Bellavy’s Blog

The following lines from “Hills Like White Elephants”, though short and precise, ironically depict the pressure of the unforeseeable future for the couple:

He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

“I feel fine,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.”

Throughout the story, the woman seemed nervous and anxious, throwing out trivial statements that were not necessarily profound or deep. This could be her mechanism for easing her conscious/thoughts/worries that she knows lies ahead of her. Her remarks could be to mask her fears and lead her mind to other matters. It could also be a balance — the physical aspect of the whole situation versus creating a world that is carefree, “I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn’t that bright?” stated the girl.

Perhaps the hills resemble her situation — “The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.” — to the barmaid serving the American and the girl drinks, they appeared to be an ordinary couple visiting the country. She sees the exterior of the relationship and does not (and cannot) know what predicament they are in.

This story consists of a conversation between the two and small pauses in between where the characters take a break, a relief, perhaps, from the intense situation. The breaks could also be for the reader to reflect back on the situation, where the story line shifts to the hills for a moment, for example.

Going back to the barmaid, perhaps if she knew that the girl was pregnant with a child, she would not have served alcohol. It seemed as if she was hesitant as first, but served it. The fact that the man allowed the girl to drink is interesting, as alcohol could greatly affect a newborn child. The fact that he allowed it, could possibly mean he is not taking cautious measures to ensure the safety of her and the girl, which could imply how much he really wants to keep the child. The fact that he is drinking away his worries (he always says, let’s just enjoy our drink now) could also show his fears as well. The fact that he wants to put the decision on the girl as to whether or not she should have the surgery shows his willingness to take a stand.

All in all, the train is arriving and pushing forward, pushing them to face their situation as well.

When the husband, John, comes into the room to discover that his wife had gone completely mad, he faints at the sight of this activity. Being mentally sick for so long has taken a toll on the poor woman, and be grows more sick being held captive in “prison” (the house). At the end, the narrator triumphs and fails — her triumph was the realization of the fact that the woman on the wallpaper stuck behind bars was her, and her defeat was that she had gone even more insane because the wallpaper had essentially taken over her life.

Imagine the image of a woman creeping over her fallen husband, circulating the room, touching the wallpaper, gnawing at it and tearing it apart. Because the wallpaper left residue on whatever touched it, imagine a woman dirty with yellow stains. In a sense, when her husband fainted and she describes how she has to “creep” over him, perhaps she means that her husband is getting in the way of her insanity. Perhaps she has grown to accept and like her mental state because she controls her own world. She discovered what the wallpaper meant on her own, and she essentially freed the woman too.

Quoted from professor Hanley, “crazy is a rational response in a an irrational society”. Would that not be the most reasonable response — when you, a rational individual, realize that the society around you has irrational values and morals, accepting the norm or behavior would make you just as irrational (and crazy).

I dwell in Possibility –

The poet suggests that she is imersed in possibility, or should I say,  “Possibility”. To dwell means to live, or be sheltered, or rest in a place; dwelling in possibility could mean that she lives in the openess that Possibility offers. Possibility could be capitalized because it is its own entity, its own subject.

A fairer House than Prose –

Possibility is being compared to Prose; Prose means to tell a story. A better umbrella Possibility offers her, that which she resides under. Perhaps Prose is made up of a more practical and physical matter than Possibility bestows. A dreamer the poet could be, to live in dreams and wonders rather than a physical and actual state of a matter.

More numerous of Windows –

There are many functions of a window and its abilities: to be opened to let the fresh air, or sunlight in, it can be closed to ward off nature, it can be decorated to be displayed, or perhaps it could simply be pushed open to let “inspiration” flow in. Possibility has more use or can be a more useful tool in trying to achieve an endeavor simply because there are more windows to be had. Again, Prose is practical, while possibilities have “windows of opportunities”.

Superior — for Doors –

Doors open the pathway to new opportunities as they say, “when one door closes, another one opens”. One could also open the doors to their mind as oppose to it being shut (being closed minded). Possibility could house a better mind because there are more open pathways to explore and discover. Doors are known to be strong as well, they could easily keep out all that is unnecessary from a house.

