Hey, I know you know I normally avoid playing with poems on here. However, after writing this essay on "Panthea", I pretty much decided I have to. I had to compare it to Romanticism styles, and unfortunately, there was a lot more I wanted to say about the poem itself than what those boundaries would let me. So I'm going to be going through it line by line--well, maybe not line for line, but... Well, I'm going to stumble through it anyways. First of all, here is "Panthea" and second of all, here is my dissection of it:
"Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire/From passionate pain to deadlier delight,--/I am too young to live without desire/Too young art thou to waste this summer night/Asking those idle questions which of old/Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told" (83). First of all, wow! Way to start the poem off with a bang. So awesome. (Maybe I should mention that this is if not my favourite poem of Wilde's, it's definitely in the top three?)
"To feel is better than to know/And wisdom is a childless heritage" (83). 1. Oscar Wilde is awesome. 2. Romantics placed emotion above knowledge. Clearly Oscar is echoing this. He's also clearly being the best. It's just what he does.
By the way, when he says "hoarded proverbs of the sage" (83), he's most likely referring to the book of Proverbs from the Bible.
"Vex not the soul with dead philosophy/Have we not lips to kiss with, hearts to love and eyes to see!" (83).
The bit about the envious moon being pale--I believe that's a reference to Romeo and Juliet. Doesn't Romeo refer to the moon as a pale, envious thing? Kill the envious moon?
Oh, and "boyish limbs in water", the reference to Ganymede, the "little men" (84) kissing to pass the effects of opium onto one another--later in the poem Oscar refers to his lover as a fond maid, but there's some pretty strong homosexual imagery here. (Just as a note, Ganymede was Zeus's eromenos.) And don't give me that, oh, oops, just an accident, with Wilde I don't accept a slip of the tongue. Though this is kind of curious because Wilde wouldn't have any (recorded) homosexual affairs for another five or six years after this was published... Well, I guess there must have been some interest existent in the first place.
"But send their rain upon the just and the unjust at will" (83). This is a reference to Matthew 5:45.
"They sit at ease, our Gods they sit at ease/Strewing with leaves of rose their scented wine/They sleep, they sleep, beneath the rocking trees/Where asphodel and yellow lotus twine/Mourning the old glad days before they knew/What evil things the heart of man could dream, and dreaming do" (84). I really love the repetition in the first line, even though I have a sneaking suspicion that that's due to a "oh snap, I need something to fill this line out" than an actual artistic point.
Oh, and the "poppy-seeded draught" (84) and "balm for us in a bruised poppy seed" (85)--those are references to opium. Basically, I think Oscar is admitting that an opium, uh, trip caused his whole fantasy of seeing all these Grecian legend-figures come to life. Oh you!
Oh, and I should mention that Wilde talks about Venus being in the nude once.
"But we oppress our natures, God or Fate/Is our enemy, we starve and feed/On vain repentance--O we are born too late!" (85). That is, to indulge in the pleasures of Greeks or Romans that are more... eh... Observant to the needs of the id. God--Fate--conscience (a society-instilled conscience, "What we call conscience, in many instances,is only a wholesome fear of the constable"--Christian Nestell Bovee) keep us from what we truly should be, or what our true natures are. Hence, born too late, because Wilde and other Victorians must be stifled. (Also, in case if you didn't get it from the first stanza, this poem is basically about a random night of sex in some pretty portion of countryside.)
"O we are wearied of this sense of guilt/Wearied of pleasure's paramour despair/Wearied of every temple we have built/Wearied of every right, unanswered prayer/For man is weak; God sleeps: and heaven is high:/One fiery-coloured moment: one great love; and lo! we die" (85). This is another Romantic belief, rejecting social institutions, especially that of religion. God doesn't seem to be doing anything for man, so why should man listen to anything God supposedly asks of man? I think that last line is particularly powerful too. This is a very well-sculpted stanza.
Wilde goes on to discuss death--"no coin of bronze can bring back the soul" (85), that is, you can't pay to escape death (I don't know if he's referring to a specific myth, but the Greeks had a tradition of putting a coin under the tongues of the dead so they would be able to pay Charon to ferry them across the river Styx). Once you die, every pleasure you've partaken in or stiff laws you abided to are all essentially for naught, because "the tomb is sealed... the dead rise not again" (85).
However, he puts forth the idea that death isn't the end. He never goes so far to say that death should be welcomed but he certainly implies it, because death of the body only frees the soul from its jail and limiter. In fact, Wilde takes almost a Hinduistic
"This hot hard flame with which our bodies burn/Will make some meadow blaze with daffodil/Ay! and those argent breasts of thine will turn/To water-lilies; the brown fields men till/Will be more fruitful for our love tonight/Nothing is lost in nature, all things live in Death's despite" (86). That is, the intensity of man's passion creates the energy which powers nature, and like the Romanticist, believed in the inverse as well. Wilde sees man and nature as the two seemingly separate sides of a Mobius strip. (Yes, I used this line in my essay and I was really proud of it. I just had to use it here.) Of course, the use of the word fruitful is important to note too. And I guess I should mention that this poem was written the year he met his wife. So... So yeah, it's problem a love poem meant for her. (Ooh possible pre-marital sex. Oscarrrr.)
Oh, by the way, "All things live in Death's despite" is an awesome line as all, even if it seems like a sort of random tacking-on.
"The asphodel/Which will not let its blossoms blow for fear/Of too much beauty, and the timid shame/Of the young bridegroom at his lover's eyes" (86). This is both really, really cute, and a teensy bit funny. Juuust being honest.
"One sacrament are consecrate" (86). OSCAR DAMMIT. THE GRAMMAR NAZI IN ME HATES YOU BUT OH I SO SO LOVE YOU. I'll just quietly bear a grudge I guess.
"We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good" (86). Love.
"So when men bury us beneath the yew/Thy crimson-stained mouth a rose will be/And thy soft eyes lush bluebells dimmed with dew/And when the white narcissus wantonly/Kisses the wind its playmate some faint joy/Will thrill our dust, and we will again be found maid and boy" (87). I think there's definitely some significance in the fact that Wilde chose the Narcissus... But let's continue before I halt to digress: "And thus without life's conscious torturing pain/In some sweet flower we will feel the sun/And from the linnet's throat will sing again" (87). Wilde is essentially pushing rebirth--and not just rebirth. You remember that bit about one life, a few stanzas up? He's promoting that, but instead of a nirvana-esque thing, being absorbed into one great consciousness or what have you, but that they will remain separate and it appears that they will get to choose where and what they will live as--mated tigers, flowers, "beast and bird" (87), satyrs--or even a more ethereal form if they so choose, so that "the joyous sea shall be our raiment" (88). What gives them the right to be inheritor of this is that thanks to their passion and love their spirits will grow and grow to burst and overflow. They have to live on because there's still oodles of life to be spent!
"Ay! If we had never loved at all, who knows/If yonder daffodil had the bee/Into its guilded womb, or any rose/Had hung with crimson lamps its little tree!/Methinks no leaf would ever bud in spring/But for the lover's lips that kiss, the poet's lips that sing" (87).
"And we two lovers shall not sit afar/Critics of nature, but the joyous sea/Shall be our raiment, and the bearded star/Shoot arrows at our pleasure! We shall be/Part of the mighty universal whole/And through all aeons mix and mingle with the Kosmic soul!/We shall be notes in that great Symphony/Whose cadence circles though the rhythmic spheres/And all the live World's throbbing heart shall be/One with our heart; the stealthy creeping years/Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die/The Universe itself shall be our immortality" (88). PS. Oscar, you're the best and I love you.
MLA citation information: Wilde, Oscar. Collected Poems of Oscar Wilde. Wordsworth Editions: London, 1994.
Oh and by the way--information regarding Wilde and--uh--Mrs Wilde! When I brought the rough draft to my teacher, we started talking about Wilde and his wife and his affair and all. I'm not the only one who gets super-agitated over Lord Alfred Douglas, at least--first of all, if it wasn't for him, there's a chance that Wilde might not have been put on trial, secondly, after Wilde was released from prison, he went back to Douglas for a short time! I--what!? Oscar, WHAT? You need a sassy gay friend! Actually, that might get you into more trouble.
