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.

 

Beginnings

This is my first shot at creating and posting to a blog page.  Although this is a required task for my American Literature class, I'm rather excited about the process.  Tonight I finished up a paper on Edwin Arlington Robinson.  Never encountered his work before and found them quite interesting.  I've also read some of the works of Robert Frost and believe it or not I've never had the pleasure of encountering his works either.  Actually most of the required reading so far have been brand new to me (hence The Latecomer).  This is actually sad to me because I'm in the Fall of my life and wonder have I actually been that busy to have never taken time for the simple pleasure of reading works from authors such as these! Sad, very sad.