Back to Work Ye Scurvy Dogs

Just so everyone knows, the title of this weblog and the accompanying photo have absolutely nothing to do with the substance of the post, which is to follow. The truth is that for the better part of the day, my son has been running around the house while wearing his pirate costume from last Halloween. He's been chasing his sisters, who are dressed like princesses and are apparently very much in need of rescue.

Anyway ... vacation is over ... back to work ye' scurvy dogs ...

This week is a little heavy in terms of content, but there is nothing here that we haven't touched on before. I want to discuss two poetic forms, BLANK VERSE and FREE VERSE.  They're often confused, but in truth they're practically nothing alike.

Blank verse is poetry written in unrhymed iambic pentameter. As you should know, IAMBIC PENTAMETER is a line of poetry containing five (pentameter) stressed syllables in which each stressed syllable follows an unstressed syllable. Many of Shakespeare's most famous plays are written almost entirely in blank verse. Oftentimes, Shakespeare would only include rhyme for the sake of emphasis or to indicate that the speaker was not a commoner (i.e. royalty, a god, a knight, etc.).

Free verse is poetry that lacks any particular metric pattern or rhyme scheme (a pattern of rhyme). In free verse, the first line may rhyme with the second, but it could just as easily rhyme with the eighth, or not rhyme with any line at all. In free verse we might see a series of five or six unstressed syllables followed by two or three stressed syllables. The point is that there is no pattern.

Now the question is ... what's the point?

First, free verse is a distinctly American poetic form (or lack of form if you prefer). It began with Walt Whitman, and continues to this day to be popular amongst poets.

Second, free verse has the potential to add meaning to a poem simply by virtue of its lack of form.

Consider the following selection from Walt Whitman's, Song of Myself and then respond to the questions that follow. 

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

So here are the questions ... 

1. What is the theme of the selection? Be specific and refer to specific lines in the poem.

2. How does the lack of rhyme or any rhythmic pattern reinforce the message or theme of the selection? Be specific and refer to specific lines in the poem.

Consider your response in relation to the responses of your classmates and be sure to comment wherever and whenever appropriate.

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Heart of Darkness / Apocalypse Now

As promised, here is the open thread for you folks to discuss your thoughts regarding Joseph Conrad's, Heart of Darkness and Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now. Don't be bashful. Reach out to your classmates. You may find that their thoughts lead you in a direction you hadn't before considered, or that you might take them somewhere they had likewise never considered.

You might be pleased to know that Apocalypse Now: Redux has - today - become available on streaming Netflix for anyone who subscribes to the service and might like to review the film.

Links to the script and IMDb entry ...

As for the images from the film that I've included ... each comes from a scene that I think could be key in your understanding of the work. Consider each ...

Half in the light, half out ... questioning Willard as a teacher might question a student.

 

How's this for primitive?

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Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

It is time to make a choice. You've two options:

Choice A ...

• Live the rest of your life in complete security. You'll work, but receive no paycheck. Instead, you're guaranteed all of the necessities. Food, shelter, and clothing will be provided for you. In exchange, you'll give up certain freedoms. You'll read only what the powers-that-be allow you to read. You'll watch only approved television programs and films. Your relationships - plutonic, sexual and marital - will be determined by the governing body.

Choice B ...

• Live the rest of your life in complete uncertainty. You'll work, but your pay will be based solely on the quality of your work. Nothing will be guaranteed. You will have to scratch out your own food, shelter, and clothing. You'll be free to make decisions for yourself. You may read whatever you choose. You may watch whatever you choose. The quality of your relationships will also be entirely up to you. You are free to do as you choose but never, NEVER are you free from worry.

Which do you choose? Think carefully. A life free from worry is indeed a grand idea. So too is a life lived freely. Be sure to explain yourself, and to respond to your classmates.

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Courage

Easy one this week ...

Consider the following photograph and your understanding of courage. Is the young man at the center of the picture, courageous?

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Here's another gem from Mr. Kipling. As always, I'm curious about your impressions of the poem, but I also would like for you to answer the following question?

In "The Female of the Species" does Kipling offer us a sympathetic portrait of women?

How does this poem compare when juxtaposed with "The Vampire"?

The Female of the Species

WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,

He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside.

But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail,

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag, the wayside cobra, hears the careless foot of man,

He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can,

But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail -

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,

They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws -

'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale -

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,

For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;

But when hunter meets with husband, each confirms the others tale -

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations, worm and savage otherwise,

Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise;

Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact

To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,

To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.

Mirth obscene diverts his anger; Doubt and Pity oft perplex

Him in dealing with an issue - to the scandal of the Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame

Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,

And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,

The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast

May not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest.

These be purely male diversions - not in these her honor dwells -

She, the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else!

 

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great

As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate;

And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim

Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions - in default of grosser ties;

Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him, who denies!

He will meet no cool discussion, but the instant, white-hot wild

Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges - even so the she-bear fights;

Speech that drips, corrodes and poisons - even so the cobra bites;

Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw,

And the victim writhes with anguish - like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer

With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her

Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands

To some God of abstract justice - which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him

Must command but may not govern; shall enthrall but not enslave him.

And She knows, because She warns him and Her instincts never fail,

That the female of Her species is more deadly than the male!

Rudyard Kipling

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East of Eden Open Thread

I've been asked to provide a forum for discussion of the test questions for Steinbeck's novel. This is that thread. There will be no leading questions. There will be no input from yours truly (unless I just cannot help myself). What happens in the comments that follow this post is entirely up to all of you. I encourage you to share ideas.

Have at it guys.

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In Honor of Halloween ...

In honor of the holiday I offer this selection from Rudyard Kipling. I won't ask too many leading questions. I'll only say that I'm interested to see what each of you think. I look forward to reading your replies.

“The Vampire”

A fool there was and he made his prayer
(Even as you and I!)
To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair
(We called her the woman who did not care),
But the fool he called her his lady fair
(Even as you and I!)

Oh the years we waste and the tears we waste
And the work of our head and hand,
Belong to the woman who did not know
(And now we know that she never could know)
And did not understand.

A fool there was and his goods he spent

(Even as you and I!)

Honor and faith and a sure intent

But a fool must follow his natural bent

(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant),

(Even as you and I!)

Oh the toil we lost and the spoil we lost

And the excellent things we planned,

Belong to the woman who didn't know why

(And now we know she never knew why)

And did not understand.

The fool we stripped to his foolish hide

(Even as you and I!)

Which she might have seen when she threw him aside--

(But it isn't on record the lady tried)

So some of him lived but the most of him died--

(Even as you and I!)

And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame

That stings like a white hot brand.

It's coming to know that she never knew why

(Seeing at last she could never know why)

And never could understand.

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