The problem with pictures....

So have you ever looked over some old pictures and realized "wow I totally looked like I was dating someone I never did?" That was my life just now. I decided to go over some old Facebook pictures because I want to get out into the workforce and I wanted to make sure I didn't have any photos that, you know, made me look unemployable. At first I was like "oh wow, these are great" and "that was so fun!" and just generally filled with warm nostalgia. But I slowly realized that a couple of my pictures, without the proper context, made me look like I was dating someone I then thought of as a brother. Looking back on them NOW I was able to see why people were constantly insinuating there was more going on.

I know this post seems incredibly vacant, but I have spent my day getting rid of a lot of things I no longer need. Most of them were old toys that I had been stockpiling in my closet for no reason other than I was apparently aspiring to be a professional hoarder at some point in time. Now that I have a couple of bags full of things ready to donate, I can't help but feel really cleansed and excited about moving forward. I felt the same way when I was going through my old photos. The aforementioned guy and I are no longer friends and the end of our friendship wasn't exactly positive to say the least. But instead of feeling negative when I saw the pictures I was able to laugh and look back on those times fondly. I guess what I am trying to get at is, there's probably some kind of epic metaphor that ties together my cleaning out my closet and being able to let go of the past, but I'm not patient enough to pull it together. I can only hope to continue to utilize this way of thinking in my future, so that I can create more pictures to one day look back on.

Larkin the "transcendant anti-Romantic"

I would have to say I'm more drawn to the idea of Larkin as a dark writer looking for that trancendent experience. Given the comments in "Church Going" regarding the narrator looking for a religious experience in a supposedly religious area, I'd like to think that there is a desire to have that feeling. Otherwise, why bother with the search? It'd be much easier to buy him as a cynical person who has no faith in finding connections to anything. He seems to share this idea in "Talking in Bed" when he mentions the idea of isolation even in the most intimate of settings. However, if that is truly the case, the why write about any intimate relationship at all? Larkin's endeavors to prove how apathetic he is only seem to say the opposite. In "Talking in Bed" he writes that the more time that passes, the more isolated people become to each other when in fact it should be the exact opposite. While this could be a perception of Larkin's real-life experiences, he could also use this as a defense of remaining alone. If all relationships are built on lies and false feelings, then the is no point in pursuing a relationship or trying to establish a connection with anyone. The more someone disparages an idea, the more that person is likely to eventually believe what they're saying. The same can also be said in "Church Going" when Larkin seems to go out of his way to downplay the importance of religion, while the narrator consistently searches for the trancendence found in religion. In degrading those who classify themselves as religious, the narrator can pretend to be unaffected by his lack of religious insight. The narrator here behaves much the same way in "Talking in Bed;" both serve as a form of self-defense. For these reasons, I regard Larkin as more of a moody writer in search of a belief in the Romantic ideals.

Steps by Frank O'Hara

The first thing that can be noted about this poem is the fact that it shares a title word with O'Hara's more famous poem "A Step Away from Them." Not to say that O'Hara was known for original titles, in this book alone he has at least 4 poems entitled "Poem", but it does deserve mentioning. Mostly, in my opinion, because this poem is all about what other people are doing rather than O'Hara himself. Even though the poem starts off with O'Hara's actions and ends with them. I like to think of this poem as an "I do this, I do that" poem with a twist. I like to read it like a love poem. He opens up with referencing Ginger Rogers in "Swingtime" in which she starred opposite Fred Astaire in one of their many romantic movie set ups. In the movie she not only plays a woman in love, but also a dancer so the idea of "steps" is not far off nor the subject of love. O'Hara goes on to say that he's leaving a bed full of V-days (presumably a reference to Valentine's Day) because he was tired of D-Days (doom's days?) and yet the blue still welcomes him. O'Hara writes that he wants just a place to be alone with a nameless figure (a "you"). The New York references continue with the depiction of traffic as just another way to establish connections among humans and society. Congestion serves as an excuse for people to have physical contact with others and that when their "surgical appliances lock" they stay together; at least for the day. Which could possibly serve as a O'Hara mocking one night stands with surgical appliances as a metaphor for sexual organs. He breaks the lines referencing this form of a connection in three different lines: and when their surgical appliances lock they stay together for the rest of the day (what a day). In doing this he leads us into a false sense of a true connection. As the reader, we think that they will stay together and then are blindsided with a more cynical reality of where false connections truly lead--no where. O'Hara then starts talking about the art world of New York again. He's once again looking at the positive by saying that something isn't as blue as it appears but quickly jumps to the cynical again when describing the image obsessed members of Hollywood's elite (rib watchers). O'Hara quickly leaves the darker images behind (as he is known to do) and then starts talking about the joy of being alive. Then he jumps to how the murders in New York are helping deal with the population explosion, but they're taking place in the wrong country. This idea seems in complete opposition to O'Hara's earlier comment that the congestion helped establish stronger human connections. Yet, O'Hara seems to be particular in which people connect with others. The reference to the Seagram Building (the most expensive building built of its time in 1957 due to the extensive use of copper) seems to be a dig at the re-zoning laws issues in New York in 1961. This zoning resolution encouraged people to open privately owned businesses emulating that of the Seagram Building. This would go on to be unsuccessful so when O'Hara says it's no longer rivaled in interest, it could be his way of saying "no one is interested in it." O'Hara then describes the simplistic life of an older married couple who apparently share a well worn routine that speaks of a long lasting relationship. Which of course rounds back to the origin of the poem: love. O'Hara ends the poem by reflecting on the idea that it's so wonderful to be able to wake up and live life knowing that he (the narrator) has someone to love. Everything else, even the negative, can take a back seat in his mind because at the end of the day, all that truly matters is the relationships we have and those we love.