Of Chambers as the Cedar –

The wood panels and shingles of a house could be made of Cedar trees, strong and fresh smelling they are known to be. The house is filled with the scent of the Cedar aroma. Rooms are built upon by strong Cedar trees.

Impregnable of Eye –

Possibility is impossible to see by the eye but rather embraced by the open mind and heart. It is not something one can grasp, but rather what one takes into the soul to use it in life.

And for an Everlasting Roof –

In order for a roof to withstand all the pressures and damages done by outside forces…

The Gambrels of the Sky –

The bending of the sky…

Of Visitors — the Fairest –

Those who travel to come to the house of Possibility; come one, come the best. The house is open for all.

For Occupation — This –

The house of Possibility is for all to use, for it is occupied for those who choose to have an open mind.

The spreading wide of narrow Hands –

Those that built this house out of their own hands made it to be so strong. The endeavor was achieved by many hands spread across the board. Those that created this house made it the house of Possibility, full of open opportunities, metaphorically.

To gather Paradise –

Paradise is what one achieves as soon as they open all the windows, the doors, and let themselves be surrounded by all the opportunities that this house of Possibility provides. Paradise is the euphoric haven where a certain knowledge is known — that the doors of Possibility where dreams and wonders abound and practicality is not the determining factor of decisions in life.

Reflection:

And open mind is like an open window — one needs it to be pushed all the way in order to let the sunlight, or “inspiration”, flow in. Practicality, in other words “Prose”, does not contain as many windows and doors and wonderment and dreaming does, for the windows are the source for the new pathways and adventures that lie ahead.

“FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.”

The I vs. tide, and I vs. crowd could be the different perspectives that he has toward different objects seen in life. The differences in the crowd are obviously shown, and perhaps the way he sees things are unconsciously biased. Though he always strive to accept and be open to the happening of life, he has to fight. How he sees one thing, is different than how he views another. The tide soothes, while the crowd can be rough. He learns at the end, maybe, that there is a merge that creates connectivity and togetherness, oneness.

Whitman finds peace in his reflection that all things are perfection and you are the sum of the whole. You contribute all to the soul no matter who you are, what you do, or how you look like. He does not cast you aside, he expresses, as he plants you within him. His realization creates an impression of openness, willingness, and love towards all.

“What is it, then, between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?”

The dilemma also could be, perhaps, not the physical distance between Whitman and that of a traveler, but the spiritual difference. Whitman seems to constantly search for connections to all things, and when you are connected with nature, you are spiritually connected with God. “Whatever it is, it avails not — distance avails not, and place avails not.”

What is occurring in this part of the poem is Whitman’s ability to grasp the entire moment, meaning, life presence is always persistent as there is always a new opportunity awaiting. Hence, he tries to absorb the life all around him. Whether it is waiting to be observed or waiting to be embraced, opportunities sprout up like the towering buildings in the city. Whitman wants to soak everything in; whether it is sun, people, or solitude itself, he encourages and grasps all things as it is beautiful to him.

When he speaks of the crowds in their “usual costumes”, his observations of their experience of crossing home on the ferry from one shore to the other connects them to him. He is with the traveler, as the traveler boards the ship. More than anyone could know; Whitman observes, analyzes, and refects.

I most definitely enjoyed the Whitman project because it allowed me to express my creativity. I enjoyed browsing for the perfect picture that resonated my feelings for my experience I described. I really liked how we could see other student’s expressions as well because it only proves that although we are all working on the same type of project, our matter of thinking and feelings about our experiences vary from each individual. I did not like, however, how someone stole my picture that I uploaded on my computer. And how I know they did is because I personally searched for the picture as well as cropped it. That just shows that I errored in saving it correctly, or whatever. All is well now, it was just a matter of bad “linkage”.

