One of my favorite stories in Dubliners was Eveline. Although I had read Dubliners in high school, and selections of it in college, rereading Dubliners in Dublin was one of the experiences that go beyond the scope of their literary confinements. Eveline is 19. At 19, on the cusp of adulthood and responsibility, we all have a momentary control over our lives that we will never see again. Eveline's choices are clear: she can stay with her abusive, demanding family, or leave them behind and explore the world with Frank. It's a sad piece, you can hear the guilt echoing painfully in the narrative.
At the end, Eveline doesn't get on the boat with Frank and their final encounter has an impersonal coldness. Although I believe she never really loved Frank, she knew he was offering her the one chance she would have to find happiness. I feel like she was never going to get on the boat. As I read, it seemed to me that for a few moments, she needed to pretend she was escaping as compensation for a lifetime of suffering ahead. It was the idea she was in love with, but at the end was never a real possibility.
In terms of the ongoing idea of landscape, Eveline illustrated the worst case scenario: when we are trapped by our landscape. Dublin, her home, was a prison more than a welcoming haven. Her father abused her and she was unappreciated at work. Yet despite having nothing to look forward to, she stayed in the city. She let the landscape control her.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Finding My Home in Poetry
Take a breath. Hold it. Let it go.
Paula Meehan wrote that poem, which was included in the Three Irish Poets collection we focused on during our time in Galway. One day, we were assigned a five minute presentation on a poem of our choosing. My group/apartment chose the aforementioned poem as the focus of our presentation. I actually enjoyed this poem for both personal and artistic reasons. In this poem, Paula is recalling a moment, just a moment, when she as the protective older sister watcher her sister literally fall and pick herself back up. The tone of her voice is so beautifully caring that it is easy to imagine the maternal love she holds for her younger sister.
My sister and I have a similar bond, which probably explains why I thought the poem was so heartfelt. My sister Francesca is taller than me, tanner than me and thinner than me. We are five years apart. We share a room and after 15 years, I'm still not responsible enough to stop the spread of my mess. Despite all this we are best friends and she still remains the most helpful/understanding roommate I've ever had. She always calls to check on me and the excitement she radiates when I come home gives me such a sense of familial warmth that I hate leaving her every time. Despite our incredible relationship, I still slip into maternal nagging from time to time: Francesca, you look like an 80's hooker - take that eyeliner off; Francesca, get off facebook and do your homework; Francesca, you can not have a lollipop and peanut butter for dinner. I sometimes can't help the sharp criticism that escapes my mouth when I see her doing something tragically wrong with her life. I don't mean to be condescending, but when I see this little girl, my responsibility, my sister, doing something that will hurt her, it's a struggle to let her make the mistake. I always feel like it's my job to protect her, the same sentiment Paula echoed in each stanza of the poem. I've already made her mistakes - why can't she learn from me?
The poem illustrated a universal love, as I knew exactly what Paula was struggling with in the poem - despite being born decades and miles apart. The poem was lyrical and enlightening, above all showing me that I need to let Francesca find her own balance.
Paula Meehan wrote that poem, which was included in the Three Irish Poets collection we focused on during our time in Galway. One day, we were assigned a five minute presentation on a poem of our choosing. My group/apartment chose the aforementioned poem as the focus of our presentation. I actually enjoyed this poem for both personal and artistic reasons. In this poem, Paula is recalling a moment, just a moment, when she as the protective older sister watcher her sister literally fall and pick herself back up. The tone of her voice is so beautifully caring that it is easy to imagine the maternal love she holds for her younger sister.
My sister and I have a similar bond, which probably explains why I thought the poem was so heartfelt. My sister Francesca is taller than me, tanner than me and thinner than me. We are five years apart. We share a room and after 15 years, I'm still not responsible enough to stop the spread of my mess. Despite all this we are best friends and she still remains the most helpful/understanding roommate I've ever had. She always calls to check on me and the excitement she radiates when I come home gives me such a sense of familial warmth that I hate leaving her every time. Despite our incredible relationship, I still slip into maternal nagging from time to time: Francesca, you look like an 80's hooker - take that eyeliner off; Francesca, get off facebook and do your homework; Francesca, you can not have a lollipop and peanut butter for dinner. I sometimes can't help the sharp criticism that escapes my mouth when I see her doing something tragically wrong with her life. I don't mean to be condescending, but when I see this little girl, my responsibility, my sister, doing something that will hurt her, it's a struggle to let her make the mistake. I always feel like it's my job to protect her, the same sentiment Paula echoed in each stanza of the poem. I've already made her mistakes - why can't she learn from me?
