A Vision in a Dream

Here is an excellent analysis of Kubla Khan. It covers just about everything, from helpfully paraphrasing the text to discussing meter, rhyme scheme, syntax, etc.

Also, here is a sort of musical interpretation of the poem, split by sections - less technical, more feeling.

Mysteries

The Mysteries: To Possess the Present

The Eleusinian Mysteries were secret religious rites of Ancient Greece that were held in Eleusis in honor of the principal goddesses of the cult, Demeter and her daughter Kore, or Persephone. It was believed to have been established sometime around 1500 BC and held great significance in ancient Greek culture until around 395 AD when Christianity began to exert its influence. The initiation rites into the cult were known as the Mysteries. The Lesser Mysteries occurred annually, and it was only through their completion someone would be deemed mystai and could then witness the Greater Mysteries held every five years. The Mysteries are represented by the abduction of Persephone by Hades in a cycle of three phases – the “decent” or loss, the “search” by Demeter, and the “ascent” of Persephone as Queen of the Dead and her reunion with her mother. Little is known about exactly what was involved during the rites, though it can be inferred that something was recited, something was revealed, and acts were done. The mysteries were kept secret from all but the participants. Only initiates knew what the kiste, a sacred chest, and the kalathos, a lidded basket, contained.

According to the Homeric Hymn, after the abduction of Persephone by Hades and her subsequent descent into the Underworld, Demeter searched for her daughter and eventually learned that she had been taken by Hades with the consent of Zeus. Enraged, she denounces the Gods and decides to live amongst men. She comes across the palace at Eleusis and in the form of an old woman she befriends the Royal family and helps to raise the young Prince. She attempts to make the boy immortal but is thwarted by the Queen – Demeter was recognized as a Goddess and commissioned the building of a temple and alter in her honor. After this, though, she secludes herself becomes immersed in mourning for her lost daughter. She causes a terrible drought that would have caused the human race to perish had Zeus not intervened and offered her a compromise –he would return her daughter, but because Persephone consumed food while in the Underworld, she must return there for four months of the year, depending upon the myth and the number of pomegranate seeds she ate. It is during those months that Demeter mourns the loss of her daughter which corresponds to the loss of vegetation and no growth.

It is from the core of this myth which lays the principle of the Eleusinian Mysteries – fertility and growth are bound with death. Without death, there would be no procreation. The rites perhaps serve as a representation of man receiving fertility from the hand of death. Those who participated were believed to look forward to a better place in the afterlife.

In taking the viewpoint of an initiate, we have to ask ourselves, “What have we gained from this experience and what have we lost in the pain and initiation in mystery?” An initiation of a different sort can be viewed in John Fowles’ The Magus, that of the decent into mystery of Nicolas at Bourani. To understand this journey, we must first understand the roles of the players. The concept of the Magician plays a unique role in history and literature. In Tarot, the Magician or the Magus can mean power, skill, manipulation and resourcefulness. The number of the Magician is one, the number of beginnings. Above his head is the symbol for infinity and around his waist a snake biting its own tail. In his right hand is a wand which points towards heaven; his left hand points toward Earth. This gesture relates to the Mysteries and symbolizes the Magician’s ability to bridge the gap between heaven and earth. His robe is white, representing purity and innocence, while his red cloak tells of worldly knowledge and experience. At his feet are both Lilies and Roses, also white and red. Finally, the Magician is often represented by Mercury, the patron god of eloquence, communication, and trickery. Funnily enough, the Fool compliments the Magician in card combinations. The Fool can represent new opportunities, pleasure, thoughtlessness, and indecision. The card is unnumbered, though sometimes represented as zero. He is shown to be lost in his own thoughts and walking near the edge of a cliff, seemingly oblivious to the danger.

The Magician and the Fool give an accurate representation of Conchis and Nicolas as characters, as well as their role in the story. Conchis is able to reel him in because of the mystery Bourani presents. Nicolas keeps returning, no matter the abuse he suffers, because of his desperation for answers – answers he never receives. For it is when the mystery is unraveled that it no longer holds any power. And though eventually Nicolas’ time in Greece comes to an end, it may not be considered the end of his journey. In his descent into the realm of mystery, he loses many things – his pride, many of his beliefs, perhaps part of his sanity. But he has also gained something infinitely more precious, though whether he comes to appreciate and grow from the experience is entirely up to him.

