Rethink.

Ora sono ubriaco d'universo. (Ungaretti)

Page 3 of 182

Basho, “Such utter silence!”

“Such utter silence!”
Basho (tr. Kenneth Yasuda)

Such utter silence!
Even the crickets’ singing…
muffled by hot rocks

Comment:

Right now, in Dallas: everything is wet, everything is cold, the whole place is a slushy mess of yuck. My disgust with the weather makes me insensitive to a number of other annoyances.

Basho speaks of oppressive weather. In his case, it’s the extreme heat of summer. Unlike me, he notes his awareness of it in a subtle, refined way. He might be actively listening for the crickets, finding that the heat has hunted them down. Or he might be more like me, wondering if the season has dulled his own senses.

I am tempted to think his senses have been dulled. “Even the cricket’s singing…” invites the question of what else has been affected by the heat. “Hot rocks” indicates how thoroughly it has permeated the world. If stone burns, what must the effect be on mere flesh?

Even indoors, one is only slightly more comfortable. My apartment has been drafty, forcing me to use the heater more. The result has been dry air, no fun for an asthmatic to breathe. I imagine Basho in a much more severe situation. He’s sweating, trying to get to sleep. And then he notices that crickets which usually irritate him aren’t doing so. He’s tired, he’s not quite himself, but his observation shows something. His faculties have responded to the situation. He has become more aware, he has an articulate thought.

What, then, to make of the “utter silence” that stirs him? On the one hand, it is surprise at how powerful mere temperature can be. Everything changes, and everything can change to completely disorient one and even the world in which one resides.

Still, the undertones of that situation are less dark and more comic. So on the other hand, there’s the fact he responded to the heat, that he takes note of his condition. “Utter silence” results in the truest speech. Not that the crickets are noise, but that he understands what is around him, however absurd it may be, just a bit better. Maybe he can even get a good night’s sleep, somehow.

Seamus Heaney, “The Rescue”

The Rescue
Seamus Heaney

In drifts of sleep I came upon you
Buried to your waist in snow.
You reached your arms out: I came to
Like water in a dream of thaw.

Comment:

Perhaps so-called higher ambition is meaningless. We need to produce food, so why bother going, say, to outer space? It does not help that many who profess higher callings make no attempt to justify themselves. They’re not curious about their own motivations or their own selves. If they were, they could embrace what should be an alien nature, at times standing aside for others who inspire. They would try to appreciate a different language of emotion or inquiry, instead of asserting themselves at every juncture.

“In drifts of sleep” presents a dreamlike, suspended state. Strangely awake, strangely alive, as the random contents of one’s mind are a void. From that void “I came upon you / Buried to your waist in snow.” Coldness, death, the indistinct are all associated with the buried memory of someone familiar. Our narrator has a certain boldness; he can see himself in difficult places, ready to rescue if need be. A hero of sorts, certainly a venturer. There is no such thing as everyday life without a beloved in the background; there is no such thing as exploration without the discovery of some hidden desire.

This poem functions not only as a love poem, but also as an expression of surprise at one’s subconscious curiosity. I hesitate to call it longing. The object of desire reaches out to our speaker, causing him to melt. The power of this image is most unexpected. “You reached your arms out: I came to / Like water in a dream of thaw.” Before, a somewhat unknown object, a hidden one. In my limited experience, those who long do so for another daydream, imagining all too precisely being loved back, forcing an epiphany. Pining loads expectations.

A narrator who remembers his dream with clarity, ascribing to himself an original purpose, finds himself newly wakeful. His quest has been transformed precisely because he undertook it. Most fascinating is his likening himself to water. Not just melting in the face of love, but becoming freer and freeing. Everything has changed because of this new knowledge.

A Thanks of Sorts to Katie Nolan and Felicia Day

1. Didn’t watch all of Bill Simmons’ interview with Katie Nolan – turned it off once they started the incessant apologia for the Patriots.

Still. Think I learned from the first half-hour. If the blog ends up going anywhere, I’ll have to credit Ms. Nolan. For the last few months, I’ve been doing everything but blogging. It’s weird to confess this, because I didn’t stop writing, editing, or reading. My paper journal is packed with poems, musings, and rants. I have been trying to completely rewrite old blog entries, throwing some away entirely (process is ongoing). Lots of reading: a few papers on Plato, books on art history, critical essays attended for the sake of style and form in my own writing. This has been done while job hunting, while working, while revising dissertation.