...But the scenario in my head is hilarious. Speaking of the sassy gay friend, there are two new videos--one for Black Swan and one for Great Expectations. I suggest you watch Black Swan before watching that video though, because I feel like a lot of the reasons why I didn't like Black Swan was because I just wanted the sassy gay friend to come in and whip everybody into shape. ("Kill yourself? It's ballet! BALLET! I'm gay and I don't even care!" ...I want him to be MY sassy gay friend, true story.)
Oh, and by the way, it turns out Wilde was married till 1898. Wow! I mean, she got out of there with the kids during the scandal, so I figured she got divorced, but I guess not... And Mrs Clermont-Ferrand said that Wilde liked his wife, or at least seemed to be rather fond of her... Which at first I thought was odd (he's very critical of marriage, but that could just be his little Romantic-poet deal coming through), but it can easily make sense. Just because he refused to have sex with her after kid number two (her second pregnancy apparently really grossed him out) doesn't mean he didn't love her.... I mean, to be honest, I really know nothing of their relationship other than that he seemed to enjoy men more, so I kind of always assumed it was unhappy (like I said, very critical or marriage--he's got some biting witticisms on the subject). I really need to read up on his life, even though it kills me. Then again, the conclusion to every single book about the Romanovs kills me too, yet I don't stop reading about them. ...To be honest, though, the only reason why I haven't read a real biography on him is because I haven't found one. I'd snap it up in a second regardless of the fact that the end kills me.
Another note on Wilde's life: Apparently his mother was alive at the time of the charge. She told her son that he should fight it, or deny it--which made me wonder if she knew about Oscar's affairs. One minute later, I realized that was a stupid thought and that she most likely did not, because in general, you do not tell your mother you are having homosexual affairs. At least... I would imagine so.
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics: All Around the World by Oasis
This post's cryptic song lyrics: In a field outside of town, we could always be alone, carry a blanket, maybe a basket--and that's it... Innocence was the key, I was locked up never free, till you turned me
Friday, March 18, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Pic by Jack Kerouac
Last post I felt like I wasn't mentioning something. That thing? The Oscars! Colin Firth won best actor and King's Speech won best picture! I was actually so excited about Colin winning, when they did their stay tuned bit I was kind of like, "Oh yeah... There's more, huh?" It's not like I watched that far last year. My disappointment in the fact that Colin didn't get best actor and the lack of blood in my system sent me to bed during the commercial break. (This year I didn't suffer a mortal wound during the Oscars, believe it or not.) But yeah, King's Speech deserved its award, Colin Firth deserved his award, let's all hang out sometime? Yes? Please?
Let's see, what else is up? Speaking of Colin Firth, my research paper in College Writing is on A Single Man, it's comparing the film to the book. My paper for Intro to Lit is on Oscar Wilde, specifically his poem Panthea. And speaking of Intro to Lit, I've been joking about it for a while I know, but it is official--Mrs Clermont-Ferrand is me in the future. I don't know why I would have decided to go back in time to this point in my life (after a while the opium dens of the Victorian era must get boring, I guess), but at least I know that I will have succeeded in becoming as cool as Fabrizzles. Anyways, what was the straw that finally made me sure that this is the case? I asked her if doing my paper on that poem was okay, even if it meant that I was bending the rules a little. She said it was fine, and I told her that Wilde was my favourite author. She responded with "I know--we love him! He's great!" I know? We? Oh snap.
So, Pic: the back of this volume refers to Pic as "unusual"--I don't think it's that odd at all. Sure, maybe the persona Jack chose to adopt is odd (a ten-year-old black boy) but I actually think it's more like his original works than... Well, that sentence actually doesn't make much sense. But it is so ridiculously reminiscent of On the Road. It's the ten-year-old back version of On the Road! Is that... is that politically correct? Whatever. I'm not here to be politically correct, I'm here to kick ass! And I guess obsess about Oscar Wilde and Colin Firth and stuff. Yay. But--uh--the book. It starts out with Pic (short for Pictorial Review, nope, that they do not explain, and I can't imagine the significance of it or why Kerouac would have chosen that of all things--it was the title of a woman's magazine in the Depression...) living with his grandfather. His grandfather dies, and he moves in with his aunt (it's hard for me to even really judge if Pic really gets if his grandfather has deceased) who is one of those women who just keep on breeding. So he's feeling all stifled in her home when all out of the blue Pic's brother who just up and left several years ago comes back and takes Pic with him to his home (and wife) in New York City.
Oh, and I should also note that it's written in dialect. This sort of thing usually makes a work absolutely impenetrable for me (unless if it's written in a New England-y dialect a la Stephen King, but of course I'd understand that with no problem), and at first I did have a lot of trouble with it, but I pressed on--more inclined to because I like the author, you understand--and I'm glad I did. It's actually pretty enjoyable once you get used to the infuriating Southern dialect auuuuuuuugh. Note number two is that this is in a two-book, eh, book, so keep in mind the page numbers are going to be very skewed.
First of all, I think even Pic himself is pretty darned important. Kerouac--a lot of white people in this circle--thought black folks were the coolest of cool. Everybody wanted to be black. (In The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, I believe, Tom Wolfe illustrates how much times have changed by saying black people aren't 'cool' anymore.) Kerouac definitely had that seemingly odd desire, so I'd imagine that making his persona Pic he's kind of acting out a wistful desire. You know? As for making Pic a ten-year-old, I'd imagine it would be a want to have childlike innocence again, or something like that.
"Ain't nobody never loved me like I love myself, cept my mother and she's dead" (125). Pretty strong opening lines, no?
"'While's all this the Gospel word and true, little Pictorial Review Jackson... must go to school to learn and read and write,' and grandpa looked at [my aunt] plum in the eye like if'n to spit tobacco juice in it, and answered, 'Thass awright wif me,' jess like that, 'but that ain't the Lawd's school he's goin' to and he shall never mend his fences'" (126).
So--there's a big break for about thirty pages, nothing over the part where Pic's grandfather dies. Actually, I don't have another note till the beginning of chapter seven, at this point Pic is with his brother Slim--but they've only just snuck out of the aunt's house. (Is snuck not a word? Really? Wait--for real!?)
"'Po little boy,' [Slim] say, and give a sigh, and hitch me up higher on his back. 'I guess you're as much scared of ever'thing like a grown man is'" (158). Just a little statement that seems like a paradox but is actually a truism.
On the Road, too, which definitely did more to get me into it than anything else.
"And I look over to brother, and he's still sleepin and's got the whole back sofa to hisself and's all stretched out loose and peaceful, and I'se pleased to see him sleep so 'case I know he must be tired. And I look out the window. And you know, I never seed anything so pow'ful grand and big, and I seed pow'fuller and grander things since then, all the way to Californy. What I seed then was jess like when the first time I see the world I tell you" (167-168). / "'Do you know there's a road that goest down Mexico and all the way to Panama?--and maybe all the way to the bottom of South America... Yes! You and I, Jack, we'd dig the whole world with a car like this because man the road must eventually lead to the whole world"--Jack Kerouac, On the Road (The original scroll.) / "He and I suddenly saw the whole country like an oyster for us to open, and the pearl was there, the pearl was there"--Jack Kerouac, On the Road (The original scroll.)
The opposite page, there's a scene where the two brothers switch buses and the new bus is stuffed, and they're all sweating like pigs. So Slim can't open the window, and neither can another man on the bus, until finally the busdriver notices what's going on, and he stops the bus and goes back there: "'Please leave the windows alone, this happens to be an air-conditioned bus' and he turn on a button up front when he start the bus, and I tell you the finest cool air began to blow all over that bus, only thing is, ever'body got cold in a minute and the sweat turns on me like ice water. So Slim, he tugged at that window again to get some hot air back in, but couldn't do it, and we look thu the window at them beautiful green fields, and Slim said they was MARYLAND, and wished he was settin in the sunny grass. I reckon ever'body felt the same way too" (170). First of all, it reminds me of this section of On the Road: "How could I ever sleep? Thousands of mosquitoes had already bitten all of us on chest and arms and ankles. Then a bright idea came to me: I jumped up on the steel roof of the car and stretched out flat on my back. Still there was no breeze, but the steel had an element of coolness in it and dried my back of sweat, clotting up thousands of dead bugs into cakes on my skin, and I realized the jungle takes you over and you become it. Lying on the top of the car with my face to the black sky was like lying in a closed trunk on a summer night." (This version is from the... not original scroll.) Secondly, I think to some extent Kerouac made it a point to trap Pic in the bus. I always feel mildly uncomfortable attaching metaphorical or symbolic meanings to Kerouac's books since they're autobiographical (well, to some extent) but since this isn't--well, isn't exactly--written about him, I'm a little more okay with it. He was staring at beauty, but he couldn't quite get there (at least not at the time that he wrote this) or he felt like he was watching everything beautiful happen while he was trapped to freeze--and again, that would go with a not-so-unusual portrayal of himself. In On the Road, before his famous "Roman Candles" quote, he says he followed Neal and everybody, he shambled after them. He was watching but he didn't feel quite a part of it. Saying he wished he could be out on the grass could also just be a desire to be able to bum around again, you know, just kind of loll around and enjoy himself. Just literally be out in a nice warm field. Which makes it superfluous to go on in an explanation, as who wouldn't want to loll around in a nice big warm field somewhere?
