...post-colonial and performative and post-modern perspectives...

"Perhaps, then, it is more helpful to approach autobiographical telling as a performative act." (Smith & Watson 47)

"A performative view of life narrative theorizes autobiographical occasions as dynamic sites for the performance of identities constitutive of subjectivity. In this view

, identities are not fixed or essentialized attributes of autobiographical subjects, rather they are produced and reiterated through cultural norms, and remain provisional and unstable." (Smith & Watson 145)

why is it that cheese is being wrapped individually, slice by slice?

The Brain -- is wider than the Sky --
For -- put them side by side --
The one the other will contain
With ease -- and You -- beside --

The Brain is deeper than the sea --
For -- hold them -- Blue to Blue --
The one the other will absorb --
As Sponges -- Buckets -- do --

The Brain is just the weight of God --
For -- Heft them -- Pound for Pound --
And they will differ -- if they do --
As Syllable from Sound --

-E.D.

though she's always been my favorite poet, i never appreciated the weight of her work until recent years. she's got hundreds and hundreds of poems to show for all her time spent in this physical state she seemed to be so weary of. and though i could list pick at least a few hundred as being extraordinary, 'the brain is wider than the sky' would definetly be among my top 5.

i find that there is an incredible level truth behind the simply formed letters of this poem. she's talking about infinity and divinity within our brains - what a beautiful truth we so rarely permit ourselves to acknowledge!

i believe the greatest strength and the greatest flaw of our human species, is our incessant instinct to divide things. not just anythings, but EVERYthings. we are constantly separating, labeling, categorizing, organizing, stereotyping, and so on and so on, until everything has its own everything. individuality has become the most important state of being for the world today, and not just for people, but for every aspect of existance, the physical and in the intangible. we are separated by towns, states, political parties, race, religion, the size of our income checks, our GPA's, and even our worth as humans - reflected in the value of life insurance policies. food isn't just food, its brand names! apples aren't apples, they're granny smith or macintosh. sex isn't just sex, its trojan or lifestyle. sleeping is no longer the time you spend mulling around in the unified consciousness of the world within the infinities of your brain. instead, it belongs to Ambien and Lunesta. its crazy what we're doing . . . putting sleep up against sleep!

but . . . . because of this class i've been noticing that in a lot of cases, the separation serves us as a means to better bring things together. the connection-through-division i've read in this course seems prevalent in every autobiography we've discussed this semester. every writer had to separate, in one way or another, in order to get back to that wholeness they were writing to convey.


so - in short!
this poem means a lot to me for many reasons, and i think everyone could benefit from reading it over more than a few times. understanding it is an even sweeter permission.

...attentiveness...

Kazin was attracted to the French philosopher Simone Weil's thought that modern rootlessness as attributable to "a lost contact with the world's recollection of divinity" and compared her definition of prayer - 'attentiveness without object' - to Emily Dickinson's attentiveness in beginning a poem 'without knowing what she was beginning."

Kazin for Jenna

American Reference
"I remember how the checkbones worked in his face and how the gray little Assyrian beard leaped into the air as he threw his arms out in entreaty. The crisp "American" eloquence of his speech bewildered me as I listened to him from the open window of that room, now mine, where our cousin had lived with us for so many years." (140-141)

Kazin makes yet another reference to American culture, as well as the characteristics of Americans.

Descriptive Memory
"There was still another, with a small growth of beard--they called him Ilyich, in honor of Lenin--a boy much older than the rest of us, a strange boy who lived by himself in a furnished room off Dumont Avenue, who had sworn never to shave until the boss class freed Tom Mooney. His long matted hair and beard gave him so archaic a look that I could never take it in that he was really there with me, talking in his gently condescending voice as I stared at the clotheslines."

Here, I can so vividly picture what Kazin is describing. Even as he is recalling this from deep in his memory, Kazin uses descriptive words and phrases that assist the reader to mentally visualize each and every detail he is describing. (147)

Ondaatje Makes Me Chuckle..