I cannot say I have had pride or even any particular joy in all this. I do not want to think through what has been done well, what not so well. Quite a bit has not been done well. It felt like a slog, moving from one obstacle to the next. I still don’t know if I’m improving or not. Writing is throwing messages in a bottle and learning not to care if you get a letter back.

What I quit on, without realizing it, was the idea that this blog could go anywhere. That is no small disappointment to harbor. It spreads to every other area in one’s life like the plague.

2. Ms. Nolan describes how she got started in media. Blogging on sports and pop culture happened 6 times a day while working a bartending job. Eventually, a bigger site wanted to use her voice for more exposure. She got a larger audience, a bit more money, but a lot more responsibility. That responsibility turned to making videos daily for the site, which conflicted with the bartending job. Nolan’s story is that she would get back from work in the early hours of the morning, write jokes for the video she intended to shoot, go to bed and film the video in the time that was left before work. I don’t think she needs to say anything about the amount of pay involved and how it corresponded with the amount of work she did.

I can’t say that her story – she’s got her own show now – is inspiring. It pushes me to work harder, to try and blog daily, but I can’t say that I’m excited or that I expect anything good to happen. Rather, I’m merely in the position of not quitting just yet. Her advice for making it in media is to get into a routine of doing something daily, to feel like you have to produce content.

The funny thing is that for a blog of this sort, I have no idea what that even means. I don’t want to be on tv, I don’t want to be recognizable. Celebrity is scary: you lose privacy. You lose, as Bill Simmons notes in the same interview, the right to make mistakes. A major reason why I wasn’t thrilled the last few months about throwing more resources into the blog is that I have to get years upon years of writing to be acceptable. A lot of what I’ve written here is unreadable: they’re notes on a scratch pad. At times good notes, but not a coherent narrative.

There’s too much to do, and I’m not sure what I want out of it.

3. I guess if anything comes of this blog, it might have to do with another influence. A long time ago, Josh shared with me this awesome interview with Felicia Day. I’ve found myself reading it over and over, partly because of the independent streak that pulses through her answers. Partly also because of how impressive it is to use media no one else has quite figured out to be genuinely entertaining, expressive, and speak to a culture otherwise ignored. Those who can’t figure it out, typically companies that are behemoths, can only stereotype or ignore your work. I think that shows pretty clearly if you read the interview.

I don’t want to pride myself on doing anything new or clever. What is most impressive about Ms. Day is how well she engages her particular audience. I originally got into blogging because I thought it was possible to contribute something thoughtful each day that one could carry throughout the day and muse on. The intent was always to put readers in touch with others. To avoid overuse of my own voice, to give my readers the ability to say without irony that they read and read about Yeats, Dickinson, Auden, Plato, Xenophon, Shakespeare, Aristotle, Kay Ryan, Sappho, and many others. I have to recommit fully to that purpose, because the garbage flowing in my Facebook feed has more intellectual guises. Social media’s net impact on the Internet has been to make it more narcissistic – yes, I realize that such a thing is near impossible.

I can’t say I lack an ego. I will not lie and say I’m humble in any way. I’m struggling to be honest about what merits having pride.

Plato, “Cleitophon”

Plato, “Cleitophon” (trans. W.R.M. Lamb; below, citations and quotes are from Clifford Orwin’s translation. Numbers in parentheses without an author are section numbers from the dialogue.)

You may choose to read the Cleitophon, by far the shortest of Plato’s dialogues. It should take 10-20 minutes to read, and its subject is refreshingly direct: Could Socrates teach justice? The same question, in a more modern, universal guise: Can philosophy make people ethical?

You may wonder why you have not heard of the dialogue. Clifford Orwin relates that its very brevity, as well as featuring “an unanswered blame of Socrates,” led critics of some years past to doubt it as genuine. However, “today its authenticity is generally conceded, although some scholars do view it as unfinished” (Orwin 117).

