Poetry

As we have been reading the works of Walt Whitman, and Emily Dickinson, something has caught my attention through the works of one of my discussion posts dealing with the style of Emily Dickinson's work. When I posted my original discussion, I have to be honest and say that I did not much care for Emily Dickinson's poetry, simply because I could not understand some of her poems, of which I explained was because she got so expressive and figurative in her language, that I was not sure at all what her meaning was. In response to my post though, I got a revelation of an answer, that is honestly so simple, it shocked me.

The response was simply to look at it from the author's perspective, which is what this blog is supposed to be about; looking at literature from a different perspective! I missed something somewhere along the line, and thought I guess that poetry does not apply, but O BOY! does it apply, because when I started doing as this response suggested, I started appreciating poetry so much more! Both authors are uniquely written, but we can't truly appreciate them until we see what they see. Is not this what literature is all about anyway?!

THIS ALSO APPLIES TO REAL LIFE AS WELL! How many times have you thought, maybe just throughout one day, "I wish my life was different!" "I wish I didn't have to do this today..." Here's a hint, trying looking at your life differently.Think about the people that you see on a daily bases, and think about what they may be seeing in the same situation. As you are doing a task, think about how what you are doing may affect someone else. Did you know that we as human's are always thinking about something. Truly,... and what we think about moves us. Did you know, that you could have the worst day in the world, but if you make up your mind to look at from a positive perspective, it will change how you handle the day, and of course how you see it! 

I encourage you to find some area of your life, whatever it maybe, and look at it from a different perspective... I think you will be amazed too as you see your life change! 

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The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Scarlet Letter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne, displays a great depth into the realities of early society, and the Puritan perceptions of sin. Though the story is told through the eyes of a surveyor to the Custom- House of Salem, who happens to stumble upon a document and a scarlet in the attic of the House (giving him the notion to write a story based upon it), he tells it in such a way that helps us understand the extreme shame the town places upon Hester Prynne, and her secret lover's agony over the concealment of his adultery. Added with the princes of Church and State, as well as characters of Witchcraft, and Revenge, these themes of the novel peer into the depths of human hearts, as they search for love and understanding, through trials, shame, and despair.

For me this one of my favorite novels, just because it can be so easy to relate to. No, I have never committed adultery in my life, but there is no doubt that many times throughout my life I have done things that I wish I would have never done, and have been forced to bare the shameful consequences that came with it. I am sure there are many of us that have. But just like in this story, there is always redemption for those who choose to repent of their sins, and turn back to God.

What I want to do for this story is to look at it from a more personal perspective of the Minister. We are told several times, that Mr. Dimmesdale is haunted by the sin he has committed with Hester, yet is afraid to reveal it publicly because of his high position as spiritual leader of the town. Anyone who has every committed any sort of sin, and then has tried to hide it for one reason or another understands exactly how Dimmesdale feels in this case. I wonder if many of us would have done exactly the same thing as he does in reaction to his sin? I know that if I was in Dimmesdale's shoes I would have done the same thing, When it is something as big as that, I know that I would have been afraid of the stern looks of the towns people, and their waging heads of disappointment. For myself, I know that I care too much about what people think about me, and so I can in a way relate to insecurities of Dimmesdale's attitude toward the town. Unlike Dimmesdale though, I probably would have run away long before those seven years agony. It goes to show though, that it is better to be honest about my sin, and rely on the grace of God to endure the consequences as I have often experienced in my life.

Now for you.... what would you do in Dimmesdale's shoes? Or any character for that matter? If you feel like commenting tell us about a character that you think you would have reacted differently in their circumstance... or maybe the same.

Image URL: http://www.amazon.com/The-Scarlet-Letter-Signet-Classics/dp/0451526082

Bartleby, the Scrivener by Herman Melville

As a first read for me, I have to admit that this was a most odd, yet fascinating piece of literature, of which I quite enjoyed reading! The story is told through the eyes of a successful lawyer who practices in New York. Though he has two less than perfect copiests for his legal papers, and a young errand boy, he finds himself in need of more help, as his work demands continue to pile up. Though strange nonetheless of the employees the lawyer has to start with, there oddities were nothing short of a commonality to the rest of the worlds irritation and misgivings. However, Bartleby's character, who is the new employee, struck me with an uneasy sickly feeling, as the depths of human virtue and prosperity are questioned. Though Bartleby really did not do anything wrong per-say, and had very little agitations in his demeanor, his refusals to do anything for his employer by stating that he simply "would prefer not to," gave me an unkindly irritation about him, as much as it did to his boss, and coworkers.

