<p>Somehow I found time tonight to respond. Please donât take any of my comments offensively, and regard anything I say with a grain of saltâI am, after all, simply a student and donât claim to know everything. And I agree with you on many fronts.</p>
<p>Phillis Wheatley, a black female slave of the 1700s, wrote poetry, but her poetry has been ridiculed for centuries by literary forces that snickered at her stiff, struggling, ambivalent, and forced lines (1). Wheatley in no way compares to Emily Dickinson or Sylvia Plath or Emily Bronte or any of the other great female poets about of the Western canon. But Wheatley did not write her poetry to be intelligently complex, to be reached by a larger audience, or to be even considered great. She wrote because she had to, she felt the need, the urge to respond to her surroundings. And that is why her poetry is intriguing and wonderful and beautiful, not because of her rhyming patterns or her complex arrangements or psychological depth, but because it is not only an amazing thing she even wroteâspeaking to the power of creative urgesâbut also because a reader three hundred years later can get a glimpse into the mind, into the circumstances, of a frail, broken down black woman</p>
<p>I mention this story of Wheatley to make the following point: Literature should not always be judged by how it stands up to the greats or by how it follows or creates its own literary devices. Sometimes literature is a wonderful teacher. And that is how I view Sherman Alexie. He has taught me about the dire and lost circumstances of contemporary Indians. (I actually think Alexie purposely doesnât use any literary devices to reflect the lost and wandering mentality of Native Americans today, a culture that just doesnât care about anythingâlike how Alexie doesnât âseemâ to care to use any literary devices.) I humbly disagree with your statement about Alexieâs narrow mindedness and his purpose of writing is to tell us something we already know. I think all too often we acknowledge the horror that the U.S. government put Native Americanâs through but quickly get sick of the âpoor meâ syndrome. But I donât think Alexie attempts to get sympathy from his background, and instead he writes, I believe, from brutal honesty: He shows contemporary Native American Indian life really how it is for many people, and that is hard to take. I consider Alexie an important voice in Native American contemporary literature because he tells the truth, as brutal as it is and as blunt as it is. He may not write elegantly or follow creative and complex devices, but he teaches me something. And to me, being taught something is one purpose of literature.</p>
<p>Now I donât mean to say Alexie is more important or greater than say a Faulkner or even Bolano, but my point is they shouldnât be compared; it simply isnât fair to compare. Take this analogy: My family has a great tradition. We play board games. Not Monopoly. Or Life. Or any other brand name and recognizable board game. I am talking about eight hour long, ever changing complex decisions, strategy board games. I simply love these. They are probably my favorite hobby. But I also enjoy and relish simple and short games. There is beauty in their simplicity. The same, I believe, could be said for literature. Does something need to be complex to be great? Literature or art doesnât always have to be a difficult puzzle that has to be solved. This idea about complexity vs. simplicity reminds me of this beautiful and short poem by William Carlos Williams:</p>
<p>so much depends
upon</p>
<p>a red wheel
barrow</p>
<p>glazed with rain
water</p>
<p>beside the white
chickens.</p>
<p>Many people try and make this poem into something complex, but I believe the poemâs intention is simply to provide you beautiful juxtaposition of color and textures and objects, engaging the imagination of the reader. Could you really compare this to Eliotâs work? No. That wouldnât be fair because their purposes are vastly different.</p>
<p>I think it is amazing and wonderful you get so much out of Bolano and Wallace, and I think you should stick to solving the complex puzzles of the literary geniusâ. But donât disregard the simpler and seemingly inferior works because they donât match up in a literary sense to these masters: See them for more than literary works; see them as a response to the human condition.</p>
<p>Phew, sorry for the length of that, and please donât take this as attack on you. I find it a fascinating debate. OK, onto the next topicâŠ</p>
<p>Regarding open curriculum: Your response shows you are the perfect candidate for this type of curriculum, and it also attests to your maturity. You truly love to learn for the sake of learning, and I applaud you for that. There is really nothing else I can say, except that you will succeed in whatever school you decide to attend and any school would be smart to accept you. My list of schools follows (the first three are real reachesâremember I am a transfer student to all of these except DS, and my beginning grades right out of high school were not the best): Cornell, Brown, Pomona College, Tufts/School of the Museum of Fine Arts (dual degree: one in art the other a BA at Tufts), Washington University in St. Louis, DS, Oberlin, Swarthmore, University of Washington (kind of a safety school, but they also offer a dual degree similar to Tufts), and I have a slew of LACs that I need to cut down (some of which will be more safeties, like Pitzer or perhaps Bates). After your response, Hamilton intrigues me. Being from California, you may be surprised to not see a UC on the list, but unfortunately because of issues with credits, I am not a valid transfer candidateâthis may be for the best because the UC system is in dire financial circumstances.</p>
