Arnold Dino

So this was from last week but I promised I make a picture of it, since being the smart-ass has become my job. Sorry Krys ;)

AAAAAARRRRHHHHH!

Oh my god guys! I made the most amazing discovery! Well, not really, but the coolest one in a long time. Wait for it: THERE IS A FREE ONLINE BOOKSTORE CALLED BARTLEBY.COM!!!!!!!!!!!!! http://www.bartleby.com/sv/welcome.html

The Learned

In Dante's Inferno, the first circle of Hell is an uneasy state of Limbo, for the "Virtuous Pagans" (Ciardi 25). The sinners there are not so much punished as they are continuing. They remain in the same state of uncertainty and incompleteness as when they were living: forever longing for the truth and never able to experience it. This absence of punishment suits their crime: absence of faith. They lived well and did not blaspheme against God (they are not called "virtuous" for no reason), but nor did they have faith, so they are unfulfilled. Dante writes, and Ciardi translates:

"and so they did not worship God's Trinity/in fullest duty. I am one of these./For such defects are we lost, though spared the fire/and suffering Hell in one affliction only:/ that without hope we live on in desire" (Ciardi, 28).

Basically, it is the circle of the philosophers and ancient Greek poets. Homer is there, and Virgil (who is the speaker of the above passage), and last but not least, the subject of Dante's man-crush, Aristotle. All of those wise men who spent their lives in thought and never believed in anything greater than what they could prove.

Eden Phillpotts makes a similar point in his (much smaller) poem, "The Learned." His succinct poem of eight lines draws for us the picture of wise, old men-- "grey beards wag, the bald heads nod" (Phillpotts 1058)-- lounging about discussing science and philosophy-- "To talk electrons, gases, God." These men obviously think much of themselves (note how they "nod" so reassuringly at their own talk). However, the turn that comes in the last two lines of the poem dismantles their image as oh-so-wise and learned, and draws them into the world of Dante's: specifically, into the first circle. Each 'learned' man:

" Holds up his little crumb of crust/ And cries, 'Behold the loaf!'"

Each man sees his bit of knowledge and thinks that what he holds is the answer, but man's knowledge can only take him so far. The rest of the loaf is out there, unknowable, and when we limit ourselves to our own understanding and refuse to acknowledge what is unknowable, we will reside in a state of eternal longing for what our crumb came from.
      

Casabianca (Both of them)

            May I just say that I am very glad that no one has written a blog on either of these poems because I believe there is a perfect comparison that needs to be made. The first poem with the title of Casabianca by Felicia Dorothea Hemans is a beautiful retelling of how a young boy’s life came to a tragic end on the Orient as it was consumed with flames. I did a little research about the ship and the incident. It turns out that the Orient was French navel fleets flagship, responsible for leading the navy into Egypt. Quickly it become obvious that the Orient was the British army’s main target and was promptly attacked as soon as it hit the Nile. Most of the men aboard abandoned ship “The boy stood on the burning deck whence all but he had fled” (line 1-2); but the boy stayed on the deck with his father, Luc-Julien-Joseph Casabianca, the captain. The poem potrays the boy asking if he can leave but is unaware that his father is unconscious or possible dead, we of course have no way of knowing this. In the end, all hope is lost as are the two saliors. My favorite lines from this poem would have to be “They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And stream’d about the gallant child, Like banners in the sky” (lines 29-32). The imagery is beautiful as is the use of simalies and metaphors.

            Now let’s move on to the next Casabianca poem by Elisabeth Bishop written more than a hundred years later. I loved this poem; for me it came across as more of a peom. Unlike Hemans’ poem, this one had more of a creative license and flowed more smoothly. It wasn’t a retelling of a story as much but a piece about love and loyalty. In this poem, the boy does not leave the ship because of respect for the ship or his father (though his father is not mentioned in this one, on historical context, I’m going with it) instead of simply being unsure of what to do. I enjoyed this poem more than the first one, but both were great. My favorite lines from this piece would have to be “Love’s the obstinate boy, the ship, even the swimming sailors, who would like a schoolroom platform, too, or an excuse to say on deck. And love’s the burning boy” (lines 6-10). I liked that there were two poems on the same topic... it made for a good read. Oh and here's a link to a picture of the incident: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aboukir.jpg

Oh look, another blog.

I stumbled upon another poetry blog earlier, though I'm not sure if it was the one we were talking about a few weeks ago. It fits the description though. Kinda. It's really unorganized and confusing.

http://papadopuluapenglish.blogspot.com/

Ours is so much better. :I

*slinks back to doing homework*

Epitaph on Elizabeth, L.H. Ben Johnson

I liked this poem even though it was a little depressing. What I got out of this poem was that someone (the poet?) is asking the reader to stay and hear this sad story in mind. A story of a woman named Elizabeth who had died. There isn't any indication as to how she died, but it should be an obvious assumption after the line, " Underneath this stone doth lie..." because the poet or some man or even woman is simply saying here lies so and so pretty much. So basically, here lies a beautiful woman named Elizabeth who i'm assuming didn't have any faults? That maybe she was a very respected woman who was kind? Then again I wasn't too sure because it says, " If at all she had a fault, leave it buried in this vault." Which also brings me to the conclusion that maybe she had herself a  good share of mistakes and that all was forgiven and buried in her coffin along with her. I really wish I knew exactly who this Elizabeth was because at first I thought this poem was about the death of someone important like Elizabeth Taylor. Then I looked at the date that this poem was written and realized it that that would be impossible. After that I thought maybe Queen Elizabeth was who he was talking about. I was curious so I looked up what year Queen Elizabeth died and it said she died in the year of 1603. So maybe this was a farewell to the queen? I was never truly sure. I liked the language of this poem, and as I read on I pictured this person standing beside a grave that was fantastic (assuming dead important person) with intricate carvings and detail; saying a heart felt goodbye maybe at a funeral, maybe not. That is what it seemed like, though. I've got a little bit of a knack for enjoying sad poetry, so that's probably why I like this one so much. But it wasn't just the sadness that made me like it, but the imagery and overall language, too. I thought it went together nicely even though there was rhyming involved.                

On being brought from Africa to America

                This is an entirely new perspective. This view, of being brought to America as being merciful and good, had never crossed my mind. Not that I thought everyone that was brought to America didn’t want to come, but I never thought they would have viewed it as good in any way. The poem was written in 1773 and the slave trade, which was a horrible thing, wasn’t over and slavery wasn’t over either. So it just surprised me that it wasn’t written about how it was horrible or how they would have to fight to survive and gain rights or the grotesque images of the times. It was just very calm, and almost even concerned for themselves in a way. The way Phillis puts it as, “Remember, Christians, Negroes,” and it came off as if a mother were reminding their child. It was odd. It’s not even angry when it briefly mentions the insults and abuse, “Their colour is a diabolic die.” Then, the poem almost agrees with that statement when it says “black as Cain, May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.” I don’t think that Phillis agrees that they are of a diabolic die, but that they are really ignorant about God. Spirituallity was one of the most important things back then. It is so weird to think that something that was so wrong could have a good outcome to someone else. Whenever I think of like American ministers that would try to civilize those from other countries, I always just assumed it was annoying to those they tried to civilize because it was like they were taking away the only thing they had left, their culture. I would have never thought that some were glad they came to America. Overall, it was just a completely new thought and took me by surprise.