I am always a big fan of books that make me laugh, but it is not too often that I find a book I have to read for class that makes me laugh--so I'm pretty excited. The writing style in this text is so descriptive and beautiful I feel as thought I am next to Ondaatje as he is inserting images into his memory. I think it is this ability to be so incredibly descriptive that makes the novel so humorous. I also find this book so wonderful because it describes a dysfunctional family in a positive light.
Here are some of my favorite lines from the text--read and laugh : )
"It was two and a half years later, after several modest letters about his successful academic career, that his parents discovered he had not even passed the entrance exam and was living off their money in England." p. 31
"After a large meal and more drink my father announced that now he must shoot himself because Doris had broken off the engagement. Aelian, especially as he was quite drunk too, had a terrible time trying to hide every gun in the Ceylon Light Infantry building." p. 35
"And poor Wilfred Bartholomeuz who had large teeth was killed while out hunting when one of his companions mistook him for a wild boar." p.40

God & Kazin

"Yet it puzzled me that no one around me seemed to take God very seriously. We neither believed nor disbelieved. He was our oldest habit. For me, He was horribly the invisible head above the Board of Superintendents, the Almighty Judge Who watched you in every thought and deed, and to Whom I prayed for help in passing midterms and finals, His prophetess Deborah leading me safely through so long as I remembered to say under my breath as I walked in the street, 'Desolate were the open towns in Israel, they were desolate, until that I arose, Deborah.' He filled my world with unceasing dread; He had such power over me, watched me so unrelentingly, that it puzzled me to think He had to watch all the others with the same care; one night I dreamed of Him as a great engineer in some glass-walled control tower high in the sky glaring fixedly at a brake on which my name alone was written. In some ways he was simply a mad tyrant, someone I needed constantly to propitiate. Deborah alone would know how to intercede for me. Then He became a good-luck piece I carried around to get me the things I needed. I resented this God of Israel and the Board of Superintendents; He would never let me rest." page 46

"Yet I never really wanted to give him up. In some way it would have been hopeless to justify to myself-I had feared Him so long-He fascinated me, He seemed to hold the solitary place I most often went back to. There was a particular sensation connected with this-not of peace, not of certainty, not of goodness-but of depth; as if it were there I felt right to myself at last." page 47

Sorry those were so long. I felt that they encapsulated not only the essence of Kazin's spiritual and intellectual growth and fears, but many others as well. These passages are very relatable; it's hard for us humans to fully grasp the concept of an infinite and ubiquitous God. If He's listening to ME then how can He also be listening to another person, let alone billions? I also think there's a point in time where everyone questions either their particular faith or the existence of a higher power in general. In Kazin's instance, he was born into a Jewish family and culture and refers to God saying, "He was our oldest habit." Judaism becomes a part of their identity and daily lives and practices, but going through the motions is entirely different than actually having your own spiritual and personal relationship with God. I also like the imagery of his dream with God in a control tower. It's entirely believable yet portrays a scarier side of God, like he's Big Brother rather than a loving Father. Faith, whether strong, weak, absent, or questioning, always plays such a large role in the lives of humans and we've certainly seen that in the autobiographies we've read so far (Mary McCarthy comes to mind). It's just another human element that as a reader I am able to relate to and further understand the author (how many of us can say we've prayed to pass midterms and finals?), even if he's of a different faith.

Religion and movies in Kazin's city

We were asked what sorts of divisions we had noticed in Kazin's autobiography, and I keep returning to the same one over and over: Kazin's almost comparison of the movie theater and his synagogue. It seems as though the movie house holds more power, more influence, and more mystery for Kazin than does the synagogue.

"That poor worn synagogue could never in my affections compete with that movie house, whose very lounge looked and smelled to me like an Oriental temple. It had Persian rugs, and was marvelously half-lit at all hours of the day; there were great semi-arcs of colored glass above the entrance to the toilets, and out of the gents' game a vaguely foreign, deliciously stinging deodorant that prepared me, on the very threshold of the movie auditorium itself, for the magic within. There was never anything with such expectancy to it as that twilit lounge." - Pg. 40...

and

"Though there was little ritual that was ever explained to me, and even less in the atmosphere of the synagogue that in my heart i really liked, I assumed that my feelings in the matter were of no importance; I belonged there before the Ark, with the men, sitting next to an uncle. I felt a loveless intimacy with the place." - Pg. 44.

Clearly, the movie house is much more interesting and appealing to Kazin (and I assume also to the reader when we are exposed to Kazin's impressions of the two). He even goes on to say that in the theater he "knew a secret happiness, as if [his] mind had at last been encouraged to seek its proper concerns" (pg. 41). This sounds much more like something someone would say about a synagogue than a movie theater, but for Kazin religion appears to have been somewhat empty. Even after he discovers a "deepness" to prayer (pg. 101) that he had previously not been aware of, Kazin is still left feeling out of touch with God and with the practices of his synagogue. The prayer itself seems to "encourage Kazin's mind to seek its proper concerns," but religion itself (or at least the practice of religion) cannot do this for him.

This is an interesting parallel that Kazin draws, and I found that it somehow resonated with me; perhaps this is because I, too, have never felt inspired by organized religion, and I can much more easily relate to his experiences at the movies than I can with his experiences in the synagogue.

just something i liked . . . .

this is a passage tied a lot of things together in a way that i could relate to. it's the second paragraph on page 114.