So while they're driving, Slim and Pic get to move up front because they pass the Mason Dixie line. Pic is unaware of Jim Crow laws or anything of the sort, and his brother attempts to explain it to him, but at the time he didn't quite get it: "'I ain't seed no such a line.' 'What?' he say. 'Why, we just crossed it back there in Maryland. Didn't you see Mason and Dixie holdin that line across the road?' 'Well,' I says, 'did we run over it or underneath it?' and I'se tryin to recollect such a thing but jess cain't. 'Well,' I say, 'I guess I musta been sleepin then.' And Slim laugh, and push my hair, and slap his knee. 'Jim, you kill me!' 'What did that line look like?' I axed him, 'case I wasn't old enough to know it was a joke yet, you see. Well, Slim said he didn't know what such a line looked like neither on account he never seed it any more than I did. 'But there is such a line, only thing is, it ain't on the ground, and it ain't in the air neither, it's jess in the head of Mason and Dixie, jess like all other lines, border lines, state lines, parallel thirty-eight lines and iron Europe curtain lines is all jess 'maginary lines in people's heads and don't have nothin to do with the ground.' Granpa, Slim said that jess as quiet, and didn't call me Jim no more, and said to hisself, 'Yes sir, that's all it is'" (172).
So they get to New York City, and they go to see Slim's wife, Sheila. They desperately need money, but Slim just goes ahead and puts on a jazz record and dances along: "Seem like the folk up in the city wants to have fun and ain't got no time for worry exceptin when worry catches up with them, that's when they ain't busy about worryin'" (181).
So Slim, lamenting their situation, asks if they're going to "'be beat all the time or ever make a livin around here?'" (182). I think the wording should be paid attention to--One hand, be beat down, beat as in defeated. On the other hand, be beat--living without money, bumming. As in, the beats. Are we going to be Beat, or are we going to actually do something? I read it as a sort of frustration against what he was--eh--let me just continue it: "'When will our troubles end? I'm tired of bein poor. My wife's tired of bein poor. I guess the world is tired of bein poor, because I'm tired of bein poor. Lord a mercy who's got some money? I know I ain't got some money and that's for sure, now look' and showed his empty pocket. 'You shouldn't of bought that record,' Sheila said. 'Well,' he said, 'I didn't know then. Now so where'd this money go that folks is supposed to live on? I'd jess be satisfied if I had a field of my own I could jess grow things in and wouldn't need no money, and wouldn't worry what folks had it. not records neither. But I ain't got a field and I need money to eat. Well where am I goin to get this money? I gotsa get a job. Yes, a job, gotsa get, I-got-a-git-a-job'" (183).
First of all, that uncapitalized (making up words, like a boss) 'not' is supposed to be there. It drives me nuts too. But! The point--I feel like this monologue is coming straight from Kerouac. He's sick of being poor... Was sick of it, but perhaps he's making an admission that it could have been avoided? (It drives me nuts that he bought that record and used the last of their cash. Dammit, Slim! You spent the last of the food money AND you're making me make a Star Trek reference!) Then again, the bit about the fields throws me off a little. He seemed to prefer seclusion, especially after his sudden burst of popularity. Depending on the time, it might even be a comment on the hippie movement. Kerouac hated hippies. Repeating it over and over, and drawing it out the way you'd draw out your speech if trying to explain something to a child--trying to drill it into their heads? (Or that could be incorrect, maybe he's trying to drill it into his own head.) But if you were successful and living in your own communes out of the public eye and in your own self-contained system--okay. But hippies of the time really weren't doing that. And they didn't even deserve to lament because they had put themselves right in that situation. Does that... Could that make sense? I just kind of kept on writing without checking myself. Ohhhh well.
"Granpa, ain't nothin better in the world like eggs and breakfast in the mornin because your taster ain't worked all night and ever'thing comes so chawy and smells so fryin good it makes a body wish he could eat ever'body's breakfast all up and down the street seven times, ain't it the truth? When we come down on the street and I seed all them men eatin more eggs and breakfast in the corner store I wished I could eat all the breakfasts in New York City" (187). I just thought this was really, really cute. It kind of makes me wish I ate eggs, too...
Slim loves playing jazz himself, and he gets offered a job as a trumpet player for the night. (Maybe I should mention that the man who offers Slim the job is named Charley? More wish fulfillment?) "'Yes, thass right, a job, and not only that I got a horn for you.' 'A horn? A horn? My kingdom for a horn!'" (194). Of course, that's a parody of "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" from William Shankspeare's Richard III. Honestly, I haven't read the play myself--so I couldn't tell you if he's saying he lost his kingdom because of a horse (there is a nursery rhyme of that flavour, and Wikipedia seems to agree with me in that respect), or if he's asking for a horse so that he may go into battle himself (Richard III was apparently the last king to die in battle). Most everything that comes up aside from that Wikipedia page when I search the quote seems to favour the latter... Well... My point was, if it was like the nursery rhyme, then it could be that the horn--the love of jazz--was his downfall. If it's not like the nursery rhyme, then he's saying that the horn will save them all (although he loses the job that very night, he was only filling in for somebody).
"Well now Slim was starting to sweat because nobody wanted to stop, and he didn't wantsa stop neither and blew right on till the sweat began pourin down his face jess like it did over the shovel in the mornin. Oh, he jess watered that bandstand from sweat. He didn't ever run out of anything to play ever'time he crossed from one end of the song to th'other, and had a hunnerd years in him of it. Oh, he was grand. That song lasted twenty minutes and the folks at that bar got out in front of the bandstand and clapped in time for Slim... with his face all black and wet and like he was cryin and laughin all at the same time, only his eyes was closed and he didn't see them but jess plain knew they was there. He was holdin, and pushin that horn in front of him like it was his life he was rasslin with... Oh, he talked and talked with that thing and told his story all over again, to me, to Sheila and ever'body. He jess had it in his heart what ever'body wanted in their hearts and they listened to him... That crowd rocked under him, it was like the waves and he looked like a man makin a storm in that ocean with his horn" (199-200). / "[Rollo Greb] played Verdi operas and pantomimed them in his pajamas with a great rip down the back. He didn’t give a damn about anything. He is a great scholar who goes reeling down the New York waterfront with original seventeenth-century musical manuscripts under his arm, shouting. He crawls like a big spider through the streets. His excitement blew out of his eyes in stabs of fiendish light. He rolled his neck in spastic ecstasy. He lisped, he writhed, he flopped, he moaned, he howled, he fell back in despair. He could hardly get a word out, he was so excited with life. Dean stood before him with his head bowed, repeating over and over again, 'Yes... Yes... Yes.' He took me into a corner. 'That Rollo Greb is the greatest, most wonderful of all. That's what I was trying to tell you--that's what I want to be. I want to be like him. He's never hung-up, he goes every direction, he lets it all out, he knows time, he has nothing to do but rock back and forth. Man, he's the end! You see, if you go like him all time you'll finally get it.' 'Get what?' 'IT! IT! I'll tell you--now no time, we have no more time now.' Dean rushed back to watch Rollo Greb some more'"--Jack Kerouac, On the Road (the... not-original scroll), page 127. He's describing how Rollo Greb is playing, just an FYI.
