Not the End

This has been very enjoyable for me, this wonderful thing called Literature!  I’ve been challenged with great poems and short stories covering a wide range of authors from a wide time frame.  The demand on ones mind is the challenging part.  You read a piece and it either brings your imagination to life or puts you to sleep (Yes, I had to re-read a few things because I fell asleep in the middle of reading).  But the readings that sparked my imagination will stay with me for a long time, hopefully forever and I’m sure I’ll re-read some things just because I enjoyed them so much.  For example, that darn Yellow Wallpaper still haunts me.  A couple of weeks ago I was visiting my daughter in the hospital, (Another Grandson for Me).  And I stopped in the hall way and was taking out my phone to take a picture of the wall paper on the wall because it was pale yellow and had a design on it with swirled lines.  My husband stopped me and gave me that ‘Are you serious!’ look on his face.  I put my phone away. 

Believe it or not this was the first time I ever read The Great Gatsby, and I never seen the movie, not the Redford or DiCaprio version.  I don’t think I want to yet, I have a vision of Gatsby in my mind and neither one of them meet up to my mental version.   

The same is true of A Street Car Named Desire, I haven't seen the movie.  Although I love Brando and he meets every vision I might have of Stanley.  That is one movie I may have to watch.  Well I will keep on reading and adding future comments.  The class may be ending but I have just begun!

A lonely End!

The final chapter of The Great Gatsby left me feeling alone.  It made me take a moment to look into myself a little and those around me.  Do I embrace those around me and let them know the importance of them in my life?  I like to think I do.  No, I do not want to imagine my funeral and do a head count of those who might come to give me a farewell prayer.  But in life while I'm still here, I want to know that I've touched loved ones, friends, co-workers and even strangers in some positive way.  Small things like holding a door open, giving some extra change to someone or even a simple "Good Morning" to someone passing you by says a lot about a person.  I know it gives me a good feeling inside when I greet a person on the street and they respond with smile.  This good feeling has more value than any material thing.   

Note about the Secret Gatsby

The beginning of The Great Gatsby was, in my opinion, the most meaningful part.  I enjoyed the mystery of the character.  The image of Gatsby was presented as a man with unimaginable wealth and full of life.  You got the feeling that he had it all , whatever all was, and everyone around him wanted what he had.  The hidden image of what Gatsby was really fighting for all his adult life was a bit shocking.  The personification of him fell into a hundred pieces on the floor once he was brought to the forefront in the story.  The mystery around him was more attractive and inviting than the actual true man. 

Bringing the Words to life

I shared this in one of the class discussion boards and thought it would also be a nice item to mention here as well.  While I was looking for some background information on one of the poets, namely Edna St. Vincent Millay, I came across a Youtube video of Ms. Millay reading one of her poems. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=NawJavK7Lu8)  This is a reading of "Love is not all", no video it's just the audio of her reading with a slideshow of images.  Listening to her read somehow brought life into the poem. She read her poem with passion and strong emphasis on words in what seemed to be all the right places. 

Small Reflection

These past couple of weeks have been filled with some very interesting and some confusing poems.  I must say that it is amazing how a writer's mind must click.  They almost make it seem effortless although I'm sure its not.  I'm a mother, grandmother and wife, in that order my husband would say.  And the only words I can put ownership to are the lullabies I made up to sing to my children when they were very young.  These songs mean the world to me especially when I hear my daughters singing those same songs to their children. This I think of because that same gratifying feeling I have inside knowing I've left a song to be enjoyed and shared must be quite similar to the gratification these poets must have, in some way.  I'm not trying to say my homemade tunes are in any way comparable but there is something wonderful in knowing that my words carry on, much as do the words of these published poets. 

Right or Wrong?

     It has become quite astonishing to me when reading poems from poets like Carl Sandburg  (“Fog” or “Grass”) and William Carlos Williams (“This is Just to Say” or “The Red Wheelbarrow”) that so few words can hold so much meaning.  Meanings which can be left up to the reader to interpret any way one feels.  Is there a right or wrong interpretation?  
     Perhaps there is from the grading standpoint in a classroom setting.  But for the everyday reader, I don’t believe so.  To be able to take someone’s words and dissect those into smaller pieces to find the deeper meaning can be challenging to anyone.  And right or wrong, so long as you have taken that time to look for the deeper meaning is the most fulfilling feeling one can have.   I wonder what it would have been like to be there watching these poets create these insightful pieces, was it easy, did they struggle or did it simple flow from their thoughts, to their pens and onto the paper. 

A Favorite Reading

 Have you ever had a reading stick in your head, I have, “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman written in 1892, http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/Charlotte_Perkins_Gilman/The_Yellow_Wallpaper/The_Yellow_Wallpaper_p1.html. So far this story has remained ever so vivid in my mind that the simple site of my old fading yellow birdcage brings me back to thoughts of the main character, who is a woman trying to free herself from a mental illness which is not being addressed properly by her physician husband.  

 As I read this story, I grew fond of this character and felt a bit angry over the restrictions placed upon her.  She was confined to a room with yellow wallpaper, restricted from working and actually had to hide her journal from her husband John who would not approve.  Throughout the story she is fixated on the wallpaper in the room she is confined in and becomes more and more out of touch with the world.  I never found the woman’s name said right out, although, one indication  may be in the quote "I've got out at last," said I, "in spite of you and Jane.”  This leads me to believe the narrator is speaking of herself in the third person and feels that she has somehow escaped from herself.  Considering the year it’s written, I wonder if it struck a lot of people the wrong way.  I know I felt anger and compassion at the same time reading this story.

It will remain one of my favorites.