The Cleitophon, therefore, is in disrepute because it might be incomplete, it is short, and Socrates is blamed. None of these complaints tell us if the dialogue has any value, if it helps reconstruct a picture of concerns related to Platonic thought or Plato’s world. Rather, the silent assumption is that we possess that picture already. This is not so problematic for the skeptics who produce evidence against the Cleitophon as having any serious standing. They certainly pay careful attention to Plato. It does not help the blindness of those inclined to dismiss the dialogue before they have even encountered it.

I

Socrates has exactly three sentences in the whole work. He begins the dialogue speaking about Cleitophon in the third person. I imagine him doing so loudly, teasingly, and deliberately in order to attract the latter’s attention:

Cleitophon, the son of Aristonymos, as someone was just telling us, was conversing with Lysias and criticized spending time with Socrates, while he could not praise too highly the company of Thrasymachos. (406)

Socrates’ contribution to the drama of the dialogue, um, is to start drama. He claims someone told us – not just him, but his companions – that Cleitophon spoke badly about him to Lysias. Spending time with Socrates was wasteful, according to the hearsay marking him a clumsy talker behind people’s backs. In fact, he apparently continued, saying that time was better spent with Thrasymachos, a sophist who contended “justice was the interest of the stronger,” thus lending argumentative strength to tyrants everywhere.

Not surprisingly, this arouses indignation on Cleitophon’s part. He tells Socrates that he has heard wrong, as Socrates was praised for some things, blamed for others. He takes especial pains to show himself reasonable compared to Socrates. “It is plain you [Socrates] are holding this [hearsay] against me, for all that you pretend that you couldn’t care less.” Now that Cleitophon and Socrates are alone, he will show Socrates how he has been “misinformed,” going through the various arguments he used with Lysias so that Socrates ceases to have a low opinion of him (406).

The dialogue began with a taunt by Socrates, the sort of thing one might see in the schoolyard. Cleitophon’s own concern centers on his being thought reasonable. He wants, in other words, what every teenager wants: to be taken seriously, to be deserving of authority. Cleitophon was a politician in Athens, a member of a faction that proved itself able to be well-regarded under both the democracy and oligarchy. Lest one think they were marked by prudence and moderation, it should be noted that one of the senior members was Anytus, an accuser of Socrates (Orwin 119-120).

I am disposed to think Cleitophon’s adolescent behavior the heart of the dialogue. One might think this a silly observation on my part, deserving of no more attention. Cleitophon was a politician. He is the only one in the Republic who strictly identifies the just with the legal, never changing his stance (Orwin 119). He argues in the present dialogue that Socrates is wonderful for those who have not been exhorted to justice, but for one who has already been so exhorted, Socrates is “almost even a stumbling block in the way of… arriving at the goal of virtue and becoming a happy man” (410e, last sentence of the dialogue). Surely Cleitophon is a serious person with serious complaints!

Usually, we are under the stress of deciphering what Socrates’ playfulness means. But Socrates’ last words in the dialogue turn it over entirely to Cleitophon and his zeal:

Why, it would be shameful indeed, when you are so eager to benefit me, not to submit to it. For clearly, once I have learned the bad and good points, I will practice and pursue the one and shun the other with all my might. (407a)

II

Cleitophon eagerly continues after Socrates “submits.” He ultimately argues that Socrates’ value is dubious; one notes four distinct parts in what follows. The details below are given so as to highlight the most important aspects of each part:

