Monday, December 5, 2011

alkgd'as;'ooiet


This week and last week we have been reading Frankestien. I was talking to some friends and we decided that the monster in Frankenstein and Grendel are quite alike. Well, at least in the beginning of their lives. Grendel is heavily reliant on his mother in the early stages of his life. So is the monster that Victor created. Victors monster has no mother. Victor left him with nothing. Now, he is confused and lost.
I can not tolerate Victor Frankenstein. I just can not believe that he would create something to feel less alone and then leave it there to figure out things out for itself. It leads the monster to be an even bigger monster due to the lack of guidance. Its just not okay.
            In my research for the seminar I discovered that Mary grew up without a mother. Also, her firstborn child died soon after it was born. She only had one son that actually made it into childhood. Her novels reflect this and her relationships with the people that surround her.
Okay, this blog is going no where. I’m going to analyze a poem now. Hmmm. I choose… 
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd ;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
— Ezra Pound
I know that we have discussed this, but after working on my poetry notebook I notice so many new things. I was looking up Ezra Pound for my poetry notebook and I suddenely remembered this poem. I looked up an article on modern American poetry website and I saw an entry from pound about being in France and getting off of the metro at La Concorde and seeing so many beautiful faces and not knowing how to express this. “And so, when I came to read Kandinsky’s chapter on the language of form and colour, I found little that was new to me. I only felt that someone else understood what I understood, and had written it out very clearly. It seems quite natural to me that an artist should have just as much pleasure in an arrangement of planes or in a pattern of figures, as in painting portraits of fine ladies, or in portraying the Mother of God as the symbolists bid us.” (Ezra Pound) He took a much more visual approach to this poem than he had for any of his others.