Classical Literature in Translation

2006-05-07T21:47:00.000-07:00

This is actually not my blog. It was something for school. I'm at bailamorena.livejournal.com.

More poems

2005-05-03T16:27:00.000-07:00

Galatea

From stone to flesh
From cold to heat
I was immobile
Now I am immovable
I was born of a man,
like Dionysus, like Athena.
I am a goddess!
A goddess who sprung from stone
Sprung from the mind of a man
I turned hate into love
But dear readers, here is a secret
Pygmalion, my husband,
still keeps me on that pedestal
just to gaze at me. He squints his eye
tilts his head, then sighs. He is so proud
of his creation.

He has begun telling me where I should
lose weight. I am clay that he can shape
and scrape away.
My hands are falling off. They are so
useless. My skin is turning grey. I find
dust around me each morning. It is getting
harder to see.

The tormenting dragon

Count each breath. I will breathe fire
into your mind. Be calm. I will whip up
the water in the lake. Be the surface
of the lake. I will dive below and make bubbles
float to the surface. Be the bird on that branch
by the incense-storing temple. I will eat him for lunch.
Try to deny me in yourself and I will turn your skin
to scales. But realize that you are the beast and the
Boddhisatva, and I am the beauty and the monster.
We you I are one.

First few poems

2005-05-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

Penelope

Patience is a virtue,
And so I am more virtuous than the gods
Yes I will be so bold to say it
because the gods took my husband away from me
sent him off to DesTroy to fight for
the glory of men
While the patience of women goes
unappreciated.
Oh Athena, I am sorry.
I do not mean to demean your honor
You are a weaver like me. You smote
Ariadne when she dared challenge you
Now that hapless weaver spins her creations
in corners, going unnoticed. or killed.
I am Ariadne now, left alone by the gods
abandoned by my husband, dead, alive,
or trapped in the embrace of a fire-haired enchantress

Athena, hear my plea. Weave strength into this worn-out cape
of patience. Weave your magic into my husband's journey
Thread by thread, bring him home to Ithaca.
Bind the suitors out of my life, unstitch their presence
from my home.

Daphne

Should this be my fate?
Birds resting in my hands,
rough bark where once there was smooth white skin
What can a maiden do when the sun chases her?
Did he not know he would burn me
with his music and his light and his beauty?
Fire cannot hold a girl. Fire will only incinerate
and turn me into Ash.
(That's my little joke.)

You have to change to fall in love
I ran and ran and then I froze
so I wouldn' t burn.
Apollo gazes down on me with affection
and my branches reach up to him
my leaves unfold like a thousand green hands
reaching out to him. I speak
through the wind. But he does not hear me.

Further deconstruction of the Pygmalion story

2005-04-10T19:04:00.000-07:00

I had some interesting comments from Dr. Williamson and figured i should elaborate on my Pygmalion/Galatea analysis.

Clearly, there is no one way to analyze the situation there. I remember reading the scene in the Metamorphoses and being appalled at how Pygmalion explored and fondled Galatea while she was powerless and sleeping. But I suppose another way to look at it is that his creation came alive because he breathed love into it. This is a common theme for artists because if we are really serious, we fall in love with our creations. We breathe life into them and make them into real living breathing creatures. I suppose we could read that this is what Pygmalion does with Galatea.

Yet I still cannot shake my propensity towards Feminist theory, and there is so much here. This scene is like a precursor to Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, where the handsome prince "awakens" the beautiful stone/sleeping/dead princess with a kiss. Pygmalion is like the handsome prince opening his blushing bride's sexuality. What is interesting is that because Galatea is his creation, her sexuality *completely* belongs to Pygmalion. she is not like the other women with their "scandalous way of life" (line 242). It seems to me that Pygmalion does not have to worry that his creation will stray from him.

But then we get into other questions sort of like the questions one would ask while reading "Frankenstein." Is it ethical to create a sentient being? What about the morality of creating something that will love you but you don't have to love back? I often wonder what happens when or if Pygmalion ever gets tired of Galatea. I often wonder how pressured she might feel in being the perfect woman. Is it ever too high of a label to live up to?

Also, it really does seem like Galatea is the original object of the male gaze. She is subjected to the male gaze so much that she was *created* by it and she was *born* by it (It is interesting that in Greek mythology, there are many stories of men "giving birth" (in various ways)).

Just some interesting ideas to think about.

