Hollow City provides an illuminating account of modern day San Francisco's gentrification process and how it directly effects the artistry and multiculturalism of the city. Solnit debunks the popular misconception that San Francisco is nothing more than a "far out city on the left side of the world." She argues that this San Francisco is merely an idea that isn't completely based in reality. Immigrants, transients, and artists originally came to San Francisco because of its romantic promises: there was a place for everyone to live and to flourish financially, artistically, and culturally. However, this idea of a near utopia quickly vanished with the introduction of Silicon Valley and the dot-com boom. Suddenly, affordable housing no longer existed; specifically, artists became displaced and thus creatively inhibited. Solnit claims that artistic genius only thrives in places where the artist can live an impoverished, difficult life. The gentrification of these former artist neighborhoods and workspaces, however, proved to make that lifestyle impossible. Furthermore, gentrification essentially bleached out formerly culturally diverse neighborhoods. For example, the Latin American community in the Mission was forced to pack up and leave when buildings were bought up to build trendy bars and nightclubs aimed at the upper middle class, white demographic. San Francisco, then, does not represent a haven for people otherwise displaced. It instead is a reminder that industrial and technological evolutions only benefit a small fraction of society.
Wittman Ah-Singh is an example of Solnit's theory on displaced people. In Tripmaster Monkey, Wittman struggles to define himself as a Chinese-American in a city that is both stereotypically Chinese and stereotypically American. He attempts to negotiate his space in the city by retaining his artistic integrity as a poet. However, Wittman has trouble communicating with others, as seen when Nanci doesn't appreciate his poetry reading in chapter 1. These sorts of struggles are what prevent him from negotiating his space. His plights show that there is a lack of space in the city for people like him.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
From California to Colorado: the Naropa Contado
San Francisco's most famous Beat movement writers seem to thrive on this romantic idea of isolation: they are alone in their fight against the modernization of America and their in quest for self-actualization. Quotes from Lawrence Ferlinghetti like, "Everything the Beats stood for was the opposite of the dominant culture today" shows how the Beats felt marginalized by the hegemony. Meanwhile, Richard Brautigan says, "Probably the closest things to perfection are the huge absolutely empty holes that astronomers have recently discovered in space. If there's nothing there, how can anything go wrong?" Charles Bukowski agrees: "There are worse things than being alone," and, "I would be married but I'd have no wife. I'd be married to a single life." Ideas like this show the importance of empty space to Beat thinkers and implies that they have an affinity for personal space and thus isolation.
Interestingly, even though the Beats call for a social and political reformation within the United States, their poetry only existed within the context of their small community. Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman expanded the San Francisco Beat contado by founding the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado. The purpose of this school was to teach its students the importance of self-discovery and personal enlightenment and how they can apply their learnings to a broader context of serving the world and bettering society.
Waldman expresses her need for her poetry to "be the experience... a sustained experience, a voyage, a magnificent dream, something that would take you in myriad directions simultaneously, and you could draw on all of these other voices and you could pay homage to ancestors and other languages--a poem that would include everything and yet dwell in the interstices of imagination and action." Waldman seems to understand that in order for poetry to have an impact, it needs to be big. She stands separate from other Beat writers because she thinks in terms of the Beat movement contado. She stands in opposition to other Beat figures, like Ferlinghetti for instance. Ferlinghetti founded City Lights Bookstore, which proved to be a huge success in getting out texts that would otherwise not have been seen, but he founded it on the idea that it would be an independent bookstore in San Francisco for San Francisco. By taking root in Boulder, Waldman shows the importance of institutionalizing the Beat movement so it takes on a broader significance.
The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics hosts a small writing program that teaches its students the importance of art in every day life. Prolific poets of the Beat movement like Diane Di Prima frequently hold lectures and poetry readings at the school:
The Jack Kerouac School gives academic validity to poetry and ideas that stem from the Beat movement. Ginsberg's "Howl" is partially a critique of modernity's narrow-mindedness when it comes to liberal, free-flowing ideas. With writers such as Gregory Corso actually sitting down and teaching these ideas in a classroom setting, the Beat movement suddenly gains a sort of intellectual credit.
