31 January 2007
510: Dream text
The details of the dream are fuzzy; I can't remember most of it, but some things definitely stand out. I am in Michigan with Nathan, my family, and some of the Henley family. I am playing with a blond-haired, blue-eyed baby. I suddenly realize that the baby is me. I continue to play with the baby and observing its behavior, trying to understand how I went from that to what I am now.
30 January 2007
510: Displaced fairy tale
It wasn’t until Kathy’s foot spilled out of her shoe that she discovered the broken strap. Cursing at her new Manolo Blahniks, Kathy hopped over to a nearby bench to assess the damage. It wasn’t until his shadow blocked out the sun that she realized a man had stopped in front of her. Knowing the danger of acknowledging another human being in Central Park, Kathy hesitantly looked up.
“I see you’ve broken your shoe,” said the short, stout man in a very bland woolen coat.
Knowing that under normal circumstances she would never speak to such a frumpy person in public, she attempted to brush his presence off.
“It’s not big deal. I have a hundred pairs at home,” Kathy said, not making eye contact in hopes he would leave.
“They look expensive,” the man pressed.
“They are. But like I said, I have more at home,” Kathy sneered.
Undeterred, the man remained.
“You’re in luck. I used to repair shoes.”
Her interest slightly peaked, Kathy looked up and inquired on the cost. To her dismay, the man’s only request was to hang out the following Sunday.
Kathy paused and pondered. The thought of spending a whole day with the man frankly made her stomach turn. But it was Sunday, and her usual shoe-repair shop was not open, so Kathy agreed to the man’s conditions.
After the man finished sewing the loose strap, Kathy quickly slipped the shoe back on and walked away. The man called after her, reminding her that she had failed to give him her phone number, but Kathy kept walking and did not look back.
That Sunday, the encounter with the man was forgotten. As she ate breakfast with her father, however, the doorbell rang. A minute later, the maid appeared and told Kathy a man was there to see her.
When Kathy reached the door and saw the stranger from the park at her door, she quickly shut the door without saying a word. Kathy returned to the table. Unfortunately for her, her father was in an inquisitive mood.
“Who was that, dear?” asked the old man.
“Oh, nobody,” said Kathy. “Just some guy who fixed my shoe last week and actually thought I would hang out with him.”
“Did you tell him you would?” asked her father.
“Well, I kind of implied that I would,” said Kathy, “but he couldn’t think that a girl like me would actually hang out with a complete stranger. Especially one who repairs shoes.”
Upon hearing this, Kathy’s father rose and walked toward the foyer. When he returned, he was followed by the stranger from the park, who introduced himself as Doug. Kathy cursed to herself; she had forgotten how her father felt about promises. Her father and Doug talked throughout breakfast while Kathy pushed her eggs around her plate.
After the maid had cleared the plates, Kathy attempted to dart from the room. Before she could reach the door, however, Doug asked if she would join him for a matinee and some coffee. As Kathy began to make an excuse, her father told Doug that Kathy had no plans and could certainly join him. Seeing no way out, she conceded.
After the film, Kathy led Doug to an obscure coffee shop where none of her friends would see them. As Kathy sipped her skinny café mocha, Doug started to talk. Curiously enough, as Doug relayed his life story, Kathy became intrigued. It turned out that Doug’s parents were killed in a car accident when he was small, forcing his older sister to raise him and his brother. Unfortunately, his sister ended up squandering most of the parents’ money on some business scam, and he and his siblings were basically homeless. Luckily, Doug won a scholarship to college and had gotten himself and his sister and brother out of the streets.
Upon hearing his story, Kathy began to regret how she had treated him. When Doug dropped Kathy off at her townhouse, she felt the inevitable question approaching. Surprisingly, when Doug asked Kathy if she would have dinner with him, she accepted. As the two made dinner plans for the following Saturday night, Kathy couldn’t help but think how silly she had been for brushing off a man who knew how to fix a pair of Manolo Blahniks.
Can you figure it out??
“I see you’ve broken your shoe,” said the short, stout man in a very bland woolen coat.
Knowing that under normal circumstances she would never speak to such a frumpy person in public, she attempted to brush his presence off.
“It’s not big deal. I have a hundred pairs at home,” Kathy said, not making eye contact in hopes he would leave.
“They look expensive,” the man pressed.
“They are. But like I said, I have more at home,” Kathy sneered.
Undeterred, the man remained.
“You’re in luck. I used to repair shoes.”
Her interest slightly peaked, Kathy looked up and inquired on the cost. To her dismay, the man’s only request was to hang out the following Sunday.
Kathy paused and pondered. The thought of spending a whole day with the man frankly made her stomach turn. But it was Sunday, and her usual shoe-repair shop was not open, so Kathy agreed to the man’s conditions.
