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superior models

iheartralphnad — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 01:35:20 +0000

"There is that indescribable freshness and unconsciousness about an illiterate person that humbles and mocks the power of the noblest expressive genius."

-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Book List, The Party

iheartralphnad — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 18:18:22 +0000

Today I spent $156 on books of poetry for my Modern Poetry Seminar with Mary Jo Bang. I already had Dream Songs by John Berryman & Ariel by Sylvia Plath. The list as a whole is pretty basic but I'm excited to crack into it with intensity. The rest:

Ball, Jesse. March Book.
Beckett, Samuel. Collected Shorter Plays.
Brock-Broido, Lucie. The Master Letters.
Donnelly, Timothy. Twenty-seven Props for a Production of Eine Lebenszeit.
Lorca, Federico Garcia. Poet in New York.
Mullen, Harrytette. Recyclopedia: Trimmings, S*PeRM**K*T, and Muse & Drudge.
Rankine, Claudia. Don't Let Me Be Lonely.
Rankine, Claudia. The End of the Alphabet.
Roubaud, Jaques. some thing black.
Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass.

Not much else to tell. I'm working on a long prose poem (by long I mean one page) called "The Party," which is loosely based on that dream I mentioned about my dad doing Tai Chi in someone's backyard to calm himself from being slipped drugs at a party. The last paragraph also pays slight homage to Alex & Angela Dezen's cat, though it's subject to change, because this is a poem in the works:

Since I fucked off the government plan I go back to the party. Everyone’s gone but Mom Dad Jack noodles. There’s noodles on the walls bar ceiling fan. Mom says he wont lay down unless we put something on the ground like a dishrag or even a post-it. Dad is curled up on a college-ruled sheet of paper lapping from the foodbowl Mom scraped off the jukebox. Back in her cereal doghouse Blackberry is scrolling Sorority draped by wrong Sorority stuffed owl Sorority fears serious business and even Jack is stumped.

I realize without the previous four paragraphs there's no possible way for the fifth to make sense. I think I just want to prove I'm doing something here besides going to the Foxhead.

Today is my second day teaching. I'm doing a lot of internet stuff--asking my kids to deconstruct the University of Iowa website and a couple of people's Facebook profiles to see how posturing is a type of argument. I need to start getting my teaching shit together because it's much harder to enjoy my night if I have tomorrow's class in mind.

There was a SICK thunderstorm last night which kept me from sleeping. When I woke up it was mad sunny out and I keep wondering whether I made the whole thing up.

Lastly,

Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young
We loved each other and were ignorant.

XVII. After Long Silence
Words for Music Perhaps
W. B. Yeats

Oh, Captain, my Captain

S.L. Snake — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 23:24:07 +0000

Um dos poemas mais lindos que conheço, que me marcou ainda na infância. Hoje, como professor, não há como não recordar os alunos da Helton subindo em suas mesas quando o professor John Keating (Robin Williams) deixa a sala para ser substituído (Sociedade dos Poetas Mortos, Oscar de Melhor Roteiro Original em 1990). O poema foi escrito em homenagem ao presidente norte-americano assassinado, Abraham Lincoln.

Hoje vou deixar como homenagem a um cara que tem me dado um baita apoio em questão de carreira acadêmica e, em muitos momentos, até com questões pessoais. Nessa semana, mandei um email para ele, chamando-o de Captain (sempre brincamos assim: Mestre Jedi, Pai Mei; Sábio Guru, etc) e me lembrei do poema de Walt Whitman, que segue abaixo

Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

193. O Captain! My Captain!

1 O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!	5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;	10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,	15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

3 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;	20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

(tradução)

Oh capitão! Meu capitão! nossa viagem
[medonha terminou;
O barco venceu todas as tormentas,
[o prêmio que perseguimos foi ganho;
O porto está próximo, ouço
[os sinos, o povo todo exulta,
Enquanto seguem com o olhar a quilha firme,
[o barco raivoso e audaz:

Mas oh coração! coração! coração!
Oh gotas sangrentas de vermelho,
No tombadilho onde jaz meu capitão,
Caído, frio, morto.

Oh capitão! Meu capitão! erga-se
[e ouça os sinos;
Levante-se - por você a bandeira dança - por
[você tocam os clarins;
Por você buquês e fitas em grinaldas -
[por você a multidão na praia;
Por você eles clamam, a reverente multidão
[de faces ansiosas:

Aqui capitão! pai querido!
Este braço sob sua cabeça;
É algum sonho que no tombadilho
Você esteja caído, frio e morto.

Meu capitão não responde, seus lábios
[estão pálidos e silenciosos
Meu pai não sente meu braço, ele não
[tem pulsação ou vontade;
O barco está ancorado com segurança
[e inteiro, sua viagem finda, acabada;
De uma horrível travessia o vitorioso barco
[retorna com o almejado prêmio:

Exulta, oh praia, e toquem, oh sinos!
Mas eu com passos desolados,
Ando pelo tombadilho onde jaz meu capitão,
caído, frio, morto.

Tradução: http://www.ocaixote.com.br/caixote07/captain.html

Referências:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O_Captain!_My_Captain!

http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Poets_Society

http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Williams