"I literally communicated through poetry. And when I couldn’t find the poems to express the things I was feeling, that’s what started me writing poetry, and that was when I was twelve or thirteen” (Audre Lorde).
Who Said It Was Simple BY AUDRE LORDE There are so many roots to the tree of anger that sometimes the branches shatter before they bear. Sitting in Nedicks the women rally before they march discussing the problematic girls they hire to make them free. An almost white counterman passes a waiting brother to serve them first and the ladies neither notice nor reject the slighter pleasures of their slavery. But I who am bound by my mirror as well as my bed see causes in colour as well as sex and sit here wondering which me will survive all these liberations. When I think of Audre Lorde I think of a very broken person. To me, poetry has always been a very soulful way to share your inner thoughts, and I feel that broken people tend to communicate more in this way because they have easier access to the pieces of their inner thoughts due to the cracks their past has put in their identity. This idea is what makes me see Lorde as broken because she said she likes to communicate in straight poetry. When I think of the poem "Who Said It Was Simple" I think of a fired up woman, who has had enough and is ready to tell the world about it. So naturally, when I see Audre Lorde's poetry, picture, or anything to do with her, I think of a feminist. There are so many roots to the tree of anger that sometimes the branches shatter before they bear. Let's just take a moment to unpack this. There are so many ways this stanza could go. Is Lorde talking about the anger everyone feels or about her own anger? Why did she choose to use a tree to embody these feelings? Why does she need a whole tree, with roots and boughs to express the anger? Does the size matter? Or is the size of the item she used for her metaphor irrelevent becuase it could be applied to all sizes of trees, small and large, as long as they have roots and branches? Was that her intention? To prove that anger comes in all sizes and shapes? I believe, the anger is her own, and she uses the tree due to its versatility. For example, Lorde defines herself as a "black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet" (Audre Lorde). She is minority, after minority, after minority. She has no doubt been the victim of -- if not hate crimes -- hateful comments, discrimination, and countless nasty faces. She IS angry. And she is angry at everyone. Sitting in Nedicks the women rally before they march discussing the problematic girls they hire to make them free. She's angry at the self righteous, straight, white women who "fight for equal rights." She's bad at them for using a modern form of slavery to make it possible for them to fight for the "rights" they were still denying the people they "employ." An almost white counterman passes a waiting brother to serve them first and the ladies neither notice nor reject the slighter pleasures of their slavery. She is angry because she wants to fight too. She knows that "black" men have more power than even the women who are rallying have. She wants to work with them, but they are so blinded by their hate towards colored women they cannot see the colored men who surpass them in the rank of the world. She wants to band with these women, but cannot because they are suppressing her -- and themselves in all reality -- with their narrow minds. But I who am bound by my mirror as well as my bed see causes in color as well as sex. She is angry because of what she sees in the mirror. She is a woman. A black woman, and her mirror and bed make sure to remind her of it every day. But she is tired of seeing submission, and decides to see "causes" in her color and her sex. So she began to rise above the rules and express her broken heart through her poetry. In order to make a better way for the people following her. She chose a tree for the metaphor in this poem because it shows growth. Her hatred has deep roots, and can rot the tree, break its boughs long before they mature and can even hold anything. The ladies marching have a deep rooted hatred because they ruined the branches of what could have been a strong companionship by not even giving black women a chance at friendship. But the tree can grow. It can become a new tree of life that shows "causes" in its branches, and expresses hopes and dreams for a broken, soulful, poetry communicating "black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet" (Audre Lorde). Works Cited “Audre Lorde.” Biography.com, A&E Networks Television, 16 Apr. 2019, https://www.biography.com/scholar/audre-lorde. Bertke, Amy, et al. “Writing the Nation.” HopeJennings.Com, Weebly.com, 2019, http://www.hopejennings.com/uploads/3/1/0/9/31098595/writing_the_nation_fa_2019.pdf. Full disclaimer: I have had a serious case of writers block for the past week so please forgive me for my less than normal response.