  • 407a-e: Cleitophon repeats a purported speech by Socrates, addressed to Athens as a whole. Cleitophon’s Socrates says that Athenians are obsessed with hoarding wealth, which they know they have to give to their children anyway. Neither they nor their children care to find teachers of justice, though they find teachers of every other exercise or study. A complete education for Athenians lacks any sense of justice, and as a result Athens as a whole is unmusical: “brother strives with brother and city with city, clashing without measure and discordantly, and in the heat of war do and suffer the utmost.” Cleitophon’s Socrates goes further, saying that injustice is not done involuntarily. Implicitly, virtue is knowledge, and education can combat the ignorance that is injustice.
  • 407e-408b: After the speech of “Socrates” comes a short interlude where Cleitophon makes monstrous statements. He first claims Socrates taught “that those who exercise their bodies while neglecting their souls… are neglecting that which rules while concerning themselves with that which is ruled.” This certainly seems fair. But then he says that Socrates said “that whatever someone does not know to make use of, better that he relinquish the use of it.” This leads to Cleitophon attempting to ascribe to Socrates thoughts like these, which he himself finds praiseworthy: if one “does not know how to make use of a soul, it’s better for him to keep his soul at rest and not to live than to live.” Or, if he should choose to live, he should “pass his life as a slave [rather] than as a free man and… hand over the rudder of his thought, as of a ship, to another, who has learned the art of piloting human beings.” Somehow, I don’t think Socrates ever said or meant that, and I willingly note that Socrates said many preposterous, shocking things. This section rests on Cleitophon holding tight to the notion that statesmanship is an art, the art “of judging and justice.” As a body of knowledge, it would teach people how to live exactly, and anyone who didn’t know it, by definition, wouldn’t know how to live. Before, in the previous section, Cleitophon’s “Socrates” kept his focus on the lack of fraternity and hateful obsession with wealth injustice caused.
  • 408b-410a: Cleitophon tells the story of a fight he picked, imitating the manner of Socrates, with those he says are Socrates’ disciples. He claims to have won. Cleitophon asks them, after a convoluted prompt, what art has to do with the virtue of the soul. After being told this is justice, he pushes for what it is exactly a just man produces, i.e. what good justice is. One disciple begins to argue that what justice gives is oneness of mind among those truly capable of being friends. This answer has a certain similarity to the exhortation of Cleitophon’s prior “Socrates,” who mourns the loss of fraternity among Athenians. However, the disciple eventually contends that oneness of mind must be that of knowledge, not of mere opinion, thus destroying any potential civic benefit and bringing the argument full circle. If justice is oneness of mind, and oneness of mind depends on knowledge, then the question remains what specific art, what specific branch of knowledge, constitutes justice.
  • 410a-e (end): He says he questioned Socrates, but Socrates contradicted himself. First, justice was helping friends and harming enemies, but then “it appeared the just man never harms anyone, for in all matters he acts for the benefit of all.” What exactly, who exactly, justice is good for – this perplexes Cleitophon, and Socrates is not forthcoming with an answer. Perhaps Socrates does not know it, but he says he thinks Socrates actually knows and will not share it with him. Thus, he must spend his time with Thrasymachos. But if Socrates is willing to share, showing the proper training of the soul and not merely exhorting him to be just, then Cleitophon would be pleased. He believes knowing exactly what justice is would make him more virtuous, a happy man.

III

The four parts of Cleitophon’s speech to Socrates focus on a number of issues, as you can see. It is difficult to assess them all at once. It is even more difficult to understand how all of them bear exactly on the value of philosophy. In Plato’s shortest dialogue, one still feels like there is too much to sort through.

The summaries I gave for each section above are for highlighting the most interesting lines and ideas. However, one element which gives the argument a more formal continuity is lacking. To wit: Cleitophon places an enormous stress on knowledge and art (this is certainly visible above), constantly comparing what is done for the body with what is done for the soul (this, not at all).

That constant comparison – you do this for the body, why do you not do likewise for the soul – tends to grate on one’s nerves when reading the dialogue. It takes extended reflection on who Cleitophon is to understand why this comes up so often in his speech.

Michael Davis, whose commentary on the Cleitophon I highly recommend, finds that Cleitophon feels left out from the Socratic clique (Davis 159-160). At the outset of the dialogue, he thinks Socrates has something specific against him. As he continues talking, it is very clear that he is not in the Socratic circle, and he openly says that Socrates hides the nature of justice from him. I cannot help but feel that this is more schoolyard behavior, that we are meant to see something fundamentally immature about Cleitophon. Given that a member of his faction pushes for nothing less than the execution of Socrates, this is a dark joke indeed.

We must start from a different angle than we have been proceeding. Let us consider what seems most mature about Cleitophon, namely, his earnestness about justice. He wants a principle that dictates exactly what justice is, making the soul better, providing rulers with the knowledge they need to rule well. Regarding that principle, Thrasymachos sets forth a basis: “justice is the interest of the stronger.” However, his thinking and Cleitophon’s diverge. The city’s laws, properly obeyed, create a powerful citizenry, as Cleitophon’s Socratic speech attests. But his talk throughout the dialogue that bears his name is filled with references to Book 1 of the Republic. He has already watched Socrates take Thrasymachos apart rhetorically. There is a good beyond a powerful citizenry; justice produces something more than what obedience to laws produces. This good must exist because Socrates defeated Thrasymachos, no matter how much Cleitophon resents it.

