She was a warrior, brave and true.

She was a warrior,

brave and true.

She suffered in silence.

With grace and dignity

unknown to man,

she showed no fear

in the face of death.

Agile body, clever mind, strong heart…

Tiny footsteps, full life.

Betrayed by her years

But

ever-loving and faithful —

She was a warrior,

brave and still.

Beloved by all,

she will be remembered.

Our jagged, imperfect hearts race on

Her gentle nature lost to this world

but found in the next.

She suffered in silence,

our brave warrior queen.

Just a fun prompt from my Coursera course: “Sharpened Visions: A Poetry Workshop”

“Breaking Good”:

Re-poemifying a famous poem that has been de-poemifyied:

The line breaks have been removed from a well-known poem. The task was to turn this bit of writing back into a poem, creating lines and stanzas where we felt it made sense. Inevitably, the meaning of the poem would be altered, showcasing the importance of the “line” and “line break”. It was fun – give it a try!

ORIGINAL PROMPT

tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. out, out, brief candle! life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

 

MY VERSION

tomorrow,

and tomorrow,

and tomorrow,

creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

to the last syllable of recorded time;

and all our yesterdays

have lighted fools

the way to dusty death.

 

out, out, brief candle!

life’s but a walking shadow,

a poor player,

that struts and frets

his hour upon the stage

and then is heard no more.

it is a tale told by an idiot,

full of sound and fury,

signifying nothing.

 

ORIGINAL POEM

Speech: “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow”

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

(from Macbeth, spoken by Macbeth)

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

Drunk on Nature in Dickinson’s World

I read aloud this poem several times before any sort of meaning emerged. Interpreting poetry is still a weakness of mine, but I think I have deciphered a bit about Dickinson’s poem.

The poem inspired by this critical analysis essay:

A poem by Emily Dickinson, known by its first line, “I taste a liquor never brewed.”

I taste a liquor never brewed —
From Tankards scooped in Pearl —
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of Air — am I —
And Debauchee of Dew —
Reeling — thro endless summer days —
From inns of Molten Blue —

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door —
When Butterflies — renounce their “drams”
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats —
And Saints — to windows run —
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the — Sun —

First, the form, particularly how each line is either punctuated by dashes or rolls into the next line, is essential to realize connections between stanzas. There is an unmistakable rhythm and musicality that is pleasant to the ear, but more importantly, the long stops serve to showcase how nature is a central theme in the poem. Resting on “Dew”, “Butterflies”, “Inebriate of Air” especially… this emphasis on key nature-derived phrases paints a picture that the writer is not inebriated by alcohol, which one would assume if a person is drunk: “Not all the Vats upon the Rhine/Yield such an Alcohol”. Note the capitalization of Vats and Alcohol, drawing attention to the inadequacy of man-made liquor.

Second, the narrator is inebriated by nature itself, demonstrated by numerous metaphors throughout the entirety of the poem. The “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee out of Foxglove, a flower, while Butterflies abandon their “drams” (a medieval liquor flask), which allows the writer to drink all the more. She — presumably she, since we don’t know if the narrator is Dickinson herself, is drunk on summer days, reveling in her mirth as a “Debauchee of Dew”, which sends her “Reeling”, out of control, until the Seraphs (angels) of winter interrupt her drunken state.

I have discovered at least one interpretation of this poem, but I am sure there are many others unknown to me. I am stuck on the last stanza’s meaning and significance, and I have yet to figure out what happens to the writer in the end. What consequences might she suffer? I cannot uncover the meaning of the last three lines: “And Saints — to windows run –/To see the little Tippler/Leaning against the — Sun –“. I sense the results of the narrator’s actions are present in these lines, but the meaning is unclear to me.

If this poem were to reveal the inner mindset of Emily Dickinson, I would say that it suggests she would find herself among the naturalist writers of the 19th century, like Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. She doesn’t state, necessarily, the importance of communing with nature, or preserving it, but instead becoming completely entranced by it. If you’ve ever stood on the grass, in the sunlight, focusing on nothing but the sun’s rays beating down on you, you can feel the power of nature – how it fills you with unencumbered joy and a sense of wonderment, how it makes you feel stronger and more aware of your natural surroundings, while the man-made world seems dim and gray in comparison. This is what I think of as I read her words. Nature is so potent that one can become drunk on the dew. If I were to guess at the idea presented here by Dickinson, broken down into its simplest form, it would be “Nature trumps civilization.”

