Love Sonnet Number 5

I’d like to start out by saying that I frequently refer back to original Spanish poem in order to examine the subtle elements of the piece that were lost in translation. I’d also like to say that this poem is pretty sweet.

Pablo Neruda’s One Hundred Love Sonnets, of which this poem is the fifth, presents the theme of love in flowing, image-rich sonnets. The work was written for and passionately dedicated to the poet’s third wife, Matilde Urrutia, who is explicitly referred to in this love sonnet.
The poem is written in a traditional Spanish sonnet form; in the original piece each line contains fourteen syllables with the spoken stress on the second to last syllable of each line (versos llanos). The poem of course has two quatrains, which when taken together could be considered an octet, followed by a sextet.
Neruda begins his poem by introducing the extended metaphor that extends through the first two quatrains of the poem. By describing his love in terms of the beautiful, bountiful, thriving, and rejuvenating earth, the speaker says that he did not build his love upon the abstract notions and ideas surrounding the woman whom he loves, but rather that he bases his love upon her physical presence and beauty. The prevalent images of fruit and rich lands provide the reader with a sense of growth within the beautiful landscape of the woman whom the speaker loves.
In the closing sextet (which could be considered two linked tercets), the speaker leaves the extended metaphor and directly addresses his love; this effectively creates a turn within the course of the poem. The speaker tells his lover that before they were in love he forgot her kisses, but his heart remembered her. In the original Spanish text the phrase that refers says he forgot her kisses (me olvide de tus besos) implies that the speaker purposefully forgot her kisses; this means that before he truly loved he tried not to, but ultimately he found himself in love. The speaker then describes himself as once being a wounded man running through the streets ‘until he understood what [he] had found, / love, [his] territory of kisses and volcanoes’ (this is a more direct translation of the last two lines).
An important piece of the poem to consider from the original Spanish is the use of the preterite tense in the closing sextet. In the Spanish language, there are two verb tenses for the past tense: the imperfect tense, which suggests a continuity or permanence of some action in the past, and the preterite tense, which indicates an occurrence that took place immediately at a specific, defined, and closed time. The speaker here uses the preterite, which implies that he was in his ‘wounded’ state for an exact and abbreviated period in time and that he no longer is in and will never again be in that state. Instead, the speaker found his territory of kisses and volcanoes at a definite moment and ended his brief time outside the grace of love.
The speaker, with his many referrals to an outside ‘you,’ addresses the poem to his woman; while this could limit our relation to the poem, it instead forces the reader directly into the perspective of the speaker. By creating a distant second-person center for the poem, the reader is placed into the thoughts and feelings of the speaker as he relates them to his love. This piece may seem like the speaker’s sentimental reflection on his love; however, by directing the words at a distant you, the reader gains the inside perspective, views, and feelings of the speaker that creates a personal experience within the microcosm of this poem.

What does the speaker mean by ‘a land of kisses and volcanoes’?
What is meant by ‘your night… your air… [your] dawn’?
Do you think that this poem is solely about the physical side of the speaker’s relationship, or is more implied within the metaphor of the earth? If the poem is completely physical, is it a fair presentation of love? If there is something more, what is it?

The Stranger

For this AP English novel assignment thing, I chose to read The Stranger by Albert Camus. I have finished the novel and I am now considering several pieces of literary criticism to use in my essay.
While I enjoyed the novel, I am still pondering some of its subtle meanings. The characterization of Mersault is most perplexing; although Camus' ideas are fascinating, the full existential implications of his main character's personality, descriptions, and speech are complicated and difficult to interpret.
Camus said that this novel is about the nakedness of man when faced with the absurd (or something like that...). Indeed, the notion of a man being tried for an unwitting and unintentional murder and being convicted for essentially lacking the morals that his peers expect him to have is ridiculous, yet at the same time fully plausible and frightening. The jury should not have the power to judge a man's lifestyle, yet Mersault's 'nakedness,' the nakedness of man when faced with life, allows them to do so.
Also, I noticed that Camus' descriptions are purely physical and seem to center around light and dark, heat and cold. Mersault frequently tells the reader how stiflingly warm it is and how he is blinded by the intense light outside; in Mersault's apparently existential view of life those repressive sensations, along with the desire to 'go back to his place' with his girlfriend, is perhaps all that matters.

Way Deep Man...