IV

Cleitophon’s earnestness must not be dismissed because of his association with Thrasymachos. All of us want a principle that dictates exactly what is just. We resent others for not sharing our opinions about justice; we admire those who fight and die for what we believe. Yet, we know Cleitophon belonged to a faction that was more shady than steadfast. Did Socrates’ exhortation to justice provoke a greater failure? In pushing Cleitophon to be more just, did he cause him to worship power only?

For Cleitophon, questions concerning knowledge and art, soul and body, justice and education all center on one thing: the relation between ruler and ruled. He twists Socrates’ words and ideas in unusual ways. Socrates himself professes knowledge of ignorance. Does that mean Socrates should kill himself or submit to rule of another, as he does not know how to use his own soul? Cleitophon basically argues that in the second section of his argument, outlined above. The reality of power is fundamental for Cleitophon, as whatever justice is, it concerns rule. Rulers employ justice and make the city better. Cleitophon is power-hungry, sure, but there’s something else in his character: like every teenager we know, he thinks himself wholly in the right. That he seeks knowledge of how he is right, whether from Thrasymachos or Socrates, is more proof for himself that he is right.

Ultimately, it is something closer to Thrasymachos’ teaching which corrupts Cleitophon. Thrasymachos, to be sure, cannot be blamed. Cleitophon insists that the just is the legal, and in the Republic, is adamant that if the rulers believe something to be their advantage, that is just simply. Thrasymachos will have none of that nonsense: real rulers know their advantage. Cleitophon’s moral earnestness turns into whining and resentment, as he does not care for knowledge. He wants to be thought someone who cares for knowledge. I am inadverently making him sound evil, but that is not really the case. Most of us are in school because we want the grades and the degree.

Again, I cannot recommend too highly Davis’ reflection on the Cleitophon. We know that “What is justice?” admits no practical answer. So let’s say Cleitophon really, truly cares for whatever knowledge comprises justice. He’s going to have to confront a very hard truth, one which few of us have the moral maturity for. Justice isn’t a virtue except in an unjust world; virtue depends on the existence of vice. To be a just person is continual, incomplete work. To have an understanding of justice means throwing away the idea that it can be reduced to a principle or a strict body of knowledge. It means grappling with all the opinions one considers unjust, and wondering what truth they reflect. It means trying to understand what each of us means by justice, knowing there is no answer that satisfies (Davis 172).

References

Davis, Michael. The Soul of the Greeks: An Inquiry. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011.

Orwin, Clifford. “On the Cleitophon.” In The Roots of Political Philosophy: Ten Forgotten Socratic Dialogues, ed. Thomas Pangle, 117-131.  Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987.

Plato, “Cleitophon,” translated by Clifford Orwin. In The Roots of Political Philosophy: Ten Forgotten Socratic Dialogues, ed. Thomas Pangle, 111-116. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987.

Basho, “Here, where a thousand captains swore”

“Here, where a thousand captains swore”
Basho (tr. unknown)

Here, where a thousand
captains swore grand conquest…
tall grass their monument

Comment:

Mocking the irony of wanting to conquer others for fame and fortune – that’s easy. Our narrator looks out at a battlefield and sees what is: tall grass covering the bodies of the ambitious. Unless one was insane, one could not miss how a combination of planning and spirit – nearly the sum total of our so-called higher faculties, what makes us distinctly human – buried itself.

Any serious reflection starts not with casting aside figures like Napoleon or Genghis Khan, but understanding that all of us want to best others. Admirers of conquerors and tyrants exist always, and as problematic as they are, they can’t be faulted for dishonesty. A thousand captains, leaders of men, each made credible in the eyes of many through honors, virtues, and stories shared then and now. These captains gathered together and swore fealty in order to procure a greater victory. All those honors, virtues, and stories of each were united in loyalty, in combined strength.

Basho’s reflection is impersonal. A little imagination reveals that some of the people we most admire may be subject to the same critique. Attacking our own selves, strangely enough, is the easy part. Basho wants our attention to turn to our virtues and ideals. Conquerors and tyrants loom large in the imagination of some because they impose their will on the world. To what degree is virtue an imposition of will on the world?