After the man finished sewing the loose strap, Kathy quickly slipped the shoe back on and walked away. The man called after her, reminding her that she had failed to give him her phone number, but Kathy kept walking and did not look back.
That Sunday, the encounter with the man was forgotten. As she ate breakfast with her father, however, the doorbell rang. A minute later, the maid appeared and told Kathy a man was there to see her.
When Kathy reached the door and saw the stranger from the park at her door, she quickly shut the door without saying a word. Kathy returned to the table. Unfortunately for her, her father was in an inquisitive mood.
“Who was that, dear?” asked the old man.
“Oh, nobody,” said Kathy. “Just some guy who fixed my shoe last week and actually thought I would hang out with him.”
“Did you tell him you would?” asked her father.
“Well, I kind of implied that I would,” said Kathy, “but he couldn’t think that a girl like me would actually hang out with a complete stranger. Especially one who repairs shoes.”
Upon hearing this, Kathy’s father rose and walked toward the foyer. When he returned, he was followed by the stranger from the park, who introduced himself as Doug. Kathy cursed to herself; she had forgotten how her father felt about promises. Her father and Doug talked throughout breakfast while Kathy pushed her eggs around her plate.
After the maid had cleared the plates, Kathy attempted to dart from the room. Before she could reach the door, however, Doug asked if she would join him for a matinee and some coffee. As Kathy began to make an excuse, her father told Doug that Kathy had no plans and could certainly join him. Seeing no way out, she conceded.
After the film, Kathy led Doug to an obscure coffee shop where none of her friends would see them. As Kathy sipped her skinny café mocha, Doug started to talk. Curiously enough, as Doug relayed his life story, Kathy became intrigued. It turned out that Doug’s parents were killed in a car accident when he was small, forcing his older sister to raise him and his brother. Unfortunately, his sister ended up squandering most of the parents’ money on some business scam, and he and his siblings were basically homeless. Luckily, Doug won a scholarship to college and had gotten himself and his sister and brother out of the streets.
Upon hearing his story, Kathy began to regret how she had treated him. When Doug dropped Kathy off at her townhouse, she felt the inevitable question approaching. Surprisingly, when Doug asked Kathy if she would have dinner with him, she accepted. As the two made dinner plans for the following Saturday night, Kathy couldn’t help but think how silly she had been for brushing off a man who knew how to fix a pair of Manolo Blahniks.
Can you figure it out??
510: Dream text
In the dream, I am supposed to be at the house of my best friend/cousin Christine and her husband Chuck's, although it is not the house they live in. Their two younger sons are playing on the floor. Christian looks his current age of three and a half, but although Chuckie is almost two, he looks like he did when he was one. Christian walks up to Chuckie and pushes him over. Chuckie falls over backward and immediately sits back up and starts to cry. Between sobs, however, Chuckie begans talking smoothly and effortlessly, much like an adult. He vents his frustration about being being the youngest and being too small to fight back against his bigger brother. He continues to wail like a baby but talk like an adult for the rest of the dream.
This dream really stuck out to me. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to analyze my dreams in a Freudian way in this blog, but I will.
The different house is significant, because Christine has been talking for about a year about trying to move out of their current house (which is much too small for three boys and the grandparents that live with them). Other things that stick out to me is the relationship between Christian and Chuckie in the dream seems to be reversed. In reality, Chuckie is more apt to push Christian around despite the fact that he is younger and smaller. Christian is also more likely to cry about being pushed around. Chuckie is not prone to crying much and he is also not a big talker. I seemed to reverse Chuckie in several ways: he is younger and talks more than he does now.
This dream really stuck out to me. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to analyze my dreams in a Freudian way in this blog, but I will.
The different house is significant, because Christine has been talking for about a year about trying to move out of their current house (which is much too small for three boys and the grandparents that live with them). Other things that stick out to me is the relationship between Christian and Chuckie in the dream seems to be reversed. In reality, Chuckie is more apt to push Christian around despite the fact that he is younger and smaller. Christian is also more likely to cry about being pushed around. Chuckie is not prone to crying much and he is also not a big talker. I seemed to reverse Chuckie in several ways: he is younger and talks more than he does now.
28 January 2007
550: Thoughts on Billy Collins
After feeling as though poetry is dead to most Americans, it was refreshing to read Billy Collins, not only because he was a contemporary poet, but also because I felt as though his poetry has the ability to transcend into something that people would actually read and not write off as inaccessible poetry. Needless to say, I liked his stuff.
