I Carry Your Heart With Me

Confession time: I used this class as an opportunity to motivate myself to do a project that I've had on the brain for several years.

I've always wanted to be a cartoonist. In elementary school I had several characters that I drew on every scrap of paper I came in contact with. Then, after the Disney animated Lion King movie came out, I was half-determined to be a voice over artist. (I was certain that I could have been a better Simba than JTT) A couple years ago, I made a video valentine for my boyfriend at the time using corn kernels to spell out my message to him. Since then, I've wanted to have the time and dedication to make a longer movie employing stop motion techniques. This class was the perfect instigator. My final project was the perfect excuse to finally do it.

So, anyway. This is the Animation I made of e.e. cumming's poem, "I Carry Your Heart With Me". Click here to be redirected to the video on youtube.

This project consists of 650 + still photographs compiled into a stop motion video. The animation reflects the whimsy and romantic writing style of the poets well as his particular regard for punctuation and line break.

I toyed with line breaks, breaking them across pictures rather than lines. This put emphasis on different words and ideas, a playful literary technique that Cummings used in his poetry. For example, in the 7^th line, e.e. uses “incorrect” grammar to give a single world literal duality. “and it’s you” shares its object with the next clause “you are whatever a moon has always meant”. This is a difficult line to read out loud but in still shots this duality is easy to depict by using the same “y-o-u” letters for both clauses and meanings.

The animation also depicts this work in a very romantic, optimistic way. The “I” of the poem believes he – and his lover – have control over the world rather than the contrary. The paper man exists in a world of free will and flighty, magical romanticism where he spreads the stars across the sky and animals can collect their love like seeds in the wind.

Hemingway and Fitzgerald

It's exciting to be in familiar territory. Fitzgerald was required reading in 8th or 9th grade. Our class stumbled through The Great Gatsby as a group but I gripped onto the story for the frailty and imperfections of the characters and the gorgeous angular details of the Art Deco era. Hemingway and I started our affair in high school as well. Hills Like White Elephants was the beginning of it all. I love his raunchy manly sensibilities and the way he shows non-traditional couples reacting to tragedies of love.

There's talk of these two fellahs being one of the original bromances. I guess they were friends. Met in 1925, I hear. But I'm not sure how tight they were. Plato and Socrates tight? The photo above looks pretty photo-shopped to me. I don't know.

The life of F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife, Zelda, was recently captured on stage in an off-broadway production called "This Side of Paradise". (I didn't see this production, but I was lucky enough to hear a little about it while it was up. One of my best friends from high school played Young Zelda: Rachel Moulton. She's fantastic. That's her and Fitzy to the left there. I'm so proud of her.)

We (ALL) Wear the Mask

Or, in Blanche Dubois' case, the mascara.

I was going to skip over Dunbar entirely, but I felt that to not even nod at the poem written by a Dayton legend would be remiss. (Also, I found a pretty great picture of him and that's just not something I can pass up for my post.) So I'll tie it all in by saying: "We Wear the Mask" is certainly transparent in its interpretation of an African American's challenged life because it is written by such a man with strong beliefs and muscles in those causes of the time, it still rings true as a song of solidarity for any person who has "worn a mask" in order to survive. See Nate's Blog for more on the duality of this poem. I'm not even going to try to beat that horse; he's done it so well.

I don't know how Tennessee Williams manages to make everything in his muggy, dingy worlds also so painstakingly beautiful. Reading this play again reminds me why I wanted to be a writer and also why I so easily gave up. If someone has already done THIS, what good are my attempts at writing? When there are authors who already captured the same truths I want to capture but they did it 200 years before and nobody's done it better since. Me trying to write a play of any consequence is like a pimply middle school featherweight volunteering to jump in the ring with Ali. That said: Thank you, Tennesee Williams, for creating your volume of work, all beautiful snapshots of a twisted, bloodied hearts.

The connection I set out to make in this post is the Dunbarian "mask" of William's brazen leading lady, Blanche. In her case, it is not the terse line of a sonnet or even the formalized language of a social class. Her "mask" is that of purity and other requirements of a socially acceptable "lady". It takes the physical form in a powdered face, costume jewelry and a paper lampshade to lessen the truthful glow of iridescent bulbs. Unfortunately, her mask isn't enough to give her a new chance at life after a string of misfortunes and mislaid (pun intended) trusts. Stanley makes sure to rip her mask a new one.