So, after losing this job, Slim decides to just take Pic and Sheila and head out to California, convinced that their problems will disappear--and even if they don't exactly, that things will get better: "'All that sun, and all that land, and all that fruit, and cheap wine, and crazy people, it don't scare you so much when you can't get a job because then you can always live some way if you even just eat the grapes that fall off the wine trucks on the road. You can't pick no grapes off the ground in New York, nor walnuts either.' 'Now who's talkin about eatin grapes and walnuts?' yelled Sheila's mother. 'I'm talkin about a roof over your head.' She was a woman of some level sense" (204-205). 1. The grass is always greener on the other side. 2. I can't remember Kerouac's feelings about going to California in On the Road, other than that he was probably pretty excited about it. 3. This is pretty much what Kerouac did in California when he was having a tryst with a young Mexican girl--well, I say young but she was probably in her early twenties. I think she had a two- or three-year-old son. I don't think that tryst is in... I keep on wanting to say the version we read in Rebels, but the likeliness of a random googler coming across this site and being an alumni of that class is probably something like 1 in a bunnerjillion. It's the not-original scroll version. I think maybe he mentions her, but she gets pages and pages in the original scroll and I feel like she only gets a few paragraphs worth in the other version. 4. I can't help but notice that Pic refers to Sheila's mother as someone of "some level sense". What is Kerouac trying to say here? (This isn't rhetorical. Help, please.)
"The last night ever'thing was packed and ready to go in the mornin and we had coffee in the kitchen and house looked so bare Slim seemed most gloomy about it. 'Look at this place we've been livin in. We leave it, someone else comes in, and life is jess a dream. Don't it remind you of old cold cruel world to look at it? Those floors and bare walls. Seemed we never lived here, and I never loved you inside of it'" (207). So, I was going to compare this to a quote about someone dying is really like someone just moving out of a tenement house or an apartment building, with someone there who will take their place and eventually overtake their memory, but I don't remember the exact quote, and I don't remember where it comes from. I thought it was from A Single Man, but I guess not...? Maybe Burroughs...?
The end of this book is really, really beautiful. It also is hard to appreciate if you're not reading it yourself (and not listening to Peter Gabriel while doing so). But guess what? It's happening right here and now. So they're hitching to California, and they stop in a church...
""So Father McGillicuddy took me up to the attic LOFT, and sat me by the man with his hands on the keys of the ORGAN. Grandpa, I even whistled and I wished I had my harmonica, and the priest man sang up and said I sung like an angel. By the by, Slim was present down at the cellar moppin up the floor, he said he sure wisht he had his horn, but said he found a horn in his little brother's voice. So we told Father McGillicuddy soon's we pick up one hunnerd dollars pay we would fetch for Oakland on the Greyhound Bus, but Father McGillucuddy said it was comin up close to Sunday mornin, as it was Adventist or adventurous night now, and Saturday too, and wanted me to song before the intire congregation the Lord's prayer, which I done, up in the LOFT, like best I could. Father McGillicuddy was s'tickled he was sunrise all over. Then Irish mans is so tickled they's pink as a shoat all over, but I feasable say they got troubles of their own, so we had our hunnerd dollars and took the road bus with the picture of the blue hound dog on the side of it, Greyhound it's called, and we peewetted across Ohio and clear inta Nebraskar, Slim was asleep in the back seat all alone stretched out legs all over, and I was sittin in a reg'lar seat near-up with a ninety-year-old white man, and when we come to a stop just before Kearney, Nebraskar, the old man said to me: 'I gotta go to the toilet.' So I led him out of the bus holdin his hand, 'case he was about to fall in the snow, and ask the gas man where was the men's room. Finished, I took the old man back in the bus, and the bus driver yelled out: 'Somebody's drinkin around here!' And the bus driver was wearin black gloves. Two men was in the front seat next to him holdin hands together. Slim was still snorin on the back-seat bed. Then he got up said to me: 'Hi, baby.' First thing you know, no more snow. Heard another old man behind me say 'I'm goin back to Oroville and bank my dust,' We then was now in the Sacramenty Valley, granpa, and quick we saw Sheila's ropelines with wash on hooks of wood hung dryin, flappety-flap. Slim, he put his two hands on his back, limpied around the yard, and said, 'I got Arthur-itis, Bus-itis, Road-itis, Pic-itis, and ever' other It-is in the world.' And Sheila run up, kissed him hungarianly, and we went in eat the steak she saved up for us, with mashy potatoes, pole beans, and cheery banana spoon ice cream split" (235-236).
See? Beautiful.
Also, I have to say, I am completely of the mind that there's specific importance of the two men holding hands (Ginsberg and his partner, whose name I can never remember?) and the man in the black gloves (otherwise why bother mentioning that he's wearing them?) and maybe even the old man. According to IMDB (apparently Jack Kerouac was in a film, because he's got an IMDB profile), Kerouac originally intended for Pic to meet other Beats and travel with them... His mother, however, suggested that Pic just settle down. So I guess Sheila's mother is just reflecting his mother, maybe he's not necessarily regretting things he did, just admitting that maybe they weren't the best choices he could have made. But still, I wonder about who those four men could be. Of course, there's practically nothing available on it, so there's nothing to do but settle for speculations.
So--I warmed up to this book. It's pretty good, more like his earlier works. It's gotten criticism for being written in a "stereotypical" way, what with the dialect and all, but in Jack's defense, the kid comes from the South. I think it's more of a Southern thing than anything else. The only issue I really see is the usual "black people are cool" thing. Wait--keep on reading!--it's not what it sounds like. Kerouac always talks about how cool they are, but he doesn't really see black people as individuals. Like--he doesn't get that they're people, maybe. (I wish I had my response to this question from Rebels. I thought I did a pretty good job on that one, and now I can't seem to articulate a damned thing.) He likes them for what they seem to be, not what they actually are--he's still stereotyping, just... not as negatively as he could be. Does that make sense?
MLA Citation Information: Kerouac, Jack. Pic. Grove Press: New York, 1985.
I just made some intense life decisions that I'll probably forget in a few hours, too. After getting my teaching certificate here, I'm heading over to England for grad school, getting a certificate or doing whatever needs to be done there to make me able to teach, and then staying there except maybe on Christmas holidays. I should probably discuss this with someone, like my mom... Sometime. (She said I should go to grad school in England. I'm only taking her up on this.)
Also, my Stumbleupon took me to this site: http://www.librarything.com/topic/61828 I've read thirty-six of them! (Somewhere in the forties or early fifties if you count Harry Potter and Narnia by series volumes, not just as one number. Also, The Chronicles of Narnia is separate from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...?) Anyways. Guess which ones they are! Hoo-ray?
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics: Hangin' Around by The Edgar Winter Group
This post's cryptic song lyrics: All around the world, you've got to spread the world, tell them what you've heard, we're gonna make a better day--All around the world, you've got to spread the word, tell them what you've heard, you know it's gonna be okay
Let's see, what else is up? Speaking of Colin Firth, my research paper in College Writing is on A Single Man, it's comparing the film to the book. My paper for Intro to Lit is on Oscar Wilde, specifically his poem Panthea. And speaking of Intro to Lit, I've been joking about it for a while I know, but it is official--Mrs Clermont-Ferrand is me in the future. I don't know why I would have decided to go back in time to this point in my life (after a while the opium dens of the Victorian era must get boring, I guess), but at least I know that I will have succeeded in becoming as cool as Fabrizzles. Anyways, what was the straw that finally made me sure that this is the case? I asked her if doing my paper on that poem was okay, even if it meant that I was bending the rules a little. She said it was fine, and I told her that Wilde was my favourite author. She responded with "I know--we love him! He's great!" I know? We? Oh snap.
So, Pic: the back of this volume refers to Pic as "unusual"--I don't think it's that odd at all. Sure, maybe the persona Jack chose to adopt is odd (a ten-year-old black boy) but I actually think it's more like his original works than... Well, that sentence actually doesn't make much sense. But it is so ridiculously reminiscent of On the Road. It's the ten-year-old back version of On the Road! Is that... is that politically correct? Whatever. I'm not here to be politically correct, I'm here to kick ass! And I guess obsess about Oscar Wilde and Colin Firth and stuff. Yay. But--uh--the book. It starts out with Pic (short for Pictorial Review, nope, that they do not explain, and I can't imagine the significance of it or why Kerouac would have chosen that of all things--it was the title of a woman's magazine in the Depression...) living with his grandfather. His grandfather dies, and he moves in with his aunt (it's hard for me to even really judge if Pic really gets if his grandfather has deceased) who is one of those women who just keep on breeding. So he's feeling all stifled in her home when all out of the blue Pic's brother who just up and left several years ago comes back and takes Pic with him to his home (and wife) in New York City.