Project Idea

2005-04-03T18:54:00.000-07:00

I have an idea for my creative project. I want to do a series of poems from the points of view of women characters in the readings.

I want to write about Penelope's patience, and also put that poem next to another poem I found about Penelope (an allegory to Penelope, at least)
I want to write a poem from the point of view of one of the goddesses, perhaps Athena.
I will write a poem from the point of view of Pygmalion's statue, Galatea. I was reading this section and was horrified at the implications. Pygmalion basically has sex with his sleeping statue/woman without her consent. It is basically a glamourized romanticized rape scene. How fitting that she is the statue, the first woman to be *shaped* and *created* BY the male gaze, not just always subjected to it. She is the definition of the male gaze. She is the created, not the subject. Always objectified. There is a lot of material there.
I think I will also do a poem from Antigone's point of view.

The poems by Catullus that we have been reading have been quite interesting. Perhaps a poem by his lover Lesbia would be really fitting, sort of an answer to his love serenades.

Sorry I have not updated in awhile. I will try to post more regularly.

The Aeneid

2005-02-17T10:04:00.000-08:00

a. Issue

How should people respond to fate, and what are the consequences of accepting or rejecting the will of the gods?

b. conclusion

Mortals should submit themselves to their destiny as decried by the gods, because the gods have power over all lives.

alternate conclusion: Rome is a glorious nation with a rich and noble history; and this history legitimizes Rome’s empire now.

Meshing of the two? Rome is glorious because it was destined to be, and because the people who founded it followed their destiny.

c. reasons

The gods control everything. There is no free will

Jupiter/Jove is the most powerful of all the gods

The lesser gods try to control the world for their personal interest, but Jove’s will trumps it all.

Aeneas followed fate, even when it pained him to do so. he submitted to the will of the Gods. In reward for this, he founded Rome and was a glorious hero.

Dido, on the other hand, does not want to subordinate her own life to fate. Her desire makes her go crazy, and she kills herself.

The gods prophesied Rome’s inception; therefore, it is a noble empire

d. significant ambiguities

How do we define fate? Is it different than destiny, or are they just synonyms?

What is glory? How do we define the “good guys” and the “bad guys’ in a war? Is it all based on what the gods want?

e. value conflicts/assumptions

The biggest conflict seems to be between fate and free will. Should individuals follow their destiny or should they do what they want to do. Aeneas decides to follow his “destiny” instead of staying with Dido.

f. descriptive assumptions

Love is caused by the gods “smiting” humans with the feeling.

Gods have their favorite cities and their favorite people

The gods are just as petty, backbiting, and flawed as humans

Rome is a glorious nation and far more advanced than its predecessor

Women are prone to emotion and are irrational

g. logical fallacies

Lisa and I have never understood fate because there seems to be a flaw in the reasoning. Individuals are supposed to follow their destiny. But if they reject their destiny, wasn’t it fate that they did so? If everything is predestined, then it seems there is no reason to prescribe following fate. Fate, according to the definition given by Virgil, is like a puppetmaster. People have no choice about following it, so what is the logic behind telling them they should follow their fate?

There is a wishful thinking fallacy in Virgil’s history of Rome. Believing that Rome had this glorious history tied to mythology and the gods doesn’t make it so.

h. evidence

Virgil obviously has no proof of any existence of gods, but he’s sort of appealing to authority because the whole Roman culture believes in these gods, as well as Rome’s glory. Also, because people cannot always control their own lives, and because unexpected phenomena are always cutting in, the Romans took this as empirical evidence of the existence of gods. And these gods micromanaged everybody’s lives.

i. rival causes?

Pardon the French, but it might not be the gods controlling destiny. It might just be, “Shit happens.” Virgil assumes that every action or occurrence is the work of Jove, Venus, Juno or other gods, but it could be because of the decisions of humans or the natural play of events.

j. statistics

n/a

k. significant information omitted

There sort of is only one perspective shown, which is that of the dominant classes—the warriors, the kings, etc. We don’t hear much from the underdogs; the mortal women and the lower classes, especially, aren’t given voices.

l. reasonable conclusions

Based on Virgil’s reasoning, the conclusion he comes up with works in the context of this literary work. There is almost no other way to see it because he works the reasons and assumptions to suit his thesis.

II. What are the implications of this work for the core question or subsidiary questions?

Destiny is sacred. So, apparently, is a nation’s history. The history of Rome, in this book, is made to be sacred because it is connected with the sacredness of the gods. Because the gods wanted this city as their own, the city itself becomes sacred as well. It seems that the sacred is determined by whatever the gods like at the moment. They strike us as very fickle and selfish characters, and yet they determine what humans should worship and hold as important in their lives.

