I think a good movie where an discuss how nature changes the protagonist would be The Blair Witch Project, I connect it to nature changing the protagonist, because when those kids were in the woods looking for this witch or spirit, there was no spirit it was simply the course of nature affecting them and therefore changing them and ruining their time there. the nature was what had the ultimate effect over them.
The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. 175
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
(Undead, the land destroyed, Sadness, exile)
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180
Departed, have left no addresses.
(Desolate, Cruel Environment, Human caused destruction)
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept…
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear 185
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
(The River Thames, Greek, Sadness to insane happiness)
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse. 190
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. 195
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
(Showing of life, Theme: dirty, Nature)
Et, O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d. 205
(Voices singing, people talking?)
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210
C. i. f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a week-end at the Metropole.
(Theme: a party, European origin, lively)
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back 215
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at tea-time, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, 225
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
(Theme: European culture, Fake, wants, needs)
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house-agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses, 235
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall 245
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronizing kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit…
(Theme: Character Development, the dead, lovers, no light means no hope)
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, 255
And puts a record on the gramophone.
(Theme: Heart Break, sadness, Departing, loneliness)
“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City City, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
(Theme: Loneliness, crumbling, destruction, desolate, not fancy, simple) 265
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails 270
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Down Greenwich reach 275
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars 280
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores 285
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
Weialala leia 290
“Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.“ 295
“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised ‘a new start.’
I made no comment. What should I resent?”
“On Margate Sands. 300
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken finger-nails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
(Theme: happy, people singing, happiness in a dreary place) 310
Douglas wrote this quote, and I believe that it can be translated simply, he was a slave of fact when he was forced to work on a plantation, where as his slave in form self is where he is trapped and held down by the government, when he thought he would be freed he was not truly freed.
Whitman and Douglas, while they were of different races and completely different backgrounds, I Believe could have formed a very close knit relationship simply based on their writing styles, almost a Watson Sherlock type duo. Whitman and Douglas both wrote about their past experiences using nature to further their narratives. Whitman a man who loves getting naked in the wild, was the free spirit of the two in that sense. Where as Douglas was a free spirit thanks to his past, being a slave and escaping gave him a sense of freedom like Whitman, but at the same time so different.
The American Scholar by Emerson has certain lines that can be connected back to Leaves of Grass, written by Walt Whitman. One example being the quote “The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry.” (Emerson) I find this quote connecting because it has to do with outdoors and sending man into the wilderness. Another quote that could be connected back would be “Thus to him, to this school-boy under the bending dome of day, is suggested, that he and it proceed from one root; one is leaf and one is flower; relation, sympathy, stirring in every vein.” (Emerson). This quote can be read as a connecting quote because it talks about a boy who seemingly questions things. Just like in Whitman’s piece where he has a boy whom questions even the leaves of grass
As a person who has never taken an interest in any sort of blogging, I find this harder and harder each week to think of something to write about, I struggle when there is no prompt to which I can follow or at least relate something to. So therefore here is my next blog post and its in regards to “Leaves in the grass” a poem that you could call the 50 shades of grey of its time. something about a man getting naked in the woods, just doesn’t seem to fit right with me.
While working on our BYON Essay’s I’ve started to understand the ABA plot structure a tad more, but yet I still feel like something is missing and I feel like it will show in my essay. As I type this, I hope to learn more about this structure and hopefully improve in the further essays throughout this year. Not sure what else to write about here, not to good at blogging, nor writing about anything without a prompt.
As i write my second blog post, I am currently sitting in my morning biology class, not paying attention. which I find interesting since I am a true fan of Biology. I am thinking about my contemporary choice and it comes to mind a show known as The Man in the High Castle, this show is an absolute work of art perfectly executed with an A-B-A structure. there will be much more to discuss in class, but just to simply write a bit about it, it takes place in a dystopian society set in the 1960’s where Germany and Japan had won World War 2, dividing the United States as theirs for the taking. As the show moves through, the twists and dark turns it takes throw each viewer a different curve ball.