Travel

I'm a really big fan of "Questions of Travel." This poem asks questions about modernity veiled in the regretful musings of someone whose vacation has lasted a little too long. I like the question "Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?" (14). Modernist authors tend to be preoccupied with the idea of migration as a means to find inspiration. Bishop seems to struggle with that idea in this poem, and wonders if the road to inspiration is necessary to traverse. Bishop revels in the beauty around her though, even if there are "too many waterfalls," (1) and realizes that "Surely it would have been a pity / not to have seen the trees along this road, / really exaggerated in their beauty, / not to have seen them gesturing / like noble pantomimists, robed in pink" (30-34). But, Bishop still finds herself thinking of home, and, just like a modernist, she migrates to find her muse but ends up writing about home anyway.

Bishop's Diversity of Work

As I read through the variety of poems, and looked at the additional reading (Bishop in Europe) I noted the focus on aesthetics. I'm very picky about the poetry I read and enjoy, and Bishop seems (for me) to be hit and miss. Some of her (earlier/middle/war) poetry seems much more concrete and simple, and with exception of the poetry that has a lack of depth (and adhears to meter that doesn't quite fit the mood), that concrete writing is much more enjoyable than her more abstract poetry- addressing the more political and emotional. It's interesting that the artical argues that her later work- when she involved more politics, might be considered some of her better more grounded compositions.

Floral Imagery in "The Fish"

One thing I noticed as I read "The Fish" by Elizabeth Bishop is her unexpected use of floral imagery. Flowers tend to carry connotations of beauty--I am personally particularly fond of peonies, to which the speaker compares the fish's "swim-bladder" (32). Because the majority of the imagery of the poem centers on the somewhat repulsive, scaly, underwatery-ness of the fish, my mind gave a little jolt when I came across lines like "shapes like full-blown roses" (14) and "fine rosettes of lime" (17). This last is followed immediately by "and infested/with tiny white sea-lice" (18-19), a sharply contrasting image. The speaker seems to be struggling to simultaneously portray the fish as what it literally is (ugly) and what it metaphorically or symbolically represents (the beauty and strength of nature triumphing over insignificant human endeavors).

Synchronicity

This morning, two things happened in tandem that seemed fortuitous in this final week of "Transnational Modernism." I was reading the Bishop poems, enjoying their lovely associations and easy stretches of language while the radio, tuned to NPR, played in the background. Suddenly my ears abandoned the musicality of Bishop and tuned into the startling announcement that Merce Cunningham, the "worlds greatest choreographer" and "the last of the avant-garde" was dead at 90. I sat, stunned.

I became intrigued with Merce Cunningham years ago when I read that, as a dancer (and I must add a person) he never followed the beat--anyone's beat. He collaborated frequently with John Cage and together they questioned rhythm--they let chance dictate the flow of composition and choreography, sometimes throwing the I Ching to determine a piece. The most revelatory story I remember of Cunningham was an interview (which I still have) in the East/West Journal. He was talking about the movements of running, jumping, falling. He said how we are conditioned to see or execute those actions in that order. But he suggested the possibility of throwing a coin and having 'fall' came first--of how he would expect his dancers to execute the fall first, then maybe the jump, and finally the run. He said he always told his dancers if they met up with the impossible, they should master that then aim for at least one notch beyond it.

So this reminiscence about an artist who resides in my personal grotto of sorts got me to thinking about this class and the representative writers that we've studied--how they challenge the nature of what narrative has to be, of how they disconnect some of our assumed connections, of how they (as well as Merce) try to erase certain muscular memories so new and limitless ranges of motion can be given a chance.

I turned off the radio and returned to Bishop. I re-read "The Map." It makes its opening statement. Then the second line questions, "Shadows, or are they shallows..." and immediately after ending that question, leads to yet another possible interpretation of the view, "Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under?" And finally, Bishop ends the first stanza with yet another angle, "Is the land tugging at the sea from under?" Her modernist view allows all possibilities at once. Formed, as they are, by a query, she does not provide us with a tidy answer. It could just as well be the three movements of running, jumping, falling. She, nor the reader, has to begin with one over the other. She could reverse the order of her questioning. I would still have to sit at the table and construct the meaning for myself.

Ruth

Beauty

I agree with Jillian- this book had wonderfully beautiful scenes and description. I was blown away by the emotional beauty of it all too. Given I define beauty as a sort of intensity and thought provoking emotion, rather than just the prettiness of it all. The contrast in the dingy and the pure of society, as well as the grey area in between was just shocking at times.

Often I found I could identify with Bakha, when he turned his face into the sun and breathed in the untainted air. I knew what it was like to be confused about ones place when the signs all around pointed in many directions. I'd have to say that of all of the novels/books we read throughout the class- through description and detail Anand's was the best (though the story in L. Woolf's novel was my favorite). I know I'm repeating myself, but wow- the contrast and the depth in this was amazing.

Finding the Poet

"As the brief Indian twilight came and went, a sudden impulse shot through the transformations of space and time, and gathered all the elements that were dispersed in the stream of his soul into a tentative decision: 'I shall go and tell father all that Gandhi said about us,' he whispered to himself, 'and all that that poet said. Perhaps I can find the poet some day and ask him about his machine.' And he proceeded homewards" (Andand 157).

Wow! What a great ending. Anand paints for us a beautiful portrait of natural beauty, realization, and potential that leaves the reader fulfilled and hopeful, even at the end of a novel whose main character constantly wades through filth. Bakha's journey has only begun, and his destiny seems to be framed by Gandhi, the poet, and the toilet (you can substitute technology for toilet if it makes you more comfortable). Anand tells us in Conversations in Bloomsbury that "consciousness is about something other than itself, awareness of an object. Thus one is because of others" (132). Bakha's identity--his status as social outcast, his noble personality, and his egotistical naivete--are dependent upon culture and perception. Freedom from these things is impossible. Anand realizes that the best we can do is construct for ourselves an identity that we are proud of, much like Bakha does. Is Bakha perfect? No. But neither am I...neither is anyone. But, for better or worse, I am who I am because of my culture. Bakha is not like the other characters we've read this semester; he exists because of his culture, not in spite of it. And Anand seems to be okay with that.

Response to Ruth's Response

I too rather enjoyed both sections from the Conversations in Bloomsbury packets as well as the Berman piece. I especially appreciated the budding (if not fully formed) intimacy and mutual appreciation evident between Anand and his Western contemporaries. What becomes evident in the reading is Anand's place in a dynamic, ever-evolving culture of ideas which, coupled with his knowledge of Indian culture and myth constructs his unique brand of regional cosmopolitanism. Anand's time in England allowed him to observe social customs abroad which both coincided with and diverged from those of his homeland. Modernist thought became especially paramount in informing (and in some senses determining) his aesthetic choices, all while leaving his concern with India's socio-political climate definitively in tact.

As Berman states, dalit literature, "demonstrates the importance of conceiving modernism as a mode of writing that arises in many forms, guises, and locations in response to the social, political, and aesthetic developments of modernity. Writers in the colonies not only responded to local traditions and the writing they knew from abroad but also developed their own forms and modes, which in turn contributed to literary development both at home and abroad." Anand seemed fixed in these crosscurents, all the while focalizing India within this Modernist maelstrom. To again quote Berman, "Modernism does not move in one direction from Europe to the colonies, or even from the colonies straight back to Europe, but rather must be seen as part of a multidirectional flow of global literature and culture, with streams of discourse that also move around within a country and, as in the connection between Joyce and Anand, even from colony to metropolis to another colony and back again." In short, Anand's work seems to remain equally independent and inseparable from Western influence-a necessarily Modernist anomaly.