Memorization

I’ve been thinking about the sonnets we’re supposed to memorize recently.  It is interesting to me to think about all the different sonnets and speeches of Shakespeare we’ll all be reciting over the week, and some of the implications of the assignment.

One of the biggest reasons I’m in English instead of one of the sciences or the oft derided Business is that I have always hated memorization.  I am bad at it and usually don’t see the point.  It seems ridiculous to me to require students to memorize an equation like the quadratic formula, the volume of a sphere, or the velocity of an object etc when it is so quick and easy to look it up.  I see the value in knowing how to use these formulas of course, but the idea of not giving them to students on a test strikes me as absurd–if a graduate were using the formulas regularly in a real job they could carry a cheat sheet with them, or just look them up on any phone at a moment’s notice…so why require their memorization?

In English and the other Humanities, however, there’s more than rote memorization of facts followed by regurgitation.  I feel like many of the classes in English and literature help teach students how to think for themselves and different ways to view the world, which seems far more useful in the long run than memorizing some facts.

I was a little surprised then that we were expected to memorize anything for our Shakespeare class.  I can see the rational for the assignment–Shakespeare’s language is frequently beautiful and knowing a piece of his writing inside and out could be argued to be worth it for its own sake.

(everything above was written last night, what follows was after class Wednesday)

I was going to finish this by saying “BUT…something something” about how I didn’t like the idea of memorization, even though it was shakespeare instead of physics formulas, but then Prof. Sexson addressed the idea of memorization in class.  The difference between rote memorization and memorization by knowing something by heart is a distinction I hadn’t considered before, and I am far more on board now.

This is because I know a number of quotations and song lyrics by heart, but almost nothing that I’ve memorized for a class (rote) has stuck with me.  In 8th grade algebra I knew the formulas for the volume of a sphere, cylinder, cube, cone, and other shapes, memorized.  In high school I had the quadratic formula down pat.  But today I remember none of them.

A few quotes I know I’ve memorized (by heart), and I think they’re here to stay.  Thus, I have completely about-faced my opinion of the memorization assignment.

 

A few I know by heart:

woman: Winston, you’re drunk!

Churchill: I may be, but you, ma’am, are ugly.  In the morning I will be sober.

 

woman: Winston, if you were my husband I’d poison your tea.

Churchill: If you were my wife I’d drink it.

Frederick Turner

I am going to voice the minority position:  I didn’t like Frederick Turner’s poetry much.  I had the opportunity to talk to him at the reception before the reading on Thursday night, which I quite enjoyed, and I also enjoyed his lecture in class (and again in my other class from Prof Sexson, Mythologies), but the poetry was not my cup of tea.

Part of this, I think, is that it was spoken.  I bet I’d like it more if I was reading the same poems on my own, because I have no doubt I was missing some of the wordplay or connections in the poem because I simply forgot the earlier lines by the time the end came around.  The formal structure is particularly hard to appreciate when hearing it spoken instead of reading it yourself–if I hadn’t been told before hand the were all sonnets I’m not sure at what point I would have realize, on my own, that he was writing sonnets.

The fact he was writing in sonnet was another factor, as I fail/ed to see the point of returning to a method hundreds of years old.  My question is, if Turner is right, and the Sonnet is valid, why is he the only one that seems to think so?  Why don’t bookstores today have a SONNETS section, filled with new books by other poets exploring the form?  If Shakespeare had written in some other form, instead of the sonnet, would Turner still be writing sonnets today?  Or would he be doing whatever different thing Shakespeare wrote?

I have great respect for Frederick Turner.  His poems were clearly engaging to the majority of the audience and miles better than anything I could hope to write, and he was a great speaker.  I am just unconvinced that he’s writing sonnets because they’re the best method for expressing what he wants to say, not because he wanted to walk a mile in Shakespeare’s shoes.