Oh, and I should also note that it's written in dialect. This sort of thing usually makes a work absolutely impenetrable for me (unless if it's written in a New England-y dialect a la Stephen King, but of course I'd understand that with no problem), and at first I did have a lot of trouble with it, but I pressed on--more inclined to because I like the author, you understand--and I'm glad I did. It's actually pretty enjoyable once you get used to the infuriating Southern dialect auuuuuuuugh. Note number two is that this is in a two-book, eh, book, so keep in mind the page numbers are going to be very skewed.
First of all, I think even Pic himself is pretty darned important. Kerouac--a lot of white people in this circle--thought black folks were the coolest of cool. Everybody wanted to be black. (In The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, I believe, Tom Wolfe illustrates how much times have changed by saying black people aren't 'cool' anymore.) Kerouac definitely had that seemingly odd desire, so I'd imagine that making his persona Pic he's kind of acting out a wistful desire. You know? As for making Pic a ten-year-old, I'd imagine it would be a want to have childlike innocence again, or something like that.
"Ain't nobody never loved me like I love myself, cept my mother and she's dead" (125). Pretty strong opening lines, no?
"'While's all this the Gospel word and true, little Pictorial Review Jackson... must go to school to learn and read and write,' and grandpa looked at [my aunt] plum in the eye like if'n to spit tobacco juice in it, and answered, 'Thass awright wif me,' jess like that, 'but that ain't the Lawd's school he's goin' to and he shall never mend his fences'" (126).
So--there's a big break for about thirty pages, nothing over the part where Pic's grandfather dies. Actually, I don't have another note till the beginning of chapter seven, at this point Pic is with his brother Slim--but they've only just snuck out of the aunt's house. (Is snuck not a word? Really? Wait--for real!?)
"'Po little boy,' [Slim] say, and give a sigh, and hitch me up higher on his back. 'I guess you're as much scared of ever'thing like a grown man is'" (158). Just a little statement that seems like a paradox but is actually a truism.
On the Road, too, which definitely did more to get me into it than anything else.
"And I look over to brother, and he's still sleepin and's got the whole back sofa to hisself and's all stretched out loose and peaceful, and I'se pleased to see him sleep so 'case I know he must be tired. And I look out the window. And you know, I never seed anything so pow'ful grand and big, and I seed pow'fuller and grander things since then, all the way to Californy. What I seed then was jess like when the first time I see the world I tell you" (167-168). / "'Do you know there's a road that goest down Mexico and all the way to Panama?--and maybe all the way to the bottom of South America... Yes! You and I, Jack, we'd dig the whole world with a car like this because man the road must eventually lead to the whole world"--Jack Kerouac, On the Road (The original scroll.) / "He and I suddenly saw the whole country like an oyster for us to open, and the pearl was there, the pearl was there"--Jack Kerouac, On the Road (The original scroll.)
The opposite page, there's a scene where the two brothers switch buses and the new bus is stuffed, and they're all sweating like pigs. So Slim can't open the window, and neither can another man on the bus, until finally the busdriver notices what's going on, and he stops the bus and goes back there: "'Please leave the windows alone, this happens to be an air-conditioned bus' and he turn on a button up front when he start the bus, and I tell you the finest cool air began to blow all over that bus, only thing is, ever'body got cold in a minute and the sweat turns on me like ice water. So Slim, he tugged at that window again to get some hot air back in, but couldn't do it, and we look thu the window at them beautiful green fields, and Slim said they was MARYLAND, and wished he was settin in the sunny grass. I reckon ever'body felt the same way too" (170). First of all, it reminds me of this section of On the Road: "How could I ever sleep? Thousands of mosquitoes had already bitten all of us on chest and arms and ankles. Then a bright idea came to me: I jumped up on the steel roof of the car and stretched out flat on my back. Still there was no breeze, but the steel had an element of coolness in it and dried my back of sweat, clotting up thousands of dead bugs into cakes on my skin, and I realized the jungle takes you over and you become it. Lying on the top of the car with my face to the black sky was like lying in a closed trunk on a summer night." (This version is from the... not original scroll.) Secondly, I think to some extent Kerouac made it a point to trap Pic in the bus. I always feel mildly uncomfortable attaching metaphorical or symbolic meanings to Kerouac's books since they're autobiographical (well, to some extent) but since this isn't--well, isn't exactly--written about him, I'm a little more okay with it. He was staring at beauty, but he couldn't quite get there (at least not at the time that he wrote this) or he felt like he was watching everything beautiful happen while he was trapped to freeze--and again, that would go with a not-so-unusual portrayal of himself. In On the Road, before his famous "Roman Candles" quote, he says he followed Neal and everybody, he shambled after them. He was watching but he didn't feel quite a part of it. Saying he wished he could be out on the grass could also just be a desire to be able to bum around again, you know, just kind of loll around and enjoy himself. Just literally be out in a nice warm field. Which makes it superfluous to go on in an explanation, as who wouldn't want to loll around in a nice big warm field somewhere?
So while they're driving, Slim and Pic get to move up front because they pass the Mason Dixie line. Pic is unaware of Jim Crow laws or anything of the sort, and his brother attempts to explain it to him, but at the time he didn't quite get it: "'I ain't seed no such a line.' 'What?' he say. 'Why, we just crossed it back there in Maryland. Didn't you see Mason and Dixie holdin that line across the road?' 'Well,' I says, 'did we run over it or underneath it?' and I'se tryin to recollect such a thing but jess cain't. 'Well,' I say, 'I guess I musta been sleepin then.' And Slim laugh, and push my hair, and slap his knee. 'Jim, you kill me!' 'What did that line look like?' I axed him, 'case I wasn't old enough to know it was a joke yet, you see. Well, Slim said he didn't know what such a line looked like neither on account he never seed it any more than I did. 'But there is such a line, only thing is, it ain't on the ground, and it ain't in the air neither, it's jess in the head of Mason and Dixie, jess like all other lines, border lines, state lines, parallel thirty-eight lines and iron Europe curtain lines is all jess 'maginary lines in people's heads and don't have nothin to do with the ground.' Granpa, Slim said that jess as quiet, and didn't call me Jim no more, and said to hisself, 'Yes sir, that's all it is'" (172).
So they get to New York City, and they go to see Slim's wife, Sheila. They desperately need money, but Slim just goes ahead and puts on a jazz record and dances along: "Seem like the folk up in the city wants to have fun and ain't got no time for worry exceptin when worry catches up with them, that's when they ain't busy about worryin'" (181).
So Slim, lamenting their situation, asks if they're going to "'be beat all the time or ever make a livin around here?'" (182). I think the wording should be paid attention to--One hand, be beat down, beat as in defeated. On the other hand, be beat--living without money, bumming. As in, the beats. Are we going to be Beat, or are we going to actually do something? I read it as a sort of frustration against what he was--eh--let me just continue it: "'When will our troubles end? I'm tired of bein poor. My wife's tired of bein poor. I guess the world is tired of bein poor, because I'm tired of bein poor. Lord a mercy who's got some money? I know I ain't got some money and that's for sure, now look' and showed his empty pocket. 'You shouldn't of bought that record,' Sheila said. 'Well,' he said, 'I didn't know then. Now so where'd this money go that folks is supposed to live on? I'd jess be satisfied if I had a field of my own I could jess grow things in and wouldn't need no money, and wouldn't worry what folks had it. not records neither. But I ain't got a field and I need money to eat. Well where am I goin to get this money? I gotsa get a job. Yes, a job, gotsa get, I-got-a-git-a-job'" (183).