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My Papa’s Waltz BY THEODORE ROETHKE The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. I think the easiest way to write a review on this poem, is to discuss whether or not the speaker is being abused, or simply hanging out and rough-housing with his father. But what really concerns me -- is that there is even a debate at all. Why is it that whiskey automatically makes readers race to the conclusion that any act following its consumption will result in abuse? Why do descriptions like -- "death," "My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself," "The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle," and "You beat time on my head," -- cause readers to assume abuse? And then why do statements like -- "We romped," and "waltzed me off to bed" -- cause readers to think of playful, affectionate horsing around? (Roethke). This is my answer. Toxic masculinity. First of all, based off of the statements above -- there are far more examples that signify abuse than ones that signify loving play. So why is it even a question whether or not it's about love or abuse? Is it because that when we read the loving statements it makes it easier to see the abusive statements as loving ones? What does that have to say about how we view relationships between father and son? If it is so easy to switch the abusive descriptions to loving ones based off of a few words what does that have to say about the way we view a loving father-son relationship? Is abuse considered okay, as long as there isn't "whiskey on your breath" (Roethke). Why does society even look at this poem and consider that it could be about love? Why is it okay that readers consider this poem to be about love since the speaker seems to be enjoying the romping and beating? Even if he is, why on earth should we be condoning it? I see this poem as a glaring example of the toxic traits our current world teaches men and boys to adopt in order to show their masculinity. It is discrepancies like the ones this poem awakens in us that shines a bright light on the the definition of "masculinity" we have today. This poem shows just how prevalent toxic masculine traits still are. Today we may accept the IDEA of toxic masculinity, but this poem proves just how accepting we are of the ACTIONS induced by toxic masculinity. My Papa's Waltz was not written in order to ask whether the father and son are in love, but whether or not YOU as the reader, can see the problem in the way they show their love. It is not about the fact that there is whiskey on the father's breath, but instead WHY the whiskey is the thing that makes readers see abuse instead of love. What we should really be seeing -- is the abuse that is disguised as love. And what we should be examining -- is why we would see the abuse as love, if alcohol wasn't involved. Works Cited Bertke, Amy, et al. “Writing the Nation.” HopeJennings.Com, Weebly.com, 2019, http://www.hopejennings.com/uploads/3/1/0/9/31098595/writing_the_nation_fa_2019.pdf. A Streetcar Named Desire is a very depressing, confusing, lonely read. I am not going to lie and say I enjoyed it very much at all (sorry professor Jennings!). However, there is one scene that sticks out to me a lot – The one where Blanche relives her memory of the night she shamed and ultimately killed her husband. “It was because – on the dance-floor – unable to stop myself – I suddenly said – ‘I saw! I know! You disgust me…’” (Williams, 115). I have SOOOO many questions about this scene. Mostly because I think this memory is when Blanche really started to break under the weight of the world that her frail – well...everything – could not withstand. But if she wanted to confront him about it…why not wait to do so in private? If she loved him enough could she have moved past the idea of him being gay? Was she more upset about the cheating, or the fact that her husband’s mistress was a mister? If she had posed the confrontation in private would it have made the outcome different? Why did the husband choose that moment to go out and off himself? AND WHERE THE HELL DID, HE FIND THAT GUN! While the question I am most concerned with is the gun one, the one I was most perplexed by is the one about the location. Why on earth would you call out your husband’s bi-sexuality – in the middle of a crowded dance floor?! This is the only explanation I can seem to come up with. Blanche is easily overwhelmed and spontaneous. When she discovered the truth about her husband, she was so overwhelmed by it she ignored it. When the locomotive passes by in the present tense of this scene, she freezes and covers her eyes. Her typical reaction is to ignore and pretend her stressful situations are not happening until they are over, then proceeded as usual. She’s been taught to be submissive, and give in. But when she is dancing with her husband, her feelings of betrayal, confusion and hurt -- compounded by some of the same questions I asked earlier she became overwhelmed and spewed her true thoughts. The feeling of betrayal from the one man she truly loves, finally gave her the strength to stand up for herself and fight back. Why did she choose that moment in the middle of the dance floor to do so? Because it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for her, and she was scared if she waited, it would pass away. In the end, I see a lot more strength in Blanche than I think even Tennessee Williams gave her credit for. She takes a lot of bull crap, and even when the one time she refuses the abuse often world, and life turns around and takes her husband, and then her home, and then shoves her into a mental institution, she still gets up and keeps living. She’s like Betty White’s version of a vagina. Society may say a woman like her is frail and in need of protection, but in reality…they can take a beating. Works Cited “A Quote by Betty White.” Goodreads, Goodreads, https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/1125683-why-do-people-say-grow-some-balls-balls-are-weak. Williams, Tennessee. A Streetcar Named Desire. University of the South, 1947. Claude McKay was a very influential writer during the Harlem Renaissance. As a man from Jamaica, he offered a different view of the black people of his time. Claude McKay has published 2 sonnets, one of which is called The Harlem Dancer. This poem offers a beautiful look at a scene many people might describe as dirty. “The Harlem Dancer” Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes Blown by black players upon a picnic day. She sang and danced on gracefully and calm, The light gauze hanging loose about her form; To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise, The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze; But looking at her falsely-smiling face, I knew her self was not in that strange place. Let’s discuss this poem in order. First McKay gives readers a look at what is happening in this bar, AROUND the girl who is the focal point of the poem. “Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes” I