 

*I feel it is my responsibility to note the possibility of bias on my part in this interpretation because I subscribe to the transcendental, naturalist view of the above mentioned writers. I may be attributing ideas to Dickinson that are of my own design, but I have attempted to read this poem with an open mind and no predetermined expectations.

 

Establishing narrator trustworthiness before the first chapter

The foreword in A Princess of Mars functions much like the introduction by Charles Edward Prendick in The Island of Dr. Moreau or the preface in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

The writer of the foreword relays memories of his youth, especially those of his uncle, Captain Jack Carter, that lend credibility to the fantastic story about to be unveiled. Captain Jack wrote tales beyond even the plausible, requiring a great suspension of disbelief. Yet, we are brought into his world and are prone to believe he is trustworthy as the narrator of his autobiography because the completely believable and sensible writer of the foreword, Edgar Rice Burroughs, “Captain Jack’s favorite of the younger generation of Carters”, and subsequent author of the novel, has vouched for him.

Captain Jack explains that he does not seek the adulation of the public and is convinced that most will not believe his extraordinary tales: he knows his revelations sound unbelievable. It is his insistence that he presents his manuscript only as a way to help foster understanding of a foreign world — knowledge which he has gained and wishes to share, rather than expecting reliance on pure belief, that makes us trust his character. We believe he is telling the truth because he is so forward regarding his intentions and requires his nephew to follow detailed instructions for the manuscript’s release, prior to which great pains were taken to sequester his manuscript.

The manuscript was released only after Captain Jack’s definitive “demise”, of which he took exceptional precautions to ensure that this would be his last death: he insisted the younger Carter must wait 11 years before even opening the manuscript and a total of 21 years before submitting it for further readership, leading us to believe in its inherent importance.

Despite how fanciful the story may be, reliable narrators can lead us valiantly into unimaginable, and otherwise unbelievable, fantasy realms.

 

(1) Burroughs, Edgar Rice. The Princess of Mars. Publisher and page number unknown (online copy linked from Coursera course, Fantasy and Science Fiction: The Human Mind, Our Modern World). Citation can be found in the foreword.

Poe’s Tales of Madness May Actually Be Neurological Conditions

“The Black Cat” is an extension of “The Tell-Tale Heart”; therefore we can extrapolate knowledge from one work to the other to gain a fuller understanding of the conditions affecting these men.

The focus on the eye: “…a pale blue eye, with a film over it”[i] of the old man contrasted with the loss of the first cat’s eye in “The Black Cat”, followed by the missing eye of the second cat, symbolizes a threat to the horrors that lie within these men’s psyches.

Both men are overtaken by righteous rage, based on their own rambling reasoning, and they are relieved upon completion of the murders. Such is their confidence that they committed the perfect murders that one buries his victim under the planks and proceeds to sit over the spot while conversing with the officers, while the other buries his wife (and cat) within the cellar wall and even “rapped heavily with a cane”[ii] on the newly bricked wall to show off the sturdy construction.

These bold actions culminate when one hears, in his own head, the beating of the old man’s heart, like a watch muffled by cotton, continually getting louder until he must confess, while the other man hears “a cry, at first muffled and broken”[iii] until it becomes “… a wailing shriek,”[iv] audible to the astounded officers. Unlike “The Tell-Tale Heart”, it is not the man’s guilt in that brings about justice, but the feared cat which condemns him, bringing his fear to fruition.

 “The Tell-Tale Heart” begins with the narrator asserting that he is no madman and that the unspecified disease had sharpened his senses. “The Black Cat” refers repeatedly to the narrator’s alcoholism and increasingly altered and rather abruptly changed demeanor. The distinct behavioral changes, the heightened paranoia, and the calculated cover-ups suggest that these men suffer from an anti-inhibitory neurological condition unknown to 19th century science, which was then presumed to be madness.

 

 

[i] The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Random House, New York. 1975. p. 303

[ii] See above, p. 230

[iii] See above, p. 230

[iv] See above, p. 230

Frankenstein’s Structure Creates a Never-Ending Cycle

Frankenstein has a cyclic structure demonstrated through parallelism and foreshadowing. Walton’s letters to his sister showcase two men possessed with such lofty goals that even death would not diminish their greatness. Walton’s obsession with finding a new passage through the Arctic mirrors Frankenstein’s obsession with immortality. As Victor’s journey comes to an end, Walton’s has just begun.

