poetry-- J Alfred Prufrock and scriptures

My daughter recently participated in the Poetry Out Loud contest--it's a recitation and not writing contest.

I don't know much about poetry. It is one thing I dread whenever I sub in an English class--that we are going to work on interpreting poetry. In my 6 years of subbing, it's happened twice...and I'm terrible at interpreting poetry.

I don't know the real definition of poetry, but to me it is the beautiful use of words--combining them in a way I wouldn't think of. Sometimes it's the word choice, sometimes the rhythm, and of course both those things together. And it's the feel you get when you hear or read the words.

I may not always understand it all, but sometimes you can get a feeling from the words whether you understand them or not. One of my favorite-I-don't-understand-it-all poems is The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. I was introduced to it my junior year at college by some friends who had memorized it for their AP English class. The pain and loneliness come through to me. There are certain phrased that I repeat to myself as situations come up. The one that I quote most often (when being left out or not getting what I want is the topic) is probably:

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each .
I do not think that they will sing to me.

And the next most used one by me, especially now that I am getting older is:

I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

I, the lover of science and math, have discovered that in poetry, I don't need everything to be clear. Nuances will do. At times.

I consider a lot of the scriptures as poetry. Oh, there is such beauty in scriptures. And I don't always understand those words, either, but I can get the feel of the message and the spirit it brings.

Just a few example from the scriptures--

Job 23:12 ...I have esteemed the words of his mouth more than my necessary food.

2 Nephi 26:25 Behold, doth he cry unto any, saying: Depart from me? Behold, I say unto you, Nay; but he saith: Come unto me all ye ends of the earth, buy milk and honey, without money and without price.

Alma 5:26 ...if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?

1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Le us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question….
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin? .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.” .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

note taking at church

For some reason I've been feeling the desire to write and post lately, but of course that means I need a topic. Often I'll think of things while I'm driving, and then by the time I get home, it's gone. Today while sitting at church next to a friend I found a topic to write about (and I remembered it long enough to actually make a post about it).

I have a notebook that I use to take notes of the talks at church. As I was sitting next to my friend in Stake Conference today (and a different friend last night), I wondered what she thought. Did she think I was a bit of a fanatic? But there's a reason I take notes. My brain is a sieve.

It all started a few years ago. I realized that I would go to special church events like Know Your Religion (which program is no longer in existence) and Ed Week at BYU. I would pay money (nominal fee that it is, it's still costing me something) and then take notes because I wanted to learn. I had paid for that knowledge to come my way.

At regular church meetings I would listen and feel good about the meeting, but shortly after if you had asked me about the talks, I wouldn't be able to tell you the topics. I just knew that listening helped me-- let me feel the spirit, uplifted me. But was I actually soaking in any info? any doctrine?

Then I wondered if I should take notes at regular Sunday meetings, too. Didn't I think that worthy things were said in sacrament meeting, just as at Ed Week? I decided that there were plenty of wonderful things that the members shared, even if they weren't experts or professionals. I started taking notes.

Now, I rarely go back and study these notes. That's the next step in my journey. But for now, I know that if for no other benefits, taking notes helps me to focus and pay attention to what is being said. Also, the act of writing helps me to remember.

Once I had someone come to me and ask me for a copy of my notes from a few Sundays previous for a friend of hers that hadn't been able to attend. I thought it was nice that I could help her in that manner.

tangent:
I wish I could take notes during temple sessions! As it is, in order to help me pay attention during the sessions I either keep repeating everything that is said, I pretend to type it out on the keyboard in my head, or I spell it out in the sign language alphabet--though I am really slow at that so I usually just aim to form just the first letter of each word.

unimportant book reports

I'm feeling like Andy Rooney right now.

Do you know what bugs me about certain books? When they give a skewed image and lead me astray.

I've been reading a lot of the Lacy Steele mysteries on my kindle the last few days because I have a cold and so was in bed recuperating. On the whole, I liked what I was reading (not a single bad word or taking the Lord's name in vain), but one thing really got my goat.

The author, Vanessa Gray Bartal, MANY times mentioned that the main character, Lacy, was curvaceous.  Her sister and her mom kept giving her a hard time about the treats she ate. It kept mentioning her curves and it gave the impression, to me anyway, that Lacy--though not huge--was certainly not skinny and that she was a bit heavier than "average." Lacy tells herself that men don't like sticks.

