Contributors This Issue:
Students:
Tiffany Byers
Jennifer Chennault
Redawna Fowler
Kathy Hill
Stephanie Lyons
Lauren Netherton
Daniel Ramos
Jan Crownover Snure
Nancy Sprouse
Barbara Veazey
Staff:
Camelia McNeil Elliott (also a student)
Faculty:
Frank Sobey
The Bright Blue Bowl
by Nancy Sprouse
When I was five years old, Thanksgiving was my favorite time of the year. Christmas was good because of the presents, but on Thanksgiving we always went to Grandma’s house. The air was crisp, the sun was bright, and the car was ready. I was so excited that I was feeling queasy. I was all right as soon as we were on our way.
The house was filled with people and motion. There were good smells coming from the kitchen. Momma and Daddy let me bring my dog, Mike. He was a flop-eared, fawn-colored mutt. I loved him dearly. Grandma said Mike could stay in the house. My joy was complete! I sat in the dining room and soaked up the atmosphere. Everyone I loved was there, including Mike. I adored Grandma, and her house was just like her. The house was neat, clean, wrapped in floral prints, and it was warm and welcoming. It felt so good just to be there.
I wandered into the kitchen. Mike followed me. There was so much going on in there! There were as many women in that kitchen as it could hold. Some were gripping bowls and beating the contents. Some were chopping things; some were stirring things on the stove. Right in the middle of it all was Grandma. She was a tiny woman with snow-white hair, a flower print apron, and she wore black, chunky high-heels that had shoelaces. Mike curled himself against the wall under the table to stay out of the way. I think he was a little scared. I liked being in the kitchen with all the women. It was like I belonged to a special, secret club that spoke in code. “Hand me the baster,” “Where are the cloves?” “I’ll peel the yams as soon as I crimp the pie crust.” I didn’t understand any of it, but I wanted to be part of it. I walked to the kitchen table. It had a flower print cover made of a material that Grandma called “oil cloth”. It smelled funny. Sitting on the table was a small Pyrex bowl. It was bright blue on the outside and shiny white on the inside. Also on the inside was the worst mess I’d ever seen. It was black and gray and brown. The stuff didn’t smell bad, but it was slimy and nasty. I wanted to help. I just knew the stuff in the bowl must be something they hadn’t had time to throw away. Everyone was too busy to pay much attention as I merrily trotted it off to the garbage. After I emptied the bowl, I put it back on the table so they would know that I had helped. I was fairly shivering with anticipation as I waited for someone to notice and acknowledge me and make me an official member with them.
My daddy walked into the kitchen. A male presence broke the spell of exclusiveness for me. He walked to the table, looked into the bowl, and his jaw dropped open. “What happened to the oysters I had thawing in this bowl?” “I was going to make oyster stew!” My heart sank. The joy of the day sank. I sank. Everyone in the kitchen confirmed that they didn’t know. Then Daddy saw Mike under the table. “That_____dog must have done it!” Mike looked up and wagged his tail. Daddy reached for him, and I began to cry.“ I did it; leave Mike alone!” I was nearly hysterical. Daddy didn’t believe me at first, but I was in such a state that he released Mike, who retreated under my chair. “Why would you do that?” “Oysters are expensive!” He was yelling now. I looked around. The secret club had ousted me without ever knowing that I desired membership. Daddy was really mad. Even Grandma had her arms crossed and was tapping one shoe laced foot and frowning. I dissolved again into tears and replied, “ I don’t know!” To admit the facts would have been too embarrassing. I couldn’t speak more than this simple sentence, I was so upset. How could I explain this?
There was one good thing that happened that day. I had saved Mike. So I pinned an invisible star on my own chest, and Mike and I headed for the backyard. We sat on the back porch steps. I hugged him, and he happily licked the tears off my face until he made me laugh.
That incident taught me two things. It was the first time I realized that if your actions are wrong, it doesn’t matter what your intentions were. I had always thought that if my heart’s desire was to do good things, that’s all there was to it. I lost a part of my innocence that day when I realized the world isn’t that simple. The second thing I learned came later in retrospect. I learned that when you’re dealing with people, especially children, things might not be as they seem. A child who, under questioning, says, “I don’t know,” may actually mean, “I don’t know how to put this into words.”
Promises
by Jan Crownover Snure
The blues move me.
Whispering in my ear,
Seductively,
With a slow, sensuous beat.
A moaning, unhurried rhythm.
The notes roll over my skin,
Smoothing it.
Softening me with honey,
Making me moist and glistening.
It makes love to me and makes promises,
Sweet talks me into moving
In ways that are erotic.
It glides over my body,
Over my breasts and around my waist,
Pulling me along.
It dips between my legs like smoke
And lingers there a moment,
Taking my breath.
It becomes shockingly intimate
And I don’t care.
The promise is made and kept.
In Cahoots with Kinfolk and Friends
by Camelia McNeil Elliott
Minor McNeil could not help noticing a pretty little girl, Corinne Light. Their families were neighbors living less than a mile from each other. They met one another at Corinne’s girlfriend’s house. As the years passed, Minor and Corinne took a fancy to each other.
When she was fourteen, Corinne’s parents moved her to Birmingham, Alabama, for one year to distance her from Minor. While living with her father’s sister, Aunt Gus, she attended school and worked in a cotton mill. Lonesome for home, she returned to the mountain when she was fifteen.