The main themes of Melville's story center around that of virtue, charity, and the essence of life. As one who has had a number of short term jobs throughout my twenty-two year life span, I have learned a little already about all of these, and can see very easily in this story what it means to give in order to live. What is the saddest part though, is that many people work at jobs today that they absolutely hate, but however disparagingly are forced to continue working in order to survive. Bartleby's character, however, goes against this reality, and through the events that facilitate the end of his life, one learns that doing what one would rather do, is simply suicidal.

This journal is taken from the perspective of Ginger Nut, the errand boy, of the lawyer who observes Bartleby from a naive perspective.

My mouth formed around one of the round red apples I had just gotten at the market an hour ago for Turkey,and felt it to my amusement to chomp at the same pace as the wall clock over head. There was fifteen minutes left until lunch, and the groans of my stomach seemed to inform me of this little fact with a steady nagging. Red Delicious apples were my favorite,and luckily I saved enough money to get myself an extra apple on my trip to the market today for Turkey. His cakes weren't too expensive really, but I always had a few extra cents that my father had given me for the various chores he wanted me to do. On occasion though, my boss would throw in a half dollar for me to run and get refreshment for him and his men as a great charity to me. He was a good man, and though I did not know much else of his affairs or his personal life, of that I was for certain. "Five minutes to go," gazing at the clock with it's tick tock. The thought of my mother's left over pot roast was impressed upon my mind and tongue. "Maybe we will get to go early?" I turned my head a few feet and looked into the next room, hoping to catch a glimpse of my boss's sterile face. Usually at about this time, he would make a quick glance at his pocket watch, and fold up the book he had been studying in preparation for our lunch period, however today he was quite different. He sat back in his chair still with steady glazed eyes at the screen in the corner of his room. There was no doubt that his mind was wondering to the peculiar oddities of his newest employee, instead of whether it was lunch or not. Bartleby was an odd sort, to say the least. Though Turkey and Nippers always had there own temperaments and misgivings, I quickly learned how to get along with them, just like they were my own brothers. Bartleby was different. He never said much or did much else then seclude himself behind his screen, and this seem to speak the loudest of his personality. In a simple word, I thought he was just plain weird...and nothing was going to dieter my mind from that. I envied him though,... because he had a seemingly subtle air about him, which although he would often politely refuse a command of boss, with his usual, "I would prefer not to," it seemed to work at his advantage,... at least as far as I knew. It definitely would not have worked for me. Boss pulled his chair away from his desk, and stood up straight. Hopefully this was a sign that lunch was at hand.    

Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Something, for me personally, that I have always had trouble with, is the concept of enslavement, and the brutality that seems to come with it. I am a huge fan of history, especially American history, and one of the reasons why I love the Civil War era so much is because I struggle with the realities that African Americans faced. It really makes me sad. The simple fact that my own ancestors could be so cruel to a race of people that they regarded as less then themselves, which seems almost ironic, seeing is how our country was founded upon the principles that "all men are created equal," causes me to wonder what it would have been like if the tables were turned.

Suppose in fact, that the supposedly dominate race of men were those of darker skin, and the people who were subservient to them were white. I know that many people back in those days, especially the slave owners who were anything less than loving to their slaves, would have thought twice about how they treated them, if they knew that they could do the same things to them.

For this post, the perspective is about you. One of the great things about this story, is that Stowe does such a great job at displaying the perspectives of both the slave traders, and the slaves, that one can easily put themselves as anyone of the characters, and understand the feelings and events they faced.

So...how do you feel about them? If you put yourself into Eliza's shoes or Haley's would you have done the same things they did? I think if I was in Eliza's place, I would probably have reacted the same way that she did,... but as for Haley, there is no way I could have taken anyone away from their mother, and would have bought both of them regardless.
  