I know that I was supposed to write this blog about some topic or idea that arose in our class discussions; however, after reading Arthur Miller’s essay on tragedy, how can I avoid commenting on such a complexly meaningful, yet incredibly simple, theory of literature?
Although I have never viewed tragic work as a whole as having a common thread of personal evaluation, struggle, and perfection, I absolutely agree with Miller’s definition of the genre. As I reflect upon the tragedies that I have read through middle school and high school, I now see that every work indeed involved the protagonist struggling first and foremost with himself to understand himself and to reach some level of “personal dignity” and his “’rightful’ position in his society.” Macbeth’s demise comes in his realization that he has fallen from his position as a scrupulous and honorable man, effectively destroying who he was and stripping him of his dignity. Othello loved too well, and in doing so lost the part of himself that he most cherished; his demise was induced by his moral crusade to correct his wrongs. Hamlet of course struggles with many aspects of his character that he views as flaws; he could accept them and live with them, but instead he strives to perfect himself and ultimately give his life to do so. Oedipus blinds himself in his struggle to right what he views as his moral fault, and Creon effectively looses his life (and becomes, in a way, nothing) in his final correction of his tragic flaw. Of course this applies to Death of a Salesman as well. Ok… I think you get the picture. I was well aware of the notion of the ‘tragic flaw,’ but reading such a unifying statement induced a brief ‘A Ha!’ moment of elucidating clarification. It was like suddenly stumbling into the Grand Unified Theory, only with literature.
So that was kind of cool, but what most struck me was Miller’s idea of the flaw as a self-defined presence in the protagonist’s life. All those characters that I just mentioned could choose to just get on with their lives and ignore whatever personal indignation that had disrupted their lives; however, they choose to identify and to confront their personal flaws and, in doing so, address who they are and where they stand in their own context in order to somehow cleans and perfect themselves. They could remain flawless in their own view, but they choose not to be. Consequently, in our own lives, we can ignore our faults and be flawless, or we can confront ourselves and everything we view as given and immutable in our lives in order to acknowledge our faults and overcome them. Tragedy therefore is not just a sad story, but an inspiration for the perfectibility of man. It is up to each of us to decide whether we heed the call of such inspiration…
(485)

What Is Love? (Baby Don't Hurt Me... Don't Hurt Me... No More...)

“Well, you see, there are those people you love and those people you’d almost rather be with”

Nora’s comment in Act II presents the reader with a very provocative question: in short, what is love? Nora’s response to this question, as would be inferred from the text of the play, would perhaps not even suffice as an answer; it would probably go something like this:

“I don’t know… but Torvald loves me.”

Her definition of love seems to be based on the attention that her husband (hereafter referred to either as ‘he’ or as ‘Big T’) gives her, as can most readily be seen in the numerous epithets with which he refers to her, and on the control and authority that he exhibits as her husband. When Nora offers an example to Dr. Rank of the line that I first quoted, she references the love that she held for her father; just as her love for Big T rests upon her respect for his position of manly husband power, so too was her love for her father based upon his authority. Her notion of love is therefore constructed as a feeling of attachment through submission. In this context, it would of course make sense for her to believe she loves Big T yet at the same time wish to be around other people with whom she truly feels a personal bond.
Of equal importance in the interpretation of this work is our own answer to this incredibly simple, yet excruciatingly complex (ooo… how paradoxical), question. Our own view effects how we see Nora and Big T in the context of this play; the differentiation of familial love, fraternal love, and romantic love helps us to begin to understand the problem, but ultimately a definite answer is elusive. How do we know when we are in love? What is it that tells us we are in love? Is love natural and spontaneous, or do we create it for ourselves, within ourselves? Is love permanent? What determines whom we love? The answers of course are subjectively based upon our own interpretations of our own worlds. (353)

Hamlet on Zoloft

Depression has always been a mysterious force that evokes the curiosity and sympathy of the inflicted subject’s fellow man. Literature specifically has always held a particular interest in the psychological state because it presents such a powerful and fundamental challenge to the human identity and existence. Despite this profound fascination, mankind still does not truly understand the mechanisms behind this plague of soul; countless theories have been developed and propounded, but no concrete understanding has yet taken hold. We are therefore forced to focus on the condition’s symptoms and effects, and, without sufficient means to explain what we see, we jump to conclusions and create our own explanations (perhaps in itself one of the greatest failings of human development), the most common of which trend towards the label of madness.
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, the protagonist in Shakespeare’s tragedy by that name, is not mad. Rather, he suffers from a depression, probably in the form of dysthymia or melancholic depression, that the reader, in want of some explanation, names madness. Hamlet exhibits all the major signs of depression in the play: a low, depressed mood; a lack of pleasure; a deep view of hopelessness and self-worthlessness; and even suicidal tendencies. As early as his soliloquy in Act I, Scene II, Hamlet proclaims his suicidal feelings and his oppressive, hopeless mood:

O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world! (129-134)

In Act II, Scene II, Hamlet outlines his profound lack of pleasure that becomes apathy towards the world: “the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory… it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors…. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—no, nor woman neither” (272-279). Slightly before these lines, Hamlet states that he “could be bounded in a nutshell and count [himself] a king of infinite space, were it not that [he has] bad dreams” (238-239); here he hints at the hopeless prison in which he feels himself incarcerated by his depression. Hamlet expresses his frustration with his own apathy and his self-hatred later in Act II, Scene II, by calling himself “a rogue and peasant slave” (477) and “an ass” (510) because he “can say nothing” (496) about his father’s demand for revenge; he despises himself because his depression has made him apathetic to the point of a complete lack of motivation. Furthermore, in that same soliloquy in Act II, Scene II, Hamlet even admits his depression by comparing himself to the players, who can feign the emotions that the prince feels so strongly; by asking “[w]hat would he do / Had he the motive and the cue for passion / That I have?” Hamlet acknowledges his intensity of emotion that, when combined with his other indications of his mindset, signifies depression. Hamlet’s infamous ‘To be, or not to be’ soliloquy in Act III, Scene I, of course further demonstrates his suicidality, and he also rejects all comfort, for in conversation with Horatio, Guildenstern, and Rosencrantz he counters all their efforts to offer solace to the prince (the best example lies in approximately lines 235-245 in Act II, Scene II). All these signs point not to a condition that is a product of a certain series of events or madness, but rather to a depression that is inherent in the prince’s psychological and emotional system. Hamlet’s acts may still seem point to an irrationality that is associated with madness, but such interpretations can be dispelled by an examination of Hamlet’s statement in Act II, Scene II, that he is “but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly [he knows] a hawk from a handsaw” (330-331). Also, though his relationship with Ophelia may seem to similarly hint at the irrationality of madness, when the reader acknowledges the depression under which Hamlet is subject, his actions in regards to her can be seen as a product of his emotional and psychological state. Hamlet, therefore, suffers from a form of depression that he cannot control and that is effectively part of himself; his symptoms point to dysthymia or melancholic depression, both of which are chemical in nature and, though they respond to outside stimuli, are essentially inherent to Hamlet’s existence.
Had Hamlet been a real character, and had he been alive in the modern world of medicinal wonders, he undoubtedly would be prescribed an antidepressant of some form. Due to the indicated nature of Hamlet’s depression, it is very possible that he had been depressed since his childhood, and the condition could be perhaps be alleviated with the better (though by no means perfect) modern understanding of the state. As we begin to understand the nature of Hamlet’s psychological and emotional scourge, we can extend our views to other texts, such as William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, in which Quentin Compson undoubtedly suffers not from madness, but from a form of major depression.

A few notes… Zoloft is an antidepressant; I would encourage my readers to briefly read the Wikipedia pages on dysthymia, melancholic depression, and major depression in order to gain a better understanding of the terms used in my entry; and yes, suicidality is a real word. (898)