think that sets up quite nicely what readers might call a “dirty” scene. Young people and prostitutes laughing and watching a “perfect, half clothed body sway” is the very definition of a strip club of today. Now from here, readers may expect McKay to go into a very negative description of this scene, but this is not the case. Instead he chooses to use words such as “perfect,” “gracefully,” “calm,” “proudly-swaying,” “lovlier,” “shiny,” and “luxuriant,” to describe what is essentially a stripper. But why does he do that? Why does he describe what is considered such a dirty and gross profession with such beautiful words. Is it because he also has been drawn under her spell? Is he too as engrossed by her dncing as the other drunken youth he no doubt attended the club with? I think not. McKay seems to be placing a bit of his own culture and heritage on The Harlem Dancer herself. I believe that the way he his seeing this woman, is also how he views his Jamaican people and culture. Many people in his time looked at black people as dirty, second best, and low life. But this view is simply the view that people get when looking at the things that surround his beautiful and exquisite culture. What McKay sees is the perfect, graceful, proud, lovely persons that make up his people, just like he focuses on the beautiful dancer in the middle of the club instead of the drunken young people and prostitutes that surround her. Through this poem, McKay is trying to make readers see the beauty that is hiding in the black people, instead of the squalor in which they live. He is trying to show that people are more than their possessions and where they live; because someone can be a “proudly-swaying palm Grown lovelier for passing through a storm”, and still work in a bar because they’re trying to make ends meet. Yet again, it is all about perspective, and I think McKay makes a pretty good argument for a paradigm shift through this lovely poem. Works Cited A Harlem Dancer. Bertke, Amy, et al. “Writing the Nation.” HopeJennings.Com, Weebly.com, 2019, http://www.hopejennings.com/uploads/3/1/0/9/31098595/writing_the_nation_fa_2019.pdf. Over a century ago, the people of the United States faced one of the greatest adversaries known to mankind – War. This war was unlike any war the World had ever seen before, for it inflicted damage on “more than [one hundred] countries from Africa, The Americas, Asia, Australia, and Europe” (Wilde). However this devastating conflict wreaked more than physical havoc. Everything it touched ended up torn, shattered, or broken—including human hearts. E.E. Cummings was a modern poet during this time period, as well as a prisoner of war. His time as a hostage of France affected his poetry. Specifically a poem he wrote called "my sweet old etcetera." This poem, brings to light some of the truths of war he experienced first-hand, as well as the skewed perspective of the people back in his hometown. I read this entire poem, with a very bleak and sarcastic lens, and with the assumption that the speaker of the poem is Cummings himself. Cummings begins by talking about his Aunt Lucy who know “everything” there is to know about the war. “…Aunt Lucy during the recent war could and what is more did tell you just what everybody was fighting for…” (Berke 21). I feel that I can see him rolling his eyes as he “writes” this poem to his loved one -- his sweet old etcetera – while crawling amongst bodies and mud on the battlefield. I can hear him saying “Yes, sure Aunt Lucy, I fight for my country. Keep telling yourself that." Really… all he is fighting for – all he CAN fight for – is his life. He fights to live and as each day passes, he fights for the air he breaths again and again. But no one back home can see that. All they see is the battle lines and headlines about who is winning at the front. Never anything about the ones who are dying. The next few lines of Cummings’ poem is about his sister and her sock making. I feel he includes the acts of his sister in the poem because it shows – yet again – the ignorance of the community that is removed from the fighting. Isabel is enthralled with “helping” the war effort, and while I am sure Mr. Cummings appreciates his sisters efforts, not once does he mention how he ever receives a pair of those socks, or a flea-proof ear warmer. So to him - what difference did it actually make? None. Those socks and ear-warmers made no difference in his eyes or any of the other soldiers trying to survive either, but BY GOLLY Isabel was doing her part. Isabel was a good American. But it was Cummings who was sent to die in the dirt. How very different their positions are, and how perfectly their positions mirror their view on the war. The one who is dying – sees the true hopelessness, yet the one who is creating – has faith and keeps creating because she believes there is a light at the end. Not only is Cummings left in the dirt by his ignorant aunt and sister, his life is also betrayed by his parents when they offer him up as a sacrifice to the war effort. “…mother hoped that i would die etcetera bravely of course my father used to become hoarse talking about how it was a privilege and if only he could…” (Berke 21). Not only do his parents have pride in him serving the war, but his mother is said to HOPE that he dies there, and his Father WISHES he could take his place. Both believe ignorantly that Cummings is fighting bravely, winning battles, and feeling no pain. Even if they did sense his suffering, it seems that they would feel honor from his hardship as well. Cummings, who fights every second for the next, has a family back home who hopes to see him return in a casket. If that doesn’t prove the complete ignorance of civilians not truly affected by war, what does? Back in the age of the Great war, there were no cell phones, or computers. So when Cummings was denied access to the one person he loved – his sweet old etcetera – his embodiment of hope and love – he began to fall apart. His mind coming undone in the mud as he finally gave up. What does he start to remember in what he believes to be his dying moments? The abandonment and ignorance of all the people he once loved, and his sweet old etcetera, and her knees, and her…other things. The point is that Cummings wrote this poem as a warning, a wake-up call if you will. People not affected by war did not see it in its true light, and Cummings wanted them too. Wanted them to hear the thoughts and feelings of betrayal a dying soldier feels. He wanted to make people realize that by living their lives and supporting the war effort – the enemy was not the only one whose soldiers they were helping to kill – they were in fact, killing their own. Works Cited Berke, Amy, et al. “Writing the Nation.” Hope Jennings, Weebly, http://www.hopejennings.com/uploads/3/1/0/9/31098595/writing_the_nation_fa_2019.pd f. Wilde, Robert. “Was World War I Actually a 'World' War?” ThoughtCo, ThoughtCo, 20 Jan. 2019, https://www.thoughtco.com/countries-involved-in-world-war-1-122207 |