I think I learned more about the poem with pictures to represent a meaning than I would’ve just merely reading text. It helped alot in me trying to decipher what the poem was trying to convey. This not only made me to think about the text and linger over the words a little bit longer, but the poem was aesthetically pleasing which made me to want to stay a while longer with the poem.

Changes that could be made: Nothing whatsoever! This was a fun assignment and it would be great if we had more of these projects online.

“A few light kisses . . . . a few embraces . . . . a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hillsides,
The feeling of health . . . . the full-noon trill . . . . the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.”

An experience that changed my life was when I went on a cross country road trip to Illinois. Growing up in the city my whole life made me think that there was no other life than what I had. As I stared out the window, I was in in awe to see open skies, land that seemed to stretch on for miles, and the sun beginning to set across the horizon. Never had I seen anything more amazing, so open, so free. I remember finally arriving at my step-father’s dad’s farm and walking through the field. It was green, wide, and far. I picked this image because I remember the grandest sky and feeling like the world was open to me.

Whitman constantly expresses his feelings for being outdoors, loafing in the grass and breathing and taking the moment in. He lets his mind be free of all stifling thoughts; he lets his mind wander and roam. Whitman likes openness because his poetry is like that; he has an open mind and does not shy away from new wonders.

Having that awe-inspiring experience has changed me to look at life with a different perspective; not only am I appreciative of that time of my life, but I am thankful it saved me from a closed mind.

Emerson’s “bookworm” refers to one who reads only for the mere purpose of reading; he does not seek insight, or “read between the lines” if you will. He does not consciously try to enlighten himself, but merely reads the external contents of a book. Books nourish our minds, like essential needs such as food and water. With that said, a form of “book abuse” is when one imitates a style of an author due to limitations set by the universities, a stifling barrier on creativity. An example, “The English dramatic poets have Shakspearized now for two hundred years”, demonstrates a lack of imagination due to standards set by great authors.

It is not enough to memorize lines on a page; one has to strive to cross the threshold of mere context and insight. “The one thing in the world, of value, is the active soul”. Imitation can be seen in classrooms today where students learn the art of Shakespeare — the language, the words, the style of writing. Yet, there is an impression that it is not safe to wander into new territories, perhaps of fear. Fear that too much creativity will cause rebellion, fear that the standard set will lose its quality, fear that literature will be polluted.

FRIGHTENED! I was, extremely frightened at this communal of the night. Why do you call me paranoid, when I saw with my own eyes the work of the Devil and all his worshipers? A cry rang out in the night, so compelling and powerful; it called out to all the witches, the wizards, to me, and the devil himself. And thus, began my journey, and how I got to be the way that I am.

I made no haste as I hurried myself among the forest, the dark, and the sounds of the night. I was not a madman on the loose, I tell you, as I decided to flee. My appearance was frightening to a second pair of eyes; one who will get the wrong impression. I laughed hysterically in the midst of the woods. Those voices will not get to me! I shouted! I paced! I ran! How maddening I was, but believe me, I know what I’m doing. As I was speeding along a light before me caught my attention; it was a brightening red immersed among the branches of a tree. The tree was blazing afire as it quivered and waved. I hesitated and listened intently to what sounded like a hymn. It seemed like a familiar chant, synchronized and rhythmic with the sound of voices. Alas! It was a chorus sung by the members of the village meeting-house. What interrupted was the shrieking of wilderness horribly chiming together. I cried out! Though, I don’t know if the sound that came out was me or from the cry of the open terrain.

I approached the red light that seemed to glare against the deep night. I noticed the branches of the trees in flames, blazing and burning. The piles of fallen leaves atop the rock was disintegrating and wasting away. I could see a gathering of people coming forth and soon, hiding in the shadows like the sea when the waves rise and fall.

Much to my dismay, these people were those that one would see the next day at Sabbath, or the council board. Shocked I was! Though, I shouldn’t be surprised as strange things are inevitably bound to happen with a haunting occurrence such as this. What a surprise though, that some of these countrymen are those you see devoutly in the pews, the saintliest of them all. Church members were mingling amongst themselves.