A poetry seminar with Gregory Corso. Allen Ginsberg sits in as a student.
According to Naropa Institute's "facts at a glance" page, 77% of its students come from out-of-state to attend the university. Additionally, 69.2% of those students come from over 500 miles away. This is a test to the huge scope of influence that Naropa has. In a way, one could argue that Naropa Institute has branched off and formed its own contado. Regardless, the writing program is a driving force at Naropa that would not have been possible had it not been for Waldman and Ginsberg's commitment to spreading the Beat movement beyond the borders of San Francisco.
If you're interested in hearing Waldman and Ginsberg read some of their poetry at a Naropa lecture, click this:
http://www.archive.org/details/naropa_anne_waldman_and_allen_ginsberg
quotes from:
http://www.kerouacalley.com/
school information from:
http://www.naropa.edu/
Interestingly, even though the Beats call for a social and political reformation within the United States, their poetry only existed within the context of their small community. Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman expanded the San Francisco Beat contado by founding the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado. The purpose of this school was to teach its students the importance of self-discovery and personal enlightenment and how they can apply their learnings to a broader context of serving the world and bettering society.
Waldman expresses her need for her poetry to "be the experience... a sustained experience, a voyage, a magnificent dream, something that would take you in myriad directions simultaneously, and you could draw on all of these other voices and you could pay homage to ancestors and other languages--a poem that would include everything and yet dwell in the interstices of imagination and action." Waldman seems to understand that in order for poetry to have an impact, it needs to be big. She stands separate from other Beat writers because she thinks in terms of the Beat movement contado. She stands in opposition to other Beat figures, like Ferlinghetti for instance. Ferlinghetti founded City Lights Bookstore, which proved to be a huge success in getting out texts that would otherwise not have been seen, but he founded it on the idea that it would be an independent bookstore in San Francisco for San Francisco. By taking root in Boulder, Waldman shows the importance of institutionalizing the Beat movement so it takes on a broader significance.
The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics hosts a small writing program that teaches its students the importance of art in every day life. Prolific poets of the Beat movement like Diane Di Prima frequently hold lectures and poetry readings at the school:
The Jack Kerouac School gives academic validity to poetry and ideas that stem from the Beat movement. Ginsberg's "Howl" is partially a critique of modernity's narrow-mindedness when it comes to liberal, free-flowing ideas. With writers such as Gregory Corso actually sitting down and teaching these ideas in a classroom setting, the Beat movement suddenly gains a sort of intellectual credit.
A poetry seminar with Gregory Corso. Allen Ginsberg sits in as a student.
According to Naropa Institute's "facts at a glance" page, 77% of its students come from out-of-state to attend the university. Additionally, 69.2% of those students come from over 500 miles away. This is a test to the huge scope of influence that Naropa has. In a way, one could argue that Naropa Institute has branched off and formed its own contado. Regardless, the writing program is a driving force at Naropa that would not have been possible had it not been for Waldman and Ginsberg's commitment to spreading the Beat movement beyond the borders of San Francisco.
If you're interested in hearing Waldman and Ginsberg read some of their poetry at a Naropa lecture, click this:
http://www.archive.org/details/naropa_anne_waldman_and_allen_ginsberg
* * *
quotes from:
http://www.kerouacalley.com/
school information from:
http://www.naropa.edu/
Friday, October 24, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Mayonnaise Essay
Richard Brautigan chooses in his penultimate chapter of Trout Fishing in America to wax eloquence on the word Mayonnaise. The chapter and its accompanying prelude do not really seem to fit with the rest of the text. Trout Fishing often finds itself paying homage to the natural world or telling selective excerpts from stories about self-discovery. The Mayonnaise Chapter (pages 111-112) sticks out, not only because of its seeming randomness, but also because it focuses on people who do not appear to share any direct relationship with the rest of the text. In many ways, the Mayonnaise Chapter stands alone. However, it does correlate with the text's funereal themes and ideas of isolation and separation.