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The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper

Out of all the reasons to enjoy reading, The Last of the Mohicans, by James Cooper, my favorite is the simple fact that two opposing forces are joined together for one common cause. Cooper does a marvelous job at presenting the difficulties that both Native American tribes, and the European settles have with the French invaders, but also a little with each other; creating a dramatic representation of history. He writes in the third person as one who is witnessing the events of the dynamic duo, Natty Bumppo, and his Indian friend, Chingachgook, as they try to regain their land from the Maquas Indians, and the British. Though we see these two as the sole characters involved with the invasion of Fort William Henry, it is Chingachgook's son, Uncas, who is the last of his tribe, and the one who is key to obtaining their land.

In my own mind I often wonder what James Cooper thought when he wrote this story. One could say that he wanted to rally both the settlers and Indians together against the French who were invading the land at the time. But it could also be said that Cooper simply wanted to write a dramatic historical fiction book, displaying some of the recent events of the day. Either way, I think no one would argue that this book is definitely part of a favorites list in any literature circle.

This entry is taken from the second volume and third chapter of the book; taking on the perspective of Uncas, right before he comes out and surprises Natty, and Chingachgook as they engage in a discussion of ancestory.

The air was crisp, the day was warm, and it seemed the spirits were shining their faces upon me. I could feel the gentle breeze flowing through the air, as I walked across the rough ground, and looked about the forest. My father told me he had gone to be with the white man so as to prepare for the attack on the Maquas, but I found it best to tracking them myself. I didn't know the white man well, but father seemed to like him. With each step, my shoulders tightened, and my neck grew firm. There was the edge. I knew it was because the air got thick and gray, and the ground grew smoother beyond the hill. The Maquas were not far. I chipped a slash in the side edge of the tree nearby, and stepped back the way I had came. It wasn't long before I heard the stream in it's steady tone answering to the silent calls of the trees, and I felt my heart lighten. My people had lived on this land forever, but the white man came and destroyed our village. We were doubtful at their trades and misgivings. We were angry when they took over our homes. We were sad when our chief was gone. But now all who is left is me and my father. Though now the Maquas want to take over. Will not the spirits grant us this victory? My eyes found the stream, and rested upon the two black figures sitting on the side of it. I could only see the back of the white man's head, and part of father's face, as I tuned my ears to hear someone say, "where are to be found your race, which came to their kin in the Delaware country, so many summers since." I assumed this to be the white man, and listened intently to my father's response, and found my name mentioned. Now I saw them both in plane view. "Uncas is here! who wishes Uncas?" 

Image URL: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_of_the_Mohicans_(1992_film)

Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving

I love the story of Rip Van Winkle, because it reminds me of my own life, and how often I feel when I encounter something from my childhood that brought me great enjoyment or pleasure. I dive into a world of deep emotion and serendipity as I recollect the significance of what I had known before my life presently, and wish at times I could turn the clock back. As Irving writes the tale of Rip Van Winkle, I can only image that he found recollections of his own life in which to attribute this story, maybe evening seeing himself as Winkle in some instances. In Winkle's case though, much of his past was loathsome, because of the demands of his nagging wife who found his ways to be, as Irving puts it, "impertinent". But though Winkle was a lazy man to himself all of his life, it seems at best to his character that this is also the source of his pleasure even after he as awaken some twenty years later, and finds his wife to be dead and gone. It is evident then, at the knowledge of his wife's death, and is contented simple ways, that he finds the most enjoyment out of his new  life. It proves a great lesson, that enjoyment in life comes from being contented with today, and I wonder if that was something Irving was learning himself.

To look at this story from a different perspective would not be hard, for Irving supplies many different supporting characters to help us grasp Rip Van Winkle's tale, and it is to some interest that we see it from all of their perspectives. I think Irving purposefully brings in his children and town's people, so that we see the importance of this man's life no matter how unprofitable it may seem to be. Many people can find themselves in a place where they feel that their life is worthless, and reaps no pleasure. Though Winkle finds pleasure in simplicity, this is also his downfall, as he counts other people as more important then himself. What this story suggests, is that regardless of how someone may feel about themselves, there is always someone else who holds worth to that person whether they see it or not. The very fact that his son and daughter, and really all the town's people, are so shocked at Winkle's appearance, shows us something of his worth, even though it was still in question who this man actually was at this point in the story. For years Winkle never saw his life as anything important only other people's, and certainly never cared enough for his children or his wife. But after meeting his children fully grown, and learning of his wife's death, he now sees his life differently and finds enjoyment out of being just who he was made to be.