Then in book 3 we find out that Lacy is a STINKIN SIZE 6! That's not even average. That's below average, right?

Maybe I took my previous experiences and read more into the words chosen to describe Lacy, but really--a size 6 should not be looked at as being next to overweight. I was picturing a size 10 or 12. Pathetic.

Something else I noticed while I was reading--the basic framework reminds me of Twilight.

There's a love triangle with Bella/Lacy, Edward/Jason, and Jacob/Tosh. (btw, Jason is a police officer and Tosh is a pastor)

Bella/Lacy moves back to a small town she used to live in even though she doesn't really want to be there and lives with a family member (father/grandmother).

Bella/Lacy has coordination problems and is always tripping and having accidents even when the floor seems level.

Bella/Lacy is named for her grandmother.

Edward/Jason is devastatingly good looking with nice muscles and is athletic. And the books keep mentioning over and over how good looking he is.

Jacob/Tosh is sort of rule benders and encourages Bella/Lacy to do things that Edward/Jason wouldn't think of as being safe.

Edward/Jason and Jacob/Tosh can barely say a civil word to each other.

At one point Bella/Lacy declare that she is Switzerland and is neutral territory.

At another point Bella/Lacy put her face up to the rain while Edward/Jason looks on.

When Edward/Jason thinks Bella/Lacy is in shock, he insists she drinks a soda.

Bella/Lacy tells Edward/Jason that men are cranky when they are hungry.

(spoiler) To resolve the love triangle so everyone is happy, Jacob winds up with Bella's daughter and Tosh winds up with Lacy's sister, so Jacob/Tosh becomes part of the family. Both situations are really hard to accept.

OK, since I'm writing about books, I will mention this. There are many things about Twilight I didn't like. Often fun is poked at the Twilight series, and I agree with many of the comments, though I feel sometimes the vitriol is a bit much and over done. They often make Bella a weak sounding character because she's barely functioning for a few months after Edward leaves. But she's not weak. She takes care of her semi-worthless parents and is willing to fight vampires and is willing to die to protect Edward.

There are two things that greatly bugged me about Twilight that I've never seen anyone else complain about and they are:

1-I hate the way the book makes it look like suicide is what you do when the one you love dies. Edward says he had to contemplate finding a way to kill his immortal self when he thought that Bella might be dead when James took her because he couldn't imagine living in a world where she didn't exist. Then later he does try to get himself killed when he thinks Bella is dead. I suppose it was supposed to show how much he loved her, that he couldn't go on without her, but I think it's awful to put that into the heads of the young adult audience the books were written for.

2-I hate the way the adults are portrayed. Most are not "normal" and are shown to be idiots or incompetents--starting with Bella's father and mother and especially the school teachers. I think Jacob's father Billy is the only adult portrayed as being responsible and capable. Edward teaches Bella how to lie to adults so that they believe you. The two talk in the back of the classroom and don't pay attention and when the teacher calls them on it, Edward can whip out notes or quote things making the teacher look like a fool for trying to have the students pay attention. It's like the adults are not worthy of respect.

Also, I wonder how many pregnancies this book led to as girls thought it was OK to sleep next to a guy night after night. Edward had control...even if Bella didn't. But how many teenagers in that situation would have control?

You know what I really liked about Twilight? The way they truly cared for one another. They gave the other the benefit of the doubt. They allowed the other to be who they were and didn't try to change them. They understood why the other was behaving how they were. They were willing to sacrifice for each other. They really wanted what was best for the other and weren't selfish. Yet, they didn't lose themselves. That's what drew me into their story--their compassion and understanding and their "allowing" when they didn't understand. I don't know how to explain it.

So the first book was good except for the adults are idiots theme. The second book, because of the death wish, was a bit off. The third book was iffy because of the she wanted to have sex thing and didn't believe in marriage, though Edward had the right idea. The fourth book had some really freaky parts--Edward was willing to share her with Jacob so she could have kids??? Like the suicide, I guess it was just to show how much he loved Bella, but yuck. Teens and pre-teens all over are reading this?