This play makes me uncomfortable, and that is why it is successful. I meet these characters and do not know who is right. I do not know who I side with. I am both Blanche and Stella. Both the tainted whore and the bruised lover. Equally so, I am Mitch and Stanley: scared to either lose or disappoint the woman who raised me, and scared to lose the lover I do not deserve.

Though, it's hard to separate the iconic images of the movie production of this stage play from the casting in my mind as I read. I wonder if I'd relate so much with Stanley if he didn't wear the mask of Marlon Brando's face.

Literary Justice - Not Just For White Guys?

Since I last updated you, we've been shifting from the feminine to the masculine. Jack London took us on a trip through the shivering arctic and showed us the futility of man's venture to educate himself in his own nature in "To Build a Fire". Stephen Crane spouted a little on the subject of blind faith and then took us into a sinking ship to witness the trappings of social status in the face of danger and the equality of all men in the moments before death.

These authors hypothesize on the futility of man's connection to and understanding of nature. Both stories focus on the moment "when it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him" (The Open Boat, Ch VI). Of course, even though they might both realize the futility of connecting with nature, these men aren't the type to give up on trying.

Above, you can witness a bit of these gentlemen in all their masculine glory. See Stephen in his uniform, in dress duds, and (OH!) an explorer's fedora. Jack, surrounded by the nature he focused on in writing, looking a bit uncomfortable in a tie, and then- well- you can see for yourself.

Poor Teddy Dreiser, Mr. "Free to Die", is a bit bummed to be left out of the photo shoot. (See to the right.) But, I'm sorry, Teddy. Peter Pan said it much better than you: "To die will be an awfully big adventure." And that ever-young sprite didn't waste the first 60 of his years hoping that things would get better soon. He didn't hide in his hut. He sought out the pirates and mermaids even knowing that a battle might ensue. You've gotta work harder to join the lodge with Jack and Stephen.

After spending several days delving into some literature that we might have found in a 1903 edition of Maxim, we're now ducking into another corner of literature populated by "minority" authors. Yes, we've investigated the oppression of the female contingency with Wharton, Gilman, Glaspell and Chopin and their lives, admittedly, were not easy. But they still had a right to the American Dream from day one.

"Eurasian" author, Sui Sin Fen AKA Edith Maude Eaton wrote the ironically titled "In the Land of the Free" about the experiences of a Chinese-American couple trying to obtain the rights to their only child, born back in China for cultural reasons. Our protagonists came to America because of the opportunities the country would offer them. Despite their belief in the freedom the United States is supposed to give them, their newborn child is inexplicably taken from their arms. The government will not believe that the child is really theirs- At least not on just their "word". Even the lawyer who finally takes their case, and gets the child back into their lives almost a year later, hardly hesitates to strip them of all the wealth they have. He fills his pockets with their family heirlooms in order to pay his fees.

However, this story isn't a direct attack on America's treatment of immigrants. Sui Sin Fen's character's never directly condemn the government officials for their actions. The narrator never makes any subjective commentary on the injustice of the situation. The reader is left to be the judge. Still, there is no question at the end of the story what way the reader will be swayed. All of my sympathy lies with this poor mother, robbed of not only a year of her child's life but his loyalty and native tongue.

W.E.B. Du Bois' account of Booker T. (Taliaferro) Washington in "The Souls of Black Folk" takes a much more direct approach to the persuasive essay. His strong, summoning voice shares historical account alongside emotional rhetoric to stir the opinions (and apologies) of the reader.

Though I found the entire excerpt moving, there is a section in these writings that particularly touched me. Du Bois wrote,

"To be a poor man is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of hardships. He felt the weight of his ignorance, -- not simply of letters, but of life, of business, of the humanities; the accumulated sloth and shirking and awkwardness of decades and centuries shackled his hands and feet" (1733).

This beautifully crafted sentence STILL aptly describes the difficulties that many African-American families face in today's society. No matter how equal the rights given to a black man, there continues a struggle to escape the shackles of slavery. Now, you can see this depicted in years and years of seemingly inescapable generational poverty burdening so many African American households. Du Bois suggests that in order to loosen these chains a concerted effort must be made to undo the "ignorance" which slavery pummeled in this instinctively spirited, strong and wise race of men. It is not enough to be apologetic for the crime and atrocities of slavery. It is this country's responsibility to strive to undo the harmful generational disfigurement it caused an entire race of American people.

