She’s a tricky little
bumble bee,
that Miss. Muffet
with no Tuffet,
walking over the
rainbow.
She places one foot in
front of the other;
on the violet only.
Step. Step. Step.
Thin candy lacquer:
The razor edge of a
just about finished jolly rancher.
Transparent
Sugary
Shining
The dismount is
flawless.
A 10 on the Richter
Scale.
She claps the chalk off
her hands,
wipes it down onto her
thigh,
and sprints for the
concession.
There is poetry in living. You just have to look for it.
One of my favorite movies is American Beauty-and not just
because of the brilliant Kevin Spacey. I love the cinematography and the
meaning.
But I haven’t always.
The floating plastic bag used to bother me. It seemed trite;
below the message, maybe. It felt obvious in its symbolism. A symbol trying to be a symbol. With time, I’ve
given it some thought and I have grown to understand:
It does not matter what it is actually about. What is relevant is what I (or you, the viewer) believe it
to be.
Most recently, in my position as a 12th grade
English teacher, I would debate with my advanced writing class about author
intent. As we interpret Shakespeare or Plath or Vonnegut, there is always the
student who will refute, “Maybe the object [we are discussing] is simply an
object. Maybe it symbolizes nothing.
Sometimes a crown is just a crown.”
I expect that question. I get it as least once per semester.
When it’s asked, I generally stop class and sit cross legged on my desk and
explain that it’s about metacognition; knowing about knowing. It dates back to
Aristotle. To Piaget’s theories of cognitive development. Metacognition is when
the individual forms thoughts and creates new freeways based on something that
has already been built.
It’s a means of survival.
Any former writing, poetry or English 101 student of mine
will tell you that I am likely to throw a book at the head of any learner who
dares to use cliché in writing.
It’s lazy.
Instead, take that truism---digest it, rethink it---and make
that baby yours.
You’ll always be right if it’s yours.
I reason with my class that perhaps the author did not mean more. And perhaps he did. In my classroom I am the boss and, before students move on to metacognition, they
need to first pay respect in their exploration of the author’s original intent.
I can tell you this unequivocally, authors always have a
reason for what they write.
When you digest that reason, that meaning, then it’s time for the graduate course;
and that syllabus is yours to teach.
Because, guess what?: It’s not about the bag.
It’s about wind.
It’s about journey.
It’s about the destination.
2 comments:
This calls to mind the epistemological problems set up in Descartes' First Meditation. Is it possible to even know.... Nietzsche and the nature of objective knowledge, if it exists, and then, if it even matters.
It's a never-ending and, I think, obsessive concern for any kind of 'philosopher' - the duality of the strength and vulnerability in reason, knowledge, truth. A way to make things fit. But when they don't there is always poetry - in music, art, others, a view - anything that can be felt or experienced.
Descartes set it up: the demolition of sensory experience, feeling, ideology, everything that makes up the Self - all in the pursuit of a greater truth than feeling. But I can say that, more often, a few lines of Rilke have been a greater comfort than all the discourses.
And I think American Beauty is Conrad Hall's best work, full of feeling.
That's it exactly, Kevin. "the duality of strength and vulnerability in reason, knowledge and truth. A way to make things fit."
Beautiful.
Like you grabbed my thoughts out of my head.
I can still see where you sat in my class. Still remember your careful handwriting and observations that made me think.
Thank you for your comment.
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