Skunk Hour

I feel like "Skunk Hour" rounds out this section of poems rather well. It hits on several of themes of the section: his family members (mostly focused on his father), his illness, and the colors (with a focus on blue), and nature. The very first verse stanza seems to be about his grandparents. The allusion to "first selectman" who would otherwise serve as the head of the town or village could be a reference to his grandfather whom Lowell looked up to. The fact that the first selectman is also a farmer, and Lowell refers to his Grandfather owning a farm in "My Last Afternoon with Uncle Devereux Winslow," also helps this assumption. The hermit heiress' son being a bishop then would reflect the first poem of the section which focuses on the death of Lowell's uncle. The second stanza also seems to be a reflection of the first few poems with the mention of "hierarchic privacy," and "Queen Victoria's century."

The third and fourth stanza are more about the poems involving his parents. Especially given the language: L.L. Bean (a recreational store), lobstermen, summer millionaire, etc. (clearly all pertaining to his father who once served in the Navy). The fifth and sixth stanzas reflect the poems like "Waking in the Blue" and "Home After Three Months Away" which deal directly with Lowell's struggle with his psychological issues and the time he spent in a sanitarium. He bluntly ends the fourth stanza with "My mind's not right." Then further adds to a description of his own suffering with "...I hear/my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,/as if my hand were at its throat.../I myself am hell."

Finally, we end the poem with the final two stanzas describing a night in the life of a family of skunks while Lowell watches. Descriptions of nature from Lowell's perspective hearken to the last few poems of this section such as "Memories of West Street and Lepke" and "Man and
Wife." Both of the aforementioned poems describe Lowell (or the narrator) admiring nature. In "Memories" he talks about the lives going on around him and even mentions "the man/scavenging filth in the back alley trash cans" very much so like the skunks in "Skunk Hour." All of the references to black and white objects in the last two stanzas (skunks, white stripes, moonlight, moonstruck eyes, chalk-dry, sour cream, ostrich tail) sends me back to the very first poem of the selection ("My Last Afternoon") in which he mentions his uncle blending "to the one color" right after he describes a black pile and a white pile. Given all of these references to the earlier poems, and the progression of the final poem itself, I would have to say that it is the perfect way to end the entire section.

Howl

I actually feel very reconciled with the way the poem ends. Initially when I read the whole poem through I really didn't understand it, but after it was broken down in class I felt that the central ideas really came together. The majority of the first section of the poem addresses how Ginsberg feels the "best minds of his generation" tried to find transcendence and meaning within the world. The people he describes turned to drugs, gave way to insanity, looked towards art, and various other activities in order to find a higher level of awareness and spirituality. At the end of the first and second section, Ginsberg shares his beliefs on the subject: when art is done right, one can find a connection to God. I feel that that message directly correlates to the rest of the poem. He is basically saying that all drugs taken and all of the suffering these people have subjected themselves to are not accomplishing their goal. That these "best minds" are wasted when not applied to their art/craft/love.