Walton “elevates [Victor]… above any other person”, encompassing “extraordinary merit”[i] , which foreshadows Frankenstein’s desire as Creator, which had been at the heart of his studies since childhood.

Foreshadowing is a key element in the early chapters of Victor’s story, with the often repeated word animation, along with numerous references to life, death, and celestial objects: “…guardian angel of my life… Destiny… an omen”[ii], “Angel of Destruction”[iii] and “…such the words of fate, enounced to destroy me…”[iv]  Frankenstein wishes to control heaven and earth, and in his Herculean quest, he ignores nature and family, his singular ties to reality: “… the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also to forget those friends…”[v] . Through his recollection to Walton, Victor reveals that the inevitability of his disastrous path occurs before the monster ever awakens. This tale must end in horror, shown not only through Victor’s allusions, but because he appears on the brink of death at Walton’s first encounter.

This ultimate irony is only recognizable by those who know the tale’s end before the stranger ever speaks, an impossibility whose significance cannot be appreciated by the characters, but which reflects the novel’s cyclic nature:

“We attempted to carry him… [and] he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck, and restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy…”[vi]

In a true reversal of structure, the novel begins near the end and ends shortly after it began, with despair as the only constant, and an ever-present cycle of beginning and end, life and death.

 

[i] Frankenstein, second edition, with Case Studies in Contemporary Criticism, including both the 1831 and 1818 introductions by Mary and Percy Shelley, respectively, Edited by Johanna M. Smith, p. 39

[ii] Frankenstein, p. 49

[iii] Frankenstein, p. 51

[iv] Frankenstein, p. 53

[v] Frankenstein, p. 59

[vi] Frankenstein, pp. 35 and 36

Animals: Symbols between humanity and the Devil in Dracula

Animals are essential to set the scene, as well as the tone of the novel, which blurs the lines between humans, animals, and the Devil.

The references, ‘serpentine’ path and the peasant’s cart with “its long, snakelike vertebrae”[i] , introduce the Devil, foreshadowing future events while reinforcing what Harker overhears before he leaves Bistritz: “Satan”, “Hell”, and “werewolf or vampire”[ii].  Serpent symbolism appears when the Count mentions, “I love the shade and the shadow,”[iii] (because [serpents] inhabit shady places[iv] ) and because Dracula moves about the castle unnoticed (“Serpens” refers to “creep[ing] by secret approaches”[v] ).

At the Pass, the coachman’s eyes gleam red, like a rat, which symbolizes death, decay, and destruction[vi], and is amplified when a passenger whispers, “For the dead travel fast.”[vii]

Wolves howl frequently and circle the caleche, symbolizing their cunning and cruel nature[viii], yet the coachman inexplicably controls them. The Count personifies them as “the children of the night”[ix] and notes that city dwellers couldn’t understand the “feelings of the hunter,”[x] foreshadowing Dracula as a hunter.

Dracula, with his long, fine, sharply pointed nails suggesting claws, hairs on his palms, the pointed tops of his ears, his “canine teeth”[xi], and his squat fingers suggesting paws (“Lupus, a wolf [comes] from ‘Lion-paws’”[xii] ), results in a wolf-like appearance. “The Devil bears the similitude of a wolf… looking… with his evil eye… darkly prowling… the faithful… that he may… ruin their souls”[xiii], and all companions Harker encounters cross themselves, present crucifixes, and ward off the ‘evil eye’.

It is noteworthy that at this time, werewolves and vampires seem almost interchangeable, as Stoker’s physical description of Dracula resembles a werewolf, and only his colorless pallor represents the classic vampire. Therefore, animalistic appearance or behavior symbolizes ever-increasing evil, which conversely puts the heroes in a virtuous state, despite their manic behavior.

[i] Bram Stoker, Dracula, published 1897, p.8

[ii] Dracula, p.6

[iii] Dracula, p.24

[iv] The Book of Beasts, Being a Translation from the Latin Bestiary of the Twelfth Century, Edited by T.H. White, p.165

[v] The Book of Beasts, p.165

[vi] Signs and Symbols: An Illustrated Guide to Their Origins and Meanings, DK Publishing, p. 53

[vii] Dracula, p.10

[viii] Signs and Symbols, p.32

[ix] Dracula, p.19

[x] Dracula, p.19

[xi] Dracula, p.22

[xii] The Book of Beasts, p.56

[xiii] The Book of Beasts, p.59