Spell Robert Lowell using only the letters P., T., S., and D.

From everything I have garnered from Robert Lowell, it seems very likely that he suffered/suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Accordingly to psychology, Lowell exhbits multiple symtoms which would be indicative of this diagnosis and some of these symptoms include:

avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma, such as certain thoughts or feelings, or talking about the event(s);

-This symptom can be seen in the poem Home After Three Months Away with specific reference to the shaving razor that Lowell describes in the poem.  He writes:

[my daughter][...]
floats my shaving brush
and washcloth in the flush...
Dearest I cannot loiter here
in lather like a polar bear.

Lowell makes this reference in relation to his former poem Waiting In the Blue in which he builds up his poem to the final line:
each of us holds a locked razor.

Whatever trauma Lowell was experiencing, it caused him to check himself into the psychiatric hospital and every time he sees a razor he is reminded of the time he spent there and the reasons and events which drove him there.  So to avoid associating with these memories of grief or guilt or whatever else it may be, Lowell avoids contact with razor blades and furthermore, the actual act of shaving.

avoidance of behaviors, places, or people that might lead to distressing memories;

-This, I will say is perhaps one of the most telling symptoms that I think Lowell exhibits.  Every time he makes reference to anyone, it is always through a side-channel or a kind of indirect relation.  He describes his mother by observing her belongings which inhabit her room.  He describes his granparents by describing the house they lived in and he describes his father through his career in the navy.  And he then uses this description to connect to his daughter, using the same description he uses to describe his father's naval uniform and using almost the exact same description to describe his daughter's apparel.  So in order to avoid reminiscing about his childhood, Lowell focuses on external objects (inanimate objects) rather than direct objects (his family).

inability to recall major parts of the trauma(s), or decreased involvement in significant life activities;

-This symptom can be seen in Lowell's poem "To Speak of Woe That is Marriage".  Within this poem, Lowell is self-critical in describing how he thinks his wife views their marriage, and through this assumed identity it can be seen that it is actually Lowell himself who is reflecting on his marriage.  He mentions that he often goes off for drives late at night and he makes reference to this tendency in his poem Skunk Hour, but with this poem it can be seen that Lowell seems to dissociate himself from others around him and his involvement with his marriage seems to take a seat on the backburner compared to the value and focus that Lowell places upon driving.  Even moreso, when the mention of sex comes up, Lowell describes his wife describing him as stalling above her like an elaphant.  This is worth noting because when elephants mate, the male elephant will go into a kind of check and act mode where he, in g-rated language, echolocates into sex.  He sends out a sign and if the sign is sent back to him he proceeds, however with Lowell there seems to be a definite lack of reciprocation on his part to his wife.  To me, I think he sends out a sign and it is given back, but he doesnt proceed.  I dunno, there just seems to be a serious lack of feeling or connection that Lowell exhibits towards his wife and, in other poems, towards his daughter.

an expectation that one's future will be somehow constrained in ways not normal to other people.

-This one is very recognizable and I'll go back to the poem Home After Three Months Away for evidence.  The lines in which Lowell describes his coffin-length of soil and the feeling that he is cured, frizzled, rank, and stale.  Almost as if Lowell is merely hanging out to dry now in his life, it is over.  He has had the succulent juices dried out of him and he hangs dangling from a hook in the hot afternoon sun

These are only a few symptoms of PTSD which I have found evidence of in Lowell's poetry.  There are many other symptoms that indicate PTSD, but regardless of diagnosis, Lowell felt a weight that was too heavy for him I think.  So in order to cope with this burden he fell back upon writing and used it as a kind of support system, because he obviously could not find it through anything that involved relation or familiarity.  Honestly, I think that the problem can be traced back to the fact that his father was an overbearing naval officer and his mother provided too much of a counter-measure to this.  One was too hard one was too soft so to say and Lowell was caught in the middle of two extremes.  In response to this, he picked neither, and honestly I dont think he could have sanely picked one side because that would have shifted the balance of power within the family unit.  Go with his father and his mother would feel slighted, go with his mother and his father would feel slighted.  So Lowell was most probably constantly pulled and torn between two states of extreme opposition until he just got too overwhelmed with it all.

I dunno, Lowell needed more hugs and cookies I think, and in a weird kind of way I feel bad for Lowell for having to deal with his problems the way he did...but at the same time I understand why I think.

Sucking Dandelions and Akwardly Sized Pants

Modesties:
Words as plain as hen-birds' wings
Do not lie.
Do not over-broider things -
Are too shy.