"Under the quilt at night, I could dream even before I went to sleep. Yet even there I could never see Mrs. Solovey's face clearly, but still ran round and round the block looking for her after i had passed her kitchen window. It was an old trick, the surest way of getting to sleep: I put the quilt high over my head and lay there burrowing as deep into the darkness as I could get, thinking of her through the long black hair the women on the counter wore. Then i would make up dreams before going to sleep: a face behind the lattice of a summer house, half-hidden in thick green leaves; the hard dots sticking out of the black wallpaper below; the day my mother was ill and our cousin had taken me to school. The moment i felt myself drifting into sleep, my right knee jerked as if i had just caught myself from tripping over somtheing in the gutter."

while i think this passage is beautifully worded, i was also drawn to it's illustration of what is between real and what is made up. while kazin is imagining a fictional narrative within his dozing mind, they seem to slowly melt into memories which were real. i also really liked the idea of the darkness within the quilt being the form, which physically enabled him to create these non-physical memories/dreams. it is much like the autobiography itself. physically, the book holds the content - the written word of the authors past. but the intangible memories; the images and emotions evoked, always seem to be floating somewhere above the book itself.

this transition from wake to sleep reminded me of the boundary for authors of autobiographies, and how they have to go about recreating their memories. i think it will always be hard to draw the line between truth and lie, when your dealing with memory. since everyone's perceptions are always completley subjective, and relative to their ever-changing emotions, personality, morals & values, etc., there can never be a one, black and white truth. the truth is in vibrant colors! and no one's red is the same as the guy next to him.

A Walker in the City

Kazin's memoir is a very engaging read. I like how the reader has the feeling of being taken on a tour through his home (his actual home and the part of the city in which he lives) and also a tour through his family history. I really find the dynamic between the different nationalities of the authors we've seen so far to be incredibly interesting and important. In each autobiography, we've seen suffering, but it's interesting to see how the foreign writers all eventually make their way to America to acquire freedom, which was ironically where Douglass was literally enslaved. Douglass's memoir brings about shame, horror, and embarrassment in the country's history, but also shows a bit of hope and what was to come. Moving on to the rest of the memoirs, Danticat's is probably the most devastating with the family tragedies that occurred, but America was her family's beacon of light. With Kazin, we see his roots grab hold in Brownsville and create a new microcosm of his family's heritage.

"The light pouring through window after window in that great empty varnished assembly hall seemed to me the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. It was that thorough varnished cleanness that was of the new land, that light dancing off the glasses of Theordore Roosevelt..." (page 26)

Senses

While reading A Walker in the City I am struck by how many senses Kazin uses to describe his surroundings. The text is brought to life by the sights, smells, and textures of his environment. During the section "The Kitchen" Kazin describes the brilliant white of the recently white-washed walls. He describes the textures of his mother's dress fabrics. The smells of the table overflowing with Sabbath food.
When I read this I thought do we all think of home in terms of our senses? Or is home something we describe with emotion. When I think of my home the only smell that comes to mind is the scent of the wood stove. Home to me is thought of as simply happiness, but maybe this is because I had never thought to describe it in terms of my senses.

Maybe this is just my "I'm really excited to go home for Thanksgiving" post.

Kazin on Kazin

"...a key to my book is of course this constant sense of division, even of flagrant contradiction between wanting the enclosure of home and the open city, both moral certainty and intellectual independence. ...to rebel against the tradition was somehow to hold fast to it." (Alfred Kazin at a symposium at the New York Public Library in 1987).

The Pressing Question to Mrs. Solovey

"You have lived in many places."
"Oui. Nous avons habité des pays differénts. La Russie, la France, l'Italie, la Palestine. Yes, many places."
"Why did you come here?" I asked suddenly.
She looked at me for a moment. I could not tell what she felt, or how much I had betrayed. But in some way my question wearied her. She rose, made a strange stiff little bow, and went out.
~A Walker in the City p. 130

What stood out to me the most in this passage was that "moment" of not knowing what Mrs. Solovey felt. It's a foot-in-mouth moment that I'm sure we've all encountered at some point. Especially with immigration or even just small moves, there's always the question of why they went to where they did. Everyone has their reasons, and some people are proud to say exactly what it was that made them settle on a certain place. Others, however, may have no explanation or no desire to share so they can keep certain events in the past, avoid a sob story, stop any further questions, or many more reasons. It's interesting to get a glimpse of discomfort (as I'll call it) in a situation that may be different from the majority of what we see today, but in a way that it is a believable situation.