<p>@CAPhotographer:
That comment has always bothered me, as well. However, with my teacher, I found a somewhat significant bit of proof for the fact that his comments about censorship and the arts were entirely satirical. They do not come off as satirical, but it is somewhat safe to say that they are just that. Which brings a bit of comfort in regards to my opinion of Plato. </p>
<p>What bothers me about Alexie is that he completely disregards literary device because he thinks his identity makes up for that fact. He comes off, through his writing, as incredibly close-minded; he is what Plato would call “ruled by habit”, meaning that he looks at every aspect of the world through an incredibly narrow lens, all for the purpose of justifying a belief about his race that the world at large agrees with in the first place. He accomplishes nothing from the point of view of a literature geek, the way that Bolano or Wallace or the other recent greats have invented not only genres but entire literary devices beyond simple motif. Bolano, for example (as well as McCarthy, for that matter), consciously sets up a hellish sequence of events whose purpose is to knock you near unconsciousness so as to create an epigraph of sorts that forms the majority of the novel, preparing you for the soliloquies and insights of the end–he first shows you his world, then looses you in it, then swallows you up, then crafts your very perception of reality, and then presents his ideas. Alexie starts by saying, “Look, I am a minority, and I am going to write about how it is hard to be a minority.” I sincerely hope that I am not offending you in any way, but I simply feel that his fiction accomplishes nothing of lasting value. I hate to sound demeaning, but you asked. I’ll still get to that essay eventually–I have the odd ability to read each work of an author with an open mind, even those authors that I adore and those I detest. And essays are different. So, anyway.</p>
<p>Despite my opposing viewpoint, I love this sentence of yours: “As human beings, I believe we have a responsibility to each other and if we forget that responsibility and only think about ourselves and our desires, the world around usfamily, community, society, country, worldcrumbles into a disconnected chaos.” I do agree. I think that David Foster Wallace’s largest problem was that he did forget this inherent responsibility of the artist. But then again, I think it is absolutely trite and disgusting to water down any brilliant idea just so that less cultured people can enjoy its entertainment value. (I know this isn’t what you’re suggesting, don’t worry! But still, I want it to be clear that I feel this opposition. Again, I feel Shakespeare, for the very reasons that you have mentioned, is a god among men, and I have actually adopted your credo regarding the influence of his vast web of appeal.) That said, as literally perfect as Hamlet may be–as much as I would adore devoting years of my life toward putting on a full production of the amazing tragedy–I feel more complete after reading more challenging works. Not to suggest that Hamlet is easy! There is such a depth to the motives and reactions of every single character that I cannot imagine a viscerally appealing work with such right for scholarly approach. So, in many ways, your argument is stronger. Were this debate, you would have won. But The Divine Comedy, The Sagrada Familia, Ulysses, Murder in the Cathedral–these works still have a literally impossibly difficult level of resonance in my mind. I cannot imagine the artistic landscape of the world without them. The honesty of these artists is absurd, in every sense. And the fact that, for the patient reader, these works are also incredibly beautiful is mind-blowing.</p>
<p>Do not worry–your answer is not cheap; it was my question that was unfair. I do love to see how people handle that sort of ultimatum, though, and you did a great job at defending your self-prescribed “cop-out.” I understand. If man never learned to paint, I honestly doubt that literature would have arisen–or that it would, at the very least, have come to be NEAR as great as it is today. Not because novels are based on paintings, as I am sure you understand to an extent even fuller than me, but because they revolve around one another. So to take one art form from an individual artist would be torturous to the remainder of his work the way that taking one art form from the history of art would be disastrous. And I think Bolano would agree with Jack Gilbert: Bolano shunned the idea of quitting a regular day job even after he became somewhat successful, because he felt that the physical world was so closely related to the intellectual world that to forget one would be to collapse within the context of the other. And I would love to read the Gita.</p>
<p>I understand your concern regarding OC. I already force myself into odd curriculum situations (I did not need to take another science this year, for example, and I am absolutely terrible at classroom science courses, but I chose a second physics course not to get into college but because I understand how important it is for a thinker-writer to understand the physical world in which he has found himself. As a result of decisions like this–I truly detest the classroom sciences with a passion and yet I am forcing myself to learn additional aspects of this field–I think that I would do well at an OC school). I also already do things that I am not comfortable with–I tried out for a one act this year, for example, and got the lead role, despite having never once taken even an Intro to Theatre course–so I think that the imposed requirements of any institution would inherently be different in some ways from the broad education that would be best for me to pursue.</p>
<p>I am applying to (I had a list on this thread a few weeks ago, and as I predicted, it has changed enormously):