IV. How does this work connect to other things we have read in this unit or common readings or ideas we have talked about?

This is very similar to The Mists of Avalon, with the idea of fate controlling people’s lives. Morgaine, Igraine, and Aeneas are all asked to succumb their lives to the will of destiny. This causes much turmoil for all the characters, as they fight against what is supposedly “prescribed” for their lives.

We have also talked about the sacred as relating to more than just religion. Here, we see that. It isn’t necessarily the gods themselves that are the most sacred, but the destinies and histories that they create that become the focus of reverence. However, because the gods create these histories, it attaches the histories to religion. And it is the religious aspect that contributes to their sacredness.

V. What are some good questions about this work that might be explored?

Can you change your fate? If you try to change your fate, will you just end up fulfilling it? (I’m thinking Oedipus here) If you can’t change your fate, why bother try doing anything? I mean, it might give you a certain amount of comfort to know you don’t have to worry about making decisions.

The Greek and Roman religions were more about superstition than ethics. Offerings were made and homage was paid to honor the gods, but this was only to ensure good luck or a good life. You tried to please the gods because they controlled your life, and you wanted to appease them. It wasn’t necessarily tied to ethics or the kind of person you should be.

But today, all we see in religion is the ethical prescriptions. So when did this change? When did honoring the sacred change from just protecting yourself from the gods by pleasing them to trying to live your life ethically?

First Journal Entry: The Shift in Odysseus

2005-01-20T10:26:00.000-08:00

When we, as modern readers, read the translated version of The Odyssey, we have to be careful not to project our own ideas of gender roles onto the characters and story that takes place in Ancient Greece. While it is true that much of the gender roles are similar to those we have experienced in twentieth and twenty-first century American society, there are differences that we must explore in the context of classical Greek society.

The traditional stereotypical view of masculinity today is equated with strength, agression, stoicism, bravery, adventurousness, etc. Basically, qualities of your typical "hero," your Superman or soldier.

Conversely, there are traits today that are supposed to be anathema to the idea of masculinity. These include humility, overuse of emotions, weakness, softness, fear, etc. Especially tears. We hear time and time again that "boys don't cry." To show such a breakdown of emotion is to show a fissure in the stone wall of one's manhood.

It seems from reading The Odyssey, however, that the Greeks saw it differently. Their view of masculinity was similar to ours in a few ways. Odysseus seems to be the perfect man; everybody in the book sings his praises. He is strong, intelligent, courageous, tenacious, a good fighter, sportsman, and sailor. It would seem, then, that these are all ideal qualities in a man.

However, there is another personality in Odysseus. He is humble before his gods, prostrating himself and sacrificing dutifully. He is also humble before his hosts, honoring them with compliments. He is never at a loss for social niceties. He knows the proper things to say when offered food and shelter. He knows how to behave as a guest in a stranger's home. These traits, while not necessarily looked down upon in our society, seemed to be more equated with the feminine role. This is one area where the Greek gender roles depart from ours. A man is not just strong; he is humble and knows when to bow.

The biggest difference, however, is the permission to cry. This poem is chock full of male tears. Every time one of Odysseus's shipmates dies, the crew weeps and sobs with abandon. When they are afraid, they cower and cry like children. When Odysseus hears his story sung by the Herodotus, he too weeps "like a woman." But these outbursts are not exactly frowned upon. They seem instead to be more natural. As Odysseus tells his story to his hosts, he mentions offhand time and again how afraid he and his crew were afraid, or mourned tearfully for their shipmates. Similarly, when Telemachus and Odysseus are reunited, they embrace each other, crying. Perhaps, the prescibed role for a man does not only encompass strength and ability, but also great emotion and humility. The Greeks saw themselves as supplicant to the gods - their lives were in the command of the immortals. Therefore, they had to be in constant subservience to them, showing their loyalty and awe. When misfortune fell upon them, I think it was their duty to show their devastation. If they remained stoic in the face of the gods' punishment, they might invite further pain. Also, when they were rewarded with good things -like a return home or a reunion, they gratefully and tearfully gave thanks to the gods.

It is in scenes like these where we see the shift in Odysseus. I think it is Homer's way of showing the readers the other side of a hero, the side that humbles himself before fate, the side that is not afraid to show his humanity and emotions.

