Thirteen ways of looking at "Thirteen ways of looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens

First, here is the peom:                                                        Second, thirteen ways of looking at the poem:

 I                                                                                        I
"Among twenty snowy mountains,                                        You can look at it from the perspective that
The only moving thing                                                         the blackbird is forever watchful, and so too
Was the eye of the blackbird.                                              is the eye of those you think aren't
                                                                                          watching, when the in fact, are.

II                                                                                      II
I was of three minds,                                                          It can be confusing having three different ideas Like a tree                                                                         or perspectives on the same thing, and deciding
In which there are three blackbirds.                                    which is most correct, or which takes priority.

III                                                                                    III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.                        Though so much around is changing, the It was a small part of the pantomime.                                             smallest action, though lost in fray, still contributes.

 IV                                                                                   IV
A man and a woman                                                         In a union everything becomes one, even
Are one.                                                                           non ideal things or baggage be it emotional,
A man and a woman and a blackbird                                 physical, or mental.
Are one.

 V                                                                                    V
I do not know which to prefer,                                         The comparison of the act its self or the results, The beauty of inflections                                                   which is better, the getting there,
Or the beauty of innuendoes,                                            or the destination?
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI                                                                                   VI
Icicles filled the long window                                            Captivity is cold and the free blackbird flying to With barbaric glass.                                                         and fro is a mockery of the captivity of the The shadow of the blackbird                                                  narrator, why the bird does it , no one knows, but Crossed it, to and fro.                                                      the freedom of his flight is felt, and perhaps also The mood                                                                       desired by the narrator
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

 VII                                                                                VII
O thin men of Haddam,                                                   Sometimes what people really want isn't what they Why do you imagine golden birds?                                  really wanted, or thought they wanted, and what Do you not see how the blackbird                                   they really wanted is something else, something Walks around the feet                                                     better, that's been right in front of them this whole Of the women about you?                                               time.

VIII                                                                              VIII 
I know noble accents                                                     Not everything is as it appears to be, even things And lucid, inescapable rhythms;                                      that seem to be so real can be something else. entirely beneath the surface.
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX                                                                                IX                         
When the blackbird flew out of sight,                             Life is a cycle and we are all connected to
It marked the edge                                                        eachother and our paths all cross at one point or
Of one of many circles.                                                 another, and what seems to leave or be gone
                                                                                    is never gone for good, it will come back again,
                                                                                    though not always in a desirable way, it will come
                                                                                    back again.

 X                                                                                X
At the sight of blackbirds                                             Sometimes things go wrong when you least expect it, Flying in a green light,                                                  when something is seemingly peaceful, be prepared Even the bawds of euphony                                          for when it turns sour.
Would cry out sharply.

 XI                                                                              XI
He rode over Connecticut                                            When things seem apparently clear, even fear can In a glass coach.                                                              turn the most obvious or clear thing into something Once, a fear pierced him,                                             else in our minds eye, it can also make a hero a
In that he mistook                                                        weak coward. 
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

 XII                                                                            XII
The river is moving.                                                     Life goes on, if a tree falls in the forest it still makes a The blackbird must be flying.                                      sound regaurdless if anyone else is there to hear it, if
                                                                                  things are continuing normally, life must go on.

XIII                                                                           XIII
It was evening all afternoon.                                       Sometimes it is dark, and things may be difficult, and it It was snowing                                                          will probably get difficult again, but sometimes we just And it was going to snow.                                          have to find a way to get through it, our own cedar The blackbird sat                                                       branch, until things turn around for the best again
In the cedar-limbs."



*A man. A woman. and a Blackbird.

*Image courtesy of: http://www.joancolbert.com/gallery/prints/thirteenways/amawab.htm - There is a visual representation of each way if you'd like to check them out, I had a hard time picking which one to incorporate they were all so wonderful!

The Lost "Beautifulness"

“The Lost Beautifulness” to me is a story about identity. In this story a woman spends even her last penny that she has managed to save on top of what little she has, and buy enough paint to brighten up her kitchen in her dreary cramped flat. This woman is referred to as a “ghetto woman” and is by no means of wealth in this short story. She is known however by her ability to sway an audience, her love and affection, her “artistry” that she puts into anything she is doing, and the dedication and love she has toward her son Aby, and making everything the best for him.