obviously DS, UChicago (despite the very structured curriculum, because I happen to like their curriculum more than any other school’s), Marlboro, Oberlin, Reed, Hamilton, Beloit, St. John’s Annapolis, NYU and Columbia, as well as possibly Eugene Lang (all because of their location in Manhattan), possibly Cornell because of their Telluride House, possibly Amherst, and probably another safety or two. How about you?</p>
<p>I also have been having trouble writing out my second essay. I have a rough draft for the first, a solid outline for the third–but the second, though I have found a great deal of evidence and support, has yet to be written beyond a rough outline.</p>
<p>I was only curious regarding theatre. I found out, while directing one play and acting in another the last few weeks, just how many people are a part of our theatre department. It seemed like suddenly half the school considered himself an experienced stagehand or techie or actor or playwright. It was positively frightening. </p>
<p>That is undoubtedly utterly fascinating. I honestly had no idea such a clear relation existed. I also find your relation between Eliot and Paul Strand incredibly apt. I am no art historian, and so I can only approach what you speak of from a visceral level, but still it is clear that you are correct in this regard. Ah, god damnit! Haha, your questions about Les Maninas took away a half hour of my life…! Those questions alone were a fantastic introduction. Consider me fascinated.</p>
<p>Here are a couple sonnets from my Gaudi-inspired cycle. I am only showing more than one because they are not meant to be read individually. Remember that my assignment was to write a poem from a different perspective, so not one of these sonnets is in MY poet’s voice–they are all from the voice and perspective that I imagined for each character. The first one is the only voice I invented. The others are writers, musicians, et cetera. Remember also that these are all a part of an incredibly rough first draft. [These poems are all from the perspective of imagined visits by obsessive artists and people to Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia–for the reason that he is the subject of the others’ focus, the poem by my invented Gaudi is the only formal, Petrarchan sonnet.] Again, these are only a few of the many sonnets I wrote. I would love destructive (as well as constructive, I suppose) criticism.</p>
<p>Montserrat Lona Bordes:</p>
<p>Spiced vegetables. Garlic. My morning
Spent for consumption on his part.
Is this my maddened rebuttal?
Venturing forth every day out.
And with the awe I find myself
Accustomed to, having walked to these
Sacred grounds daily, still I cannot understand.
The folds of the scaffolding collapsed in my
Dreams last night. Dust flourished its way into
The oblivion of the sky above. Clouding the
Towers. Like those of Babylon, only here
I cannot believe these towers to be the product
Of man. Of us and of men.
Of men and of us. Of man.</p>
<hr>
<p>Zach Condon [indie musician of the band Beirut]:</p>
<p>St. Apollonia! I saw her and wept
as she pressed calloused toes
against the earth, so yellowed with
the artificial sphere of envy
she was one for fleeing, and she
brought me to the edge of a pond
There were purple cattails and
flowered lilies in the water, all
surrounding the reflection of that
enormous shape in the clouds!
The air was thick with the fog of
late summer, and the spires seemed to
perspire the clouds. So revolutionary!
So entirely self-consuming, to torturous heights!</p>
<p>My familys role in this revolution
was to keep me sheltered from the
whirling, dizzying patterns of
the stars, the tailed bent shapes
speeding through my vision, forcing
me awake
Where does this take me?
Where does this leave me?
All the world is butter and spires.
Hurrahstrike up the ensemble!
Strike up the ensemble!
A lifes not enough for horns
and for patterns of drums
and of words. Strike! Strike!</p>
<hr>
<p>William Faulkner [parts of this are supposed to be italicized, namely lines 2 and three, and the word Transitions in line 11, but CC won’t italicize]:</p>
<p>The blackened earth is upheld in the spire.
as a child I would sit along the shoreline,
the water would batter my feet
I would
hold up handfuls of beach sand, the kind
from the gulf. I would grab up sea water
the kind from the gulf. I would
let it fall on itself, I would make
mounds of the stuff. Each handful of
this softened beach mud built up
into a tower of flowing rolls of a battered
texture of some confused sort. Transitions.
I see my childhood beach in the expanse above.
Yoknapatawpha be damned;
this is my apocryphal landscape.</p>
<hr>
<p>Tom Waits:</p>
<p>Black is mine coffee.
Grating pitchers and swirls.
I exit: downstage
right into their perils.
The line ends with baby
Martha and me.
We took each other to Spain.
for glee glee glee glee.
But wait! mister hand,
guide your path to the earth
before you, suspended,
launched your impact from birth.
Shadows from churches.
Ringers from rings.</p>
<hr>
<p>Antonio Gaudi:</p>
<p>It has finished! Just as it last began!
Eighteen puppeteers recalling themselves
Faster than I thought the large, glowing bells
Of madness could be wonregard! That man
Could make this all be done! And out He ran
Toward rising suns of madness to rebel
Against that swaying force that makes us yell:
For aches of gaudy force; began thus man!
My dying has stately ended my mind
From all beside that which has been slowly
Accumulating from the ashen dust
Above my tomb; my crypt; mankind refined?
The unholy reconsidered holy
Mans domain will rapturously combust.</p>
<p>Obviously, there is much work to be had on my part. These are terribly rough, but, as you asked, I felt I ought to show you. Your post was great. Forgive me if again it takes a few days to get back to whatever replies you produce. I have been ridiculously busy, with planning my senior project, building a writing portfolio, directing one play and leading in another, keeping up with my independent studies, et cetera, the sort of things that I am sure consume all your lives as well.</p>