Turner’s belief in rigid form over free verse also rubbed me the wrong way, as some of the some most all the interesting pieces of writing I have encountered have been in free verse.  Consider:

Jay-Z  Renegade
I had to hustle, my back to the wall, ashy knuckles
Pockets filled with a lot of lint, not a cent
Gotta vent, lot of innocent lives lost on the project bench
Whatchu hollerin? Gotta pay rent, bring dollars in
By the bodega, iron under my coat, feelin’ braver
Doo-rag wrappin my waves up, pockets full of hope.
Do not step to me – I’m awkward, I box leftier often
My pops left me an orphan, my momma wasn’t home.
Could not stress to me I wasn’t grown; especially on nights
I brought somethin home to quiet the stomach rumblings
My demeanor – thirty years my senior
My childhood didn’t mean much, only raising green up

W.H. Auden  Jam Tart

I’m a dog’s nose, I’m Sir Humphrey Davy,
I’m a Christmas rose, I’m the British Navy,
A motor, a bloater, a charcoal grill,
An octopus, a towpath, Hindenburg’s will,
A village fair, a maiden’s prayer, the BBC, a pram –
I don’t know what I am,
You’ve cast a spell on me.

Bob Dylan  Things Have Changed

This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons, do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he’s got anything to prove

Lot of water under the bridge, lot of other stuff too

Kerouac  On The Road

…he can back a car forty miles an hour into a tight squeeze and stop at the wall, jump out, race among fenders, leap into another car, circle it fifty miles an hour in a narrow space, back swiftly into a tight spot, hump, snap the car with the emergency so that you see it bounce as he flies out; then clear to the ticket shack, sprinting like a track star, hand a ticket, leap into a newly arrived car before the owner’s half out, leap literally under him as he steps out, start the car with the door flapping, and roar off to the next available spot, arc, pop in, brake, out, run; working like that without pause eight hours a night…

Why We Paint On Walls

In today’s discussion of why our ancestors bothered to paint on cave walls, or why we would choose to be English majors instead of Business majors, I felt like the answer was obvious and was surprised prof Sexson didn’t mention it: because man is more than this.

It is answered by King Lear’s speech in the middle of the storm:  Is man no more than this? Consider him well.—Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! Here’s three on ’s are sophisticated.  Thou art the thing itself.  Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.

When I first read King Lear, before we started talking about it in class, I thought the lines were ironic, and highlighting Lear’s insanity.  We are capable of such amazing things as a species that to say we are nothing more than naked insanity, writhing in the mud, seems ludicrous to me.  We have walked on the moon, mapped Mars, and know what our–and other–galaxies look like.  Humans have produced works as diverse (and equally incredible) as these:

With that in mind, I find the idea of humanity’s core being Edmund in the mud absolutely unbelievable.  I could see it if Lear thought Edmund had ambition to be more, but he does not have any reason when he says the lines to believe that.

I was thus surprised, when we covered it in class, that some/most people seemed to think the lines were true-that they were a pearl of wisdom from a sane Lear, left behind before he went truly mad.  I understand the perspective that we are just animals wrapped in the guise of civilization and so on, but I feel it is inadequate, for if that is true there is no good answer to the question of why do we become English majors?

I can agree with the idea of humanity’s core being something like Edmund writhing in the mud if it includes a bit of ambition, as that is what lets us build and create everything we have.

So, why do we paint on walls?  Why do we become English majors?

Because we can.  Because it is what separates us from the animals/business majors.  Because Lear was wrong.

“Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above.”

Imprisonment

I was thinking about the idea of a prison being the only place where one can discover freedom when I remembered a quote I’d heard before:

This ties directly to my view on the subject.  I believe something like Hamlet, that “…there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”  When Lear says to Cordelia that they’ll have a great time in prison laughing at gilded butterflies and whatnot, he’s treating the real prison as if it were a chance to escape and reconnect with the daughter he drove away.  When Hamlet says “Denmark is a prison” he is viewing everything he has–a life most people would love to have–as a metaphorical prison where he feels trapped.