<p>How did your play go? What was/is it?</p>
<p>Your sonnets: These are wonderful rough drafts. I am curious why you chose this type of sonnet? Was it just the assignment or was there any other reason? Also, please understand I am not familiar with everyoneâs perspective you are taking, so I may miss subtleâor even blatantâreflections of personality.</p>
<p>Montserrat Lona Bordes:
Good opening. I love when poems start with concrete objects so I can quickly visualize and set the scene; it is a great way to transition into the poem. You might consider telling the reader what kind of spicy vegetables and/or how much garlic. Doing so would make the readerâs image even more specific. Lines 4-6 seem a bit forced and clunky to me. Adore the line âThe folds of the scaffolding collapsed in my / Dreams last night.â The word âflourishedâ doesnâtâ quite work for me. I think, maybe, I have a problem with that whole image of dust flourishing its way to oblivion. I get what you are saying, but I would search for a more elegant way to put that. Love the introduction of Babylon, but my one question, would Montserrat Lona Bordes really use that reference? If so, then it is a beautiful comparison to the building. The ending is interesting, but I feel my eyes straining over the close repetition in the last few linesâthat might be a good thing or it might not.</p>
<p>Zach Condon (sorry I know nothing about this musician or band):
What is your reasoning for putting an exclamation point after an em dash? What are you trying to get the reader to do? Weeping as she pressed calloused toes against the earth is a beautiful imageâmy favorite so far! âSpires seemed to perspire,â sounds odd to me. âTorturous heightsâ is a great and surprising juxtaposition. I do not quite get the second stanzaâperhaps because I donât know the band or perhaps because I am missing something. (I wish I could spend more time, the time these poems deserve, studying them, but sadly I cannot, so donât be too upset if I donâtâ âgetâ things.) I am guessing the image of dizzying patterns of stars and tailed bent shapes is really a description of the building, and you call this a revolution, perhaps meaning a revolution in architecture? I think I get bits and pieces of this stanza, but I am still lacking an overall connection of the two stanzas.</p>
<p>William Faulkner:
I have to admit I was expecting the poem to be one long sentence, but perhaps it is good the poem isnât what I expected. Good transition into the poem using a strong, concrete image. Interesting correlation between sand and the buildingâI like it. And a very lovely connection to childhoodâthe building is truly reminiscent of a childâs imagination. I donât have too much bad to say about this poem. I enjoyed it! I could be real nitpicky, but I wonât go there.</p>
<p>Tom Waits:
Not sure the âglee glee glee gleeâ part does much for me, perhaps because I just finished reading âA Midsummer Nightâs Dreamâ and the leader of the Rude Mechanicals fills the lines of his play with repetitive words with no real purpose other than he needed more words, like âdie die die dieâânot that you did this; it just reminds me of it. It seems distracting. I donât really get the endingâonce again I do not know tom Waits all that well.</p>
<p>Antonio Gaudi:
I almost feel like the first line isnât or shouldnât be needed. I think the poem can evoke that sense from Gaudi without telling usâif that makes sense. Of all the sonnets, this is the one I least connect to and least understand and perhaps this difficulty lends itself well to this brilliant genius architect.</p>
<p>Overall, I am quite impressed with these first drafts. The task you have set yourself is very difficult but a very wonderful exerciseâtrying to get in the minds of other people, writing like they would think. There are some flow problems. In other words, the lines, at times, donât seem to flow from line to line. But for a rough draft, you got some great ideas and images down, and there is a lotâa lotâto work with. I would love to see if you develop these further.</p>
<p>I just picked up a collection of Kafkaâs stories, one of which is âMetamorphosis.â Have you read much Kafka? I would be curious to hear your thoughts on the author as I have yet to read any of his works. You are more advanced than I in regards to analyzing and studying literature, so I welcome your comments and analysis.</p>
<p>(1) An elegant discussion of Wheatley is woven into the brilliant and moving essay âIn Search of Our Mothersâ Gardens,â written by Alice Walker. The essay discusses the ability for black women to unconsciously and unwarily keep creativity alive, even in the most of dire times of slavery, when it was punishable for a black person to read or write. Walker manages to transcend not only racial lines but also gender lines, and speaks about creativity of humanity.</p>