The poem illustrated a universal love, as I knew exactly what Paula was struggling with in the poem - despite being born decades and miles apart. The poem was lyrical and enlightening, above all showing me that I need to let Francesca find her own balance.
Nine and Fifty Swans
During our trip, our class read and discussed many works by W.B. Yeats, one of the dominant figures of Irish 20th century literature. Reading discussing Yeats in Jess and Bonnie's 'living room' in Galway was enlightening, but could not compare to when we visited Coole Park. Reading The Wild Swans at Coole, while breathing in the very landscape that inspired the poem edged on sublime. We sat at a clearing, and read The Wild Swans at Coole aloud, and discussed the underlying theme of the poem.
Yeats was constantly exploring the idea of change. Sitting in the clearing echoed the otherwise escapable notion of physical fluidity that would have been undoubtedly lost in a classroom. While the ambiance was the same, or so I'd like to imagine, the details were very different. Nine and fifty swans, Yeats had poetically observed. I looked for swans too. I observed 0. It's a strange duality to comprehend: nature is constant, the landscape always providing an inspiring backdrop, and yet in the long term, it is just as transitory as the manufactured. Where are Yeats' swans? All 59 of them are gone leaving a fading memory of the landscape we can only hope to understand through Yeats' poetic observations.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The Aran Islands: the Strangeness of an Untouched Landscape
I live in Bergen County, New Jersey in a suburb of New York City. New Jersey is the most densely populated State and a concrete jungle of failure and too much success. Ireland, more specifically the Aran Islands, has been a major culture shock for me. Even though my dad is Irish, I have an Americanized view of the Irish - clouded by unions, South-side accents, and pea coats on a dock.
The island was almost untouched by humans, save for the bike shop and several restaurants. The trip to the yellow restaurant with the good salmon that I can't remember the name of took us 45 minutes. We stopped to take so many pictures (I took 63, which is very out of character). I really could see the natural inspiration emanating from the crystal clear water and rolling green hills. Everything was so vivid, the way you would expect it to be during the photo shoot for a post card. I'm not generally an animal (slight understatement) but even I had to stop and admire the simplistic beauty of the daily life of the animals inhabiting the land: it's an uncomplicated naturalness that is momentarily enviable.
In my journal, I wrote:
After spending four weeks here, I wonder if I will view my smoggy, unappreciated and manufactured New Jersey in a new light? The Aran Islands almost represents a 'What if?' to Americans: We are so rushed, so focused on the material, it is easy to lose sight of the natural beauty of the world. (written during the first week of the trip)
I came back to the USA on July 9th, a very hot Saturday when Derek Jeter achieved his 3,000th hit. Newark seemed even more unwelcoming than usual - mostly because it represented the end of my summer abroad and the beginning of working at the bank and the YMCA, and on a 10/20 page paper and this blog. As my mom and I waited outside the International Continental gate, I looked out at the backed up NJ turnpike that was depressingly sandwiched between stretches of industrial marshes. Between the heat and the polluted haze, the horizon seemed blurry and uninviting. That day spent bike riding along the coast of the Aran Islands felt like another lifetime. Things seemed a lot clearer in Ireland.
The island was almost untouched by humans, save for the bike shop and several restaurants. The trip to the yellow restaurant with the good salmon that I can't remember the name of took us 45 minutes. We stopped to take so many pictures (I took 63, which is very out of character). I really could see the natural inspiration emanating from the crystal clear water and rolling green hills. Everything was so vivid, the way you would expect it to be during the photo shoot for a post card. I'm not generally an animal (slight understatement) but even I had to stop and admire the simplistic beauty of the daily life of the animals inhabiting the land: it's an uncomplicated naturalness that is momentarily enviable.
In my journal, I wrote:
After spending four weeks here, I wonder if I will view my smoggy, unappreciated and manufactured New Jersey in a new light? The Aran Islands almost represents a 'What if?' to Americans: We are so rushed, so focused on the material, it is easy to lose sight of the natural beauty of the world. (written during the first week of the trip)
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