The quote, however, moves a step beyond either of these.  Instead of simply viewing a prison as freedom or freedom as a prison, Williams’ quote illustrates our minds can create our feelings, regardless of actual circumstances.  That is, we don’t need a prison, even a metaphorical one, to articulate our feelings.  We don’t need to have a binary view of our life as either free or in prison, as Hamlet or Lear seem to.  They–Hamlet and Lear–take the first step of divorcing thoughts of freedom and imprisonment from actual freedom or imprisonment, but this quote, to me, suggests that they are not going far enough.  They can leave preconceived ideas of what it means to be free or in prison behind, and realize that everything is a blank slate to be built upon.

While I like Robin Williams most in serious roles (see Insomnia or Good Will Hunting), he is most famous for his many comedic roles, and if frequently thought of in the role of a Fool.  Interesting, then, that this pearl of wisdom comes from him.

The Madness of Lear

King Lear’s madness, on the increase throughout the play, is a little weird.  More than a little weird–it just doesn’t make sense.  He doesn’t just go from normal to crazy in a linear line, he starts a little out of whack and has a couple moments of brilliance near the end.

In the opening of the play, for example, when he’s chopping up his kingdom, he says he’ll give a chunk of the kingdom to each of his daughters based on how much they say they love him.  Goneril says she loves him X, and he gives her a third of the kingdom before hearing from either of his other daughters.  Regan then says she loves him X+Y, and gets a third also, still before he’s heard from Cordelia.

NO PART OF THIS MAKES SENSE.

Even if we ignore the obvious problem of asking people to quantify their love, this is madness.  First, if you’re going to ask three people to define their love for you and then divide the kingdom between them based on their answers, it doesn’t make sense to give a chunk to the first one before the others go?  That’s like having a race between three contestants, each running one at a time, and giving Silver to the first one before you know how fast the other two will run.  Second, he’s rigging his own game–he says he’ll give an amount based on how much they love him, but then gives Goneril and Regan both a third of the kingdom, despite the fact that Regan has said she loves him more than Goneril.

Later, after he is supposedly insane, is the clearest and most intelligent line he gets in the play: “You must bear with me.  Pray you now, forget, and forgive.  I am old and foolish.”

As usual, it seems, Shakespeare is making things far more complicated than they initially appear.

See the Play, Lear

I (finally) finished King Lear a moment ago, and found a bit that tied in with the class’ running theme of All the World’s a Stage.  At the tail end of Act 3, Scene 7, everyone relevant leaves, but the scene doesn’t end.  Instead, some background characters, unseen before or after, suddenly get lines:

Second Servant

I’ll never care what wickedness I do,
If this man come to good.

Third Servant

If she live long,
And in the end meet the old course of death,
Women will all turn monsters.

Second Servant

Let’s follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam
To lead him where he would: his roguish madness
Allows itself to any thing.

Third Servant

Go thou: I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!

This bit shows that the main characters, the ones whose names we know, are actors in a play for the benefit of the servants, who are irrelevant in the play performed for us.

Another interesting connection between King Lear and the motif of everything is a play is in Act 4 Scene 6, when King Lear says “When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools–This is a good block.”  Besides the obvious reference–referring to life as a stage–the use of the word “block” caught my eye.  Blocking, for the unfamiliar, is the term used in theater for stage directions.  Using “block” in this sense would reinforce the stage metaphor, instead it is just another bit of nonsense signifying nothing about a hat (according to my edition’s notes, anyway).  King Lear was written around 1603, and the theater sense of the word didn’t become a thing until 1961.

Natural Edmund

I disagree with the central reading of Edmund as evil, in the beginning.  His speech, in the beginning of act one  scene two, in which he proclaims “Thou, Nature, art my goddess,” is giving an explanation of his beliefs and motivations.

He has spent his entire life knowing that he would never be king, that he was considered an embarrassment to everyone around him, and being insulted by everyone around him to boot.  The biggest compliment his father gives him, that we see at this point, is when he says to Kent that he is no longer embarrassed by his existence: “I have so often blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed to it.”

