Poetics (c. 335 BCE)

     It is more than a little disconcerting that what we have of two of Aristotle's seminal works – The Ethics (be it the Nicomachean or Eudemian version) and Poetics – have not survived as complete works, but rather as the assembled class notes that were subsequently used as the basis of the actual books.  This means that we, who didn't experience the direct teachings of Aristotle, do not get the benefit of the poetry of his language or the true insight of his thought.
     Poetics is perhaps one of the most celebrated texts in Western culture.  Should it be?  Probably.  It serves as the basis for critical interpretation of poetry (and prose, since Aristotle is essentially concerned with how to tell a compelling and meaningful story) and lays out the necessary elements to constructing a story.  The problem – for me – is that it is essentially an older version (and an incomplete one) of a text book.  I'm almost positive that there has been much work in the field of deconstructing the elements of a story, and that amongst them emerges a much more complete (and contemporary) picture of what it takes to effectively enact a plot or structure a tale in such a manner that it is consistent with the point envisioned by the author.
     Indeed, were it not for the lengthy and well written introduction to the text (by translator Malcolm Heath), I think I would have failed to appreciate much of what Aristotle was explaining.  What is more telling is that Aristotle correctly anticipates that the failures of structure are ones that can – and have – endured to the present.  Clearly, Aristotle was more than just paying attention to the poetry and plays of his day (and well before it); he found a way to properly appreciate them as an art form.
     I know that I am nowhere near well-versed in real criticism to truly appreciate what Aristotle accomplished with the Poetics (and yet I am arrogant enough to work in the medium on this blog).  It is doubly painful that his commentaries on comedies – as implied in the text – are completely missing from history.  But I am certainly glad I finally got around to reading this book.  Why it wasn't required for any of the theatre classes I had, I cannot answer.

Selected Poems of Charlotte Perkins Gilman

     Yeah, I'll come right out and admit that I didn't read all of the short stories in the Gilman book.  While it didn't take a great amount of time to read Herland, I found myself with less time to be able to devote to meaningful reading (damn convention prep!).  I had read three of the short stories – "The Unexpected" (1884), "The Giant Wistaria" (1884), and "An Extinct Angel" (1886) – but knew that I wasn't going to get the rest finished before the book had to be returned to the library.  After the short stories were the poems.  I'm usually not much for poetry (largely because I don't read it particularly well), but I thought it would be better to give the poems a chance rather than just quitting on the rest of the material altogether.
     There were eighteen poems in the book.  Some were rather good, some were quite forgettable, but none were really bad.  Sure, More Females of the Species starts with a false presentation of a questionable premise (I would have started with a she-wolf or lioness if I were trying to make the point of the female being more dangerous than the male, but Gilman argued that the milch cow was more dangerous than the bull – I'll take my mother's word, from working on a dairy farm in her youth that the bull is the most dangerous beast around), and Birth just confused me.  But overall, I thought it was worthwhile, especially given that I had become familiar with Gilman's take on the world.
     An Obstacle was a rather enjoyable tale of the best way to overcome the oppression of sexism (whether it would work in actuality isn't the point).  Similar Cases is a fun read – a little too reliant on the academic words Gilman feels a need to include – but lacks a satisfying ending (in my opinion, because I thought that she was working towards a very good condemnation of human behavior).  A Conservative – included in its entirety below – is simply necessary, not for its critique of conservatism (viewing it as a strategy to deny betterment in favor of the familiar instead of the regulator on the change that allows progress to happen without chaos), but for the wonderful imagery and lines, "I do not want to be a fly! / I want to be a worm!".  Seeking does an excellent job of conveying dreamlike visuals without diluting Gilman's point.  Closed Doors, depending on how one reads it, is either one of the best ghost poems ever written or a scathing indictment to the deaf ear turned to the oppression of the disenfranchised (particularly women); I prefer the former.  The Purpose is straightforward in its goal to explain that women are not made to love men, but to love and raise children (it is thoroughly unclear just what purpose men have, other than having a need to be loved supremely).

     Anyway, the complete list is:

▸              One Girl of Many (1884)

▸              In Duty Bound (1884)

▸              On the Pawtuxet (1886)

▸              She Walketh Veiled and Sleeping (1889)

▸              An Obstacle (1890)

▸              Similar Cases (1890)

▸              A Conservative (1892)

▸              A Moonrise (1893)

▸              Too Much (1893)

▸              To the Young Wife (1893)

▸              Birth (1895)   

▸              Seeking (1895)

▸              Closed Doors (1898)

▸              The Purpose (1904) 

▸              Locked Inside (1910)

▸              The Artist (1911)     

▸              More Females of the Species (1911)    

▸              Materialism (1915)

And, as promised... 

A Conservative

The garden beds I wandered by
One bright and cheerful morn,
When I found a new-fledged butterfly,
A-sitting on a thorn,
A black and crimson butterfly,
All doleful and forlorn. 

I thought that life could have no sting
To infant butterflies,
So I gazed on this unhappy thing
With wonder and surprise,
While sadly with his waving wing
He wiped his weeping eyes. 

Said I, "What can the matter be?
Why weepest thou so sore?
With garden fair and sunlight free
And flowers in goodly store:" -
But he only turned away from me
And burst into a roar. 

Cried he, "My legs are thin and few
Where once I had a swarm!
Soft fuzzy fur - a joy to view -
Once kept my body warm,
Before these flapping wing-things grew,
To hamper and deform!" 

At that outrageous bug I shot
The fury of mine eye;
Said I, in scorn all burning hot,
In rage and anger high,
"You ignominious idiot!
Those wings are made to fly! 

'I do not want to fly," said he,
"I only want to squirm!"
And he drooped his wings dejectedly,
But still his voice was firm:
"I do not want to be a fly!
I want to be a worm!" 

O yesterday of unknown lack!
To-day of unknown bliss!
I left my fool in red and black,
The last I saw was this, -
The creature madly climbing back
Into his chrysalis. 


[Now, maybe because I don't get most poetry, I see a parallel between Gilman's criticism of the butterfly not wanting to use his wings and Jules Shear's "If She Knew What She Wants" lines, "But she won't understand / Why anyone would have to try / To walk a line when they can fly".  The position from which the criticism is being offered may be different, but I think the same conclusion is reached: do the great things of which you are capable and quit confounding the rest of us.]