Kate Chopin's Arguement for the Single Ladies

If you're a lady concerned about dying an old maid, you really ought to take half a moment to read this short story. If you're too busy updating your online dating profile to read this, that's fine. But let me just break it down for you.

This poor lil' wifey:

1) Thinks she's lost her beloved husband.
2) Mourns for 1/2 a second.
3) Realizes she really missed being a single lady.
4) Finds new joy in life for 1/2 a second.
5) Her hubby walks in the door.
6) She dies of disappointment.

How about that? Holy wow. If ever there was an argument against marriage, Chopin (Kate) has got it nailed: Don't get married because when your husband doesn't die you will die of sadness.

Also: did you know that Chopin (Fredrick) wrote the traditional funeral march? You know the one. (Dum Dum DaDum Dum DaDum DaDum DaDum)

Susan Glaspell & A Woman's "Trifles"

A good follow up to the Yellow Wallpaper, "Trifles" tells the story of a woman's place in country life after the civil war. Accompanying the County Attorney to the scene of the crime are two couples: the sheriff and his wife and the nearest neighbors. The men go about seeking information through empiricism and practicality and actually scoff at the ladies for thinking of things of the heart, like a wasted canning year or a tangled quilting block.

The ladies do not seem to know that they are "investigating" as such, until they uncover the truth of the couple that used to inhabit the house. When they do discover this vital information to the case, it is a great move of independence and power that they do not only NOT disclose the clues, but go to ends to keep them secret for their husbands and the attorney.

I love the feeling of unity and empathy these women feel with the "criminal" their husbands seek to encage. It is a clear example of the beginnings of the women's liberation, still several years away from its beginnings.

Why I'm OK Without "The Yellow Wallpaper"

I've read this Charlotte Perkins Gilman story several times throughout my education. The first time, in high school, I must have read and forgot it immediately because I didn't know a thing about it going into a study of it during a college writing class on American Women maybe 4 years later. Even after that, I'm not sure that I retained much as upon my most recent reading, I had little more insight to it. I think maybe this is a testament to the fact that - I hate it when people say this in response to assigned reading- I don't really like this story.

But maybe I haven't betrayed my dedication to openness toward all assigned readings. Maybe I don't like this story as a result of the intent of the author. Maybe I don't like this story because it's darn spooky and makes me feel claustrophobic. Poor Charlotte had a rough go at life and suffered from some serious emotional issues after the birth of her child. It seems that after a prescribed vacation from her writing life during this time of distress she siphoned all of terrible fears and overwhelming sadness into this story. Perhaps the creation of this spooky story acted like an amputation of a gangrenous limb, efficiently separating the sane, healthy woman from her insane, unhealthy past. Anyways, though I can understand the importance of the story in the context of history and literature, I enjoy reading this story about as much as I would surveying an amputated leg. Forgive me, I'm a wuss.

Edith Wharton & "The Other Two"

What a shift in the role of a woman from our romp with Jewett in the woods of New England. Wharton was raised a lady of status and primed and cultured to become the wife of a man of status. She did this and lived 28 years in that marriage, according to our bio in the Norton Anthology, to keep up appearances and societal expectations (1696). She also kept her writing excursions practically in secret until she embraced her author career in her late thirties. Her life was lived corseted (both figuratively and literally) by the standards of a woman in that time period.

It is very interesting, then, that this short story would ring with such relevance to the life of even a modern marriage. Set at the advent of the possibility of an independent woman due to divorce, the story addresses the inevitable effects of accruing past relationships.

I found one concept particularly applicable to my own experience in dating relationships. As Mr. Waythorn begins to feel more comfortable with his interactions with his wife's previous husbands he allows himself to think more deeply about the two previous lives she has certainly led. He realized that many of the things which made him love and appreciate his wife had been traits she had honed during her previous relationships. He knew that she was skilled in the "art" of "making a man happy" because she had a lot of practice in it. The text said, "he even tried to trace the source of his obligations, to discriminate between the influences which had combined to produce his domestic happiness" (1708). As he traced these origins, he realized that it was the characteristics that he liked least about his wife's ex-husbands that had resulted in the skills he cherished most in her.

