Because we had so many different readings to complete for tomorrow's class, I decided to focus this blog on one very specific aspect of our reading that caused me to do a lot of questioning. I thought that the poem "Touche" by Jessie Fauset was fascinating, and definitely something I would like to explicate further in class. I'll attempt to break it down a little bit here, and I'm going to include the poem in the blog so that you can see all the references I'm making.
Touche
Dear, when we sit in that high, placid room,
'Loving' and 'doving' as all lovers do,
Laughing and leaning so close in the gloom,--
What is the change that creeps sharp over you?
Just as you raise your fine hand to my hair
Bringing that glance of mixed wonder and rue?
'Black hair,' you murmur, 'so lustrous and rare,
Beautiful too, like a raven's smooth wing;
Surely no gold locks were ever more fair.'
Why do you say every night that same thing?
Turning your mind to some old constant theme,
Half meditating and half murmuring?
Tell me, that girl of your young manhood's dream,
Her you loved first in that dim long ago--
Had she blue eyes? Did her hair goldly gleam?
Does she come back to you softly and slow,
Stepping wraith-wise from the depths of the past?
Quickened and fired by the warmth of our glow?
There I've divined it! My wit holds you fast.
Nay, no excuses; 'tis little I care.
I knew a lad in my own girlhood's past,--
Blue eyes he had and such waving gold hair!
First of all, I think this poem is very beautiful and aesthetically pleasing. Fauset effectively uses the language of love to emphasize the love that the speaker feels towards the subject, emphasizing the love with a series of "L" alliterations, for example, "Loving...as all lovers do," "Laughing and leaning," (2, 3). But obviously, the speaker (who I believe to be a black woman) is experiencing a realization of the internalized and subtle racism in adult relationships, most specifically in her relationship with the subject of "Touche," who I believe to be a white man. I'm not sure about that, but in the thirds stanza, when the man says, "Black hair...so lustrous and rare,/Beautiful too, like a raven's smooth wing;/Surely no gold locks were ever more fair," he seems to be speaking from the perspective of a white man observing a black woman (7-9). I think that the speaker feels a bit of jealousy, wondering why her lover is so fixated on the color of her hair and her physical appearance. She accuses her lover of still loving another, asking "Does she come back to you softly and slow,/Stepping wraith-wise from the depths of the past?/Quickened and fired by the warmth of our glow?" (16-18). However, in the final stanza, the speaker feels almost a divine understanding of the situation at hand. Recalling her own memories of her own first dream lover with "Blue eyes...and such waving gold hair!" she is able to forgive her lover for speaking of gold locks while touching her own black hair (22).
Although not directly related, this poem reminded me of the situation that the narrator experienced before he married his wife in "Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man." Because he has spent so much time passing, the narrator is nervous and hesistant to reveal his true race to his future-wife, but he does so anyway, only to be met with apprehension and fear. She is shocked at his race, especially since she thought she knew him so well. I actually expected her to turn on him, like almost everyone else in his life so far had, but like the speaker in Jessie Fauset's poem, she has a divine realization that she needs to be more accepting of the narrator. Regardless of his race, she loved him to begin with and she forgives what she views as "flawed" about him, much like the speaker in "Touche" decides to forgive her lover for having a fixation on physical beauty.
I'm anxious to discuss Fauset's work in class -- partially because I don't completely understand her. Did anyone else notice that for a Harlem Renaissance poet, Fauset actually put as strong a focus on race as McKay and Toomer do in their writings? Fauset's poems, I feel, could easily be mistaken for those of a white poet, even though she actually worked alongside poets like McKay. I wonder why this is?