Mayonnaise as a metaphor encompasses the themes of the rest of the text; in other words, the mayonnaise acts as the container to Trout Fishing. The word "mayonnaise" is written on the back cover of the book, and the cover of a book holds the inside together. "Mayonnaise," then, literally surrounds the text within the novel. The significance of the role of mayonnaise is thus clear before one even opens the novel.
The exact reason of its significance, though, is unclear, but perhaps its ambiguity is intentional. Brautigan opens the Prelude with a quote from anthropologist M.F. Ashley Montagu: "'The Eskimos live among the ice all their lives but have no single word for ice'" (Brautigan 111). This implies the ambiguity of language and supports the idea of the ability to stretch the definition of a word to better fit into the meaning a text. Brautigan further supports this notion by quoting Marston Bates: "'Language does not leave fossils, at least not until it has become written...'" (Brautigan 111). In this way, Brautigan's obsession with mayonnaise is him writing his own version of a language.
With this notion in mind, it becomes clear that mayonnaise does not just represent a sandwich condiment. In his final sentence of the Prelude, Brautigan says that his desire to write a book about mayonnaise "express[es] a human need" (Brautigan 111). Though he never specifies this need, in the final Mayonnaise Chapter, he writes a letter addressing the recent death of a man named Mr. Good. In some ways, this letter comes off as impersonal, especially because the readers do not know who the addresser, the addressee, or Mr. Good are. These details, however, are inconsequential; the importance of this letter lies within the broader context of death and remembrance. Mr. Good's passing is not what is truly important. Rather, it is the act of acknowledging this passing that holds real meaning. By ending the letter with the word "mayonnaise," the meanings of the letter and how it fits into the body of the text tie together.
On page 21, Brautigan touches on funereal themes as the narrator trout fishes at a graveyard. On one gravestone, the narrator reads, "This mayonnaise jar with wilted flowers in it was left six months ago by his sister who is in the crazy place now." Here, the mayonnaise jar acts as a literal container to hold flowers of dead remembrance. Mayonnaise seems to represent a way holding onto the past, or perhaps even containing the spirit. With a mayonnaise jar, death does not have to be an end-all. Contrastingly, however, the sister responsible for the mayonnaise jar does not seem to realize this hopeful interpretation. By saying that she is "in the crazy place," Brautigan isolates her and keeps her out of touch from the readers. In this way, the mayonnaise jar contains her entire being and keeps her removed from the rest of the world.
By redefining the word mayonnaise, Brautigan simultaneously creates a sense of unity and separation within the text. It is unclear whether mayonnaise is supposed to uplift or isolate the reader from the themes and characters within the text. Part of mayonnaise's purpose, perhaps, is to prove that language is malleable and often misunderstood. A writer does not give a word meaning. Rather, a reader inserts his or her own meaning into the text. Maybe the real question is whether giving words new implications makes them more true or only falsifies their meanings more.
Mayonnaise as a metaphor encompasses the themes of the rest of the text; in other words, the mayonnaise acts as the container to Trout Fishing. The word "mayonnaise" is written on the back cover of the book, and the cover of a book holds the inside together. "Mayonnaise," then, literally surrounds the text within the novel. The significance of the role of mayonnaise is thus clear before one even opens the novel.
The exact reason of its significance, though, is unclear, but perhaps its ambiguity is intentional. Brautigan opens the Prelude with a quote from anthropologist M.F. Ashley Montagu: "'The Eskimos live among the ice all their lives but have no single word for ice'" (Brautigan 111). This implies the ambiguity of language and supports the idea of the ability to stretch the definition of a word to better fit into the meaning a text. Brautigan further supports this notion by quoting Marston Bates: "'Language does not leave fossils, at least not until it has become written...'" (Brautigan 111). In this way, Brautigan's obsession with mayonnaise is him writing his own version of a language.