First of all, that uncapitalized (making up words, like a boss) 'not' is supposed to be there. It drives me nuts too. But! The point--I feel like this monologue is coming straight from Kerouac. He's sick of being poor... Was sick of it, but perhaps he's making an admission that it could have been avoided? (It drives me nuts that he bought that record and used the last of their cash. Dammit, Slim! You spent the last of the food money AND you're making me make a Star Trek reference!) Then again, the bit about the fields throws me off a little. He seemed to prefer seclusion, especially after his sudden burst of popularity. Depending on the time, it might even be a comment on the hippie movement. Kerouac hated hippies. Repeating it over and over, and drawing it out the way you'd draw out your speech if trying to explain something to a child--trying to drill it into their heads? (Or that could be incorrect, maybe he's trying to drill it into his own head.) But if you were successful and living in your own communes out of the public eye and in your own self-contained system--okay. But hippies of the time really weren't doing that. And they didn't even deserve to lament because they had put themselves right in that situation. Does that... Could that make sense? I just kind of kept on writing without checking myself. Ohhhh well.
"Granpa, ain't nothin better in the world like eggs and breakfast in the mornin because your taster ain't worked all night and ever'thing comes so chawy and smells so fryin good it makes a body wish he could eat ever'body's breakfast all up and down the street seven times, ain't it the truth? When we come down on the street and I seed all them men eatin more eggs and breakfast in the corner store I wished I could eat all the breakfasts in New York City" (187). I just thought this was really, really cute. It kind of makes me wish I ate eggs, too...
Slim loves playing jazz himself, and he gets offered a job as a trumpet player for the night. (Maybe I should mention that the man who offers Slim the job is named Charley? More wish fulfillment?) "'Yes, thass right, a job, and not only that I got a horn for you.' 'A horn? A horn? My kingdom for a horn!'" (194). Of course, that's a parody of "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" from William Shankspeare's Richard III. Honestly, I haven't read the play myself--so I couldn't tell you if he's saying he lost his kingdom because of a horse (there is a nursery rhyme of that flavour, and Wikipedia seems to agree with me in that respect), or if he's asking for a horse so that he may go into battle himself (Richard III was apparently the last king to die in battle). Most everything that comes up aside from that Wikipedia page when I search the quote seems to favour the latter... Well... My point was, if it was like the nursery rhyme, then it could be that the horn--the love of jazz--was his downfall. If it's not like the nursery rhyme, then he's saying that the horn will save them all (although he loses the job that very night, he was only filling in for somebody).
"Well now Slim was starting to sweat because nobody wanted to stop, and he didn't wantsa stop neither and blew right on till the sweat began pourin down his face jess like it did over the shovel in the mornin. Oh, he jess watered that bandstand from sweat. He didn't ever run out of anything to play ever'time he crossed from one end of the song to th'other, and had a hunnerd years in him of it. Oh, he was grand. That song lasted twenty minutes and the folks at that bar got out in front of the bandstand and clapped in time for Slim... with his face all black and wet and like he was cryin and laughin all at the same time, only his eyes was closed and he didn't see them but jess plain knew they was there. He was holdin, and pushin that horn in front of him like it was his life he was rasslin with... Oh, he talked and talked with that thing and told his story all over again, to me, to Sheila and ever'body. He jess had it in his heart what ever'body wanted in their hearts and they listened to him... That crowd rocked under him, it was like the waves and he looked like a man makin a storm in that ocean with his horn" (199-200). / "[Rollo Greb] played Verdi operas and pantomimed them in his pajamas with a great rip down the back. He didn’t give a damn about anything. He is a great scholar who goes reeling down the New York waterfront with original seventeenth-century musical manuscripts under his arm, shouting. He crawls like a big spider through the streets. His excitement blew out of his eyes in stabs of fiendish light. He rolled his neck in spastic ecstasy. He lisped, he writhed, he flopped, he moaned, he howled, he fell back in despair. He could hardly get a word out, he was so excited with life. Dean stood before him with his head bowed, repeating over and over again, 'Yes... Yes... Yes.' He took me into a corner. 'That Rollo Greb is the greatest, most wonderful of all. That's what I was trying to tell you--that's what I want to be. I want to be like him. He's never hung-up, he goes every direction, he lets it all out, he knows time, he has nothing to do but rock back and forth. Man, he's the end! You see, if you go like him all time you'll finally get it.' 'Get what?' 'IT! IT! I'll tell you--now no time, we have no more time now.' Dean rushed back to watch Rollo Greb some more'"--Jack Kerouac, On the Road (the... not-original scroll), page 127. He's describing how Rollo Greb is playing, just an FYI.
So, after losing this job, Slim decides to just take Pic and Sheila and head out to California, convinced that their problems will disappear--and even if they don't exactly, that things will get better: "'All that sun, and all that land, and all that fruit, and cheap wine, and crazy people, it don't scare you so much when you can't get a job because then you can always live some way if you even just eat the grapes that fall off the wine trucks on the road. You can't pick no grapes off the ground in New York, nor walnuts either.' 'Now who's talkin about eatin grapes and walnuts?' yelled Sheila's mother. 'I'm talkin about a roof over your head.' She was a woman of some level sense" (204-205). 1. The grass is always greener on the other side. 2. I can't remember Kerouac's feelings about going to California in On the Road, other than that he was probably pretty excited about it. 3. This is pretty much what Kerouac did in California when he was having a tryst with a young Mexican girl--well, I say young but she was probably in her early twenties. I think she had a two- or three-year-old son. I don't think that tryst is in... I keep on wanting to say the version we read in Rebels, but the likeliness of a random googler coming across this site and being an alumni of that class is probably something like 1 in a bunnerjillion. It's the not-original scroll version. I think maybe he mentions her, but she gets pages and pages in the original scroll and I feel like she only gets a few paragraphs worth in the other version. 4. I can't help but notice that Pic refers to Sheila's mother as someone of "some level sense". What is Kerouac trying to say here? (This isn't rhetorical. Help, please.)
"The last night ever'thing was packed and ready to go in the mornin and we had coffee in the kitchen and house looked so bare Slim seemed most gloomy about it. 'Look at this place we've been livin in. We leave it, someone else comes in, and life is jess a dream. Don't it remind you of old cold cruel world to look at it? Those floors and bare walls. Seemed we never lived here, and I never loved you inside of it'" (207). So, I was going to compare this to a quote about someone dying is really like someone just moving out of a tenement house or an apartment building, with someone there who will take their place and eventually overtake their memory, but I don't remember the exact quote, and I don't remember where it comes from. I thought it was from A Single Man, but I guess not...? Maybe Burroughs...?
The end of this book is really, really beautiful. It also is hard to appreciate if you're not reading it yourself (and not listening to Peter Gabriel while doing so). But guess what? It's happening right here and now. So they're hitching to California, and they stop in a church...
""So Father McGillicuddy took me up to the attic LOFT, and sat me by the man with his hands on the keys of the ORGAN. Grandpa, I even whistled and I wished I had my harmonica, and the priest man sang up and said I sung like an angel. By the by, Slim was present down at the cellar moppin up the floor, he said he sure wisht he had his horn, but said he found a horn in his little brother's voice. So we told Father McGillicuddy soon's we pick up one hunnerd dollars pay we would fetch for Oakland on the Greyhound Bus, but Father McGillucuddy said it was comin up close to Sunday mornin, as it was Adventist or adventurous night now, and Saturday too, and wanted me to song before the intire congregation the Lord's prayer, which I done, up in the LOFT, like best I could. Father McGillicuddy was s'tickled he was sunrise all over. Then Irish mans is so tickled they's pink as a shoat all over, but I feasable say they got troubles of their own, so we had our hunnerd dollars and took the road bus with the picture of the blue hound dog on the side of it, Greyhound it's called, and we peewetted across Ohio and clear inta Nebraskar, Slim was asleep in the back seat all alone stretched out legs all over, and I was sittin in a reg'lar seat near-up with a ninety-year-old white man, and when we come to a stop just before Kearney, Nebraskar, the old man said to me: 'I gotta go to the toilet.' So I led him out of the bus holdin his hand, 'case he was about to fall in the snow, and ask the gas man where was the men's room. Finished, I took the old man back in the bus, and the bus driver yelled out: 'Somebody's drinkin around here!' And the bus driver was wearin black gloves. Two men was in the front seat next to him holdin hands together. Slim was still snorin on the back-seat bed. Then he got up said to me: 'Hi, baby.' First thing you know, no more snow. Heard another old man behind me say 'I'm goin back to Oroville and bank my dust,' We then was now in the Sacramenty Valley, granpa, and quick we saw Sheila's ropelines with wash on hooks of wood hung dryin, flappety-flap. Slim, he put his two hands on his back, limpied around the yard, and said, 'I got Arthur-itis, Bus-itis, Road-itis, Pic-itis, and ever' other It-is in the world.' And Sheila run up, kissed him hungarianly, and we went in eat the steak she saved up for us, with mashy potatoes, pole beans, and cheery banana spoon ice cream split" (235-236).