Given that, its not too strange that he decides to place his faith in nature instead of society’s rules–society’s rules have, in his eyes, screwed him over from day one.  Letting “Nature” and its laws of Survival of the Fittest be his guide in life, instead of society’s laws of being nice to others, not getting your father and brother to want to kill each other and so on, is perfectly natural.  No one can think of themselves as a bad person, we invent justifications for our actions.  Racists dehumanize their targets, terrorists think of their victims as enemies or as needful deaths for the greater good, and so on–and Edmund is telling himself that Survival of the Fittest and the laws of Nature justifies any actions he takes against his brother and father.

Obviously he isn’t exactly a good guy we’re supposed to root for, but I also think that just painting him with the brush of “mindless evil” is too broad.  He is deeper than that, and meant to be understandable, if not entirely sympathetic.

Incidentally, his speech, with its repeated uses of “Base” and “Legitimate,” reminded me of one of my favorite Eminem lines:

Predominantly, predominantly, everything’s always predominantly/

Predominantly white, predominantly black/

well what about me?  Where does that leave me?/

I guess that I’m between predominantly both of them/

Think if I hear that fuckin’ word again Imma scream/

while I’m projectile vomiting/

Perception of Reality

Today’s discussion of King Lear, and Edmund’s attitude towards Gloucester’s belief in the ability of the stars to control our fates, reminded me of one of my favorite scenes from a movie, in which two characters discuss the ability of people’s perception of reality to alter reality.

The relevant lines are:

Cosmo: When I was in prison, I learned that everything in this world, including money, operates not on reality–

Bishop:  –but the perception of reality.

Cosmo: Posit: people think a bank might be financially shaky.

Bishop: Consequence: people start to withdraw their money.

Cosmo: Result: pretty soon it is financially shaky.

Bishop: Conclusion: you can make banks fail.

Cosmo: Bzzt.  I’ve already done that. Maybe you’ve heard about a few?  Think bigger.

Bishop: Stock market?

Cosmo: Yes.

Bishop: Currency market?

Cosmo: Yes.

Bishop: Commodities market?

Cosmo: Yes.

Bishop: Small countries?

I was reminded of this because it brings up an important point, not addressed in our class discussion–the stars can change the way your life turns out, not only by direct control (which almost no one believes), but also indirectly.  If you believe the stars control your life, even if they don’t, their patterns will affect you.

For example, I work with a girl that reads her horoscope in the paper religiously.  She honestly believes that the horoscope will change her life.  One day it said it was a good day to stay inside, so she stayed home and canceled her plans to go to a concert that night.  The stars, then, impacted her life–she might have met a guy she’d have ended up marrying at the concert, and instead she’ll end up 90 and alone (I hope so, as the thought of this one reproducing terrifies me).

Similarly, Gloucester says that “These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us.”  If he believes that the universe is working against him, it is natural that he would fight against his misfortunes less strongly.  Perhaps if the stars had been giving him what he believed to be signs of love and happiness  he would have spoken to Edgar before banishing him, and the whole subplot would have fallen apart.

I think Shakespeare was aware of the ability of stars or other omens to impact our lives, indirectly.  He was aware the perception of reality was often more important than, and frequently changed, reality itself.  This makes Gloucester’s line even more insightful, as it carries both meanings.  Gloucester is right that the “late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us,” but Edmund is equally right in his observation that “this is the excellent foppery of the world.”

A Dream

Some time ago we were ordered to post a dream, which I have found myself unable to do.  I haven’t been able to remember a dream I’ve had recently, so I’ll share an older dream.  I had this years ago, but it has stuck with me.