2004-12-09T22:30:00.000-08:00

I have completely changed my idea for a final project upon serendipitously discovering Mina Loy’s poem, “Mass-Production on 14^th Street.” I want to do an illustrated book version of this, incorporating modernist collage, montage and Dadaist poetry. This poem speaks to my Feminist Marxist leanings. It is full of weird diction and crisp phrases you just want to feel in your mouth over and over again. When I first read this poem, it screamed out to be illustrated. The descriptions are so ripe and peculiar that they need edgy and unsettling pictures to go with them. In my project, I hope to incorporate visual allusions to the other poets we have read earlier in class. Perhaps some pictures of Bach in a store window, or laborers digging on the storefront streets. I hope to illustrate the concepts of modernism that we have learned.

Zukofsky and Stein I think are worlds apart. I think Stein plays a lot with language more, and tries to break down language barriers. Stein's poems such as "patriarchal poetry" and "lifting belly," although they do last forever, like Zukofsky's "A," are not as coherent, shall we say, as Zukofsky's. I mean, i think they are just as valuable, (even though I'm not a big fan of Stein), but I think the point behind Stein's work is more focused on the repetition and the way she says "screw you" to conventional systems of syntax. Zukofsky stays a bit more within those boundaries.

Loy and Zukofsky

2004-12-07T21:22:00.000-08:00

I am enjoying this litmus test of Zukofsky here. Examining these two modernist authors, I notice some similarities. Both of them use unconventional divisions of their poetry. Mina Loy uses Roman numerals to divide sections of her poetry, and Zukofsky uses the sections of A. Both of them speak to people, such as Joannes or Celia. Both of them incorporate modern culture, such as Marie Dressler or labor unions. They both allude to history, technology, literature and music.

Zukofsky, however, seems to play with form more. Mina Loy's poems are all free verse. She does have strikingly wonderful pieces like the Feminist Manifesto. But all in all, she usually sticks to different variations upon the free verse. Zukofsky, on the other hand, does sonnets, 4-part musical/spoken word notation, etc.

Also, Loy's poems are more concentrated and dense. She uses many strange words like simulacra, sempstress and cyclamen. Zukofsky can be quite dense as well. But I interpret his work as more linguistically accessible but broader. His poems are usually longer than Loy's, full of all this *stuff* like Bach and flowers and graveyards and automobiles. It is up to the reader not to reach for the dictionary (as we must do with Loy) but to piece together what Zukofsky offers us into a whole. Loy is a riddle, and Zukofsky is a puzzle.

Williams and Zukofsky

2004-12-07T21:14:00.000-08:00

I was once at a theatre class in Cambridge, where my professor told us that reading Shakespeare felt very modern and easy to him. He usually performed plays written in old Germanic English. So switching back to Shakespeare was like coming back to the home country. I feel this way returning to Williams after taking the language-twisting, confounding journey through Stein, Loy and Zukofsky. Where I had originally considered him abstract, I now scoff at myself. Amanda, I completely understand what you were saying in class on Monday.

Williams plays more with concepts, line-breaks and the traditional understanding of what a poem is. He writes poems about plums in the icebox, chickens and wheelbarrows, hermaphroditic telephones. All of these are strange, unconventional topics to write a poem about. However, he does not play with language *as much* as Loy or Stein do. Nor does he play with form as much as Zukofsky does. He still breaks boundaries as a modernist. But I find him way more accessible than the other three authors.

Synthesis

2004-12-06T06:03:00.000-08:00

I have enjoyed reading Zukofsky. I'd say he is my second favorite behind Mina Loy. The sheer prolific-ness (is that a word?!) of his work is amazing. The fact that it took him *decades* to do this book shows how much time and thought and craft went into it. I like watching how it evolves throughout the different sections, his changes with style, and the modernist "collage" aspect of it. The way he pulls in Bach and labor songs, science, technology, nature, sex, literature, history, etc. It's like THE POEM OF THE WORLD or THE POEM OF A LIFE with all of that *stuff* brimming around in it.

Zukofsky style sonnet

2004-11-17T05:05:00.000-08:00

Doves: Who can see them? Out of feathers? Books
will do it, out of feathers, out of airs, but
they have no feathers, so there are no airs, hooks
of books, from me to them no rolling eye.
For they have no wood, but their legs are twigs,
For their beaks are needles with tongues inside;
Blood red, red thread curls from beaks or where could
be beaks, two legs stand upside-down V, four together W.
"In a pear tree" is what comes next in the black birds trilling
above the triple railroad track; That cuts out everybody
but . . . You're cut out, and she's cut out, and the titmice
are cut out. No! We can't have such nor books
As though they are made of clay, pass them above branches
Strayed on a cloud -- them? Are on benches.