With this notion in mind, it becomes clear that mayonnaise does not just represent a sandwich condiment. In his final sentence of the Prelude, Brautigan says that his desire to write a book about mayonnaise "express[es] a human need" (Brautigan 111). Though he never specifies this need, in the final Mayonnaise Chapter, he writes a letter addressing the recent death of a man named Mr. Good. In some ways, this letter comes off as impersonal, especially because the readers do not know who the addresser, the addressee, or Mr. Good are. These details, however, are inconsequential; the importance of this letter lies within the broader context of death and remembrance. Mr. Good's passing is not what is truly important. Rather, it is the act of acknowledging this passing that holds real meaning. By ending the letter with the word "mayonnaise," the meanings of the letter and how it fits into the body of the text tie together.
On page 21, Brautigan touches on funereal themes as the narrator trout fishes at a graveyard. On one gravestone, the narrator reads, "This mayonnaise jar with wilted flowers in it was left six months ago by his sister who is in the crazy place now." Here, the mayonnaise jar acts as a literal container to hold flowers of dead remembrance. Mayonnaise seems to represent a way holding onto the past, or perhaps even containing the spirit. With a mayonnaise jar, death does not have to be an end-all. Contrastingly, however, the sister responsible for the mayonnaise jar does not seem to realize this hopeful interpretation. By saying that she is "in the crazy place," Brautigan isolates her and keeps her out of touch from the readers. In this way, the mayonnaise jar contains her entire being and keeps her removed from the rest of the world.
By redefining the word mayonnaise, Brautigan simultaneously creates a sense of unity and separation within the text. It is unclear whether mayonnaise is supposed to uplift or isolate the reader from the themes and characters within the text. Part of mayonnaise's purpose, perhaps, is to prove that language is malleable and often misunderstood. A writer does not give a word meaning. Rather, a reader inserts his or her own meaning into the text. Maybe the real question is whether giving words new implications makes them more true or only falsifies their meanings more.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
IN GOLDEN GATE PARK THAT DAY...
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
In Golden Gate Park that day
a man and his wife were coming along
thru an enormous meadow
which was the meadow of the world
He was wearing green suspenders
and carrying an old beat-up flute
in one hand
while his wife had a bunch of grapes
which she kept handing out
individually
to various squirrels
as if each
were a little joke
And the two of them came on
thru the enormous meadow
which was the meadow of the world
and then
at a very still spot where the trees dreamed
and seemed to have been waiting thru all time
for them
they sat down on the grass together
without looking at each other
and ate oranges
without looking at each other
and put the peels
in a basket which they seemed
to have brought for that purpose
without looking at each other
And then
he took his shirt and undershirt off
but kept his hat on
sideways
and without saying anything
fell asleep under it
And his wife just sat there looking
at the birds which flew about
calling to each other
in the stilly air
as if they were questioning existence
or trying to recall something forgotten
But then finally
she too lay down flat
and just lay there looking up
at nothing
yet fingering the old flute
which nobody played
and finally looking over
at him
with no particular expression
except a certain awful look
of terrible depression
a man and his wife were coming along
thru an enormous meadow
which was the meadow of the world
He was wearing green suspenders
and carrying an old beat-up flute
in one hand
while his wife had a bunch of grapes
which she kept handing out
individually
to various squirrels
as if each
were a little joke
And the two of them came on
thru the enormous meadow
which was the meadow of the world
and then
at a very still spot where the trees dreamed
and seemed to have been waiting thru all time
for them
they sat down on the grass together
without looking at each other
and ate oranges
without looking at each other
and put the peels
in a basket which they seemed
to have brought for that purpose
without looking at each other
And then
he took his shirt and undershirt off
but kept his hat on
sideways
and without saying anything
fell asleep under it
And his wife just sat there looking
at the birds which flew about
calling to each other
in the stilly air
as if they were questioning existence
or trying to recall something forgotten
But then finally
she too lay down flat
and just lay there looking up
at nothing
yet fingering the old flute
which nobody played
and finally looking over
at him
with no particular expression
except a certain awful look
of terrible depression
The trope in this Ferlinghetti poem refers to a call back to nature. Ferlinghetti believes in the importance of the natural world; this poem on Golden Gate Park reflects the necessity to preserve a piece of nature within the walls of an evolving metropolitan city. San Francisco is an ever-changing, always active city. It simultaneously represents progress and disorder in very dark, perverse, and beautifully poetic ways. But as exciting as Ferlinghetti's San Francisco is, he understands the importance of grabbing a moment of peace. The park is supposed to stand as a natural sanctuary and a way for people to temporarily remove themselves from the hustle and bustle of this urban life. However, Ferlinghetti implies that the park is not serving its purpose; rather, the hardships of everyday life have seeped into the park's boundaries.
