I love the poem "Lady Lazarus" that was written by Sylvia Plath. I cannot begin to describe how I can relate to her and what she is feeling during this time in her life, when she wrote this. There is so much pain in her writing, especially this poem; it is clear that she suffered from depression. She mentions her yearning for death multiples times throughout the poem, as she tells of her attempts at suicide:
"I have done it again, One year in every ten I manage it . . . This is Number Three . . . The first time it happened I was ten, It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all . . . Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well." (p1418-19)
It is clear as day, to me, that Sylvia is talking about her many attempts at suicide, although, I could be wrong. However, we do know that she died as a result of committing suicide and also suffered from mental illness-which included, at least, depression-that resulted in mental hospitalization more than once. There is a particular part in this poem that speaks to me in a language others might not recognize, and so I wonder if my hypothesis is correct. In this next passage, as Plath portrays her second attempt, she reveals an experience not known to many:
"The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls." (p1419)
In my opinion, I believe what Plath is expressing is her experience with electroshock therapy. Only individuals who have experienced such medical treatment would think of that when she speaks of "sticky pearls". If you have ever had electroshock therapy, you would know there are round, sticky, white things they put on you to deliver the shocks-this would greatly explain this part of the poem. There is, however, another alternative interpretation to this stanza. With the multiple attempts to kill herself, it would not be surprising if Sylvia was brought back to life with the help of a defibrillator, that uses white patches similar to what is used in electroshock therapy. Either way, we know she has undergone treatment and resuscitation, therefore, both are likely, but, in the end, does it really matter which one she meant? To me, it does not.
Being brought back to life is definitely something Plath portrays in this work of hers-you cannot miss it with her mention of Lazarus, who was raised from the dead by Jesus, and rising "Out of the ash . . . with my red hair. . ." I feel she wants her readers to know that she will find her place somewhere, just not here on earth. She could not live like other normal people, but she did not want to either. Every time "they" brought her back, she was stronger, more knowledgeable, but still the same woman they sought to save.
Monday, April 20, 2015
Literary Context: Ginsberg's "Howl" and The Beat Generation
Allen Ginsberg, who wrote "Howl", was a writer from the Beat Generation of the 1950's. It was the end of WWII and, therefore, a time of unrest; people were anxious, uncertain, on-guard, and-I'd venture to say-depressed. The Beat Poets represented change and defiance of conventional writing, thus, dawning the era of political and cultural anarchy. And this is so clearly demonstrated in "Howl", as Ginsberg is not shy with his words: ". . . who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy. . . (Howl p1358)." This was something society has never seen before in poetry or any literary work; this kind of language was considered obscene and vulgar by many, at the time.
But Ginsberg was just speaking-quite bluntly, however-the truth. He wrote of what he saw, day in and day out, and left nothing to the imagination. During these post-war times, experimenting with drugs was extremely popular; many Beat poets, including Ginsberg, dabbled with hallucinogens in order to achieve a higher state of consciousness. He would also write about the constant drug use, drinking and debauchery he was exposed to and a part of. For example, "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to starry dynamo in the machinery of night. . . (Howl, p1356). Much of this poem is wrought with pathetic and depressive scenes, and drugs may have been a contributing factor to the, somewhat, hard-to-comprehend rambling, however, I believe there was a method to Ginsberg's madness.
In class we were talking about the lengthiness of the lines in "Howl"-in the backdrop on Allen Ginsberg, before the poem, he explains himself a bit:
"My feeling is for a big long clanky statement, one that accommodates, not the way you would say it, a thought, but the way you would think it-i.e., we think rapidly, in visual images as well as words, and if each successive thought were transcribed in its confusion . . . you get a slightly different prosody than if you were talking slowly." (p1355)
Plainly speaking, instead of writing sentences the way one would speak it, he writes his thoughts, the way one thinks them. It makes sense; nobody thinks in perfect sentences, it's all garbled, leaping from one thought to the next. If you put yourself in the shoes of someone living right after the end of a horrible war, seeing all the devastation, mental and physical anguish, suffering, it becomes a little easier to understand where he's coming from. I can relate to the feeling of not wanting to hold back, shut up, or cover up the truth, even if it's ugly...to just throw-up all that you see and hear and feel, with no regard, no pretty pink flowers to make it sweeter to swallow. That is how I see Ginsberg and other Beat poets. They were transcending from an era of "Leave it to Beavers", pretending all is perfect and right with the world, meanwhile, mommy sucks from the whiskey bottle and daddy's not around. After the reality of war and the horrifying atrocities it brings with it, I would not be able to pretend any longer. Nor could Ginsberg:
". . . with mother finally*******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 AM and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination. . ."
(p1360)"
If I had to guess, I would say that Ginsberg was talking about the moment he heard of his mother's death. The first line, "with mother finally" and you fill in the blanks, and then slamming the last telephone in reply, speaks the most to me. He uses the word, last, five times, and mental furniture makes me think of the mental hospital she was in. A phone call and door closing at 4 am? All signs point to his mother passing away, but that's just my opinion.