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Jean Toomer, Part 1
First of all, I would like to start off by vouching that what I have read so far in Jean Toomer's "Cane" is, in my opinion, some of the most interesting and moving literature in this class so far, and tops my list of all-time personal favorites. I had never even heard of Jean Toomer, and therefore didn't know what to expect until I cracked the book. I will admit that some of the poetry in the assigned section is a little difficult to understand at first glance, such as "November Cotton Flower"...still working on wrapping my mind around that one). However, I found the prose to be full of raw, honest emotions and brutally realistic -- almost to the point of being shocking -- glimpses into people's lives. For this blog entry, I'd like to focus on the one piece that spoke to me most: "Becky."
Becky, descibed in the past tense because she is already dead, is a white Catholic woman with "two Negro sons" (5). Already physically decrepit, with sunken eyes, a "stringy" neck, and aged, fallen breasts, Becky is humiliatingly shunned from both the black and white communities for crossing a race barrier. Her decision to have sex with a black man -- not once, but twice -- and bear two black children dismisses her from any support or respect from either race community. Whites refer to her as a "Common, God-forsaken, insane white shameless wench," and the blacks call her a "Catholic poor-white crazy woman" (5). Because she is obviously not wanted in public, Becky simply disappears socially, and is not even seen at her own home, a humble house located "on the narrow strip of land between the railroad and the road" (5). Some people take pity on her, bringing her food and sending prayers to her, but most simply ignore her and even wonder if she has died and been buried by her two, now-grown sons without anyone in the town knowing. One Sunday afternoon, two religious men on their way home from church services ride past Becky's house. Simultaneously, a train comes churning through the station with such force that it knocks the "leaning" chimney on Becky's home into the cabin, crushing what the two men imagine to be Becky. Instead of investigating, or possibly trying to help Becky, they simply leave a Bible on top of her crushed body. Toomer leaves the reader with the image of the Bible flapping "its leaves with an aimless rustle on her mound" (7).
"Becky" was a difficult piece for me to read. I cannot imagine anyone experiencing so much pain and loneliness in their life, disrespected and looked down on by virtually everyone, and then dying alone and deranged from such an angst-ridden existence. Even worse, I got the idea that both the black and white communities received a sense of relief in Becky's death. The woman who they secretly desired to be "cast...out" and receive ultimate punishment for her miscegenation dies a painful death, but not at their hands. After reading Becky's story a second and third time, I began to feel like Becky and our narratory from "Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man" possessed very similar qualities. Although their stories differ, and Becky's ends much differently than the narrator's does, theoretically they experience many of the same emotions. Neither are fully accepted by black or white communities, and therefore, both choose to distance themselves socially to avoid pain. However, both receive severe emotional scarring from their life experiences, and, even though Becky's story ends in her death whereas the narrator lives, the narrator is barely existing. I would like to discuss the corrolations between "Becky" and "Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man" in class, because I think we could generate some very interesting ideas regarding the way both individuals had to resort to living their lives.
I just can't get over the pain in "Becky." How did she survive as long as she did?
Becky, descibed in the past tense because she is already dead, is a white Catholic woman with "two Negro sons" (5). Already physically decrepit, with sunken eyes, a "stringy" neck, and aged, fallen breasts, Becky is humiliatingly shunned from both the black and white communities for crossing a race barrier. Her decision to have sex with a black man -- not once, but twice -- and bear two black children dismisses her from any support or respect from either race community. Whites refer to her as a "Common, God-forsaken, insane white shameless wench," and the blacks call her a "Catholic poor-white crazy woman" (5). Because she is obviously not wanted in public, Becky simply disappears socially, and is not even seen at her own home, a humble house located "on the narrow strip of land between the railroad and the road" (5). Some people take pity on her, bringing her food and sending prayers to her, but most simply ignore her and even wonder if she has died and been buried by her two, now-grown sons without anyone in the town knowing. One Sunday afternoon, two religious men on their way home from church services ride past Becky's house. Simultaneously, a train comes churning through the station with such force that it knocks the "leaning" chimney on Becky's home into the cabin, crushing what the two men imagine to be Becky. Instead of investigating, or possibly trying to help Becky, they simply leave a Bible on top of her crushed body. Toomer leaves the reader with the image of the Bible flapping "its leaves with an aimless rustle on her mound" (7).
"Becky" was a difficult piece for me to read. I cannot imagine anyone experiencing so much pain and loneliness in their life, disrespected and looked down on by virtually everyone, and then dying alone and deranged from such an angst-ridden existence. Even worse, I got the idea that both the black and white communities received a sense of relief in Becky's death. The woman who they secretly desired to be "cast...out" and receive ultimate punishment for her miscegenation dies a painful death, but not at their hands. After reading Becky's story a second and third time, I began to feel like Becky and our narratory from "Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man" possessed very similar qualities. Although their stories differ, and Becky's ends much differently than the narrator's does, theoretically they experience many of the same emotions. Neither are fully accepted by black or white communities, and therefore, both choose to distance themselves socially to avoid pain. However, both receive severe emotional scarring from their life experiences, and, even though Becky's story ends in her death whereas the narrator lives, the narrator is barely existing. I would like to discuss the corrolations between "Becky" and "Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man" in class, because I think we could generate some very interesting ideas regarding the way both individuals had to resort to living their lives.
I just can't get over the pain in "Becky." How did she survive as long as she did?
Saturday, September 15, 2007
conclusion of "ex-coloured man"
As he begins to wrap up the narrative of his life, our narrator expresses his changed view on race and his beliefs about himself as a black man. He states, "The anomaly of my social position often appealed strongly to my sense of humor. I frequently smiled inwardly at some remark not altogether complimentary to people of colour; and more than once I felt like declaiming: "I am a coloured man. Do I not disprove the theory that one drop of Negro blood renders a man unfit?" Many a night when I returned to my room after an enjoyable evening, I laughed heartily over what struck me as the capital joke I was playing" (197).
As a reader, I couldn't put my finger on the sentiment that the narrator was trying to express in that kind of a statement. He clearly expresses that he maintains respect for the negro race, because he concludes the novel with the thought that men who did work to advance the negro race performed "glorious" work, but the thought that the narrator unabashadly admits to laughing at jokes that degrade his own race makes my heart ache. This narrator is, by far, one of the most conflicted individuals I've ever come to know in literature. "It is to my children that I have devoted my life," the narrator says, reinforcing his inner turmoil. I wonder if the narrator realizes that by laughing at and finding pleasure in jokes that put down the negro race, he is laughing at his own children, who, by the "one drop theory...which the narrator honors, are black? If he claims that he isn't ashamed that he insults himself by accepting degradation of the negro race, I don't know how he could live the knowledge that his wavering attitude towards race means he is also degrading his own children.
The "so what?" attitude that the narrator appears to have adopted reminds me of a current social trend that I have been reflecting on a lot during the reading of this novel. In almost every single rap song that I've heard recently, the word "nigga" is often mentioned more than once, to the point where the presence of the word overrides the general message of the song. For example, in Soulja Boy's recent album, the line "Leave me alone, let me get some peace/I'm sittin at the house and a nigga can't sleep," appear. I believe that the message of that song would still come across if Soulja Boy had replaced the world "nigga" with "man" or "brother." In fact, by using the word "nigga," he specifically caters to a black audience -- an idea which I still don't entirely understand. I don't know if the idea that blacks use "nigga" as a term of comraderie, despite the reign that "nigger" held as the deepest insult a white could give a black, will ever fully make sense to me. I feel like blacks in our modern world who still choose to hold on to the remnants of their ancestors' painful pasts are playing the same role as Johnson's narrator...laughing heartily over a capitol joke that isn't that funny.
-Elizabeth
As a reader, I couldn't put my finger on the sentiment that the narrator was trying to express in that kind of a statement. He clearly expresses that he maintains respect for the negro race, because he concludes the novel with the thought that men who did work to advance the negro race performed "glorious" work, but the thought that the narrator unabashadly admits to laughing at jokes that degrade his own race makes my heart ache. This narrator is, by far, one of the most conflicted individuals I've ever come to know in literature. "It is to my children that I have devoted my life," the narrator says, reinforcing his inner turmoil. I wonder if the narrator realizes that by laughing at and finding pleasure in jokes that put down the negro race, he is laughing at his own children, who, by the "one drop theory...which the narrator honors, are black? If he claims that he isn't ashamed that he insults himself by accepting degradation of the negro race, I don't know how he could live the knowledge that his wavering attitude towards race means he is also degrading his own children.
The "so what?" attitude that the narrator appears to have adopted reminds me of a current social trend that I have been reflecting on a lot during the reading of this novel. In almost every single rap song that I've heard recently, the word "nigga" is often mentioned more than once, to the point where the presence of the word overrides the general message of the song. For example, in Soulja Boy's recent album, the line "Leave me alone, let me get some peace/I'm sittin at the house and a nigga can't sleep," appear. I believe that the message of that song would still come across if Soulja Boy had replaced the world "nigga" with "man" or "brother." In fact, by using the word "nigga," he specifically caters to a black audience -- an idea which I still don't entirely understand. I don't know if the idea that blacks use "nigga" as a term of comraderie, despite the reign that "nigger" held as the deepest insult a white could give a black, will ever fully make sense to me. I feel like blacks in our modern world who still choose to hold on to the remnants of their ancestors' painful pasts are playing the same role as Johnson's narrator...laughing heartily over a capitol joke that isn't that funny.
-Elizabeth
Saturday, September 8, 2007
chapters 6-9
The narrator of "The Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man," who remains unnamed even at the beginning of chapter 8, gives readers countless opportunities to dislike him. He flits from occupation to occupation, leaving friends behind and never really honing in on a profession or particular skill. He has incredible opportunities presented to him, for example, his work and eventually his companionship with the millionaire - a man who was willing to take the narrator across the globe and share his music - dissipates because the narrator wants to "go back into the very heart of the South, to live among the people, and drink in...inspiration firsthand" (142). Also, as we discussed in class, the narrator has yet to prove that the story he is telling has direction or purpose. Rather, he simply rambles on, piling his stories upon each other, leaving the reader unsure where or when his narrative will climax.
Despite the narrator's downfalls, I, for some reason, still find him to be an admirable person. No matter how many times he gets pushed down, or "gives up," he finds a way to remain not only optimistic about his future, but also idealistic and confident in himself. I think he, and all black individuals who strove to help achieve greatness for their race during the narrator's time, deserves recognition for possessing such ambitiousness even through times of segregation. Personally, I am proud of the narrator's decision to return to the United States. Coming home to America will provide him with the opportunity to advance respect for his race, and doing so through the use of his beautiful musical skills. I just hope that once he returns to New York, he doesn't fall into the same pit of temptation that consumed him before his travels abroad (gambling), and that he manages to maintain focus on his goals.
One final thought: Will the narrator re-encounter his father and "sister" again? If so, how will he react?
-Elizabeth
Despite the narrator's downfalls, I, for some reason, still find him to be an admirable person. No matter how many times he gets pushed down, or "gives up," he finds a way to remain not only optimistic about his future, but also idealistic and confident in himself. I think he, and all black individuals who strove to help achieve greatness for their race during the narrator's time, deserves recognition for possessing such ambitiousness even through times of segregation. Personally, I am proud of the narrator's decision to return to the United States. Coming home to America will provide him with the opportunity to advance respect for his race, and doing so through the use of his beautiful musical skills. I just hope that once he returns to New York, he doesn't fall into the same pit of temptation that consumed him before his travels abroad (gambling), and that he manages to maintain focus on his goals.
One final thought: Will the narrator re-encounter his father and "sister" again? If so, how will he react?
-Elizabeth
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