I tried to do this as a copy/change exercise, where you keep the original form but just change some words. In doing so, I grew to appreciate the first sonnet of A7 more. It seems to me to be about writing. "Words will do it," meaning words can describe a horse, but words have no manes. Words *are* not a horse. They are made of paper and print, and wood. And they have no eyes. Perhaps this poem is about the limits of language. Odd, yet very modernist theme to put into a poem.

Gertrude Stein Conclusion

2004-11-07T15:09:00.000-08:00

I return from a recess from blogging. All through studying Gertrude Stein, I have been unsure as to how to approach the blog. I have been having trouble understanding Stein, and have thus been avoiding my blog. I talked to you about this, Dr. Sherwood. But I am going to try now to have a crack at it again and keep up with this from now on.

I think towards the end I finally started to undertand Stein, but with a different area of my brain. I really appreciated what she said about "if you enjoy it, you understand it." Certain parts of Stein I enjoy for her dismantling of language, her seemingly random connection of words and repetition. In that sense, according to Stein, I understand her work. A lot of work, admittedly, frustrates me. I do not particularly enjoy the repetition in the first paragraph of patriarchal poetry. I do not particularly enjoy the strangeness of lines like "Toasted Susie is my ice cream," but I appreciate her for writing lines like that. I think there should be a place for poetry that flippantly defies conventions, and even poetry that does not make any "sense." Her poetry makes sense in the way that it *doesn't* make sense. And so it speaks (in theory) to the hierarchies of language, our definitions of syntax, and conversely, the possibilities of creating new definitions.

With extremely famous and extremely obscure authors, I usually say they are either damn amazing or full of crap. Since we're studying Stein, I can't exactly say she is all nonsense. I think she has reasons behind her random strings of words and paragraphs. I think she has her methods behind repetition, behind the forms she chooses.

Gertrude Stein

2004-10-14T13:59:00.000-07:00

Sorry I have not been writing in here much.

I am having trouble with Gertrude Stein. I do not like her writing. I cannot understand her poetry--it seems too repetitive, juvenile, nonsensical, and way too opaque to get at. Mina Loy's work, in contrast, is opaque but it is also understandable once you study it. At least, on some intellectual level it is rewarding. I am having trouble finding the same merit in Stein's work.

Also, the chapters in The Autobriography of Alice B. Toklas were incredibly long, rambling, and did not seem to have much of a point. I felt the same with Melanctha. I hope that by the time we're done studying her, I can figure out what the value behind her work is.

2004-10-14T13:05:00.000-07:00

Cinderella told in the style of Melanctha

Cinderella's father made it very hard for his wife to be happy. She was accustomed to the rich, luxurious life that brings beauty to the upper-class world. Her daughters were petulant, shallow, lovely, ignorant, narcissistic lily-white sycophants and they had theirs was the laughter that brought chills to the lower-class world.

The other girls were very jealous of Cinderella because she was beautiful in the way that one is beautiful without even trying, and hers was the smile that makes the birds sing on the windowsill. She kept company with the birds and mice, at least that is what they say, though it is not known what kind of birds she kept company with. Moreover, it is not known exactly where Cinderella lived or if she lived at all. So it is impossible to say just what birds were made to sing on the windowsill because of her smile. But I am getting ahead of the story.

There was to be a ball, with a prince. Like all princes in all fairy tales, this prince was charming and handsome and good. Cinderella's stepmother believed this charming and handsome and good prince would fit well with one of her petulant, shallow, lovely, ignorant narcissistic lily-white sycophant daughters. So she began at once with preparations for their ball gowns.

You must wear silk, diamonds, beads, and velvet, she said, and when the prince comes to you, suck in your stomach, hold your chin high and stretch out your neck like a swan, she said, and stretched out her own neck like a swan. Each of her daughters imitated her movement.

Cinderella was sweeping the dust from the floor.
Cinderella was singing to the mice.
Cinderella did not care for balls or princes, for her life was the quiet, sturdy life of the good daughter. She did not question her elders. She did not impose. She was content in her tower, where Cinderella swept dust from the floor.