Hanneh Hayyeh, a Russian immigrant, works very hard to make the best of things. She sees the good, and what can come out of something that is maybe less than decent. When it comes to her kitchen she envisions the modifications and DIY that can be done to improve her eatery with minimal cost. She dedicates her time when she isn’t working overtime at her job to researching paints and costs so that she can come out with a new kitchen at a minimal means. She also spends that time over working, because she saves her own money on top of the money she already scrapes together for food and rent. When it’s all said and done this woman has put herself into this project as much as she possibly could have. She works for it nurtures it, plans for it, puts her love into it, and builds it up and puts it back on its feet.  She goes to extra lengths by showing it off to her community and even is so proud of it that she mentions it to her rich employer, who supports every bit of it. However, when she shows it to the inconsiderate landlord, things take a turn for the worse.

Hanneh’s rent goes up, her husband reprimands her for her foolishness, and she is meant only by support of her landlord and charity from her employer whom she has placed upon a pedestal. Hanneh being a woman of pride tries to fight this, even taking it to court, but even though the rent has increased two times refuses help. So then, Hanneh gets desperate, if she can’t have her kitchen, her love, then no one can have her love, and she decides to destroy her hard work and in doing so destroys herself. She has become so one with the work she has put into this kitchen, that in destroying it, she has also destroyed herself, and her sanity. In a further twist of uncanny fate, her son comes home when she has been evicted to find her amongst her scattered dejected belongings that have been cast aside in the gutter. This sight one would think is one of earth shattering proportions, and probably has broken her son’s heart. Though he did not expect the kitchen his mother had spruced up, he certainly did not expect to find her that way.

Hanneh is a character whom I think I could hold near and dear to my heart. She is passionate, a dreamer, an artist, and dedicated to her cause. She has problems being her own person. She wants the kitchen like Mrs. Preston her rich employer, she wants to be well loved by her active duty son, the talk of the town, idolized like the woman she idolizes, Mrs. Preston. The problem with all that is, is Hanneh can’t express her true self, except when she is at work. The way she does things, despite her work worn hands, is with a certain delicacy, artistry to them, and is evidence of her true passionate self. She is dedicated and passionate about all that she does, but Hanneh does nothing for herself. She has gotten the paint for herself and painted, and breathed into life her vision of this wonderful kitchen, the only thing that is actually hers. The rest of the time she is trying to please everyone else. Had Hanneh been content with herself and not so eager to please, she would not have run into the problem with the landlord, would have been secure in herself to accept help from Mrs. Preston, and secure that she was a good mother and wife, and not felt the need to over extend herself. This is Hanneh’s fault, almost like a tragedy, she is so besought with her gift, which is the very ruin of her.

 

"That which we call rose by any other name would smell as sweet"

Literature is a very difficult thing to put a label on. Too many it means something inspiring, to others it may mean simply a published work. Then there are unspoken guidelines applied to these definitions. If it is inspiring, to whom is it inspiring and what does it inspire? On the other hand, a published work, work published by a well renowned author, or a book published by a well-known publisher? The possibilities are endless. To me, literature is communication.

Communication can be through many different means. Some use their hand to communicate, sign language, some use writing, or most primitively, speaking. In some circumstances people visiting the Americas in early times communicated with Indians through drawings in the dirt, since visuals were the only thing they seemed to be able to commonly communicate with. In my opinion, communication doesn’t specifically have to be about something very important at all. An example that has previously been brought up was a grocery list. A grocery list can communicate needs, wants, ideas, and even reveal details about a person’s life.

For example if a person has listed; eggs, milk, butter, bread, coffee, sugar, then they may be someone who only needs the basics, who comes to the grocery store mainly to replenish. It may also reveal that they budget, buy the necessary means, and other non-essential items at a better time. This list for example also communicates this person may be a coffee drinker, or a baker, or may enjoy toast, or perhaps like sugar in their coffee. The possibilities for communication are endless. Again, maybe they just wanted coffee, or they needed eggs and milk. Perhaps even they had a recipe in mind and these ingredients were for a new coffee cake they wanted to try out. Even though this list is unpublished and may not be inspiring to anyone, it is communicating to another person, anyone who read it would know what this person wanted or needed.

Inspiration alone does not have to make something literature, songs at one point were poems until somebody put music to them, and even without the music some poems still have that flowing rhythmic, musical quality about them. Literature is not the judgment of what makes writing good or bad, or how knowledgeable a person is, it is the communication of an idea or thought important to one person, or even communication alone.

Who me? - Introduction

This is my blog for reviewing, reflecting, and discussing various pieces of literature that will be assigned for reading over the course of the Spring 2013 semester. Though I may have an opinion I certainly don't expect others to necessarily agree. My hope is that these posts will be light and offer some other perspective. Stay hungry for a good book!(: