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Mr WordPress on Hello world!
MY PORTFOLIO
CONTENTS
Introduction
POEMS
Nursery Rhyme
Sango Oko Oya (Sango, Oya’s Husband)
You Decide
Do you remember…
My Heart
The cycle
PROSE
Two stupid dogs
S&M
INTRODUCTION
Greetings…
I’ve divided my portfolio into two sections; Poems and prose consecutively.
To the Poems, I added two new ones to the previous poems. Both of which stand to be published in the HCC magazine namely: “You Decide” & “Do you remember…” As for the other poems, I’m not sure if I’m going to publish them at this point in time, but I’ll simply say that time will tell. Lastly, I added the poem about the hands that wasn’t turned in as well.
To the prose, I’m afraid I only have “two stupid dogs” & “S&M.” However, I do plan on expanding both short stories into fully fleshed series. I think I liken the format of the S&M series to the storyline of the “desperate housewives” and “Weeds” series, while I view the “two stupid dogs” potential series as a cleaner or should I say younger version of Jon Klein’s “T-bone n Weasel” play.
That being said, please sit back, relax, and try to enjoy my creative writings.
POEMS..
Nursery Rhyme
Wake up. Good morning.
The end is near
Oh so sweet, but soon she’s dead.
Night is day
But still I hear
Wake up. Good morning.
Down the path
My screams are clear
Oh so sweet, but soon she’s dead.
Fridge is empty
Yet mom will share
Wake up. Good morning
Clothes don’t fit
I really don’t care
Oh so sweet, but soon she’s dead.
To the stop
where we chant:
Wake up. Good morning.
Oh so sweet, but soon she’s dead.
Sango Oko Oya (Sango, Oya’s husnand)
There once was man as dark as umber
His height was oak, and strength
was lumber. His eyes, like fire and heart
like water. Or so we ponder.
His mother a mortal and yet he’s immortal?
Oh how is this not abominable?
They say he conquered the water; our Oya.
Sweet Oya, you surely aren’t tamable.
So how is abomination so normal and acceptable?
This man or thing is incredible.
So defiant in ways and different in form.
Is this our god in short?
This man or thing with form and ways
that defy our nature and life
thus far, a name is all I ask.
And this is what he said
“The God of thunder and lightening and fire
to rule the forces that transpire
to tame this art so great with fame
that awakens the ashes to applaud
my game. The Sango. The Sango.
The name to remember, in days when thunder
will tremble the waters.So vast
and wide, she surrounds the lands, but now
she’s mine the Oya in truth.
So tell your children, and mothers, and kings
the name to fear in times
so weak. The Sango is here to stay
and now is man to Oya.”
You Decide
I wake up every morning,
sleeping through the day
Not watching people
bewildered by their dismay.
I walk, I drive, I sit , I sigh
forgetting to ponder why life
is so dry.
I listen, analyze, calculate and plan
yet the fates fail to honor my efforts so grand.
Flogged on all sides
I fail to retaliate and choose to go where
the whip decides.
North, South, East, West
the directions in line with my master’s whip
these are the names that I’m called at my master’s bliss.
The curse I bare
is so sad to hear
but once you realize
that I start with a “c”
and end with a “y”
all will be clear.
Do you remember…
I remember a time when I used to dance with no fear. A time when I could feel every electric impulse flowing through every nerve of my very being. A time when love had no meaning and simply was as vast as the invisible air we breathe. A time of eternal bliss that seemed so unreal that the inevitable prospect of death was nonexistent.
Do you remember?
I remember when words were so fleeting as they really had no meaning. A time when silence was an endless song that provided comfort. A time when my name was meaningless as I was simply apart of this beautiful collage that makes up what we now call life.
Do you remember?
Breaatthee..my mind tells me to breeathee…
When was the last time you breathed like a child? I bet you can’t remember.
Do you remember?
My Heart
Grandmother willow I call her now
had palms rough on sight but gentile in my hands
day and night she pounded yams with a mortar
oh how I miss that little town in Africa.
My little diamond in the rough
“Where?”
Ha! She always cracked me up.
It’s funny how we take things or people for granted
because they’re always there
to hold your hands,
never realizing how much they care.
My heart beats to the drums of the wild.
Grandmother willow would be harvesting now.
Slowly but surely, the cycle ends,
Till next year where I’m reminded of my heart’s death.
Down yonder I tread to kill the memories,
At the bottom of the barley saturated depths.
THE CYCLE
Heaven awaits thee
Annihilated houses
death becomes my life
Switching Gears…
PROSE..
Two stupid dogs
At ten PM on Victoria Street, Illinois, two boys sneak out of the Precious children’s home. The air is cold and still this early spring evening, and the streets look lonely.
‘So you really think you can sit there?’ The younger one says.
‘Why oh why don’t you just leave me alone for two seconds? I swear to God I feel like slitting your throat right now.’ The older one says.
‘Hey you’re the one that told me to come keep your company. Ain’t my fault you and Susan got into it.’
‘What’re we gonna do huh? There’s no place to sleep on these damn streets and all the homes are packed.’
‘Hey let’s go to that ice cream café house down on 5th street. I bet Marnie’s dad works late tonight. Maybe she can hide us in her room or something.’
‘That’s not half bad squirt. I guess you ain’t so stupid after all.’
‘HEY!!!’
The boys walk north for two hours and get to the café house at twelve AM. They press the door bell for a few minutes and switch to banging on the door. No answer.
‘What do we do now?’ says the younger one.
‘I don’t know. Let me think.’ Says the older one
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Seriously, what do I look like, a buffet?? Why don’t you eat me?’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’
‘UGGGGGHHHHH!’
Older boy walks away from the café house. And the younger boy chases after him a minute later.
‘Wait! Wait! I was only joking. Can’t you take a joke? Geez.’ The younger one says.
Still walking.
‘So where are you from?’ the younger one says.
(Silence)
‘I used to live in Mississippi with my grams. I don’t remember her face that much, but I remember a lullaby she used to sing to me when I got scared of the dark. Her voice was beau-ti-ful!’ the younger one says.
What’s that noise? Says the older one
The boys stop at the corner of a random city block to observe and investigate what was going on. They hide and listen in on the conversation of a group of old men with foreign accents.
‘What’s that they’re saying?’ The younger one says
‘Shhhh! Not a word.’ The older one says.
‘But I was just asking a question.’ The younger one says in a hushed tone.
‘So do you remember yours?’
‘What? Oh, no. I never knew mine.’ the older one says.
‘Do you wish you had any?’
‘What kind of a stupid question is that huh? Do you think I’d be sitting here listening to your stupid self talking about your granny lullabies like a little bitch. Man the fuck up! Ain’t no wimps living on these streets now shut up and let me listen!’
‘Hey. Hey!’ the younger one shouts.
‘WHAT?!?!?!’
‘I don’t hear those voices anymore. ‘
A gun is pointed behind the head of the older one underneath the scrap metal next to the dumpster where the kids were hiding.
‘Tthththhheere’s aaa-’ the younger one says.
“I know stupid shut up and let me think!”
S&M
Salwayah Margaritte was fun and grand and precious and sad. She always put on a smile, independent of her unfortunate circumstances. Her father was a cripple living in her yard, her husband was a felon that couldn’t get a job, and her children literally shared a heart and could die upon separation. Yes her life wasn’t a bed of roses but she surely made the best bed money could buy. I just wish she told us sooner, and then maybe this tragedy could have been averted. Who’s going to take care of those four children of hers?
“Well they are, shut up Fred! I don’t care if they’re your beer drinking buddies, they act like children. ”
Don’t mind Fred, he’s just mad about mother’s surgery and the fact that she’s gonna stay with us for a few months. What does he expect me to do, leave her in a home like those Caucasians usually do? I’m sorry but the Cho family members stick together.
“YOU HEAR THAT FRED? TOGETHER; a word that fails to register in that good for nothing womanizing head of yours.”
Ah yes, where were we? Poor little miss thing. Prancing around like a perfect little bride that she’s not. Guess she got what she deserved.
“What?”
Well maybe that’s a little too harsh but she never ate my special brownies I make every spring at the home owner’s association meeting because she claimed she had diabetes. What a sorry excuse I tell you. And she has the nerve to walk into Kim’s baby shower with a hand full of homemade cupcakes and eats one? Serves her right I tell you. No one makes a Cho look like a dummy and lives to tell the tale. Maybe it was her precious kids that slipped her one too many tea spoons of sugar in her classy tea cup on their lovely tea parties that I never got invited to.
“Marian, who are you talking to?” mother asked.
“Mother, as you can see, I’m busy right now. What do you need?”
“Well I just thought we could have some girl time. You know, ever since I got back you always avoid talking to me. Are you still mad about___”
“ENOUGH! Sorry, I mean it’s ok mother. Have you taken your meds yet?”
“Meds? What meds?”
“You mean Fred didn’t hasn’t gotten them yet? That..That…FRED!”
“What!” Fred hollered.
“You nincompoop why haven’t you gone to get mother’s medication?”
“I did.” Fred says.
“LIAR! How dare you insinuate that my mother’s a liar? We Chos come from a long line of honor and integrity. You should be glad that I sacrificed my maiden name for the sake of your, your. What did I see in you again?”
“I don’t know but if the “Chos” are that great then why don’t you go marry Uncle Tom. I’m sure Virginia wouldn’t mind you shaving his back and engaging in the yearly mating ritual that she looks forward to every time.”
(storms out the room)
I swear that boy, I mean, man pisses me off. What did I see in him? It’s not like he’s worth millions or even lasts a second in bed. Plus he cries day and night about how he misses his mother. Better his than mine.
“What was that?” Fred hollers.
“I’m out of my mind.” I say.
“Sure you are.” Fred says.
Oh how I wish I could have one last time with her. Ah yes, Salwayah’s service starts in a day or two and rumor has it that the “celebration” of her life is going to last a week long.
Confucius shoot me now!
This woman’s body is still warm and they’re talking about a celebration of her life when we still don’t know how she died and if it wasn’t natural, “who done it?” in the words of my favorite author Agatha Christi.
“God her name’s so hot”
Anyways, I will attend this event. As much as I hate the bitch, I mean lady, she deserves to have someone real laughing her to scorn; on the inside of course.
(Door bell rings.)
“Who’s there?” I ask.
“OPEN THE DOOR MAY!” anonymous screams.
“eh I think you have the wrong house__”
“MARIAN CHO TARSNIF IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR THIS INSTANT I’M GONNA__”
“Okay! Gosh come in before the neighbors see you.”
I can’t believe George is back. What am I gonna tell Fred now? I told him George died in Vietnam and that we don’t have to worry much. What the hell am I going to do?
Don’t you laugh at me you dead bitch. I know you’re trying to get back at me but it’ll never happen. Ain’t no karma here! My slate is clean.
“Did you say something May?” George asked.
“No dear. I was just practicing for this one commercial that I’ve been dying to enter.” I said.
“you sure em TV folk want someone of your sort. You ain’t much to look at these days.” George said.
“go down to the basement quickly!” I said
“But this is my__”
“I know I know but I’ve missed you so much baby and I got something special for you down there. You know it’s been two years.” I whisper.
“You nasty, nasty girl…I have miss__”
“yeah I know, now go down stairs ok baby?”
“Ok” he delicately says as he goes down stairs.
What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? I’m so dead.
“Babe!” George says.
“AHHH” I scream.
“Damn baby you ok.. you look like you just saw a ghost or something?”
“’I’m so sorry for everything honey! I really love you and I never want to leave your side. You are my world, you are my rock, you are my man!” I feverishly exclaim
“Okay…you sure you alright M? cuz it sounded like you just called me your man!”
“I did? Yes I did! I love you. You, you sexy..Man!” I reluctantly say
“Say it again.” Fred enthusiastically asks.
“You, you..sexy man!”
“No not that one!”
“What?”
“tell me you love me again”
“huh? Oh yeah I love you!”
“Nah, that’s not the way you__”
“Alright FINE! I. Love. You”
“Babe I’ve waited all__”
“Yeah I know, now why don’t you go upstairs to our room_”
“Our room?”
“Yes our room, and run us both a bath.”
“OKAY!” Fred exclaims.
I must be out of my mind or something. How did all that just role off my tongue? Salwayah you bitch, I hope you rut in hell for putting me through this shit! I know you’re the one weaving this stupid thread and I hope Lucifer, Confucius and all em other gods__
“Sugartush!” mother calls!
“WHAT! What now? What the hell do you want this time?” I scream.
“I love you.”
“Oh, love you too.”
Hmm. I guess she’s not so bad after all. We had a rough start but I must say that she’s the least of my problems at this point. With Salwayah’s funeral to destroy and two completely different men to satisfy this is a lot to handle. Well, I guess I’ll start with the not so strong one.
“Coming Fred!” I shout.
(ten minutes later…)
That lasted longer than I expected.
“George, open up.” I whisper.
“Why so silent. Oh is this one of em games you was talking bout earlier? You_”
“Yeah let’s make it quick, I got lots of things_”
“Quick? Do you know how long I waited for this bitch? I went to jail because of slippery tail; now you’re gonna give me what I want or_”
“we don’t need to fight baby. I’ll be good.”
“that’s my girl.”
(two hours later)
“that was awesome baby” “George says.
“ma tail hurts_” I say.
“Oh shush! You know you liked it. “
“I guess, well it’s time to go George”
“go? This is ma goddamn house! I can stay here for as long as I want.”
“I know babe but ma mom’s upstairs and you know she can’t stand it when you curse at me.”
“Man I tell you that bitch pisses me off! I got ma rights don’t i? and you like it when I curse at you right. Keeps you in line don’t it.” George says.
“It sure does, but you know how sensitive Asian mothers get with little things like that, plus she just got out of surgery and I don’t want to set her off, so please babe. Just this once?” I ask.
“Well alright. I’m gonna stay over at Jefferson’s inn for a few days but after that I’m back. So you better school that slut on how this run in my house. Okay?” asked George.
“I hear you babe.” I say.
George isn’t so bad once you get to know him. Sure he’s a little rough on the edges but with some time and effort, I can change him. At least I have a man unlike you Sally. What kind of a name is Salwayah anyways?
Just because your parents were from Greece or some other Mediterranean place don’t I mean doesn’t mean you’re special. Oh god I’ve been hanging around these fools too long and it’s even starting to affect my speech.
“I can’t take it anymore!” I scream.
No, don’t do it Marian. Don’t do it. Just seven more days and you’re home free.
“Honey. Doll face, wake up. It’s time for your special breakfast you’ve been asking for all these years.” Fred happily says.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask
“No, everything’s just fine. Babe.” Fred calls
“Yes honey?” I reply
“are you sure we’re cool now. After all I did sleep with your coworker sal, what’s her name again?” Fred asks.
“Sal-wa-yah.” I say.
“Yeah that’s it. Well you know I only did it to get your attention. With your new job and the extra time you two spent together, I just had to get in there and break whatever relationship that was. You used to act weird around her dear.” Said Fred.
“Hmm. I guess I deserved that one don’t I Freddy?” I ask.
“Now ba__”
“I guess I should pay for slaving away day and night trying to keep this shit hole afloat. Is that what you’re trying to say my Man?”
“No_”
“The next time you bring that name up in this house let alone my bed room_” I say
“I thought this was our bed room?” says stupid.
‘Get out.”
“But ba_”
“GET OUT NOW!!!!!!!!!” I scream.
“I told you to marry that guy from Nepal!” mother hollers
“SHUT UP MUM! I mean, everything’s fine mother.”
I can’t believe he said that. The nerve of this man I mean boy to proudly say it with a touch of naivety baffles me. Nope I will not do that. I can’t disappoint Doctor Ken again. But it’s so, so…
“Honey!” I holler.
“YYYes babe.” Fred replies.
“don’t be that way. I’m sorry for screaming again. why don’t you sit down here while I rub your feet?” I ask.
“you sure you_”
“I’m fine. Just dandy! So how was she?” I ask.
“Huh?” exclaimed Fred.
“Sally I mean Salwayah. Was she better than I was?” I ask.
“I don’t feel comfortable ge__”
“Trust me. I’m fine. Remember, I love you.” I say.
“ Well if you insist. She wasn’t half bad. Could’ve last longer though.” Fred says.
“You mean you lasted longer than she did?”
That means you enjoyed it sally. I thought that was reserved for us?
“What’d you say.” Fred asks.
“tell me more baby. Where did you’ll do it?” I ask.
“Well, we did it in her house, her car, our bed_”
“My BED! I mean go on.”
“oh yeah, we also did it at old man miller’s chapel on Christmas eve last year. Those were the best ten collective minutes of my life.” Fred says.
“She’s dead Fred.” I say
“What!”
“Her funeral’s in an hour or so. Do you want to see her baby?”
“yyeah I mean I gotta rent a tux and get her some petunias at least. She always loved the way they smell. Why not me God? Why? Wwhy?” Fred cries.
“Oh baby, don’t cry. Your wish is my command…” I softly say.
(Few hours later..)
“You hungry mother?”
“I’m still backed up from Sophia’s pot roast but yeah I can squeeze in another meal.”
“How does steak sound?”
This is not the end…
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The Emperor of Ice Cream
DILEMMA
I know what you’re thinking. “Not exactly the poem you were looking for” huh? Well it wasn’t even a poem at all, and as a result had nothing to do with the purpose of this blog.
Or maybe it does…
Maybe I secretly wanted the poem to mimic exactly what its name implies. Maybe Wallace Stephens made a mistake with the name and ended up trying to turn the pleasant, happy memories associated with “ice-cream” into something quite disturbing.
Either way, this is what we are stuck with, and whether we like it or not, we must critique it.
So why did I choose a poem that I, at first glance, found hard to understand, did not like, and as a result probably won’t appreciate?
Well let’s just say that I like a challenge and that personal experience has taught me not to hastily judge creative works out of my pleasant comfort zone.
Here goes…
THE ACTUAL POEM
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. Take from the dresser of deal, Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet On which she embroidered fantails once And spread it so as to cover her face. If her horny feet protrude, they come To show how cold she is, and dumb. Let the lamp affix its beam. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
TAKE ONE
I liken this sort of poetry to the works of the “Dada” art movement. Simply because of the eeriness of the subject matter, and how unlikely it would be even in this day an age to accept such a piece as poetry.
Well at least from the perception of masses that are probably still trapped in their popular perception of the “standard” rhythmic form and “poetic” language that age old poetry such as Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 mocked through his alien yet realistic description of a woman’s beauty; in a time that praised ”fluffy” language such as the below stated gotten from Bruce McEvoy’s blog on”handprint.com”:
| From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: |
a b a b |
I admit there are worse ones such as:
“long long ago ages past, where it seemed like love was endless at last”
On a side note that’s actually an original, not that you care because I see now how terrible that line is, but I believe you get the point.
Now where were we?
The first time I read Wallace’s poem without turning on my analytical mind, the word that stuck out to me was “wenches;” which has been negatively used in a degrading manner to identify women traditionally of a lower class that usually assume the role of servants sometimes against their will.
I vaguely remember the term being used in some age old black historical motion pictures where “white” masters used the term in identifying their black female servants; usually referencing “whore” rather than “servant.” However, the context in which the word is used suggests that the term “wench” is probably all inclusive, still degrading, and a sexist view of how women are viewed.
For instance,
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers
Seriously?
Wenches (promiscuous women) dawdling (moving sluggishly; purposely, lackadaisical) and coupling that with flowers being brought in last month’s newspapers by potentially naive boys rather than men? Of course I’m referring to “real” men as understood by women.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this but there’s something unromantic, and downright disrespectful about bringing flowers in last month’s newspapers. This further suggests to me that a woman’s worth is clearly not understood. Then again, if the women subject themselves to such debasement, who’s to blame the “boys” for not seeing their worth?
After this point, I simply gave in the mental towel for a few more lines until I got to the part about her “horny feet protruding” signifying how cold and dumb she is; in the consecutive line, until it finally ended with
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
Huh?
TAKE TWO
After reading the poem again, I began tying in my lack of understanding of this poem to my lack of understanding of the historical context that it represents and even my lack of understanding of certain words.
Yes I said it. My vocabulary needs improvement.
It’s so amazing how a single word can potentially determines in the readers mind how important or significant the whole line of may be. It turns out that I did not know what “Concupiscence” means (don’t laugh). As it turns out, the word really sets the tone for the poem, or at least reinforces the theme of the poem through it’s protagonist, the wench; as a fellow blogger who analyzed the poem stated.
But wait a minute, I still don’t know what in heaven’s name what the first two lines have to do with the poem.
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip
Should we take this literally or allegorically? Because the literal interpretation certainly doesn’t make the poem flow (in my opinion) with the rest of the lines.
At this point, we simply have to call in the reinforcements. External resources please save the day.
After searching through online sources (other than Wikipedia) I finally found a blog source that would be of help and at the same time made me feel good about my perspective about this poem. I think.
With regards to the historicity, the cummingstudyguide.net blog stated stated:
“The time is the early 20th Century. (The poem was published in 1922). The place is the residence of a deceased woman in an American city. It is uncertain whether the residence is a house or an apartment. Apparently people of Latin-American ancestry live in the neighborhood and roll cigars (wrap cured tobacco in a cigar leaf) to earn money. The narrator (speaker/persona) calls for a muscular cigar roller to make ice cream to be served to visitors attending the wake (viewing) for the deceased woman. In earlier times, a wake frequently took place in the home of the deceased. Besides paying their last respects to the dead person, visitors often ate, drank, and told stories. Thus, a wake was sometimes a festive occasion. In “The Emperor of Ice Cream,” the narrator tells what will happen before and during the wake. There will be the ice cream, and men from the neighborhood will bring flowers. The male and female visitors will probably flirt and make eyes. The dead woman will lie in her bedroom under a bedsheet that covers her face and body but exposes her callused feet. The visitors will occupy themselves mainly with socializing and having fun, not with mourning the loss of a neighbor.”
Well this totally trumps my Wench argument. How in Merlin’s beard was I supposed to link a curled up cigar to a deceased woman?
Even if I were to go the allegorical approach and at least decipher the fact that people historically curled up or wrapped the deceased in white sheets and sometimes burnt them I still wouldn’t be able to know the gender of the corpse just from the first line alone. Or by some grace of the intuitive gods lets say I manage link the first line to the above stated, am I to then think that this is symbolic for the way women are used and thrown away much like the uselessness of cigar ashes?
As cohesive as this goes with the flow of the poem, this is nonetheless a disturbing thought.
Even more disturbing the thought that crossed my mind next.
I probably shouldn’t say this, but much like the weird instructions from the multiple line writing exercise that my creative writing instructor gave I was inclined to believe that the author intentionally used words like “sheet” to mean “shit” or “defecate” on the whore’s face while she protruded her feet signifying how horny she was; as I believe this is a sexual act presently practiced by many.
Oh the dangers of misinterpreting one significant word…
On that note we move on to seeing how the poem was as a result interpreted in the aforementioned blog.