See? Beautiful.
Also, I have to say, I am completely of the mind that there's specific importance of the two men holding hands (Ginsberg and his partner, whose name I can never remember?) and the man in the black gloves (otherwise why bother mentioning that he's wearing them?) and maybe even the old man. According to IMDB (apparently Jack Kerouac was in a film, because he's got an IMDB profile), Kerouac originally intended for Pic to meet other Beats and travel with them... His mother, however, suggested that Pic just settle down. So I guess Sheila's mother is just reflecting his mother, maybe he's not necessarily regretting things he did, just admitting that maybe they weren't the best choices he could have made. But still, I wonder about who those four men could be. Of course, there's practically nothing available on it, so there's nothing to do but settle for speculations.
So--I warmed up to this book. It's pretty good, more like his earlier works. It's gotten criticism for being written in a "stereotypical" way, what with the dialect and all, but in Jack's defense, the kid comes from the South. I think it's more of a Southern thing than anything else. The only issue I really see is the usual "black people are cool" thing. Wait--keep on reading!--it's not what it sounds like. Kerouac always talks about how cool they are, but he doesn't really see black people as individuals. Like--he doesn't get that they're people, maybe. (I wish I had my response to this question from Rebels. I thought I did a pretty good job on that one, and now I can't seem to articulate a damned thing.) He likes them for what they seem to be, not what they actually are--he's still stereotyping, just... not as negatively as he could be. Does that make sense?
MLA Citation Information: Kerouac, Jack. Pic. Grove Press: New York, 1985.
I just made some intense life decisions that I'll probably forget in a few hours, too. After getting my teaching certificate here, I'm heading over to England for grad school, getting a certificate or doing whatever needs to be done there to make me able to teach, and then staying there except maybe on Christmas holidays. I should probably discuss this with someone, like my mom... Sometime. (She said I should go to grad school in England. I'm only taking her up on this.)
Also, my Stumbleupon took me to this site: http://www.librarything.com/topic/61828 I've read thirty-six of them! (Somewhere in the forties or early fifties if you count Harry Potter and Narnia by series volumes, not just as one number. Also, The Chronicles of Narnia is separate from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...?) Anyways. Guess which ones they are! Hoo-ray?
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics: Hangin' Around by The Edgar Winter Group
This post's cryptic song lyrics: All around the world, you've got to spread the world, tell them what you've heard, we're gonna make a better day--All around the world, you've got to spread the word, tell them what you've heard, you know it's gonna be okay
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Satori in Paris by Jack Kerouac
What's up? Nothing much, writing a blog response instead of writing my Intro to Lit essay... Actually, it's sort of weird that I'd be doing this instead of that, because I played with the essay topic so that I'd be able to write about Oscar Wilde, and you know how I feel about Oscar Wilde. And if you're just joining us and you don't... Well. There are some strong feelings about Oscar Wilde coming from my person. Like, Angela, the guy is dead, seriously you're weirding me out strong.
Satori in Paris is usually referred to as Jack Kerouac's last book, but apparently Vanity of Duluoz was written after. (Maybe it was second to last to be published before his death?) Pic was also written after, in fact, according to this edition (it contains both Satori in Paris and Pic, though I'm doing them one by one) it is his final novel. Well, either way. Satori in Paris is about a trip Kerouac took to France in an attempt to find his heritage. The back of the book describes it as "rollicking", but I don't think that's at all what I'd call it. It's not nearly as depressing as Big Sur, but it has the same underlying feeling to it... I mean, he makes no attempt to hide his dangerous drinking, and his poor attitudes and actions--it's the same way he's always spoken, but without the romanticism, and that's like a slow death. It feels like when you're tired as hell but you know you need to keep on going and at least you'll be able to collapse into bed at the end of the day, and hopefully you'll be able to rest then.
"As in an earlier autobiographical book I'll use my real name here, full name in this case, Jean-Louis Lebris de Kerouac, because this story is about my search for this name in France, and I'm not afraid of giving the real name of Raymond Baillet to public scrutiny because all I have to say about him, in connection with the fact he may be the cause of my satori in Paris, is that he was polite, kind, efficient, hip, aloof and many other things and mainly just a cabdriver who happened to drive me to Orly airfield on my way back home from France: and sure he wont be in trouble because of that--And besides probably will never see his name in print because there are so many books being published these days in America and in France nobody has time to keep up with all of them, and if told by someone that his name appears in an American 'novel' he'll probably never find out where to buy it in Paris, if it's ever translated at all, and if he does find it, it wont hurt him to read that he, Raymond Baillet, is a great gentleman and cabdriver who happened to impress an American during a fare ride to the airport. Compris?" (8-9).
"In other words, and after this I'll shut up, made-up stories and romances about what would happen IF are for children and adult cretins who are afraid to read themselves in a book just as they might be afraid to look in the mirror when they're sick or injured or hungover or insane" (10). Though I don't necessarily agree with the quote (though it may explain my aversion to this and Big Sur), I like the "[those] who are afraid to read themselves in a book just as they might be afraid to look in the mirror" bit.
"This book'll say, in effect, have pity on us all, and dont get mad at me for writing at all" (11).
"For I was the loneliest man in Paris if that's possible" (12). Those first two chapters, from which those first two quotes come from, are sort of prologues to the book. So... Yeah, his first day in Paris. He talks about Sainte Chapelle and how much he wanted to visit it (though he also talks about how he never got around to it)... I think it was one of the churches I visited in Paris, though to be honest I couldn't tell you because I was so sick of seeing churches... Also, there was a fee to get inside and a gift shop was installed. That kind of turned me off altogether. Whether I personally believe in the religion or not, it seems wrong to do that. Remember the cleansing of the temple? Apparently not.
On a woman he hooked up with: "She took me over. She also wants to marry me, naturally, as I am a great natural bed mate and nice guy" (16). Woah, a little ego showing up there, huh, Jack?
"It isnt a question of money but of souls having a good time" (16). No, she wasn't a prostitute. He just means in general.
"It's hard to decide what to tell in a story, and I always seem to try to prove something, comma, about my sex. Let's just forget it" (19). First of all, no, I can't fathom why he wrote the comma in. Secondly, he goes on to talk about how lonely he can get for a woman... But I originally read this as, oh, perhaps proving that he actually is straight, despite, uh, encounters with Allen Ginsberg and a lot of other unknown men. (Would overcompensation be the right word?)
Also, after that he goes into talking to a girl at a bar and makes himself look like a huge jerk: "I gaze into her eyes--I give her the double whammy blue eyes compassion shot--She falls for it" (19). Actually, I'm just going to say it straight-up: this makes him look like a huge douchebag.
distingue gathering in Paris that night, and as I say it's misting outside, and her soft little hook nose has under it rose lips. I teach her Christianity" (24). He doesn't quite use that as a euphemism, but I'm going to pretend he does because that would be awesome phrasing.
"My manners, abominable at times, can be sweet. As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind. I'm a Wretch. But I love love" (28).
On his attempts find various authors' people's monuments/tombs (and his failed attempt to get to Pere Lachaise): "And how could I find my way to Port Royal if I could hardly find my way back to my hotel? And besides they're not there at all, only their bodies" (36).
And apparently while in France he writes a second 'SEA' poem, the first one being that which is in the back of Big Sur. Just a random note, I know, but still...
"I was already homesick. Yet this book is to prove that no matter how you travel, how 'successful' your tour, or foreshortened, you always learn something and learn to change your thoughts" (43).
"What a miracle are different languages and what an amazing Tower of Babel this world is" (47).
"I know there a lot of beautiful churches and chapels out there that I should go look at, and then England, but since England's in my heart why go there? and 'sides, it doesn't matter how charming cultures and art are, they're useless without sympathy--All the prettiness of tapestries, lands, people:--worthless if there is no sympathy" (88).