When Minor and Corinne could no longer bear to be apart, they planned their elopement. Minor’s numerous kinfolk were in cahoots with the young couple’s scheme. On December 24, 1917, Corinne packed her bag and lowered it onto the roof from her bedroom window and from there into the barn. Under the cover of darkness, Minor retrieved her bag and toted it one mile to the home of his niece and her husband, Wilda and Albert Vest. He prepared the horses by putting ice nails, large headed nails protruding from the horse’s shoe, into their hooves for traction.
For Corinne’s part to get ready, she told her mom a Christmas Day fib: “I’m going to Doxie and Tina McNeil’s for the night, Ma.” Secretly she met Minor, and they walked to his Uncle Hamm’s home. Minor’s brother, Jim, brought the horses after dark, and Minor and Corinne hooked up to Hamm’s buggy loaded with their bags to ride to Bristol, Tennessee, one hundred and thirty-two miles from Locust Grove. Due to Corinne’s age, Virginia law prevented them from marrying within the state.
It rained when they started out and later turned to snow. High in the mountains, a dangerous blizzard raged. Minor’s knuckles grew white from gripping the reins. As hours passed, snow and ice blanketed the dark woods and trail. The couple crossed eleven creeks, breaking huge chunks of ice as they rode over them. Two inches of heavy, wet snow covered the frozen earth as they passed into Montgomery County. Here the young pair decided to turn back because frigid temperatures made traveling conditions treacherous.
They returned to Uncle Hamm’s and Aunt Lucy’s, spent the night, and stayed there the next day. By this time, Corinne’s mother had been informed by Aunt Lucy that her daughter had eloped during the night.
The next morning, Minor and Corinne traveled to the home of Cousin Albert Vest, who lived near Hemlock. They then hitched a ride with the mailman at the Hemlock Post Office, then caught rides from other mailmen stopping at Otey, Alleghany and Shawsville Post Offices long enough to thaw out around potbelly wood stoves. The betrothed two intended to purchase train tickets to Roanoke. However, the train wasn’t scheduled to run until the next day, so they spent the night with Velva Massey, Minor’s cousin.
“Minor,” Velva suggested, “Corinne and you need to stay inside after dark to avoid being picked up by the police. Corinne is such a petite girlthe law is likely to wonder why such young people are walking around after dark. You don’t want them to pick you up and telegraph your parents.”
On the morning of December 28, 1917, Minor and Corinne boarded the train for Bristol, Tennessee, stopping at every town along the way. When they finally arrived at their destination, a man met Minor and took him to get the marriage license. Corinne stayed behind because her tiny figure would be a dead giveaway, and Minor didn’t want anyone to see his underage bride.
When the man asked Minor if they had run off, he replied, “No, we just came for the trip.” They went to the Reverend Frank H. Scattergood, who joined nineteen-year-old Minor to fifteen-year-old Corinne in the rites of holy matrimony around 3:00 p.m. on December 28, 1917.
After the ceremony, they caught a train back to Roanoke. The newlyweds rode a streetcar to Cousin Velva Massey’s where they spent the night. The following two nights, they stayed in Roanoke with Luther Poff, Corinne’s relative, and celebrated New Year’s Eve at Uncle Jim Poff’s. On New Year’s Day, the young couple boarded a train to Shawsville and from there, rode with the mailman back to the Hemlock Post Office, a frigid twelve-mile ride in a convertible Model-T Ford.
From the Hemlock Post Office, they walked a country mile to Corinne’s home on the Dash and Run Trailnervous and resolute, ready to face Corinne’s mother. Mrs. Light met them at the front door and said, “Well, you got back did you? I thought the cold weather would bring you home.” To Minor’s surprise, Corinne’s mother kissed him and welcomed them into the house, a wonderful beginning to their seventy-one year marriage.
A Muse
by Frank Sobey
You listened well enough
In the stairwell after classes
To the great love poems
With arms folded and a smile.
So I decided to write one
About my feelings for you.
It took awhile, being young,
To find a good rhyme for earlobe
Even longer for the shape of your chin.
You were worth it,
My luminous globe of endless delight,
Even if your laughter
Down the stairs drowned the last lines out:
This is my first poem for my first love
Who must spurn me if I am to write ag’in.
Thoroughly Modern Molly
by Barbara Veazey
When I was growing up, I discovered a distinctive un-grandmotherly trait about my father’s mother. She was not the warm, fuzzy, cookie-baking type. On every weekend visit to her home, I was plied with fresh carrot juice, much to the horror of my picky palate. There is something about the taste of liquid carrots that would make a starving rabbit bound away in dread. My vegetable-loving grandmother Mabel Richmond Hubbard, who went by Molly, was a fascinating woman very much ahead of her time. Certainly she was steeped in old-fashioned values and traditions, yet she also had a keen eye for new trends. While I never learned to bake by my grandmother’s side, she imparted many other lessons to me over my lifetime. The three most important of these were to embrace independence, develop a love of reading, and to persevere come what may.
Molly was a decisive, opinionated and staunchly independent woman. For instance, she married, had two children, and divorced before she was thirty. As a single parent, she ruled with an iron glove. My dad Richard and his younger sibling Nancy knew their mother as a force to be reckoned with during their upbringing. As one of Molly’s five grandchildren, I felt her force in my life as well. She was always dispensing advice, imparting wisdom, and questioning my decisions. She encouraged me to do well in school and pursue higher education because she believed education laid the groundwork for independence later in life. Moreover, my grandmother lived an independent lifestyle. She purchased an apartment in a cooperative, long before the word “condominium” became common real estate terminology. I remember my father’s wrenching concern about the location of this apartment situated right in the middle of the University District in Seattle. The neighborhood, several blocks from the University of Washington campus, was not exactly a haven for the elderly but rather a busy crowded space sprawling with college students and hippies. I thought the entire scenario was pretty cool! My grandmother lived her life independent of modern technology. There was no remote control for the television, no microwave, or any vestige of digital gadgetry in her home. This sage senior eschewed even the convenience of a cordless phone, stating that it was a good thing to get up to answer the phone. I secretly dubbed her phone the “Bat Phone,” a shining red replica of the one Commissioner Gordon used to summon the Caped Crusader. Most importantly, my grandmother firmly believed in financial independence. She spent her working years as a bookkeeper with the Viking Sprinkler Company and received a handsome pension upon her retirement. She invested in real estate and in stocks such as the then fledgling companies of Microsoft and Nordstrom. Again, I recall my father’s uneasiness that his mother was throwing her hard-earned money out of the window; however, Grandma’s intuition proved right in later years with huge dividends and countless stock splits. Moreover, Grandma was a fiercely independent thinker, throwing convention to the wind at times. She did not care that someone might raise an eyebrow at her lavender bathroom or her red kitchen. After she retired, she surprised us all one day by trading in her staid Dodge Dart for a sporty 1967 cream-colored Mustang with sequential tail lights. Molly was an independent woman through and through.
My grandmother instilled in me the love of reading. To illustrate this, she taught by example and told me I would never be bored while I was reading. Grandma was always poring over something, especially mystery suspense novels. She adored the Nero Wolfe series by Rex Stout and requested books for birthday and holiday gifts. In my teens, I acquired an insatiable appetite for Agatha Christie’s legendary works. Additionally, my grandmother surrounded herself with fellow book lovers. Her closest friends, Marie Peterson and Louise Martin, were avid readers with whom I spent many happy hours reading at my grandmother’s home. When I was four years old, Mrs. Peterson gave me a complete set of Golden Book Encyclopedias for Christmas, which I voraciously devoured. I vividly recall sitting on the sofa, flanked by Grandma and Mrs. Peterson, eagerly turning the crisp pages of the first volume, Aardvark to Army. Mrs. Martin gifted me with her beautiful, timeworn original copy of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery, which remains one of my all-time favorite books. Furthermore, my grandmother encouraged me to read everything, everywhere. There was a communal laundry room downstairs from her apartment. This damp, mildew-scented facility was also the depository for the residents’ cast-off magazines which littered the tables like mahjong tiles. Grandma asked me to read to her while she did her laundry, leaving the selections totally up to me. Great discussions between us always ensued. On my family tree, Molly was the bookworm from whom I gained my passion for reading.
My grandmother also taught me to persevere rather than run away from my problems. For example, she demonstrated great determination through many difficult times in her life. Molly lived through the Great Depression and emerged from it with newfound resolve and practicality. She adopted a simple way of living and engaged herself with economical pastimes, such as reading and playing Solitaire. Grandma believed in recycling, even to the point of handing her opened birthday cards back to us with a request that we save them for her next birthday. When she became too old to drive safely, Molly walked everywhere she could because she did not want to burden her family for any more than occasional transportation. Additionally, my grandmother persevered through numerous health problems during her life. She survived breast cancer in her 50s; the resulting mastectomy did not quell her zest for living. She struggled with a decade of severe dental problems and underwent surgery for a broken hip despite her advanced age. Furthermore, Grandma persevered through the changes brought on by old age. She remained optimistic and believed her positive mental outlook was instrumental to the enjoyment of her Golden Years. When asked if she ever thought she’d live to be one hundred, she looked horrified and exclaimed, “Why no! If I had, I would have taken much better care of myself!” I noticed during a recent conversation with my grandmother that she periodically glanced at the wall clock. I asked her why she did that. She cryptically replied that at 4:57 p.m., she was going to go check on something in the kitchen. Seeing my puzzled expression, she revealed that keeping track of an “odd time,” such as 4:57 p.m. or 7:13 p.m., was merely a mental exercise she performed regularly to keep her mind sharp. When her health became such that family could no longer take care of her, she went willingly to the nursing home where she felt pampered and at peace. It was evident to me that Molly could get through just about anything.
My Grandma Molly was an extraordinary person, full of character and contrasts. I choose to believe it was the world that finally caught up with many of her progressive ideas. My grandmother passed away at the ripe old age of 101 on August 17, 2005. I loved her, and I miss her. I am thankful for her guidance in my life, and I know that I am a better person because of her influence.
Salvation and Damnation in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
by Lauren Netherton
In his poem, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” Samuel Taylor Coleridge draws upon Christian symbolism, as well as Gothic aspects of horror and the supernatural. Throughout the poem, Christianity collides with the Gothic, causing the resolution of the poem to be less traditional. Although many readers view Coleridge’s poem as a tale of redemption, the Christian themes are overshadowed by the Gothic elements, causing the poem actually to be a story of condemnation.