We also see this within the second section of the poem. I would imagine that Moloch is a metaphor for capitalism. I imagine that Ginsberg is then discussing in the second section how the same great minds are not welcome in the capitalist society. The poets and artists are struggling to fit into a world that doesn't understand them and they in turn do not understand themselves. In the end of the poem however, we see some kind of comfort in the idea that the "mad generation" "bade farewell" to that world and found solitude and peace elsewhere. That idea hearkens to the end of the first section where Ginsberg describes art as the true path to God and now in this section, an escape.

"Ode on a Grecian Urn"

First of all, I have to say that this must be the most decorative urn on the planet. On a more serious note however, I find myself a little lost in what John Keats is trying to express. I get that the urn is a symbolic representation of all art forms but what more than that? In his last verse he says that "When old age shall this generation waste,/Thou shalt remain" so he seems to indicate that he believes that all art has the capacity to withstand man. However he goes on to say that the art he speaks of (of a "pastoral" nature) carries with it the message that beauty is to be found in truth---does that mean that Keats is equating Nature with Truth? Or is it more that Keats is saying that art that depicts people and man in his "natural" state is Truth and therefore beautiful?

Keats truly gives this poem the feel and structure of an ode. He praises the urn and compares it to other forms of art (poems and music to name a few), but to Keats they do not compare. There is a emphasis on quietness and silence that is interesting throughout the poem. He specifically states that "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard/Are sweeter;" so his focus remains on the visual aspects of the urn and the message it conveys within its silence.

The immortality of any and all art forms also gets Keats' focus within the poem. Which leads me to question why Keats would choose a Grecian Urn to make the subject of his poem. Is it another reference to the immortality and eternal lives of art seeing as how the urn in question would probably have been thousands of years old and therefore a testament to Keats' argument? Also, is there any insight to be found in his decision to choose an artform from what would be regarded as a "simpler" time? Keats does use the word "pastoral" which in terms of Shakespeare makes reference to a belief that life in the countryside was so much better than life within the court. Is there any connection between that definition and the way Keats uses it in the poem? The more I read this poem, the more questions I seem to find and the less answers I come up with.

Final exam

My goal in life is, I'll admit, a very new one as far as lifetime goals are concerned. I want to be a professional writer; I just feel that it's what I was meant to be. However, I don't want to write for anyone else about things I do not care about. I suppose I could if I had to in order to make a living, but what kind of life would that be? I want to write my own books, plays, short stories, poetry and anything else that I'm suddenly inspired to write and whenever the mood strikes me. I want to be that weird person who carries my own tape player and recorder around to document ideas that come into my head. I figure it's much more practical than pen and paper; I can't be expected to write as fast as I think.

The study of English is slowly improving the writer that I am and smoothing out the finer details of my grammar and technique. I suppose a downside to being an English major lies in the assumptions made by others. Nowadays, my friends all see me as the go-to person for paper grading, writing assistance, MLA & APA format, etc. The older we get the more papers I read. My friends' nagging is actually good for me because I force myself to memorize this information so that I can help others and inevitably myself.

Being an English major has also begun to force me out of my major problem in life; procrastination. I am a terrible procrastinator and it is the worst when I have papers to write. Procrastination is the main reason why I have none of my ideas typed up. It is pretty sad to be a writer without a drive. I sit and read in between my breaks whatever Agatha Christie novel I have and just think about how amazing she was. Agatha Christie wrote 80 detective novels alone along with her romances and plays. When I read one of her books I am just awed by the amount of time and effort that must have gone into each of her works and just think 'this is what I want. I want to be this.' I feel like I'm slowly reaching that stage in my life. Now, when I get ideas at school, I sit down and pull out my notebook (usually the one that doubles as my English notebook) and write out my stories or ideas. I still don't own a tape player and recorder, but I'm getting there.

I find that my study of English is a lot like my study of Latin: I am annoyed a lot easier now. When I hear people mispronouncing Latin words I can just feel this urge to grit my teeth. The same can pretty much be said about terrible grammar, spelling, and misplaced punctuation. I am also aggravated by the improper use of the word "there/their/they're". I really do not understand what the confusion is but I digress. I know that my reading and writing interests have the potential to take me very far in my chosen field, but I know that most of it is up to me.

Many years ago, I wrote two lines to a poem. Those two lines would remain two lines for several years. I remember the night I was inspired to finish that poem: I was in a car waiting for my mother when I suddenly remembered those two lines and then proceeded to finish the entirety of the poem while I sat there. It took me roughly ten minutes to finish it, another five or so for my mother to return, and then another hour before I returned home to get it onto paper. The feeling I had when I looked at my finished work was one of pride and fulfillment. I want to be able to feel that for the rest of my life.