It is easy to be jealous or wary of a current lover's "exes" because anyone would like to think that their lover's heart has only ever belonged to them. But the refinement that occurs during failed relationships cannot be synthesized. I'd like to think that my own adventures in dating are preparing me for the "big race" sometime in the future. When that day does come, with my list of exes, I should be pretty well-versed in the art of "making a man happy". Ha.

"Bitter Bierce" Lives up to His Name

Talk about a Debby Downer! Good ol' Ambrose really nailed the Negative Nancy routine in An Occurrence on the Owl Creek Bridge. After the intro, reading this story was a little like watching a horror movie. I knew something bad was going to happen- How could "Bitter Bierce" tell it any other way?- but I wasn't sure when exactly it was going to jump from behind the corner and stab me to death. Evidently, Bierce prefers the trick ending type of slip. (Case in point: Part II's final sentence- an unveiling of the passerby soldier as a Federal scout.)

If you didn't read the Norton Anthology author's bio introduction to this story, maybe you might not have been as wise to his ways, but he gave some clues along the way, generally through the means of grand statements and sarcasm.

Bierce lays out the scene at the Bridge very carefully in the first few paragraphs of the story. He depicts the machine of the military in exact form to the location of the butt of every rifle. But no sooner is the picture painted and he breaks the so-far objective narrative voice with a seemingly tongue in cheek military truism: "Death is a dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him" (1477). It's as though he's comparing this grim scene with the niceties of a setting formal tea service for the Queen.

I could tell that our pessimistic author would not provide an escape for the poor planter. He relates Peyton's plight of flat-footedness, or something of the like, which keeps him from assignment in the service of the Union. He describes him as man who "in good faith and without too much qualification assented to at least a part of the frankly villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war" (1478). Bierce is mockingly applying a little lipstick on that pig. He might as well have said the man was simple, and quick to risk it all for a cause he didn't totally understand.

Bierce didn't just kill this guy. He killed him twice. Not only was the man hung at the bridge, but even in his dying dream state he imagines his escape only to be shot moments before love's embrace. For poor Peyton, it seems the brightness he saw in the world around him, the "revelation" of the "wild" region "he had not known he had lived in" came just a few minutes too late (1482). Bierce probably would have told him not to risk it all just for "an opportunity for distinction". Poor Peyton should have counted his blessings when he didn't have to fight in the first place.

I wonder what was so terrible about lil' Ambrose's childhood that he grew up so bitter.

Frogs & Herons = Twain & Jewett

What a lovely start to our readings for the quarter. On one level, it was a sampling of literature of place. Another look could uncover an investigation of mankind and his relationship with nature. (Though it is a challenge to read into a man's friendship with a frog.) Regardless of any similar underlying themes in their work, these contemporaries have very different voices.

Twain's stories are much better known in Literature, of course. Perhaps this is a result of his use of humor in his writing. He certainly worked it well in this little jaunt into Calavarus County. The storyline is clever and the (tall) tales amusing. Still, what really got me was the way Twain was itching to get out of earshot of the narrator. He took such lovely little jabs at the storyteller's deadpan way of orating, saying that the man "regarded [the story] as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse" (1273). It makes me wonder whether he included that description in order to supply the reader with the correct modifiers with which to describe Twain's writings themselves.

While Twain's story used dialect and its charming southern characters to compose a snapshot of place, Jewett painted a picture of a beautifully secluded, coastal New England life. White Heron is told from the point of view of a 9 year old girl with the perspective of a seemingly adult narrative voice. It is a story of cohabitation: of cow and girl, girl and grandmother, and eventually girl and nature. Jewett quite literally lifts the young girl out of her forest and gives her new perspective on life. When Sylvy climbs to the treetop she feels "as if she too could go flying away among the clouds". Atop the tree Sylvy is said to "[know] his secret now, the wild, light, slender bird that floats and wavers" (1597). I believe the secret to be more than the location of his nest. She has discovered the value of the world in which she lives. She has seen the world as the Heron does, from atop a tree.

There is a place I used to visit as a child growing up in Kentucky that gave me a similar feeling. Atop the mountain where I grew up, there was a rock formation with a limestone shelf- perfect for sitting on while wishing for wings.

First Day of School Jitters

I wasn't wearing galoshes or carrying a plastic lunchbox, but today did have some of those first-day-of-school feelings from back in the olden days. Hopefully, it's true that knowing how to be a good student is like riding a bike. Old muscle memories should just kick in.

I think I'm going to have fun with this blog assignment, and with the class. Here goes.

Happy Reading!