There is no small solace in the fact that many do not mind tall grass as a monument. People sacrifice for each other every day. They sacrifice for causes they think will bring about a greater good. The funny thing is how the zeal of those most admirable entails moderation of a sort. Not entirely virtue, not entirely what is good for all, in order to sacrifice well. Whereas either to die for virtue purely, or for one’s own aggrandizement, seem to be two sides of the same coin. The reality of tall grass as a monument is the reality of the earthly.

Basho, “Lady Butterfly”

“Lady Butterfly…”
Basho (tr. unknown)

Lady Butterfly
perfumes her wings
by floating over this orchid

Comment:

All that happens: a butterfly floats for a moment above an orchid. Our narrator sets forth a few details of his choosing. The butterfly’s wings are infused with scent from the flower; it hovers over it, remaining some distance away; the flower is specifically an orchid. There are other translations of this poem which do not see the butterfly’s gender as an issue.

Whether or not we are dealing with “Lady Butterfly,” the personification remains an open question. One can say the butterfly is personified in the pleasure it takes from beautification. It lingers in the scent, taking on the property of another object in order to beautify itself and receive pleasure. Perhaps this is the most human of behaviors, as it becomes confident not through grasping the object itself but through imitating an aspect of it. I wonder, on this line of thought, if “orchid” is meant to be much more specific than “butterfly.” Does the butterfly remotely understand the flower from which it takes?

But personification may be a narrative imposition. It could be the case that butterflies are genuinely pleased by the scent of the orchid itself, wanting it for pleasures specific to themselves. The Greek kosmos not only means “universe,” but also “ornament.” Wearing what is appropriate for oneself speaks one’s precise place. To that end, the gentleness of the exchange might be the heart of the poem. The orchid gives off a scent, the butterfly embraces it. It will spread that scent with its own power. Both orchid and butterfly will be united, yet in this image, neither will have even touched the other.

Kobayashi Issa, “Yellow Autumn Moon”

Yellow Autumn Moon
Kobayashi Issa (tr. unknown)

Yellow autumn moon…
unimpressed the scarecrow stands
simply looking bored

Comment:

The bright moon faintly illumines the changed hues of trees, the subtle outlines of clouds, the slight motion of water. Under it bores like me are simply sleeping, lovers exchange knowing glances, the reverent still pray, the lustful enter dens of iniquity.

The fullness of life stretches toward night; the moon witnesses this, making it just visible enough. Yet Issa has us imagine a scarecrow in a field, bored with that moon, maybe sourly looking on it all.

I’m tempted to imagine the scarecrow as a specific example of the headline “old man yells at cloud.” People who mutter to themselves things like “caught in that sensual music all neglect / monuments of unaging intellect” are more interested in being permanent and useful than enjoying life themselves. Scarecrows are certainly both, as they merely mimic the human to protect crops. It is easy to hold in contempt what one might most want to protect.

The translator’s word for describing the scarecrow’s gaze is “bored.” What makes the moon majestic is its softly lighting a living world. The scarecrow finds itself “unimpressed” with humanity, which needs a point at rest, a celestial witness, to imbue its activity with a touch of divinity. He does not blame the moon for this, but cannot give it any credit either. The scarecrow is at work, always.

Rae Armantrout, “The Difficulty”

The Difficulty (from Poetry)
Rae Armantrout

This film, like many others,
claims we’ll enjoy life
now that we’ve come through

difficulties, dangers
so incredibly condensed
that they must be over.

If the hardship
was undergone by others,
we identified with them

and, if the danger was survived
by simpler life forms,
they’re included in this moment

when the credits roll
and we don’t know
where to stand

Comment:

Not only film, but nearly all literature, all myth, promise happiness for enduring obstacles “so incredibly condensed that they must be over.” A sense of who we are, who we ought to be, comes to us through stories which of their very nature cannot possibly encompass the whole of our experience. We believe that if we truly become virtuous or moral, we will never stray nor do wrong, despite knowing there are situations where the only possible choices are justly characterized as desperate. We’ll be happy because we’ve overcome and learned everything from such experience – as if things still couldn’t collapse.