The first thing that struck me about Collins was the humor. In the first poem I read in the book Picnic, Lightning, “A Portrait of the Reader with a Bowl of Cereal.” Directly after the title, Collins included a quote from Yeats: “A poet … never speaks directly as to someone at the breakfast table.” Collins then proceeds to write a poem about him talking to somebody at the breakfast table. This somebody was not in the poem; instead, this somebody appeared to be the reader. This technique put the reader in what seems to be a fairly awkward situation. The poem was very personal, so it was like having a stranger saying things to the reader that would normally only be uttered to a close acquaintance.
On top of bring the reader into the poem, Collins allows his reader inside his head. In the poem “Fishing on the Susquehanna in July,” Collins seems to be just thinking out loud, giving the reader an insight into his thoughts. Collins does this again in “I Chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey’s Version of ‘Three Blind Mice.’” This is similar to stream of consciousness writing where the reader can visualize exactly how and why the author came to their conclusion. Once again, it was very personal.
One thing I noticed was how Collins used specific details in his poems where some people would have generalized. For example, in the previously stated fishing poem, he could have just used the word river but instead opted for Susquehanna. Once again, Collins uses the specific when he wrote “Journal:” “a snippet of Catullus, a snippet of Camus, a tiny eulogy for the evening anodyne of gin.” Although what Collins wrote about may or may not be true, the details really added to the poems.
Moving into the second section of poems, these poems seemed to be more about his surroundings and the landscape. He retained some of his humor, although it was not as “in your face” as some of his previous poems. Once again, Collins used a lot of detail, allowing the reader into his head once more. One image he created that really stuck with me was in the poem “Splitting Wood” when he correlated an axed piece of wood to “two lovers, once secretly bound, might stand revealed, more naked than ever.”
I also found it interesting when Collins seems to attempt to replicate formats of poems when poetry was bound to a specific form. For example, in “Paradelle for Susan,” Collins uses the French paradelle format (which seems more complicated than it is worth). Now, I may be wrong due to my lack of knowledge about the paradelle, but it seems as though he was also poking fun at the form when he ended stanzas with “the” and “to.” I’m not sure if that is how some paradelles are, but it seemed to me that it may have been Collins’s humor rearing its head once more.
I think Collins was a great poet to start the class off with, because he was first and foremost accessible to people who have been out of the poetry world or have never entered the contemporary poetry world. I will end this paper with my favorite Collins ending: “’Pardon the egg salad stains, but I’m in love.’”
The first thing that struck me about Collins was the humor. In the first poem I read in the book Picnic, Lightning, “A Portrait of the Reader with a Bowl of Cereal.” Directly after the title, Collins included a quote from Yeats: “A poet … never speaks directly as to someone at the breakfast table.” Collins then proceeds to write a poem about him talking to somebody at the breakfast table. This somebody was not in the poem; instead, this somebody appeared to be the reader. This technique put the reader in what seems to be a fairly awkward situation. The poem was very personal, so it was like having a stranger saying things to the reader that would normally only be uttered to a close acquaintance.
On top of bring the reader into the poem, Collins allows his reader inside his head. In the poem “Fishing on the Susquehanna in July,” Collins seems to be just thinking out loud, giving the reader an insight into his thoughts. Collins does this again in “I Chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey’s Version of ‘Three Blind Mice.’” This is similar to stream of consciousness writing where the reader can visualize exactly how and why the author came to their conclusion. Once again, it was very personal.
One thing I noticed was how Collins used specific details in his poems where some people would have generalized. For example, in the previously stated fishing poem, he could have just used the word river but instead opted for Susquehanna. Once again, Collins uses the specific when he wrote “Journal:” “a snippet of Catullus, a snippet of Camus, a tiny eulogy for the evening anodyne of gin.” Although what Collins wrote about may or may not be true, the details really added to the poems.
Moving into the second section of poems, these poems seemed to be more about his surroundings and the landscape. He retained some of his humor, although it was not as “in your face” as some of his previous poems. Once again, Collins used a lot of detail, allowing the reader into his head once more. One image he created that really stuck with me was in the poem “Splitting Wood” when he correlated an axed piece of wood to “two lovers, once secretly bound, might stand revealed, more naked than ever.”
I also found it interesting when Collins seems to attempt to replicate formats of poems when poetry was bound to a specific form. For example, in “Paradelle for Susan,” Collins uses the French paradelle format (which seems more complicated than it is worth). Now, I may be wrong due to my lack of knowledge about the paradelle, but it seems as though he was also poking fun at the form when he ended stanzas with “the” and “to.” I’m not sure if that is how some paradelles are, but it seemed to me that it may have been Collins’s humor rearing its head once more.
I think Collins was a great poet to start the class off with, because he was first and foremost accessible to people who have been out of the poetry world or have never entered the contemporary poetry world. I will end this paper with my favorite Collins ending: “’Pardon the egg salad stains, but I’m in love.’”
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