But then she met the prince's footman, whose brass buttons sparkled in the sunlight. The footman was delivering the message to the household that all eligible daughters should attend the ball. Cinderella saw those brass buttons spakling in the sunlight, and with her quiet sturdy way, began to dream, for she was also a dreamer. And this was why the birds sang when she smiled, for hers was the smile of dreams.

So Cinderella began, in secret, to sew her own ball gown. It was green like the leaves of an oak tree in May. It was also blue like a robin's egg, yellow like the yolk of an egg, and white like a shell of an egg. It was all of these colors, but it was none of these colors. It was a magic dress that Cinderella made in between sweeping the floor and smiling and singing.

When I wear this dress, she said to the mice, the prince will fall in love with my skills as a seamstress. He will ask me to sew for all of his court ladies. Squeak said the mice.

I do so like to sew this dress for this ball, said Cinderella to the birds, but I do not know why my stepsisters are so intent on going there for a husband. It seems utterly strange to send *two* of them, when surely at least one of them will go away empty-handed, or empty-husbanded I should say. It would make more sense to send this sister to one ball and that sister to another ball, so they can each come home with an engagement to the prince. Chirp, said the bird.

As the story turns out, as all faery tales turn out, this prince who was handsome and charming and good, did not fall in love with Cinderella's sewing. He did fall in love with her, but Cinderella ran away when she saw no familiarity in his face. Her smile of dreams did not make him sing at the windowsill. He spoke in a soupy colorful heavy language that was so unlike the chirps and squeaks that she kept her company with. And because hers was the quiet, sturdy life of the good daughter, she did not want this stranger to take her away from that. She did not want himi to take away her smile that made birds sing ont he windowsill.

So even though this prince was handsome, charming, and good, Cinderella ran away, and lost her shoe by running so fast. The handsome, charming, and good prince, (who never has a name, in any of these faery tales, and never will) ran after her, but only caught her shoe.

Oh glass shoe that held the feet that carried my love away from me! he moaned, you glass vessel of dearness, you and your partner have done such treachery by helping that sunshine quiet, sturdy good lady escape me! You must be bewitched. Tell me what her name is. Tell me where I can find her. The shoe said nothing.

Songs for Joannes

2004-09-28T17:19:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been rather sporadic in updating this. I will try to write in it more regularly.

In response to the comments left in my first post, I will say this. Dr. Sherwood, you are right when you say that Williams uses more concrete images that aren't considered abstract. However, it's the juxtaposition of words and the broken non-traditional syntax that makes it abstract, or at least unconventional. I'm a "think outside the box" girl but I still have a hard time with non-traditional syntax and free-flow wordplay association. I guess I should listen to the doors some more and read more Sylvia Plath. ;)

Melissa I do remember Barbara's class. I like these Williams poems better though! What do you think?

Parts of "Songs for Joannes" I really liked. Here are some lines that really spoke to me:

We might have coupled
in the bed-ridden monopoly of a moment
Or broken flesh with one another
at the profane communion table
where wine is spill'd on promiscuous lips

we might have given birth to a butterfly
with the daily news
printed in blood on its wings

Behind God's eyes
there might
be other lights

When two or three are welded together
they shall become god
-------------
Oh that's right
keep away from me Please give me a push
Don't let me understand you Don't realize me
Or we might tumble together
Depersonalized
Identical
Into the terrific Nirvana
Me you--you----me

I could go on. There is a strong sexuality in this song, what with all the tumbling and orgasming and coupling and so on. Morevoer, I sense a connection between sex and the divine. Loy employs the idea that sex is a way to connect to something greater (the cosmos, god, what have you). She seems very keen to the theme of the self dissolving. I don't know what her spiritual or religious background was, but this seems rather Buddhist--the concept of losing the ego and merging with another into Nirvana.

Hello!

2004-09-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody. Sorry I am jumping on this late, but I missed a few classes due to an undergrad conference I went to, and now am finally catching up on what we've been doing.

For my close reading, I chose to do "Hermaphroditic Telephones" by W. C. Williams. I am having trouble understanding it. Well, to be more specific, I am trying to figure out what the hermaphroditic telephones ARE! Icicles? Telephone poles? actual telephones people threw in the river that the warm rains are watching away? I am very confused. Hopefully writing the close reading will help me.

I enjoy Williams, even though he always talks about hospitals. His poems seem to be pervaded wtih spring, which I like. Very much. I like his choice of language. I am not a big fan of his more abstract poetry, but often a line I really like will surprise me.