Fighting The Man

When placed in a modern context, the Ancient Greek play Antigonê can be viewed as a struggle between a dictatorial state that strives to control absolutely in the name of stability and a strong-willed individual with the strength to challenge that totalitarian body. Though the individual is destroyed in this fight against the injustices of the state, the dictatorial entity itself is consumed by the consequences of its own decisions. Antigonê therefore reveals the inevitable self-destructive fate of totalitarian regimes.
In the play, Antigonê herself takes on the role of a freedom fighter against the unjust law-making control of Creon, who himself takes on the role of The Man. In his first speech in Scene I, the effective dictator espouses his dedication to the “public welfare” while maintaining that only those who show absolute commitment to the state “shall have [his] respect” and “reverence.” Through such orations that reverberate with twentieth-century fascist ideology, The Man binds the opinions of the Choragos and the Chorus, who in the action of the play are the Theban elders; Creon, therefore, controls the ideas of his people and forces them into line with his own. Furthermore, he overrules the edicts of the gods by forbidding the burial of Polyneicês and effectively declares that the ruling of the state is above the workings and desires of those deities. The Man nullifies the influence of religion, claims a monopoly on ideology, builds fear in his people with the specter of anarchy, and requires loyalty to the state above dedication to the family; he even admits his own dictatorship when he proclaims “[t]he State is the King!”
Antigonê arises as a challenging force to Creon’s totalitarian control through her defiance of his mandate against burial of her supposed-traitor brother. She restores the power of the individual by openly legitimizing the will of the gods, by challenging The Man’s doctrine, and by committing herself to her brother over her government; these actions inspire the people of Thebes to start “[m]uttering and whispering in the dark about this girl” and her fight against the injustices of The Man. Antigonê’s insubordination calls into question the validity of Creon’s rule and begins the destruction of Creon’s power. Her disobedience also imposes an ultimate authority over the treacheries of his regime: love. In Ode III Sophocles establishes love as the ultimate power in human existence; it is love that leads Antigonê to effectively stick it to The Man in the first place, and it is love that leads Haimon and Eurydicê to commit suicide at the end of the play. Their suicides finish the process started by Antigonê initial defiance and bring an end to Creon’s unjust and unreasonable rule. The restoration of individuality through love therefore destroys the totalitarian state.
Perhaps the greatest modern lesson to be learned from Antigonê is the solemn truth that the individual must and will always come before the ruling body. The Choragos finishes the play with this warning: “There is no happiness where there is no wisdom… Big words are always punished.” Indeed, the big words and controlling ideals of strong government never come with the wisdom to avoid their own demise; they cannot stand in the face of individual will and truth. The individual must always overcome the system. (545)

The Restoration of Spirituality through Religion

Leo Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych recounts the life story of a man who, while in his final days of life, realizes his life had been worthless and subsequently rectifies his lost and broken soul. The fundamental cause of Ivan’s empty existence, which is characterized by a dynamicity of values, a fulfillment of self-interest, and a desire to conform to what others view as right, is the main character’s lack of spiritual connectedness with himself, with others, and with “He whose understanding matters.” Through the restoration of spirituality through a religious awakening, Ivan fixes his life, transcends death, and emerges into light.
While the physical cause for the main character’s decline may be his hurting his side, the condition is advanced towards death by Ivan’s superficial connections with others and with God. As he faces the fading of his life, the main character’s spiritual disconnectedness becomes apparent as he sees nothing but insincerity within the actions of his family and his doctors. His only comfort comes in Gerasim, who provides a beacon of kindness and understanding in a household surrounded by self-concern. As Ivan battles with the “cruelty of man,” which in the story is typified by a lack of human interconnectedness, he also battles with a perceived abandonment by God. He believes that God brought him to his state of torment and left him to suffer; indeed, Ivan’s acknowledged creator did effectively leave the sufferer, but only because Ivan distanced himself from any semblance of spirituality and instead grounded himself in the trifles of the earthly world and in a preoccupation with death. By worrying purely about the approval of his superiors and by adopting a moral-relativistic attitude towards his beliefs, Ivan succeeds in severing any connection to the metaphysical that is necessary for a healthy life. In his anger at God, Ivan reflects upon his desire to return to his pleasant normal life, yet he realizes that his life prior to his illness had not been what he had believed it to be. He quickly realizes that, because he was grounded in the conformity to the upper classes and in his own self-fulfillment, his life had been a waste.
At the climax of his illness, Ivan takes communion and becomes reconnected with God. In a symbolic alleviation of his pain by religion, the main character re-establishes his spirituality and thereby comes to the firm realization that his life was “all not the right thing.” Ivan accepts his life as such, and he then proceeds to rectify his great error by for once truly caring about his family. He reclaims the spiritual bond between him and his family and reaches out to God for understanding. Through this spiritual rebirth in God, Ivan can accept death and move beyond to light.
By ending his novella with Ivan’s salvation through a spiritual reconnection, Tolstoy demonstrates the importance of God and spirituality in life. The characters in the story all fear death and all waste their lives in a physical, material existence; they believe themselves to be happy and immortal, yet in actuality they are plagued by a concern for only oneself that produces a consuming fear about one’s standing in the world. By transcending a flawed material world and connecting to a redeeming spiritual world, Ivan is able to overcome that fear and receive Jesus’ promise of an end to death. By restoring his spirituality, Ivan effectively saves his life. (570)