The poem is filled with Christian elements, most prevalent of which is the usage of the Albatross as a symbol of Christ. The Albatross appears through the fog and guides the sailors like the Holy Spirit through the Arctic regions. While the other sailors welcome the bird of good omen, “As if it had been a Christian soul, / “[that]” We hailed it in God’s name” (65-66), the Mariner refuses to accept the bird, rejecting it like one rejecting the salvation of Christ. In the same way that Christ was brutally crucified although he had committed no crime, the Ancient Mariner slays the innocent bird for no apparent reason. The shipmates betray the bird as Christ was betrayed when they condone the killing: “’Twas right, said they such birds to slay, / That brought the fog and mist” (101-102). When the ship is stranded in the burning hell-like region of the ocean, the crew hang the Albatross like a crucifix around the Mariner’s neck, symbolizing the burden of his guilt: “Instead of the cross, the Albatross / About my neck was hung” (141-142). After the Mariner blesses the creatures of the sea in his heart, he is shown mercy and seemingly forgiven. The storm that follows is similar to the storm that occurred after Christ was crucified. Just as Christ asked forgiveness for the people who ignorantly murdered him, the Albatross itself seems to pardon the Ancient Mariner: “And from my neck so free / The Albatross fell off, and sank / Like lead into the sea” (289-291).
Besides the Christian allusions and symbols, however, Gothic characteristics are also present in the poem, particularly elements of horror and the paranormal. While the ship is stalled near the Equator, the scene is described as a hellish place:
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white. (127-130)
Even the sea creatures are given an otherworldly and demonic feel: “Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs / Upon the slimy sea” (125-126). The spirit, which follows the ship “From the land of mist and snow” (134) calls to mind a demonic being more intent on condemning the Ancient Mariner to eternal torture than on righteously obtaining justice for the death of the innocent bird. When the skeleton ship appears, the introduction of the characters of Death and Life-in-Death contain some of the most gruesome and demonic elements in the poem: “Her skin was as white as leprosy / The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, / Who thicks man’s blood with cold” (192-194). The bewitchment of the ship further supports the dominance of the paranormal in the poem. When the Ancient Mariner’s shipmates drop dead, their bodies supernaturally fail to decay, leaving their cursing looks fixed on the Mariner. The Mariner himself comes to possess some of the supernatural power of the spirits as he is able to hold the listeners of his tale against their will: “He holds him with his glittering eye . . . The Mariner hath his will” (13, 16).
Despite the strong influence of Christian themes, the Gothic aspects dominate the poem, and heaven is ultimately unable to save the Ancient Mariner from his fate. The possession of the bodies of the crew by the “troop of spirits blest” (249) illustrates the precedence that the dark Gothic theme of tragedy has over the Christian theme of renewal. Although the Mariner is being rescued, his salvation ironically comes in the form of the corpses of the men for whose deaths he is responsible:
The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me. (341-344)
Even as the Ancient Mariner is carried home, he confesses that heaven cannot save him: “I could not draw my eyes from theirs, / Nor turn them up to pray” (440-441). The Polar Spirit, which must initially obey the angelic host by reluctantly carrying the ship to safety, ultimately has the most power and decides the Mariner’s fate: “The man hath penance done, / And penance more will do” (408-409). The Hermit is powerless to free the Ancient Mariner from the burden of his guilt, and the Mariner is condemned to wander the earth telling his tale: “And till my ghastly tale is told, / This heart within me burns” (584-585).
Though there is forgiveness in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” the Mariner’s
unending punishment contradicts the Christian doctrine of atonement, leaving the poem with a Gothic feeling of horror and tragedy.
Balance and Chinese Culture
by Tiffany Byers
In Amy Tan’s acclaimed novel, The Joy Luck Club, the issue of balance is revisited again and again. The four Chinese mothers and their four American daughters struggle to retain a sense of solidity within each of their relationships, all of which seem to have been severed by lines of miscommunication. Mothers and daughters come from two different cultural backgrounds, one following the traditions of the East, and one influenced by the trends of the West. The mothers are most determined to find a compromise between them. This strong resolve comes from deep-rooted Taoist beliefs brought over from China. In his book Tao: The Watercourse Way, author Alan Watts discusses balance and its role in Eastern philosophy and religion: “At the very roots of Chinese thinking there lies the principle of polarity, which is not to be confused with the ideas of opposition . . . [These] are different aspects of the same system” (19-20). Throughout Tan’s novel, each mother strives to overcome this cultural barrier in order to attain a balance she feels is essential in her relationship with her daughter.
The cultural disparity described in the novel comes from a clash of beliefs. The mothers’ Chinese values do not hold with the daughters’ Americanized ideals. This same discord exists in China today. In a recent article from BBC News, Jill McGivering writes of the effect Westernization has had on the Chinese society. She says that modernization is “bringing new technology and new influences . . . sparking tension between those determined to safeguard Chinese traditions and the younger generation” (2-3). In the opening narration in the book, Tan tells the story of a woman who comes over from China with only a swan and her memories. She believes the swan will show her daughter what she had left behind, what she had sacrificed in order for her daughter to gain. However, the woman arrives in America only to have the swan taken away from her. In essence, everything she knows is gone, and she is left with only a feather. This is not enough to share with her daughter, and her good intentions are forgotten. Her daughter knows nothing of her painful journey, nor is she even curious. As her mother says, she grows up in the new country “speaking only English and swallowing more Coca-Cola than sorrow” (Tan 3). The daughter cannot relate to the mother, and the mother is unable to identify with the daughter.