I just want to mention that Jack meets a French man named Ulysse. That seems almost suspiciously perfect. Life imitating art? Actually... I guess that would be more life imitating life. Still. Crazy coincidence, no?
So here our cabdriver Raymond appears. They discuss their differing backgrounds, heritage, family life, et cetera. Raymond says that he's got three kids, and when Raymond asks Kerouac how many kids he's got, Kerouac answers with seven. What I'm curious about is if Kerouac was just pulling a number out of the air, or if he actually had seven kids (that he knew of). I know he has one 'official' daughter, but really, there have got to be some wild oats. In fact... Seven seems like it's too small a number. Hmm...
The book ends as follows: "'Adieu, Monsieur Raymond Baillet,' I say. The Satori taxidriver of page one. When God says, 'I Am Lived,' we'll have forgotten what all the parting was about" (118). That's beautiful.
The book was okay. It was sort of just there, not particularly bad or good. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't awe-inducing either. You can definitely tell that it's one his later works, it... Well, it moves around quickly, but... at a more leisurely pace, if that makes sense. Like he's still doing what he likes, but it's more like he's going back to a modified version because, well, he was older. The book was there.
I've started Pic. It's... I don't even know. I'm having a lot of trouble getting into it because it's written in a Southern dialect. Please speak the king's English or I won't understand what's going on. (Just don't take a look at my Stephen King books, though, please. Especially not Dolores Claiborne!)
MLA citation information: Kerouac, Jack. Satori in Paris. Grove Press: New York, 1985.
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics: Lady Stardust by David Bowie
This post's cryptic song lyrics: And I don't see the world going by, and I don't even have to try, I'm just hangin' around
Satori in Paris is usually referred to as Jack Kerouac's last book, but apparently Vanity of Duluoz was written after. (Maybe it was second to last to be published before his death?) Pic was also written after, in fact, according to this edition (it contains both Satori in Paris and Pic, though I'm doing them one by one) it is his final novel. Well, either way. Satori in Paris is about a trip Kerouac took to France in an attempt to find his heritage. The back of the book describes it as "rollicking", but I don't think that's at all what I'd call it. It's not nearly as depressing as Big Sur, but it has the same underlying feeling to it... I mean, he makes no attempt to hide his dangerous drinking, and his poor attitudes and actions--it's the same way he's always spoken, but without the romanticism, and that's like a slow death. It feels like when you're tired as hell but you know you need to keep on going and at least you'll be able to collapse into bed at the end of the day, and hopefully you'll be able to rest then.
"As in an earlier autobiographical book I'll use my real name here, full name in this case, Jean-Louis Lebris de Kerouac, because this story is about my search for this name in France, and I'm not afraid of giving the real name of Raymond Baillet to public scrutiny because all I have to say about him, in connection with the fact he may be the cause of my satori in Paris, is that he was polite, kind, efficient, hip, aloof and many other things and mainly just a cabdriver who happened to drive me to Orly airfield on my way back home from France: and sure he wont be in trouble because of that--And besides probably will never see his name in print because there are so many books being published these days in America and in France nobody has time to keep up with all of them, and if told by someone that his name appears in an American 'novel' he'll probably never find out where to buy it in Paris, if it's ever translated at all, and if he does find it, it wont hurt him to read that he, Raymond Baillet, is a great gentleman and cabdriver who happened to impress an American during a fare ride to the airport. Compris?" (8-9).
"In other words, and after this I'll shut up, made-up stories and romances about what would happen IF are for children and adult cretins who are afraid to read themselves in a book just as they might be afraid to look in the mirror when they're sick or injured or hungover or insane" (10). Though I don't necessarily agree with the quote (though it may explain my aversion to this and Big Sur), I like the "[those] who are afraid to read themselves in a book just as they might be afraid to look in the mirror" bit.
"This book'll say, in effect, have pity on us all, and dont get mad at me for writing at all" (11).
"For I was the loneliest man in Paris if that's possible" (12). Those first two chapters, from which those first two quotes come from, are sort of prologues to the book. So... Yeah, his first day in Paris. He talks about Sainte Chapelle and how much he wanted to visit it (though he also talks about how he never got around to it)... I think it was one of the churches I visited in Paris, though to be honest I couldn't tell you because I was so sick of seeing churches... Also, there was a fee to get inside and a gift shop was installed. That kind of turned me off altogether. Whether I personally believe in the religion or not, it seems wrong to do that. Remember the cleansing of the temple? Apparently not.
On a woman he hooked up with: "She took me over. She also wants to marry me, naturally, as I am a great natural bed mate and nice guy" (16). Woah, a little ego showing up there, huh, Jack?
"It isnt a question of money but of souls having a good time" (16). No, she wasn't a prostitute. He just means in general.
"It's hard to decide what to tell in a story, and I always seem to try to prove something, comma, about my sex. Let's just forget it" (19). First of all, no, I can't fathom why he wrote the comma in. Secondly, he goes on to talk about how lonely he can get for a woman... But I originally read this as, oh, perhaps proving that he actually is straight, despite, uh, encounters with Allen Ginsberg and a lot of other unknown men. (Would overcompensation be the right word?)
Also, after that he goes into talking to a girl at a bar and makes himself look like a huge jerk: "I gaze into her eyes--I give her the double whammy blue eyes compassion shot--She falls for it" (19). Actually, I'm just going to say it straight-up: this makes him look like a huge douchebag.
distingue gathering in Paris that night, and as I say it's misting outside, and her soft little hook nose has under it rose lips. I teach her Christianity" (24). He doesn't quite use that as a euphemism, but I'm going to pretend he does because that would be awesome phrasing.
"My manners, abominable at times, can be sweet. As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind. I'm a Wretch. But I love love" (28).
On his attempts find various authors' people's monuments/tombs (and his failed attempt to get to Pere Lachaise): "And how could I find my way to Port Royal if I could hardly find my way back to my hotel? And besides they're not there at all, only their bodies" (36).
And apparently while in France he writes a second 'SEA' poem, the first one being that which is in the back of Big Sur. Just a random note, I know, but still...
"I was already homesick. Yet this book is to prove that no matter how you travel, how 'successful' your tour, or foreshortened, you always learn something and learn to change your thoughts" (43).
"What a miracle are different languages and what an amazing Tower of Babel this world is" (47).
"I know there a lot of beautiful churches and chapels out there that I should go look at, and then England, but since England's in my heart why go there? and 'sides, it doesn't matter how charming cultures and art are, they're useless without sympathy--All the prettiness of tapestries, lands, people:--worthless if there is no sympathy" (88).
I just want to mention that Jack meets a French man named Ulysse. That seems almost suspiciously perfect. Life imitating art? Actually... I guess that would be more life imitating life. Still. Crazy coincidence, no?
So here our cabdriver Raymond appears. They discuss their differing backgrounds, heritage, family life, et cetera. Raymond says that he's got three kids, and when Raymond asks Kerouac how many kids he's got, Kerouac answers with seven. What I'm curious about is if Kerouac was just pulling a number out of the air, or if he actually had seven kids (that he knew of). I know he has one 'official' daughter, but really, there have got to be some wild oats. In fact... Seven seems like it's too small a number. Hmm...
The book ends as follows: "'Adieu, Monsieur Raymond Baillet,' I say. The Satori taxidriver of page one. When God says, 'I Am Lived,' we'll have forgotten what all the parting was about" (118). That's beautiful.
The book was okay. It was sort of just there, not particularly bad or good. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't awe-inducing either. You can definitely tell that it's one his later works, it... Well, it moves around quickly, but... at a more leisurely pace, if that makes sense. Like he's still doing what he likes, but it's more like he's going back to a modified version because, well, he was older. The book was there.
I've started Pic. It's... I don't even know. I'm having a lot of trouble getting into it because it's written in a Southern dialect. Please speak the king's English or I won't understand what's going on. (Just don't take a look at my Stephen King books, though, please. Especially not Dolores Claiborne!)
MLA citation information: Kerouac, Jack. Satori in Paris. Grove Press: New York, 1985.
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics: Lady Stardust by David Bowie
This post's cryptic song lyrics: And I don't see the world going by, and I don't even have to try, I'm just hangin' around
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