The tone in the beginning of the poem sets Golden Gate Park up to be this wondrous place of "enormous" proportions; it is "the meadow of the world." Ferlinghetti shows the husband and wife as traditional images in a pastoral imagination: the husband wears "green suspenders" like a farmer and the wife passes out grapes to squirrels as if she has a special relationship with them. In short, they are in touch with nature and are seemingly happy.
By the second stanza, however, Ferlinghetti shows the couple's distance. While they sit in the middle of this supposed paradise, they interact with nature "without looking at each other." This immediately taints the image of a happy couple sitting in a park paradise. After the husband falls asleep, the wife seems to attempt to connect with the birds above her. She anthropomorphizes their chirping and flying, turning them into intellectual beings that "question existence." Though she makes this observation, she fails to actually connect with the birds and instead lies prostrate next to her husband in a very defeated manner. When she finally decides to connect with her husband by acknowledging his presence, she looks at him "a certain awful look of terrible depression." This final line shows the utter hopelessness in this couple's relationship.
While poems about unhappy unions are nothing new, what makes this poem distinguishable is that the couple's relationship appears irreparable in a park that is supposed to symbolize natural beauty and unrelenting bliss. Golden Gate Park represents a haven where people get in touch with themselves and with each other. The couple in this poem, however, fails to do so. The park cannot mend them, which threatens the validity and power of the park. The park is not a savior; rather, it is only a greener place for people to ponder their unsolvable problems. Perhaps Ferlinghetti feels that the city has grown too big and thus grown too many problems for one pastoral sanctuary to fix. Or, perhaps Ferlinghetti insinuates that people rely too much on nature to be a saving grace -- ultimately, the world is too corrupt for nature to save it. Regardless, while San Francisco attempts to balance the natural and manmade world within the same city walls, the original meaning of the park is lost.
The tone in the beginning of the poem sets Golden Gate Park up to be this wondrous place of "enormous" proportions; it is "the meadow of the world." Ferlinghetti shows the husband and wife as traditional images in a pastoral imagination: the husband wears "green suspenders" like a farmer and the wife passes out grapes to squirrels as if she has a special relationship with them. In short, they are in touch with nature and are seemingly happy.
By the second stanza, however, Ferlinghetti shows the couple's distance. While they sit in the middle of this supposed paradise, they interact with nature "without looking at each other." This immediately taints the image of a happy couple sitting in a park paradise. After the husband falls asleep, the wife seems to attempt to connect with the birds above her. She anthropomorphizes their chirping and flying, turning them into intellectual beings that "question existence." Though she makes this observation, she fails to actually connect with the birds and instead lies prostrate next to her husband in a very defeated manner. When she finally decides to connect with her husband by acknowledging his presence, she looks at him "a certain awful look of terrible depression." This final line shows the utter hopelessness in this couple's relationship.
While poems about unhappy unions are nothing new, what makes this poem distinguishable is that the couple's relationship appears irreparable in a park that is supposed to symbolize natural beauty and unrelenting bliss. Golden Gate Park represents a haven where people get in touch with themselves and with each other. The couple in this poem, however, fails to do so. The park cannot mend them, which threatens the validity and power of the park. The park is not a savior; rather, it is only a greener place for people to ponder their unsolvable problems. Perhaps Ferlinghetti feels that the city has grown too big and thus grown too many problems for one pastoral sanctuary to fix. Or, perhaps Ferlinghetti insinuates that people rely too much on nature to be a saving grace -- ultimately, the world is too corrupt for nature to save it. Regardless, while San Francisco attempts to balance the natural and manmade world within the same city walls, the original meaning of the park is lost.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