This lack of communication affects the relationship and leads to an imbalance in each of their lives. The cultural division between mother and daughter is particularly apparent in the story of Jing-mei Woo. Though her mother, Suyuan, has recently passed away, Jing-mei is still left feeling isolated. She is invited to join the other mothers in the Joy Luck Club, a group her mother had founded. This assemblage of Chinese women meets weekly in order to celebrate their old customs. On her first day of attendance, Jing-mei finds herself the object of criticism and disapproval, much like the treatment she had received from Suyuan while growing up. She recalls a time she had asked her mother to explain the difference between Jewish mahjong and Chinese mahjong. Suyuan does not give her a direct answer; rather, she leaves her with an open-ended question, and Jing-mei is left frustrated with its veiled meaning. This exasperation returns as she tries to find her place at the mahjong table. At the other mothers’ coaching, she cannot help but remember her own mother. She thinks to herself, “These kind of explanations made me feel my mother and I spoke two different languages, which we did. I talked to her in English, she answered back in Chinese” (Tan 23).
As discussed earlier, the Taoist doctrine emphasizes the need for harmony and balance in nature. From his research, Watts gathers that “The Taoist are saying . . . that seen as a whole the universe is a harmony or symbiosis of patterns which cannot exist without each other” (51). Though they raised their girls in America, the Chinese mothers want each daughter to have the best of both worlds. They want them to carry their Chinese heritage, while at the same time learn to adapt to the American ways. However, this cultural coexistence cannot be achieved as the Western principles seem to hold sway over the girls’ upbringing.
Despite the wide cultural gap, both the mothers and daughters do not seem to give up hope for some kind of mutual understanding. Throughout Tan’s novel, both give small concessions along the way. One example of this is when Suyuan gives Jing-mei a jade pendant. At first Jing-mei is confused by the gesture. She does not know what her mother means by her “life’s importance.” Instead of questioning the symbolic nature of the necklace, she shrugs off her mother’s words as mere Chinese nonsense. The necklace, however, is given to Jing-mei for a specific reason and also signifies a turning point in the novel. In Taoist culture, jade is thought to have “complete faculties” (Watts 51). In his book, Watts describes this theory in more depth: “Man is water, and when producing elements of male and female unite, liquid flows into forms . . . Thus water accumulates into jade . . . Taoists see water as having complete faculties,’ in other words, as being completely balanced” (49). Suyuan is giving her daughter a piece of herself, a bit of her culture. This stone is part of her past and embodies her best intentions. Giving it to Jing-mei gives her the best of both worlds. Jing-mei is also searching for a way to add balance to her life. Though she may not be fully aware of her own intentions when she takes her mother’s place at the mahjong table, it is indeed to find and save a piece of her mother’s memory. She is a link between the Chinese and American cultures. In one particular passage, Auntie Lin explains the importance of Jing-mei taking Suyuan’s place: “How can we play with just three people? Like a table with three legs, no balance . . . ” (Tan 22). In the end, Jing-mei journeys to China and learns her mother’s painful story and, for once, is able to understand her mother’s meaning.
When a person grows up influenced by one particular set of beliefs, he or she may find it most difficult to adapt when faced with another culture. Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club illustrates such a situation using four Chinese mothers and their four American daughters. The cultural dynamic leads to miscommunication, which leads to an imbalance in each of their lives. In order to attain a balance, each woman must try to better understand where her daughter is coming from. By telling both mothers’ and daughters’ stories, and by giving the reader a glimpse into each woman’s past, Tan is finally able to bridge this gap.
Works Cited
McGivering, Jill. “Fears for China’s Cultural Identity.” BBC News. 18 November
2005. <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/stm>.
Tan, Amy. The Joy Luck Club. New York: Ballantine Books, 1989.
Watts, Alan. Tao: The Watercourse Way. New York: Pantheon Books, 1975.
Religious Turmoil in the Sea of Faith
by Kathy Hill
The Victorian age was a period in which scientific discoveries and the theories of Charles Darwin stirred doubts in the Biblical story of creation and the existence of man as it had been explained in the teachings of the Bible. These controversies led many Victorians to have doubts about their accountability to a Supreme Being and faith in a greater power. Many Victorians were worried that the teachings of the Bible and faith in God were being ignored and that the long-held religious traditions of society had been shattered. Matthew Arnold expressed these fears of religious doubts in his poem “Dover Beach.”
Arnold’s setting for the poem is established by the description of a calm sea and tranquil bay at night with “The sea is calm tonight. / The tide is full, the moon lies fair” (1-2). “Come to the window; sweet is the night air” (6) gives the impression that someone who is looking out the window and enjoying the night has asked his companion to join him. From the window, the couple can see the cliffs of England “glimmering and vast” (5). This description has captured the image of a gentle, peaceful evening that has brought the couple together and whose magic has encouraged them to share in the enjoyment of the beauty of the world.