That, at any rate, is what I get from Armantrout’s first two stanzas, which establish the setting. The singular difficulty of her title has not been revealed yet. She lets the film continue with its claim: dangers and difficulties have been overcome, thus we are in a better position to enjoy life. My comment above speaks to the problem of actually being part of heroic stories. However, it may be the case we can learn a pleasant, beneficial truth by merely being the audience of such a tale.

In many cases, we identify with those who’ve undergone hardship. Sometimes, we’re watching “film” of ourselves in our head, but Armantrout puts that discussion aside for now. She instead switches focus to a strange detail:

if the danger was survived
by simpler life forms,
they’re included in this moment

“Simpler life forms” jars. They survived the danger as much as we did or those with whom we identified. But do they matter in the same way “we” do? Children and animals do not have our intellectual framework; they cannot understand what we learned! That’s just the problem, though: what we learned stemmed directly from the result. Not just that there were difficulties, not just that they were dealt with well or badly, but that they in the end fell away.

We don’t know where to stand when the credits roll because the result dictated whatever we learned. We were children, we are animals, after all. The difficulty is this: if we say we have truly learned from experience, that we can be happy in the final analysis, we are more than human and still couldn’t stand in the picture. Happiness is contingent unless one could completely deny human desire, avoid the consequences of bad relationships, be totally self-sufficient. The happiest human life is rational, but that is meant in a comparative sense. A rational human being probably wouldn’t need to be inspired by every movie he saw (*gulp*).

Kay Ryan, “The Obsoletion of a Language”

The Obsoletion of a Language (from Poetry)
Kay Ryan

We knew it
would happen,
one of the laws.
And that it
would be this
sudden. Words
become a chewing
action of the jaws
and mouth, unheard
by the only other
citizen there was
on earth.

Comment:

We knew it would happen, we knew a language would become useless. Perhaps it was one of the unspoken laws between us.

Still, knowledge did not prepare us for its suddenness. “Words become a chewing:” our appetites continue, but we’re eating our words, and they’re unsatisfying. “Chewing action of the jaws and mouth” attests to this. Our words mean to communicate, and there is one other who could hear them, but they fall on deaf ears.

Two lovers constructed their own realm, as all lovers do. When love ceased to be, the rituals of love were not preserved in the language of that place. Rather, distrust and skepticism filled what was taken with the best of intentions before. Two things stand out for me: first, this poem is more puzzling than heartbreaking. This is one of the things lovers leave us with, whether we were the ones who broke off the relationship or not. Why don’t certain words work anymore? Did we somehow change?

Second, something formal remains. “After great pain, a formal feeling comes.” The laws, perhaps unsaid, make one wonder if they were in the language of the lovers. My thought is they actually are, as a painful truth could have been communicated, although not adequately understood, during the relationship. To be sure, there is no magic language of romance that can bring ex-lovers back. But there is a way to more objectively understand the history of what was, of who we were and are.

Sappho, “Tomorrow you had better…”

Note: Apologies for the lack of posting. I’m going to try to post every other day, at least. I had forgotten that, whether I like it or not, I’m in the business of producing media.

“Tomorrow you had better…”

Sappho (tr. Mary Barnard)

Tomorrow you had better

Use your soft hands,
Dica, to tear off
dill shoots, to cap
your lovely curls

She who wears flowers
attracts the happy
Graces: they turn
back from a bare head

Comment:

A peculiar harshness attends the making of beauty. Dica, with her “soft hands” and “lovely curls,” probably possesses a pleasant mien already.

Yet a strong admonishment begins this fragment. Dica “had better” tear off dill shoots and wear them on her bare head. The motherly commands nothing less than pious force. If flowers are not worn, “the happy Graces” do not come. Dica, in the narrator’s eyes, is not beautiful enough. It is very easy in this translation to see why people fight with their parents over matters of tone. The gravest insults are only a few words away.

Still, even “mom” recognizes Dica’s natural beauty. Dill shoots, strictly speaking, are rather plain. If we are speaking of the flowers of fennel and thyme, those are very delicate, fine flowers. Dica is easily seen for who she is. The happy Graces do not want her to tremble in fear, but to rejoice in her being part of greater beauty. Perhaps they even see her as one of them.

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