Thoughts that shuffle round like pence
Through each reign,
Wear down to their simplest sense,
Yet remain.

Weeds are not supposed to grow,
But by degrees
Some achieve a flower, although
No one sees.

So with this poem, I think its pretty clear that Phillip Larkin has a kind of tit for tat battle with himself.  He builds it but then ohp - nevermind.  He starts to go one w - nope.  He tries to reach a kind of happy medium - but then says f*** it.  Friggin A' man...seriously?

But with this poem, you can most definitely see the dualistic hell that Larkin imposes on himself and I really cannot say whether it is truly effective or simply annoying to no end, how Larkin of me.

He sets this poem up pretty good from the beginning with the first stanza being:

Words as plain as hen-birds' wings
Do not lie.
Do not over-broider things -
Are too shy.

Here, Larkin is saying that simple words are the source of truth.  Simple words do not muddle or misconstrue their meaning...it would honestly be pretty hard to misread the statement, "Those jeans make your butt look big", but on the other hand, if you were to say it like this, it might be a little more inviting to interpretation: "Those fashionably crafted pair of pants you have donned truly do not compliment your figure, and in fact they rather work to the opposite effect especially concerning the region just below your spinal column"  Cut down the language and you cut down the distance between two people.  Why make bridges any longer than they have to be?  Simple language does not attempt to be anything other than what it simply is...simple and true.  And yet, here comes the Larkin train...they are too shy...*smacks head*  Hu-wha?!? 

Is he trying to say that by using simple language you hide behind a surface level giving of opinion? Is it that Larkin believes simple language to be a scape goat or mask to hide the real truth behind?  Does simple language lack the manhood to go further than simplicity, because we are complex beings?

On the other hand, you could take that little spastic cliff-hanger to mean that indeed, yes, simple language lacks manhood, lacks confidence, lacks ego, or delusions of granduer.  By using simple language, we admit our connection with the other person because we are so enthralled by them that we are almost floored by their presence or that when we meet with one person, we cannot help but feel overwhelmed with feelings for them, kind of a butterly-in-the-stomach effect...I dunno, freakin Larkin...

But onto the second stanza:

Thoughts that shuffle round like pence
Through each reign,
Wear down to their simplest sense,
Yet remain.

Thoughts that shuffle round like pence.  Ok, so I know you cant see it, but I burst out laughing pretty loudly at this line.  Larkin...what a brit lol.  But he means to say thoughts that shuffle round like loose change I think and here he makes a connection to the thoughts and phrases which we muddle over our heads during the course of a conversation.  Should I say this?  Or maybe that?  Should I lie about her pants?  Should I simply avoid the question altogether? *insert question*, *insert question*, *insert question*.  And through each reign is referential (is that a real word) to each individual encounter we have.  He says eventually, after muddling and muddling, we are finally forced to give up and just speak simply.  Almost exhaustive in nature, the individual will just say "I really cant think anymore, my brain hurts" and so in desperation and exhaustion the truth is simply what remains, simple and short.

And then the kicker, the clencher, the fourth quarter clutch or klutz:
Weeds are not supposed to grow,
But by degrees
Some achieve a flower, although
No one sees.

Seriously, Mr. Wishy-Washy needs to stop with the flip-floppery here.  Weeds are not supposed to grow...To me, I understand this line to mean that sometimes when we widdle our thoughts down, they are not always the good truth, but rather the ugly truth.  You go over it and over in your head and your left with the thought, "No, I truly do not love you" whereas before it was,"Well I know we havent had that good of relationship lately but x, x, and x, so maybe..."...but sometimes the simple truth is not the thing which wants or needs to be heard.  And yet, some weeds grow a flower.  When you are finally left with the ugly truth, you can move on from there and blossom into something bigger and better.  And many times people do not see the ugly truth as something beautiful or beneficial, all they see is the loss of a relationship, "No, I no longer love you" and yet on the flip side, this relatioship has been stale for so long and finally reaching this realization breaks free that shackle of over-analysis that has kept you bound within the same rotting pile of manure which is your relationship...reaching the simple truth, stripped of overpowering thoughts that may mislead you, takes off the weight and silences the noise that is brought about by college-level word choicage and SAT Prep-thinking. 

BUT ALAS! LARKIN STRIKES AGAIN! WHOOSH!