HTML: http://brentbooks.blogspot.com/2012/03/what-was-theme-of-rip-van-winkle.html

The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe

Most people are quite familiar with Poe's stories, because of their dark and gruesome plots, but also because Poe writes from the first person perspective of deeply disturbed "madmen" who hope to prove their sanity in killing people or things. In the Tell-Tale Heart, it is no different as the narrator tries to rid himself of an old man's "evil eye" by killing him. Due to the fact that most of Poe's writing are written through the eyes of the "madman," something compels me to see or understand how his victim(s) would feel. Though I am sure no one would want to be in the same situation as any murder victim, I feel this may indicate something about Poe's deeper fear in himself, since most of the time Poe writes as if he is the one killing, and never takes on that different perspective.

This journal entry is written then from the perspective of the old man, in The Tell-Tale Heart, who has been aroused in his sleep by some unknown fear. Little does he know that he will be attacked and killed within moments.

The air was thick as I jolted up my resting head. Something wasn't right. "Who's there?" I said with a low sullen voice. It was all I could do, to pull the blanket farther up my chest. I sat there timelessly with the thin blanket seemingly swallowing me up whole. I couldn't stand it, my heart grew faint, and then quickened the longer the darkness held. My eyes glazed over the darken sea of blackness, searching...searching for any familiar form it could find. Nothing. Something wasn't right. The darkness and silence seemed to slither up my back, and the fear bottled inside of me caused my stomach to lurch. "It is nothing," I thought. Yet I felt trapped and encased in the darkness. "It is nothing but the wind." I felt my muscles relax slightly as I felt the ever so small beam of moon light graze over my eye... but then,... wasn't the window on the other side of my bed, of which I could possibly see light? I tilted my head ever so slightly to the side, fearful of what I might glimpse. Terror escalated in my heart as I felt the presence of an unknown form in my room, releasing it into a low moan from my held breath. "IT...IS...NO ONE!" screamed my head to my quickening heart beat. My heart would not listen. I sat there longer, telling my deaf heart to listen, but it refused.Then.... I saw him! He screeched fiercely at me, and in my shear terror came at me engulfing me with his body. He moved swiftly and purposefully with his task, and as I realized that my defeat was soon at hand, I let out a final cry of horror from my mouth until I felt my mattress encase it. I thrashed hoping to gain the smallest molecule of air in which to fill my lungs, but the more I pushed the more he held. My lungs grew as stone, and I felt there weight hard pressed on my body, until I could no longer feel them. It was then that I was no longer afraid.    

Picture URL :http://www.britannica.com/biography/Edgar-Allan-Poe

Introduction

Hey everyone!

If you have ever seriously considered your life, I am sure most of us have pondered what it would be like to look at our lives through someone else's perspective, or as we would call it "stepping into someone else's shoes." I admit I did this quite often as a kid, and since I have a sister so close to me in age, I would imagine myself as her, and try to see what she sees when she looks at me. (It's not too hard when your a twin!) Though this does take a great deal of imagination on any ones part, I also found that it was extremely fun, and life changing, as you all can image. One of the reasons that I love literature so much, even if it is not just American Literature, is because you get a chance to look at life differently than that of your own perspective, and so in this blog that is exactly what I want to do. 

If you think about it each persons life is a story, and when each author writes a piece of literature, (whether it's a poem, a sonnet, a novel, or a play) they probably have a reason behind it. Unfortunately, unless we find a way to travel back in time, we probably will never know the true reason why. In playing around with this concept, what I want to do then is to look at a piece of literature from the eyes of another character's perspective in a story. This could be someone that I have made up, or an actual character that the author has written. My hope is, is that through changing our view point about a character, we can dive deeper into the purpose behind a piece of literature, and maybe find passage into the original thoughts of the author. 

These different perspective blogs will be post one of two ways. Sometimes they will be posted as journals, with short entries on how a character (not the main character) feels or thinks about a situation that is taking place in the story, or they will be more of an analysis response based on my thoughts about another character's point of view, either about a situation or their character's part in general. All of the stories will come from what we are reading in class. Both of these entries are definitely up for involvement, so if anyone has the desire to post something along with them, definitely feel free to do so!