I do love the colorfulness of this poem. Although it may be a tad dreary, I think it is far more alive than many others I've read. It speaks truthfully and honestly, ugliness and all.
Work cited:
www.poets.org. "A Brief Guide to the Beat Poets" 2004
The Norton Anthology of American Literature, "Howl" 2013, pp1354-60
But Ginsberg was just speaking-quite bluntly, however-the truth. He wrote of what he saw, day in and day out, and left nothing to the imagination. During these post-war times, experimenting with drugs was extremely popular; many Beat poets, including Ginsberg, dabbled with hallucinogens in order to achieve a higher state of consciousness. He would also write about the constant drug use, drinking and debauchery he was exposed to and a part of. For example, "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to starry dynamo in the machinery of night. . . (Howl, p1356). Much of this poem is wrought with pathetic and depressive scenes, and drugs may have been a contributing factor to the, somewhat, hard-to-comprehend rambling, however, I believe there was a method to Ginsberg's madness.
In class we were talking about the lengthiness of the lines in "Howl"-in the backdrop on Allen Ginsberg, before the poem, he explains himself a bit:
"My feeling is for a big long clanky statement, one that accommodates, not the way you would say it, a thought, but the way you would think it-i.e., we think rapidly, in visual images as well as words, and if each successive thought were transcribed in its confusion . . . you get a slightly different prosody than if you were talking slowly." (p1355)
Plainly speaking, instead of writing sentences the way one would speak it, he writes his thoughts, the way one thinks them. It makes sense; nobody thinks in perfect sentences, it's all garbled, leaping from one thought to the next. If you put yourself in the shoes of someone living right after the end of a horrible war, seeing all the devastation, mental and physical anguish, suffering, it becomes a little easier to understand where he's coming from. I can relate to the feeling of not wanting to hold back, shut up, or cover up the truth, even if it's ugly...to just throw-up all that you see and hear and feel, with no regard, no pretty pink flowers to make it sweeter to swallow. That is how I see Ginsberg and other Beat poets. They were transcending from an era of "Leave it to Beavers", pretending all is perfect and right with the world, meanwhile, mommy sucks from the whiskey bottle and daddy's not around. After the reality of war and the horrifying atrocities it brings with it, I would not be able to pretend any longer. Nor could Ginsberg:
". . . with mother finally*******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 AM and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination. . ."
(p1360)"
If I had to guess, I would say that Ginsberg was talking about the moment he heard of his mother's death. The first line, "with mother finally" and you fill in the blanks, and then slamming the last telephone in reply, speaks the most to me. He uses the word, last, five times, and mental furniture makes me think of the mental hospital she was in. A phone call and door closing at 4 am? All signs point to his mother passing away, but that's just my opinion.
I do love the colorfulness of this poem. Although it may be a tad dreary, I think it is far more alive than many others I've read. It speaks truthfully and honestly, ugliness and all.
Work cited:
www.poets.org. "A Brief Guide to the Beat Poets" 2004
The Norton Anthology of American Literature, "Howl" 2013, pp1354-60
Monday, April 6, 2015
"A Streetcar Named Desire"
In this particular playwright by Tennessee Williams, I think he does a wonderful job demonstrating the stereotypes plaguing the early 20th century, something he, himself, was victim to as well in these uncomfortable times. In his play he includes every aspect of discrimination: gender, sexuality, ethnicity, monetarily and politically social hierarchy. He makes this point, especially, clear when he introduces Stella's sister, Blanche, in the beginning of the play. Blanche is intended to be the quintessential "southern belle" as she appears at her sister, Stella's, flat in New Orleans. ". . . Her appearance is incongruous to this setting. She is daintily dressed in a white suit with a fluffy bodice, necklace and earrings of pearl, white gloves and hat, looking as if she were arriving at a summer tea or cocktail party in the garden district. . ." However, we soon learn that Blanche is, at the very least, attempting to hide some part of herself. When Stella makes her appearance, Blanche is beside herself, demanding Stella not look at her in the light until she is able to bathe and apply makeup. This is one of the many ways Williams defines the sexual roles of females at this time. Blanche has been traumatized by death back home and angry at Stella for not being there for her and to accompany her in the demands that death-in those days-took on a person responsible for such things. Regardless of such events, Williams portrays Blanche as a manipulative and -possibly even-vindictive person on a quest to right some wrongs done to her. This perspective is completely one-sided, however; Blanche was completely abandoned and left to her own devices, as a child. I, whole-heartedly, understand where Blanche is coming from, not only as a woman, but as a human being. Blanche may continue to be manipulative throughout the play, but I see this as her inner-child coming to terms with what life has handed her, or at least an attempt at it.
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