“The Emperor of Ice Cream” is open to interpretation. Although the poem suggests meanings behind the words, it does not not explicitly state the meanings. Whereas one reader may regard the planned festivity at the wake as disrespectful to the deceased woman, another reader may regard it as a positive response to the woman’s death. After all, life must go on. The point is that perceptions of the world differ from person to person. They are like images on the canvases of painters from different schools of art, painters who have unique perceptions of reality even within their own school. All of the painters could paint the same scene–a field of flowers, for example–and all the paintings would be different in some way. The interpretations of the poem presented on this page are certainly not definitive or absolute. They are only one person’s interpretation of what the author presents.”
So I guess my crazy perspective cuts it. Given all that’s been uncovered, I simply have to meditate.
“Ohmmm..”
[five minutes later..]
LAST AND FINAL TAKE THREE
After a third and final reading, with careful consideration of the historical context and the inherent freedom given by the less restrictive boundaries of interpretation that the poem provides through it’s lack of concreteness and explanation of ideas presently lightly in the first six lines of both stanzas, I still haven’t had any epiphanies about the last two lines of both stanzas that aren’t sexual.
And I say this because I really don’t want to say what I believe “Emperor of Ice-cream” means contextually, but seeing as we all have to make sacrifices at some point in life, I take it that I am no exception.
That being said, I believe that there are two symbolic meanings for the Emperor of Ice-cream.”
To the first verse, the line leading up to it suggests to me that “Ice-cream” is actually semen.
I took the liberty of looking up the word “seem” to understand whether there was any meaning to it. From Wikipedia, one of the origins of the word suggested that it comes from the old English word “seman” meaning to reconcile or to bring to an agreement.
So it has nothing to do with that thought in meaning, but when one considers the way it sounds “seman” isn’t too far off from “semen.”
Now let’s look at that line again:
Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
See my disturbing point?
To the second theory, Ice-cream may mean money, “goodies”, or material wealth that the wench hopes to gain from the “emperor” in this case probably meaning sustain-er or provider. In which case the above stated line ending with “seem” would mean a trade by barter if you will.
She pleasures to the point of satisfaction signified by the usual end product and he gives her what she wants.
However uncertain we are of the validity of all my stated points, we are at least certain of certain aspects of the poem:
- The fact that it is free form as there is no definite consistency in rhyme and meter.
- the pattern and accents vary as paraphrased from the cummingstudyguides.net blog.
- And that the general consensus for the “affixed lamp” rests with the fact that it symbolizes life. (I really just thought it was a lamp by the hotel bed, but hey, to each its own as they say).
CLOSING REMARKS
No matter how many times I read this poem without help in the form of the historical ties, the formulated contents much like a painting may too have the form revised to better consider how to present the issue that is most compelling to the author. Not that there’s anything wrong with being abstract but I just don’t get that feeling from this poem with the resonating them of a flawed view of women.
Maybe it should have taken the form of a sonnet since it’s a serious issue, or a villaneille if the author would like to make it rhyme better. But if the author would like to revise this while keeping the format the same, i would suggest expanding the piece to make the streaming conscious aspect of the unique style to be more prevalent; hereby, accounting for the unease that I feel and probably most readers feel about the interpretation, however roomy it is.
That being said, I still want to ask the dead author one question:
“What were you thinking?”
WORK CITED
- Last revised December 5, 1998 : © 2005 Bruce MacEvoy “http://www.handprint.com/SC/SHK/sonnets.html”
- Morse, Samuel French. “Wallace Stevens: The Poems of Our Climate — Harold Bloom’s Vast Accumulation”. The Wallace Stevens Journal. Volume 1, Numbers 3 & 4 (Fall/Winter 1977)
- Stevens, Wallace. The Explicator. Vol VII (November 1948), unpaged.
- Vendler, Helen. Words Chosen Out of Desire. 1984: University of Tennessee Press.
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dewetuya 