Weeds are pretty much there to pee in the wheaties that would otherwise be a welcome bowl of fresh fields and sunshine.  They pretty much ruin the party and they are the vegetative equivalent of Nosferatu.  So taking the negative connotation of weeds and sticking with it, the ugly truth will eventually just get uglier and uglier.  A sprouting dandelion eventually turns into a full blown dandelion and you could equate the last stanza to a kind of Poe-ish approach to the sublime.  Once you see the ugly truth, everything becomes that much more uglier, and at the end of it all, all you see and consider is that disgusting head of dandelion, and not the weeks before-hand that it took for the dandelion to grow and to blossom.  You see the result and not the path taken to get there, so taking this kind of approach to the ending, reaching the ugly truth will hurt you in the long run because it will lead to other ugly truths and after a while you'll be so far down the ugly-truth road that you'll forget how you started on that road in the first place.

Larkin, you suck dandelions, I dont like your poetry.  There is a reason why America did not vote for John Kerry and likewise, I dont think I can vote for you. 

But you ran a good campaign, sir.
And yet...
I love your po-


No, just kidding.

Excuse me, could you spare some inspiration?

JANE FREILICHER
Early New York Evening
1954
oil on linen
51 1/2 x 31 3/4 inches

Ok, so this painting to me has a lot to say and there is a number of different directions that one could take in approaching it.

 

1) Dynamic Stasis -

 

In another one of my classes this semester, we are reading 20th century Spanish poetry and one of the ideas that we have covered is this idea of dynamic stasis.  To put it as simply as possible, the term means that a person can be stationary while in motion.  This term can be understood a little better if you consider the idea of laziness.  Laziness infers that a person is simply sitting in the same place, day in and day out, and not having the motivation or drive to do anything.  This relates to dynamic stasis, however with dynamic stasis, the person is exactly where they want to be, and all the efforts they are making stem from that one anchored position.  

So to connect this idea to the painting, the plant in the foreground is representative of nature, of a certain kind of peace and a sense of relaxation.  At the same time though, there is a stark contrast in the background, all lights, buildings, and smog.  What this painting says to me, is that the artist is trying to convey a sense of balance while living in New York.  There is so much going on in the city and its so easy to get caught up in the fast-paced, American-dreamed, taxi-cab screaming launch into space.  But the artists says, peace my brothers and sisters, peace.  She places the plant in front and the city in back to show that above all else, one must remember nature in all the chaos of the streets.  Be in dynamic stasis, she seems to say.  Always consider first everything that we have come to know about nature, beauty, and life; and then, once this has been done, cross the threshold of your front door and walk out your door.  Always be at peace with yourself and your surroundings and from this anchor or these roots go forth and flourish.  

 

2) Contrast

 

While you can link the two elements of the painting to find a common purpose, you can also make the argument that the artist feels that there is a lack of connecion and that the two agendas do not meet.  Freilicher doesnt use the color green to paint any of New York so therefore you can say that there is no nature in New York.  All of the colors that are used to paint the background are dark, smoggy, and a little dismal looking.  Although, she does save it a little by having lighter colors towards the bottom of the skyline so you could say that Freilicher doesnt see it so much as gloomy and depressing but rather perhaps containing the potential for life or imporvement to which she suggests the plant in the foreground. 

 

What this painting offers is (and I've only covered a couple) are numerous ways to approach, think, and reinterpret the idea of New York.  For me, the poetry that would come of seeing this painting would stress the lack of connection between New York and Mother Nature.  While at the same time it would stress the desire to unify the two, to fuse them into a single idea of dynamic stasis.

 

A flower sits in stalemate fashion,
Blinded by the light of passion.

Yet lo' to creep down roots and gutters

To pierce into a road that stutters

 

-kinda thing? lol i dunno

 

Burp, Ginsberg! Burp For Your Life!

So as I was reading Howl I couldnt help but think of that part in Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory where Charlie and Granpa Joe drink the Fizzy Lifting Drinks.  They start to fly up this shaft towards a fan and as they start to float its awesome for them...but as they start to getting to the ceiling they see the fan and they realize they are about to be chopped to bits because they cant stop.  This is the perfect comparison for me to make to Ginsberg's Howl.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8MVdoL27ZY

This is the best version of the scene I could find on Youtube...granted the two dont get chopped to bits in the original.

To me, this scene is exactly what Ginsberg is experiencing in Howl.  He finds this way of transcending the troubles and oppression that surround him and it isnt until he sees the fan at the top of the ceiling that he realizes that this is it.  Ginsberg is stuck holding himself against the ceiling while the fan is whirring just inches from his head.  And I absolutely love a comment someone made on this video clip too:

"Whos great idea was it to put a giant fan on the seiling of a room that makes you float and be unable to go down."