The place of mystery in the contemporary world is understated. This may be viewed as good, as mystery should be subtle, yet its importance is subsequently becoming overshadowed by the scientific method. Logic functions on a different plane of thought where the shadows cast by mystery are no longer awe inspiring and thought provoking, no, simply frustrating and must be cast under the light to be dissected and understood. It is hard angles and dimensions where mystery is flowing lines that twist upon themselves and lead you right back to where you began. The mystery lies in the act of filling in the blank spots of a map with previously undiscovered isles and uncharted waters; it is in the completed work that sits finished above the mantle, now a statement of fact and eternally unchanging, where science lies. Answers lead to more questions, yet the questions themselves should be cherished – not as a means to an end, but simply as itself, existing in a realm of uncertainty and possibility.

From Apocalypse and/or Metamorphosis by Norman O. Brown, "Mysteries display themselves in words only if they can remain concealed" (3). Poetry is perhaps the best example of this concept. Poetry is veiled truth; each person has a different reading of a poem, all of which could be attributed to their personal views on a subject, their mood while reading, etc. Each person receives something individual to their understanding of the world from it. What the author intended as the 'meaning', if there was indeed one intended, is irrelevant. Poetry is dynamic, and what a person can get from a poem may change even from one reading to the next. Richard Hugo's The Triggering Town makes an excellent point on the relationship between the meaning behind words and their ability to convey information:

Let's take language that exists to communicate--the news story. In a news story the words are there to give you information about the event. […] Once you have the information, the words seem unimportant. By understanding the words […] you seem to deaden them. In the news article the relation of the words to the subject […] is a strong one. The relation of the words to the writer is so weak that for our purposes it isn't worth consideration. When you write a poem these relations must reverse themselves. That is, the relation of the words to the subject must weaken and the relation of the words to the writer (you) must take on strength. (Hugo 11)

Hugo cautions against direct communication because once language exists only to convey information, it becomes dead. A similar concept is explored within Arcadia. It is the uncertainty within the language that leaves us the greatest room for interpretation and therefore the greatest chance for discovery. A statement of fact is simply that, and nothing more, but when mystery and uncertainty become involved the words can grow to become something beyond themselves. It is in this sense that poetry may convey information to us indirectly – uncertainty allows for the words to breathe and take a life of their own, and the only limit behind how much may be gained is that of the imagination of the reader.

“Kubla Khan” may be used as a brief example. It is best known for its beautiful sound and meter and because of this is sometimes thought to be composed of sound rather than sense. The ‘meaning’ behind the poem has been argued relentlessly – on a more literal level, it can be read as the speaker’s personal thoughts on Xanadu and  their admiration of the nature and imagery that surrounds them. On a different level, a more erotic undertone can be found woven throughout, or perhaps on a third level it can be read as a celebration of creativity and a poet’s connection to the universe through imagination. Again, this all depends on the reader and circumstances. There is a mystical quality to the poem that certainly adds to the mysterious ambiance it creates. Xanadu, or Shangdu, was the summer capital of Kublai Khan's Yuan Empire and after it was visited in 1275 by Marco Polo it became known as a foreign paradise associated with opulence and beauty. Xanadu is a paradise, Arcadia, but we cannot forget those caves of ice that lurk beneath, because was it not Dante who envisioned the lowest level of hell as a frozen wasteland? The River Alph likely refers to the River Alpheus in mythology, and Mount Abora is suggested to have come from Mount Amara in John Milton's Paradise Lost. Within the poem there is also a sense of prophecy that is hinted upon several times. "A damsel with a dulcimer/ In a vision once I saw" establishes a dreamlike expectation for the following lines. The entirety of the poem holds a sense of the imaginary and ethereal, but visions in history and literature are known for being vague and easily misinterpreted, which can certainly be applied to the last stanza. The fact that the poem is unfinished certainly adds yet another layer of uncertainty for us. There is no end, or at least no visible conclusion. What was to come next? We will never know, but it can be appreciated that by having no distinct ending, the last lines "For he on honey-dew hath fed/ And drunk the milk of paradise" draws us in and keeps us thinking and wondering. All of the information we need to understand it is there, but hidden; veiled. The possibilities are endless, and therefore each reading is a new one.