The tranquility of the scene changes as Arnold describes the sea as it reaches the shore: “Listen! You hear the grating roar / Of pebbles which the waves draw back” (9-10). This change in mood is also evident as the waves bring “the eternal note of sadness in” (14). Arnold expresses the idea that the former security in faith is being washed away by new beliefs and compares the waves of the sea to the pain and suffering of human beings. The person at the window is reminded of an ancient Greek writer, Sophocles, who compared the waves of the Aegean Sea to human suffering: “into his mind the turbid ebb and flow / Of human misery” (17-18). Lance St. John Butler stated about the speaker that “instead of, say, welcoming the new intellectual liberation of the times, it is the old security that he laments” (1553). According to Michael McGhee, the joy of the past “cannot be secured of sustained by Faith” (84).
Arnold goes on to say that “The Sea of Faith / Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore / Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled (21-23). Kenneth Allott claims that “the context is one for feelings of loss, exposure and dismay” (qtd. in “After Dover Beach”). This Sea of Faith relates to the faith in God that was once a comfort to the English as they were tucked snugly inside His loving arms. The reassurance that the Sea of Faith once provided has diminished as described in “But now I only hear / Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar” (24-25). The sea and beach that were once calm are now “retreating” (26), “drear” (27), and “naked” (28), just as faith has withdrawn, leaving people vulnerable.
The speaker in “Dover Beach” appeals to his love to “let us be true / To one another” (29-30). The couple stands alone in the world without the comfort they once had in their faith: “And we are here as on a darkling plain / Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight” (35-36). One critic states that “only in their devotion to each other will they find comfort and certainty in the confused alarms of struggle and flight’ of life” (“Introduction”). The couple must turn away from the outside world because they have only each other to depend on. Another writer states that “only the loyalty and comfort of personal relationships can fill the void produced by the disappearing faith in God” (“Explanation”). This was once a “land of dreams / So various, so beautiful, so new” (31-32), but now it “hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light” (33). The world has changed from a place of beauty and prosperity to a frightening uncertain place in which those of faith are being scorned by those who are not believers. Butler states that “what has been lost are hope, charity, and above all faith” (1553). According to Philip Drew, “Arnold reveals the Victorians’ belief that personal relationships provide a balm for the blows of a rapidly changing world” (qtd. in “Criticism”). The couple stands together to face life’s challenges because they no longer have the security in their faith that they once had. Butler also notes that “the poem ends with the powerful, louring image of the darkling plain’ and the ignorant armies’ clashing by night” (1553). The expressions of faith that were once sturdy, sound, and unwavering have been destroyed by the skeptics’ doubts about the existence of God.
Religion and unquestionable faith were a comfort to Victorians, and the new discoveries and doubts about religion were a threat to the security they felt in God. According to Miriam Allott, the poem “displays at its best Arnold’s gift for expressing the feelings of the transitional timesthe indecision, the confusion, the regret” (qtd. in “Criticism”). Arnold expressed these fears in “Dover Beach” by comparing faith to a changing sea. Another critic amply notes that “employing one of Arnold’s favored metaphors between life and the sea, the poem contrasts the beauty of the moonlit seashore to the angst and uncertainty of life” (“Introduction”). Arnold successfully conveys the feelings that life has been enriched and protected by faith and religious beliefs, but menacing changes in society have brought about insecurity in those previously unwavering beliefs. “Dover Beach” is an example of Matthew Arnold’s concern that the effects of science on religion could lead to lost souls in the sea of life.
Works Cited
Arnold, Matthew. “Dover Beach.” The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Ed. M. H. Abrams and
Stephen Greenblatt. 7th ed. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2000. 1492-1493.
Butler, Lance St. John. “Dover Beach.” Reference Guide to English Literature (1991): 1553. Academic Search
Premier. EBSCO. Lynn Library, Amarillo College. 24 November 2005 <http://www.epnet.com/>.
“Criticism: Dover Beach’ by Matthew Arnold.” EXPLORING Poetry. Online Ed. Gale, 2003. Student Resource
Center. Gale Group. Lynn Library, Amarillo College. 26 November 2005 <http://www.galegroup.com>.
“Explanation: Dover Beach’ by Matthew Arnold.” EXPLORING Poetry. Online Ed. Gale, 2003. Student
Resource Center. Gale Group. Lynn Library, Amarillo College. 24 November 2005
“Introduction: Dover Beach’ by Matthew Arnold.” EXPLORING Poetry. Online Ed.
Gale, 2003. Student Resource Center. Gale Group. Lynn Library, Amarillo College, 24 November 2005
McGhee, Michael. “After Dover Beach: Arnold’s Recast Religion.” Studies in World Christianity 4 (1998): 84.
Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Lynn Library, Amarillo College. 26 November 2005
Spring 2006
Writers' Roundup Winners
Each year the Amarillo College English Department holds a Writer’s Roundup contest to encourage beginning as well as advanced writers to demonstrate their creative flair. Students are given a prompt and have two hours in which to write. The type of writing is up to the student.
For more information on how to enter this friendly competition, please call (806) 371-5170 or email Angie Kleffman, English Department Writing Lab Supervisor II, at kleffman-am@actx.edu.
What Kind of Fool Am I?
(Grand Prize Winner)
by Stephanie Lyons
There are times when you are on the straight and narrow, and then life throws you curve balls. Then that leads me to the age-old question: “What kind of fool am I? My mantra in life is, “Life is full of shoulda’s, woulda’s, coulda’s; it’s what you do with them that counts.”