The thought that remained in my mind was my dear Faith! The poor, helpless being! I shall keep hope! I trembled and shook tremendously at my little, fragile wife. I heard singing; chorus after chorus as it rang out in the night. The desert’s openness created a loud ring. The wind roared as the blazing trees grew larger and more powerful.

A voice cried out that echoed into the forest from the field. It commanded for all to “bring forth the converts!”, as I stepped up from the shadows. I saw an image of someone like my father, and a figure that seemed as if it was warning me to stay away. I could not hesitate, I tell you! In a matter as frightening and deathly as this, one cannot have time for second thoughts. Deacon Gookin grabbed my arms and pulled me towards the flaming rock. I was those who were otherwise pious and good-willed. They stood before me, as I stared on. I found my helpless Faith, poor and tired was she!

A form appeared from the shadows. He welcomes us, children, and tells us to look around; the dark secrets of the people will be revealed before us. We have the wives who gives their husbands their last drinks before dying in their bosoms; those youths who greedily want to inherit their father’s wealth. Bless all ye sin! Cries he. Let their sins penetrate within you! Look to each other! Evil is the nature of the human race, virtue is an unattainable dream. Welcome, children, to the company of your own race. I held on to my poor Faith closer as the evil figure dipped his hands in the basin. Frightened and nervous, I became even more. OH HELP US GOD! My poor Faith! Her dainty and sweet soul polluted by this madness! I am not mad! I am surrounded by it! I DEMAND AND CRIED for her to look to the heavens and resist the figure of evil!

In a moment’s time, I appeared to be amid solitude. I don’t recall any happenings. I swaggered and leaned against the rock. A branch fell on my cheeks, and what appeared to be ashes, too.

Although it is plainly stated as to why the narrator found the character fascinating, “a countenance which at once arrested and absorbed my whole attention, on account of the absolute idiosyncrasy of its expression. Anything even remotely resembling that expression I had never seen before”, perhaps what piqued his interest even more was the irony of the man: he stood out the most because he was trying to fit in the crowd.

Although the man appears to be involved in bizarre activities such as retracing his steps and maneuvering the throngs of the village (as well as closely following a party), he makes an effort to be immersed in the crowd and disappear from suspecting eyes, perhaps to hide his secret agenda. The narrator’s curiosity has climaxed to the point of amazement; the man’s foreceful movements among the throngs raises questions of concern. His endeavors and expression are amusing.

The man’s history is what brought him here. In realizing this, the narrator’s attempt to discover the intent of the man takes on a different turn: the man cannot be read.

Plainly said, there are some things that don’t go well together, or shouldn’t go together. It’s not good to mix savory and sweet together, I’ve always been told. Somehow, the combination of the new flavor detracts away from what makes them individually unique. Blending the sweet and savory together can only create a strange concoction. In the sense that “pollution” is the mixture of things that should be separate, this example applies. Though minute as this is, the meaning of pollution can also expand to a larger scale. For example, many parents tell their small children to stay away from the big high school kids for fear of corruption. The high schooler can influence the small child by introducing him to new (and bad) things, perhaps.

Back when I actually attended Sunday School (a nicer name for church), my teacher would put oil and water in jar to demonstrate how the two elements cannot mix together. If I remember correctly, the oil represented humans, and the water represented God. Apparently, we cannot be as powerful or “almighty” as him. Or, the two elements can represent those who sin and those who follow the way of Christ (basically, it sounds to me that there are two kinds of people in this world: those who believe in God, and sinners): their hearts are not the same.

What about jail? People who would not usually associate with a different kind of group or person are forced to live in a common institution.

Though, it is not to be said that all mixtures are to be avoided. When we mix colors in paintings, we are creating a new, if not more beautiful, color. The eye appeals to colors, for as human beings we are known to be attracted to color. The new mixture (red and blue creates purple!) is exciting and stimulating for our minds. It is beautiful and would not occur if it were not for the blending of the two.