All in all, I think the conclusion may be reached that there are mysteries all around us, and that life is itself a mystery that must be experienced rather than solved. And that is what lies at the heart of this class: keep the mysteries alive, always ask questions and never let the answers slow you down; instead allow them to serve as a beginning. At the heart of mystery, it is essential that

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one. (Eliot)

The Art of Mystery

The place of mystery in the contemporary mind and world is understated. This is good, as mystery should be subtle, yet its importance is also becoming overshadowed by the scientific revolution. Logic functions on a different plane, where the shadows cast by mystery are not awe inspiring, no, simply frustrating, and must be cast under light to be dissected and understood. It is hard angles and dimensions where mystery is flowing lines that twist upon themselves and just lead you right back to where you began. Answers lead to more questions, yet the questions themselves should be appreciated - not as a means to an end, but as itself, existing in a realm of uncertainty and possibility.

From Apocalypse and/or Metamorphosis by Norman O. Brown, "Mysteries display themselves in words only if they can remain concealed". Poetry is perhaps one of the best examples. Poetry is veiled truth; each person reads a poem a little differently, gets something that is individual to their understanding from it. What the author intended as the 'meaning', if there even was one, is irrelevant. Poetry is dynamic, and what you can get from a poem can change from one reading to the next.

Richard Hugo's The Triggering Town speaks about poetry writing and makes an excellent point on the relation between mystery (uncertainty) and words:

"You hear me make extreme statements like "don't communicate" and "there is no reader." While these statements are meant as said, I presume when I make them that you can communicate and can write clear English sentences. I caution against communication because once language exists only to convey information, it is dying.

Let's take language that exists to communicate--the news story. In a news story the words are there to give you information about the event. Even if the reporter has a byline, anyone might have written the story, and quite often more than one person has by the time it is printed. Once you have the information, the words seem unimportant. Valery said they dissolve, but that's not quite right. Anyway, he was making a finer distinction, one between poetry and prose that in the reading of English probably no longer applies. That's why I limited our example to news articles. By understanding the words of a news article you seem to deaden them.

In the news article the relation of the words to the subject […] is a strong one. The relation of the words to the writer is so weak that for our purposes it isn't worth consideration. Since the majority of your reading has been newspapers, you are used to seeing language function this way. When you write a poem these relations must reverse themselves. That is, the relation of the words to the subject must weaken and the relation of the words to the writer (you) must take on strength."

Poetry is not used to convey information - uncertainty allows the words to breathe and take a life of their own, and the only limit is that of the imagination of the reader.

Kubla Khan may be used as a brief example. There is a mystical quality to the poem, and though it is better known for its beautiful sound and meter, it certainly isn't devoid of meaning. Xanadu, after it was visited in 1275 by Marco Polo, became a foreign paradise associated with opulence and beauty. Other possible references include the river Alph, which likely refers to the River Alpheus in mythology, and Mount Abora is suggested to have come from Mount Amara from John Milton's Paradise Lost.

Within the poem mystery exists also as a sense of prophecy that is hinted upon several times. "A damsel with a dulcimer/ In a vision once I saw" establishes a dreamlike expectation for the following lines. Not that the rest of the poem doesn't hold a sense of the imaginary and ethereal, but visions in history and literature are known for being vague and easily misinterpreted. "And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far/ Ancestral voices prophesying war" not only lends itself to the anticipation of coming violence, but also the concept of death, which is rich with mysteries of its own - what comes after? Where do we go?

The fact that the poem is unfinished certainly adds yet another layer of mystery. There is no end, or at least no visible conclusion. What was to come next? We'll never know, but we can appreciate that by having no distinct ending, it draws us in and keeps us thinking and wondering and stewing in the uncertainty of it all.

All in all, I think a conclusion may be reached that life is a mystery that must be experienced rather than solved.

Death

The discussion on Tuesday, especially about Antigone, really had me thinking. Why was she so desperate to defy orders and give her brother a proper burial? Part of that stems from the time period. It is believed that placing a coin in the mouth of the dead was done so that they would be able to pay fare to Charon and cross the river Styx from the realm of the living to the underworld. Without this, and without a proper burial and the dignity and respect it brings, the dead would never be able to cross and would be stuck in a sort of limbo - great depiction here.

But similar ideas have popped up in other religions and cultures. The conclusion? It is in human nature to obsess about death, and because it is a certainty that we will never know what comes after, speculation will continue to run. Many ideas profess that there is a sense of self, the soul, that continues. I honestly have no idea what to think, but I admit it is a comforting thought, which is likely why a sense of respect for the dead is seen through so many cultures. In remembering where we came from and the past, we can get a better sense of the future.