There should be a mandate that when you reach puberty, your reproductive organs should be removed and not given back to you until you either graduate college or get a job where you are happy (gasp). Why would I say such a thing? Due to the following reasons . . . stupid, horny and eighteen do not mix well! I was in love. Okay, let’s face it, I was in stupid. I got married to my high school sweetheart at eighteen and moved away from Amarillo. I could not wait to wipe the dust of this West Texas town off my shoes and intended to never come back.
We moved to Ft. Bragg, NC. Talk about a culture shock. Here were people that didn’t know the meaning of good Mexican food and didn’t have the slightest inclination of what great barbecue tasted like. Other than the culture shock, I was what I thought was “happy.” Then reality set in. I was a 24-hour drive from home and could not come to visit my family as much as I wanted to. I should have sacrificed and worked more jobs and gotten my education earlier in life, especially before I had children. However, we are back to what kind of fool am I? We lived payday to payday, scraping by on Private First Class pay. There were many days of beans, fried potatoes and corn bread. Sometimes money was so tight there were only beans.
I had my first child at the age of twenty. I would not trade my child for the world, but being foolish, I thought having a child would make our lives better. I realize now that I should have waited longer to have Corey. I was not the nicest person during labor with my child. If you wanted to look up the words “foolish,” “mean,” and “horrible” in the dictionary of childbirth, my photo would have been there. I tried to kill my husband during labor, hands wrapped around his throat. The obstetrician told me that I was THE worst patient he had ever had. My husband told him not to get too close, for I had threatened to kill the doctor also. When my son was born, instead of immediately bonding with him, I told the doctor that my son looked like E.T. and I wanted to trade for another baby. Maternal instinct did not kick in until after the pain medication wore off.
I wish that I had been a better mother. Unfortunately, children do not come with instruction booklets. Being foolish, I thought that I could do it all on my own, with no help from anyone. Big mistake! If I could go back, I would have read every book available and learned that good parenting takes time and effort. I would have striven more to read to him even during his infancy when he would not have understood. I would have played classical music for him to expose him to Wagner, Beethoven, and Bach. Even though I know he would not have grasped this, perhaps in the long run he would have had a broader range of possibilities.
We moved from Ft. Bragg to Wiesbaden, Germany. Here I was, separated by an ocean from my family. The only time we came home in three and a half years was when my mother was sick and had to undergo kidney bypass. We could only afford it because the Red Cross paid for an emergency flight home. Again the foolish person kicked in. I worked in the home doing childcare because I didn’t trust anyone else to watch my child. This was a huge mistake. I robbed my child of being with other children, away from his mother. As his mother, I was harder on him in a sense. I was much more tolerant of other people’s children and not of mine. This is a burden I will have the rest of my life. Also doing in-home childcare, I robbed myself of adult conversation and mind-challenging activities. Once again, I should have gone to college. However, instead of following what my mind said, I listened to my husband, who said we could not afford the tuition and books. I should have made myself sacrifice more and gotten my degree so I would not have been dependent upon anyone else to make a good living for myself and my family.
After Germany, we moved to Ft. Sill, OK. This was the first time that I was within driving distance of home. My oldest son was four and a half and was a handful during this time, so I had him tested for ADHD. The psychiatrist ran some tests on him while I was in the room, and after she finished, she asked me if I had ever been screened for ADHD. I explained that I had ADHD as a child and that I had outgrown it. I really thought she was going to fall out of her chair because she was laughing so hard. She explained that adults have ADHD also and that I had a really bad case of it. A lightbulb went off in my head, and I thought, “Perhaps this is the reason I have not gone and pursued my degree.”
I didn’t work for the first year we were at Ft. Sill because I didn’t have anyone that I trusted to watch my child. I went to work when the bills started piling up and there was no money. I got a job at the child development center at Ft. Sill. The hours were not sufficient enough to make a dent in the bills, especially after childcare, so I went below my intelligence level to housekeeping at the Billeting Unit. I was so foolish to do this. I, once again, should have sacrificed and made myself go to college. Then at twenty-six, I got pregnant with my second son, Daniel. I was still working, up until my fifth month of pregnancy. I got really sick and was hospitalized many times due to high blood pressure and pregnancy-induced diabetes. When my second son arrived, it was even harder to work, being “unskilled” except for child development. I feel that if I had gotten my degree, I could have had a job where I could have made enough money to pay for childcare and make ends meet. Our family lived on the border of poverty. My husband had been promoted to sergeant, but with two children, our income was low. I had to swallow my pride and apply for WIC. I was ashamed until I met with the social worker who processed my paperwork. She explained that this was not a handout, but a handup. I knew that my children would have the food they needed to develop physically. Plus, it didn’t hurt that it was free.
After my second child was born, I foolishly spanked my children. I do not mean to condemn anyone who uses physical punishment, but I began to see things differently. There was an epiphany one day when I went to spank my child. I thought to myself that if I touched him, I was going to hurt him. I was that mad. This was the point where I had to question myself on my foolish practices as a parent. I know that saying “spare the rod, spoil the child,” but I also realized that violence would only beget violence. I learned alternative forms of discipline that didn’t humiliate my children or me by using physical violence. I have not hit my children in probably eight years. I hope that when they have children, they will respect their children enough to not use physical violence as punishment. I hope they can break the cycle of borderline abuse.
