Dante’s Canto III of Inferno, which I will be teaching in the fall, poses unique challenges like most pre-modern literature beyond language and style.
I wondered what to bring to 21st-century students from this medieval epic poem which depicts a quite literal hell and its inhabitants. (I doubt that most students will believe in a literal hell since they did not, from an earlier poem’s discussion — Rich’s “Living in Sin” – believe in sin in a biblical sense.)
Canto III cantains the entry capstone’s ABANDON EVERY HOPE, YE THAT ENTER. Early on Virgil shows Dante the “woeful people who have lost the use of the intellect or reason.” What does that mean? Their further description:
. . . he led me in to the things that are hidden there. There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that at first it made me weep; strange tongues, horrible language, words of pain, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and with these the sound of hands, made a tumult which is whirling always through that air forever dark, as sand eddies in a whirlwind (vv. 16-30).
These are the denizens who are driven in tumultuous fervor of expression (note the language/speech/sound diction) but who lack any purpose and attain no goal. Ever. They lost their ability to think, reason, and then communicate sound reason. And they suffer their desultory fate.
And I looked and saw a whirling banner which ran so fast that it seemed as if it could never make a stand, and behind it came so long a train of people that I should never have believed death had undone so many (vv. 55-57).
Plus all this activity is done with speed as people frantically run after a banner (purpose) that never is established. Modern students will surely relate to a driven but unfulfilled world described so frequently in works with which they are familiar. (See Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” post.)
They should recognize the pitiable, relentless activity of those who have lost the use of their minds, the greatest use of which is the knowledge of truth. That, of course, is why the students are furthering their education.
Categories: English matters · Literature (not poetry) · Poetry essays/criticism
Tagged: Dante, literature, teaching
Learning Curves
Driving from the city through rural countryside
to teach literature and composition — “humanities 215″
is instructive:
unprepossessing vutures hover the highway
waiting to get at a fast-food dinner–
“What times are these?” they query, though with thanksgiving.
Small deer convening, quietly posed for a family photo,
wait for the still sister or mother
and inquire also – or maybe they know.
Roadkill is the special of the day– every day –
though with fewer casualties on the homeward route.
In the country, clouds are closer — really –
they loom relentlessly for miles — black and angry –
especially in the dead spot for cell reception –
a valley between hills of brown cattle all facing east.
A dead car there would throw a person
right into a game of chance –
On campus, I’m teaching Hamlet — again.
“To be or not to be . . .”
That is the only question, as always,
for small or large unremarkable rodentia
and drivers on freeways or backroads –
even if you don’t, Hamlet, do it yourself.
The correct answer: not to be.
While this is the poem I had today, I promised myself to write, sometime soon, something that shows nature in a positive light. That’s harder, I think, for most poets. A good thesis might involve poets, say Frost and Dickinson, and how frequently they portray nature as friendly or dark. They do both. Ultimately, it’s more uplifting to see only the good, but it’s not necessarily more instructive. Consider George Herbert’s “Church Monuments,” wherein the speaker addresses the body regarding preparing to die.
Richard Everhart’s “The Groundhog” displays a similar theme as mine, though he’s a frequently anthologized pro. (scroll to the one with Eberhart’s name.) It reminds me of Shelley’s “Ozymandias.” And there is a little pathetic fallacy in Frost’s “Bereft” as nature finds out that the speaker is bereft and alone.
Categories: Poetry essays/criticism · Writing/Blogging
Billy Collins writes about what his own and others’ memorial statues might look like. The speaker in “Statues in the Park” views an “equestrian” statue and thinks of someone who taught him the symbolism of such works: a horse rearing up, two legs raised meant that the rider had died in battle and so on.
From there his thoughts wander to the more common sort who live ignoble or seemingly featureless lives of pain or grief, unremarkable uses for replication in statues in parks. Naturally he thinks of his own statue — himself on his knees, eyes uplifted in prayer, simply begging for another day.
Collins’s 2005 collection The Trouble with Poetry is a fitting read for April (National Poetry Month) since Collins has done so much for the repopularization of poetry. When he served as American Poet Laureate in 2001, he began the Poetry 180 project, which engaged students and others in a hip, thoughtful website which archives his work and the work of other poets, mainly comtemporary.
Take a look at the table of contents of all 180 poems on this Library of Congress sponsored site for some time well spent with some gifted, but less (or never) frequently anthologized poets. And you might enjoy seeing and hearing Billy Collins read “Litany” on You Tube along with a bit of commentary. Search around for other readings. Charming.
Categories: English matters · Poetry essays/criticism
Tagged: April, Billy Collins, Litany, national poetry month, poems, poetry
Slate is running a video ad for the Barbie Doll. I had the ones on the first page. Still do. My daughter still has hers, I believe, though the pink plastic vans and picnic tables and motorcycles went the way of the secret yard sale.
We played girl games, forged our fashion insight, and pretended to be adults with our adult character dolls — a new thing for the times. And though she is often maligned by feminists for the unrealistic, intimidating role model she presents, Barbie has not lost her appeal whether she’s Nurse Barbie or Soccer Barbie.
The ad makes the case that Barbie has been, if little else, adaptable. Time offers a more detailed, if less edgy, survey of Barbiedom. Enjpy the ride through history.
Troy Patterson writes about Ken in “Boy Toy.” I had the Ken doll, too, but he disappeared.
Categories: Uncategorized
Slate’s David Plotz read every word of the Bible and lived to write about it in Good Book: The Bizarre, Hilarious, Disturbing, Marvelous, and Inspiring Things I Learned When I Read Every Single Word of the Bible,
He tells about how fascinating are the stories, the etymologies (shibboleth), the frequently used allusions. And how cruel the slayings, judgments, and punishments.
Plotz says he began the reading project as an unconcerned agnostic and ended as an angry agnostic. The Bible, it seems, turned him further against God. Yet he admits the value of such a study and wonders why, given the Bible’s significance, more of it isn’t required reading in college and high school.
We know the answer to that.
Who reads the Bible today? We might “cherry pick” our favorite texts or the easier reads. Or we have determined which parts are just “in there” but not particularly relevant or were cultural manifestations and not applicable. In previous centuries in the West, a working knowledge of the Bible was a given. Today, in teaching, the many biblical allusions are lost on most students. And I’m talking S0lomon-level references.
So ket us hear the end of the matter. The Bible is for many The Word of God. For others, like Plotz, an interesting and important text. Others don’t have a position on it any more than they do on The Grapes of Wrath: it doesn’t figure into anything.
http://www.slate.com/id/2212616/pagenum/all/#p2
Categories: Book reviews · English matters · Literature (not poetry)
Tagged: Bible, books, David Plotz, reading, Slate
Who owns your books?
July 21, 2009 · 3 Comments
Is anyone else appalled byAmazon’s electronic retrieval and removal of customers’ Kindle ebook purchases? I own yellowed, paperback copies of the texts in questions: Animal Farm, 1984, and Atlas Shrugged. Talk about irony. I didn’t have to sign an agreement statement when I made my purchases. With electronic texts, apparently the retail company views its texts as a “service.” (Read about how Apple checks IPhone applications. )
The bookselling giant had its reasons. Well enough. But those of us who have indeed read Orwell and Rand smell a e-rat or at least yet another potential means for invasion of liberty, monitoring of reading material being a telling starting point with totalitarian regimes.
Here’s the article from Slate, where you can also find a link to info. on the book by Harvard law professor, Jonathan Zittrain, The Future of the Internet and How to Stop It.
→ 3 CommentsCategories: English matters · Social commentary
Tagged: Amazon, censorship, Kindle, literature, reading, Slate, technology