I am walking up and down a bunch of seemingly identical hallways, set up in a perfect grid, with countless doors on either side.  I am breaking and entering, looking for something, but I can’t remember what and I’m sure the patrolling guards are going to stop me at any moment.  Obviously being nervous is going to attract their attention, so I have to act cool about everything, even as I’m getting more and more agitated.  Finally I take a door at random and it leads me onto a swanky casino floor, and I make my way to a poker table and start playing.  I’m still nervous, but am able to play decently well, until the guards that were patrolling the hallways are suddenly walking around on the casino floor as well.  They all have the same face, but I can never quite make it out–it always seems a little out of focus somehow.

After a little while I’ve amassed quite a stack of chips, but I am not really paying any attention to the cards.  I’m still trying to remember what I was looking for in the hallways, and am worried the guards are going to see me at any moment.  I’m sure I haven’t done anything too wrong, but am equally sure they’ll catch me.

After a good while I grab a metal briefcase that was sitting by my chair and sprint for the exit, without a thought for my piles and piles of chips.  I scatter the thousands of dollars across the room with the briefcase as I stand up and start running, just a step ahead of an army of grey-suited, blurry-faced guards.  As I near the door I remember what I was looking for–sort of.  I am robbing the casino and was looking for something to help me in the hallways.  I needed to turn of an alarm, or open a normally-locked door, or something like that, but I didn’t remember it in time.

And then I wake up.

Get Thee to a Telly

Today’s discussion of Hamlet’s famous “get thee to a nunnery” order to Ophelia reminded me of one of my favorite experiences–watching The Simpsons with my older brother.  Back when I was in middle school, before you could stream anything anywhere anytime and brontosaurus steak was a delicacy, I would hurry home to catch The Simpsons.  Class got out at 3:35 and showtime was 4:00, so it was doable so long as I didn’t dawdle, and when I had rushed home and got inside my brother and I would turn on the TV for the best hour of television possible–two episodes of The Simpsons.

Hamlet’s “nunnery” was not just a place to keep the nuns, as I had thought when I had heard the line before.  Apparently it was also slang for a brothel, a fact no one but Professor Sexson had ever seemed to know.  It certainly wouldn’t be my place to ask how he knew that so well, so I won’t.

The point is that it reminded me of one of my best memories from watching Simpsons with my brother.  The family is taking a tour of an old ghost town (Bloodbath Gulch) when the following exchange takes place:

Marge Simpson: This should be very educational. I want you kids to pay attention.
Tour Guide: Founded by prostitutes in 1849, and serviced by prostitute express riders who could bring in a fresh prostitute from Saint Joe in three days; Bloodbath Gulch quickly became known as a place where a trail hand could spend a month’s pay in three minutes.
Homer Simpson: Three minutes. [whistles]
Marge Simpson: I never realized history was so filthy!
Tour Guide: First on our tour is the whore house. Then we’ll visit the cathouse, the brothel, the bordello, and finally the old mission.
Marge Simpson: Oh, thank heaven.
Tour Guide: Lots of prostitutes in there!

I endeavored to find a clip, but was unable, so take my word for it–the last line is a killer.  It might get a grin or a slight chuckle in print, but when my brother and I saw it in the episode we almost died.  We were laughing so hard we missed most of the rest of the episode because we couldn’t hear it, and when my mom came upstairs to investigate we were completely unable to speak.

This leads to my second connection to Hamlet.  In today’s world of instant access to anything we could wish to watch, it is easy to not get around to watching anything.  When The Simpsons was on from 4pm to 5pm five days a week and that was the end of it (my family never watched enough TV for cable to be worth it, so we just got the local channels), my brother and I organized our schedules around that time.  We canceled other plans.  We stayed up late and skimped on sleep because we weren’t doing homework after school, we were watching TV.  We moved the proverbial Hell and High Water to get a chance to watch The Simpsons, together.

Today we can watch The Simpsons, or any other show, at will–so we never get around to it.  Just as my mother never saw the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building when she was living in NYC, only when she went back decades later as a tourist, my brother and I are always making vague plans to watch The Simpsons but never following through–having something right there makes it easy to save for an ever-receding tomorrow.

This seems very similar to me to the discussion of “what happens if Hamlet just gets some medication for his bipolarity?”