In 1995, my husband exited the military, and we moved back to Amarillo. The place I could not wait to get away from, I now call home. It was hard moving back. My husband didn’t have a great job in the military, so his “skills” were limited. I forced him to use the Hazelwood Exemption Act to enroll here at Amarillo College and take the prison training course. This got him hired at the prison. I, on the other hand, held menial jobs, waiting tables and working at a picture framing studio.
I took the test to get hired on with the United States Postal Service when we lived in Ft. Sill, and it took four and a half years for me to get hired on. It was my dream to work there; great pay and benefits are what attracted me. Be careful what you wish for! I worked at the Postal Service for eight years of my life. Great pay does not make a great job. I understand why so many people at the Postal Service are on anti-depressants; the environment is not meant for personal growth. I was asked to apply for management, and this was one of the times that foolishness didn’t reign supreme over me. I learned that managers are usually not promoted due to education or competency, but due to things such as who they will sleep with and how many people they will stab in the back to get ahead.
Foolishness makes you do funny things. I left my husband for another man during this time. What was wrong with my first marriage, I thought I could fix in my second marriage. I married a man that nobody seemed to like. This should have been my first clue to impending disaster; however, stupidity and foolishness won out. But with blinders on and the grandiose reasoning of “I can change him,” I married him. He had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. This should have been a red flag from the word go, but I kept telling myself that I could make him better. In case you are wondering, you cannot make someone with PTSD better. I only enabled him. I foolishly stayed with him for eight years. My husband verbally and mentally abused me, but being foolish, I stayed with him. I am not sure if I stayed because I was afraid of being alone or if I could not see the bigger picture.
My ex-husband took me to court and my children were awarded to him, due to my new husband’s mental instability. During this time, my husband tried to commit suicide no less than four times. The attorney asked my ex-husband if he was suing for custody due to me. My ex-husband replied, “No, it’s due to her husband.” I should have immediately left him and retained custody of my children, but being stubborn and foolish, I let them go. This is a decision that I will carry with me to my grave. The fact that I sacrificed my children for this man was a horrible decision. I know that my children forgive me, but it is still hard. The only thing that makes me feel remotely better is that I believe my children are safer with their dad than they would have been with their step-dad.
Last year, my second husband talked me into quitting my $42,000 a year job to attend college. Since he is 100% disabled through the Veterans Administration, I get to go to college on the G.I. Bill. There are not many of us here at Amarillo College who receive this benefit. Because I was going to school full-time and making new friends who had no connection to my husband, jealousy reared its ugly head. It’s not that he thought I was cheating; he was jealous that I had a life that went beyond our house. He envied my friendship with people who are as smart as I am.
So here I am at almost forty and am pursing my degree that I should have sacrificed for and gotten twenty years earlier. I have learned many lessons along the way and I have made many mistakes. My husband and I have separated. I am living at home with my parents. Oh boy! I have a room that I refer to as my dungeon, but for the first time since I was eighteen, I do not have to answer to a husband.
If I could go back in life, I would do things differently. Talk about hindsight bias. I know there is no going back, only forward. I am trying to part with my foolishness and learn lessons from the past. I am imparting my “wisdom” to my friends that I sit with in the mornings in the CUB. There are four or five young people who are my oldest son’s age. I encourage them to wait for marriage and children until they graduate college. I tell them to look around our table and note the three other women who are my age trying desperately to better their lives. I try and encourage them, just as I do my children. I tell them that without an education they are doomed to menial jobs and are more likely to become co-dependent upon someone else to help them make ends meet. Do not settle for mediocrity, but strive for excellence. This might mean no partying on the weekends, staying home and studying, and sacrificing a social life. In the end, I hope and pray they will listen, for I don’t want others to repeat the same foolish mistakes that I have made.
Like I said, “Life is full of shoulda’s, woulda’s, coulda’s; it’s what you do with them that counts.” Foolishness can be overcome; it takes time and persistence to change your patterns of self-destructive behavior. I pray daily for patience, humility, and most of all wisdom. I just wish that God would hurry up with the patience and give me a clue on the humility part, but most of all, I just hope I notice the foolishness in my life that stares me in the face every day.
Wish me luck! A Fool and His Lies
(1st Place Sophomore Winner)
by Daniel Ramos
I’m the kind of guy who lies to make things right
If I said otherwise I wouldn’t be lying...in her arms
Her hugs are graveyards where I bury my burdens
2
Arms
deep
Her kisses are like the bullet to the head that put them there
If she is an assassin, I’m
Just looking
For excuses to
Keep in her sight
To understand me, you have to understand what kind of fool I am
A medicated wreck, shadow of a man
Hollow inside, driven with pride
I fight for all of the wrong reasons
I save and spend in all of the wrong seasons
I’ll find new ways to get back to my old ways
I’ll stay
If you leave
Me
In control
Only a fool would have it any other way
Doesn’t mean we can’t stay together
But don’t expect anything less than a jealous lover
Fight, I’m sorry, SEX
Fight, I’m sorry, SEX
Fight, I’m sorry,
We can already guess what comes next
So we turn from passion to routine
And now it seems we are our dreams
Nightmares anyway
I’m tired of never being able to tell her
I think we are about to be over
How do you know we’re not cheating ourselves?
How do you know you couldn’t be happier with someone else?
But I can’t seem to let the words come out
Maybe I should just write them down
It’s not that I don’t love her
It’s I know I should treat her