This is almost exactly what Ginsberg says in his poem when he questions what sort of person started all this?  What single man broke apart and found a seperate hell?  He sets up this dichotomy in the first section where he at once recognizes and refuses reality.  He makes references to the world in which he lives and in the next breath he almost laments these depictions. 

He starts off with fair observation.  This is what it is.  This is what I wish it was.  But in the second section he moves to downright refusal and denial of reality.  Moloch everything.  All the factors that have contributed to his situation are seen as negative and it starts to sound almost like a Jonathan Edwards sermon. To a certain extent I agree that reality kind of prevents us from achieving our own ends whatever they may be but at the same time it seems to me that Ginsberg is suggesting that there is absolutely nothing positive in reality.

He shifts towards the third section and here it seems that he kind of accepts his destiny.  He laments and sympathizes with Carl Solomon and basically cries over the fact that reality is the way it is.  The poem shifts from what I would call a fair analysis to downright short-sightedness back to acceptance and it is the end where I think Ginsberg finally reaches his "happy place"  even though everything around him is depressing and uninspiring, he keeps his own little cottage apart from it all and it is here where Carl finally crawls to.  Call it a sanctuary of sorts.  Yes, Ginsberg says, reality sucks.  But we have made this cottage apart from culture, apart from society, in which to seek refuge and to keep ourselves sane with.  He mentions the idea of writing as self-preserving in the end of the first stanza and I think this is the point he finally arrives at. 

It takes the occasion purging of emotions to maintain a status quo in Ginsberg's envinronment.  To simply sit there and take it every day would eventually end up with Ginsberg saying screw it and he would merrily and happily float up into the ceiling fan. 

Honestly though, I am reminded of The Joker from Batman as well when I read Ginsberg...when The Joker says, "I'm like a dog chasing cars, I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it, I just do"...I think this is very true for Ginsberg and the Bohemians.  If they did happen to stumble upon some ultimate truth I don’t think they would notice it.  They would see it, grasp it, and it would be gone. Their focus on higher truths…like, I’ve lost my phone a few times and I’ve tried finding it for hours sometimes…almost every time my phone was in my pocket…so I think Ginsberg and Co. are looking too hard for the truth when in reality its been there all along they’ve just been too preoccupied with finding it.  I would think it would be a safe connection to compare the Bohemians and the Transcendentalists though, because they are both interested in simply living.  There is no need for government intrusion or regulation.  Each man defines and embodies his own reality and everything that that man does in his life seeks to further validate that view or claim. 

What’s funny though, I guarantee, is if society was as Ginsberg desired, he would be crying for unity and order.  He would be hoping for someone to establish and define an existence in which people would be growing further and further away from each other. 

The thing that I dislike most about Howl is the fact that Ginsberg never seems to acknowledge reality.  Yes he observes it, but he never gives it the credibility that it deserves.  I am totally in agreement with Ginsberg because yes, society is exactly what Ginsberg portrays it to be.  But at the same time it is much more and the fact that Ginsberg does not recognize this detracts from the poem in my opinion. 

When Ginsberg finds himself perpetually floating up towards a ceiling and eventually towards a ceiling fan, I think that he has to remember to burp...and this is exactly what Howl is to me.  This is Ginsberg driving out into the middle of nowhere and letting lose a Howl of exhaustion, desperation, disgust, and frustration.  And everyone has their kind of personal Howl.  Some people vent frustration through cigarettes, through alcohol, through sex, through drugs, all different means to the same end...to remain sane in a seemingly insane world. 

However, with the lifestlye that Ginsberg chose, I believe that he made his own bed, and it is his destiny to lie in it.  You picked the poison.  You chose to go against the grain.  You chose to say no...What did you expect?  I mean it almost feels like talking to a brick wall when I want to say I told you so to Ginsberg. 

So yes, Ginsberg, keep your cottage, your safe house.  There is no difference between the cottage that Ginsberg depicts in regards to emotion and the mental institution that Ginsberg depicts with regards to reality.  Both are a form of admitted defeat.  The mental institution...is obvious.  And the cottage being set apart from the rest of civilization, not being able to co-exist with the rest of humanity. 

With regards to the scene from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Ginsberg has overdosed on fuzzy-lifting drinks with his chosen lifestyle and in order to keep himself from floating up into the fan of death he just has to keep burping.  So burp, Ginsberg, and keep burping, until you get all of it out of your system.  Float back down to the ground and catch up with the rest of the group.