would have been such an experience for me. When assigned it I thought "oh great another reading and writing inspirational book" but little did I know what I was in for. This is definitely a book that I would recommend to others, but not just yet. I want to keep this gem to myself for a while first.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Reader Response 1/15/2015 - The Scent of Verbena
Today I will be discussing a poem that has been on my mind almost constantly since I read it, which is Hinako Abe's The Scent of Verbena. What first attracted me to this poem was the interesting shape of the poem, as each stanza is broken up into a triangle. These triangles coincide with the shape of the story and the diction used in each line, as the more important moments of the story being described take place in the narrow parts, and the diction in the wider parts is notably detailed and descriptive, more so than the narrow parts. For example, in stanza 3 Abe writes "his face grew as pale as gorgonzola cheese and as I watched fissures spread across / it like it was going to crack apart, he pulled back and let up a single shriek / like a heron's call" in the wider part, however the narrow part between stanzas 1 and 2 is simply "cold and / dark / at / the / summit" which highlights the contrasting amount of detail.
The lines about the gorgonzola cheese and fissures, I feel as if that is the most important part of the poem. Which confuses me since it takes place at the widest part of the poem, yet it is the most important and descriptive passage. I believe that it is some form of a metaphor, as fissures cannot actually spread across one's face, and the words are not joined with the word "like" eliminating it's identification as a simile. However, once labeling it as a metaphor, it begs the question of what is it a metaphor for? I feel like one one level it is simply describing how when one begins to cry, their face can often shrivel and form wrinkles, or "fissures" made of skin. However, fissure usually implies that it is endless and huge, and the tone of these lines illicit an image as if his face is being ripped apart. Perhaps it is implying that the obviously harmful phrase uttered to him previously ripped him apart internally and it is evident and reflected in his facial expression. These lines could be compared to the climax of the poem.
I don't know what to make of this poem, to be brutally honest. That's the unfortunate circumstance faced when dealing with works in translation. This isn't my first time dealing with them either; in high school, we read "Persepolis" by Marjane Satrapi, which is probably my favorite graphic novel that I have read in my entire life, as well as "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman" by Haruki Murakami, which is a collection of short stories translated from Japanese. When dealing with works in translation, it's a common occurrence to not understand the cultural significance that, in the author's eyes, fits naturally with the native language, but is often, as the cliché goes, lost in translation.
Considering Persepolis was translated from French, and I speak a good deal of French, I could most likely read the original and pick up more cultural subtleties that the language would have allowed to be transmitted. However, when it comes to Japanese, I know enough to hold a 5 second conversation and then be completely unable to continue it. I can transcribe it, as I have studied Hirigana and a little Katakana, but of the culture of Japanese writings I know little. However, when comparing Abe's poem with Murakami's short stories, I feel that nature as well as surrealism are both important topics. An example of a surrealist moment in Murakami's works is a short story titled as The Mirror, in which a security guard discovers a mirror in which he sees incredible visions of what seems to be a highly enticing alternate universe, but he is unable to handle the vividness of it and in response smashes the mirror. An example of a surrealist moment in Abe's poem The Scent of Verbena is when the individual with the scaly fingers "grew as pale as gorgonzola cheese" and when "fissures spread across / [his face] like it was going to crack apart" because fissures cannot actually spread across one's face.
Overall, this is not a poem that I will quickly forget, and I feel like it is one that I could work with in comparison of others for deeper potentially future analysis. I hate to sound that formal and prescribed about it, but I can't help it; it's simply reminiscent of my high school habits.
The lines about the gorgonzola cheese and fissures, I feel as if that is the most important part of the poem. Which confuses me since it takes place at the widest part of the poem, yet it is the most important and descriptive passage. I believe that it is some form of a metaphor, as fissures cannot actually spread across one's face, and the words are not joined with the word "like" eliminating it's identification as a simile. However, once labeling it as a metaphor, it begs the question of what is it a metaphor for? I feel like one one level it is simply describing how when one begins to cry, their face can often shrivel and form wrinkles, or "fissures" made of skin. However, fissure usually implies that it is endless and huge, and the tone of these lines illicit an image as if his face is being ripped apart. Perhaps it is implying that the obviously harmful phrase uttered to him previously ripped him apart internally and it is evident and reflected in his facial expression. These lines could be compared to the climax of the poem.
I don't know what to make of this poem, to be brutally honest. That's the unfortunate circumstance faced when dealing with works in translation. This isn't my first time dealing with them either; in high school, we read "Persepolis" by Marjane Satrapi, which is probably my favorite graphic novel that I have read in my entire life, as well as "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman" by Haruki Murakami, which is a collection of short stories translated from Japanese. When dealing with works in translation, it's a common occurrence to not understand the cultural significance that, in the author's eyes, fits naturally with the native language, but is often, as the cliché goes, lost in translation.
Considering Persepolis was translated from French, and I speak a good deal of French, I could most likely read the original and pick up more cultural subtleties that the language would have allowed to be transmitted. However, when it comes to Japanese, I know enough to hold a 5 second conversation and then be completely unable to continue it. I can transcribe it, as I have studied Hirigana and a little Katakana, but of the culture of Japanese writings I know little. However, when comparing Abe's poem with Murakami's short stories, I feel that nature as well as surrealism are both important topics. An example of a surrealist moment in Murakami's works is a short story titled as The Mirror, in which a security guard discovers a mirror in which he sees incredible visions of what seems to be a highly enticing alternate universe, but he is unable to handle the vividness of it and in response smashes the mirror. An example of a surrealist moment in Abe's poem The Scent of Verbena is when the individual with the scaly fingers "grew as pale as gorgonzola cheese" and when "fissures spread across / [his face] like it was going to crack apart" because fissures cannot actually spread across one's face.
Overall, this is not a poem that I will quickly forget, and I feel like it is one that I could work with in comparison of others for deeper potentially future analysis. I hate to sound that formal and prescribed about it, but I can't help it; it's simply reminiscent of my high school habits.
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