I also thought I'd post a poem. I wrote it for another class, but it still touches on a lot of relevant subjects, like death, the underworld and all that good stuff. Happy Halloween!

The River

Violent tides of turn and tether

Toss the rocky craft ashore

Where heard within the pattered rain

Slivered thoughts resolve to reign and

Memories are swept away

Linger not, you shall not hear

The air of music lost

There lies the fall, descent of the mad

As unseen touch caress and snatch

Til nothing there remains

But here, reborn from shards and ash

The fledgling’s tremulous breath begets

That song of light, of music lost

Collapsing dusk will greet them here

As Death and his Lady eternal

They dance like windswept heather

In fields of gold and sage

Beneath the warm forgotten sun

Untouched by man’s remains

Magus questions

1. Why did Conchis create the Godgame? Why does he continue it every year/what does he get from it?
2. Do Nicholas and Conchis' personal definition of eleutheria differ? If so, how?
3. Did the experience on the island enrich Nicolas' life, or did it ruin 'reality' for him? Is he is incapable of going back and functioning in a normal society?
4. What are the function of the 'four stories' in the book? Are they true, or at least partially true? If not does it detract from the meaning?
5. What is the function of the quote on the last page?

cras amet qui numquam amavit

quique amavit cras amet

Ramblings

My thoughts on rereading the passage in The Magus of the German occupation of the island.

You start out with a singular thought - an emotion, a word. Perhaps eleutheria, because freedom is too small a word to describe the reasoning behind the rebel's silence or Conchis' own tormented thoughts when he stood in front of a hostile crowd and refused to bludgeon this near-dead rebel, a human, a man. Or perhaps sadistic, because the Germans' thoughts at this time are as intriguing as they are horrifying. Or perhaps my favorite, schadenfreude, which isn't stated explicitly but you can nevertheless feel it there between the pages. Similar in meaning to sadism, but more... humanized, more relatable, at least in my mind. Sadism seems to imply a touch of sociopathy or violence and cruelty. Some of the German soldiers, as a product of their environment, changed enough to feel this. Schadenfreude is something more ingrained, perhaps less learned. And the most intriguing thing is that there is supposedly no exact translation or English equivalent for it. And so how do we can we know exactly what it means? Through words, but not definitions - though the story, and through the characters. And so you take that singular thought, the thought or emotion, and in describing it, by giving it life, you've made connections you'd never even thought of. Human nature can never be so simple as to be able to isolate an idea like schadenfreude. There are moments of intense jealousy, an almost angry violence and soul-crushing despair at the world for what it took from you. Shades of pity woven in at moments, because sometimes through the haze you realize this is a human being, someone with a curly haired little girl and grieving widow who mourn just as fiercely, and who are you to play God?

It grows, and suddenly this isn't words on a page anymore, and becomes something beyond itself - which, really, is the hope of any of our thoughts, and of ourselves.

The book better describes complicated concepts like eleutheria than a dictionary could ever do. Because it's one of my biggest pet peeves when I look up a word, say 'vindication', and all you get is vin·di·ca·tion (noun): an act of vindicating. And what does that mean? Thanks dictionary, thanks.

Contradictions

Looking over The Magus again, it reminded me of one of my favorite poems, "Dive" by Andrea Gibson. If I had to describe it one one word it would be "contradicting", which also strikes at the heart of The Magus as well - everything from Conchis' mouth seems a mess of contradictions, and they can't all be true... yet at the same time they sort of are. The paradoxical nature of life, truth and lies. Certain lines in the poem could even be a direct reference to the book. It maybe even provides a little insight into how Nicolas feels after his experience. And like all poems it certainly needs to be heard aloud in order to get the full effect.

"Dive"
by Andrea Gibson

i often repeat myself
and the second time's a lie

i love you
i love you
see what i mean i don't
...and i do

and i'm not talking about a girl i might be kissing on
i'm talking about this world i'm blissing on
and hating
at the exact same time
see life---doesn't rhyme

it's bullets...and wind chimes
it's lynchings...and birthday parties
it's the rope that ties the noose
and the rope that hangs the backyard swing
it's a boy about to take his life
and with the knife to his wrist
he's thinking of only two things
his father's fist
and his mother's kiss
and he can't stop crying

it's wanting tonight to speak
the most honest poem i've ever spoken in my life
not knowing if that poem should bring you closer
to living or dying
drowning of flying
cause life doesn't rhyme

last night i prayed myself to sleep
woke this morning
to find god's obituary scrolled in tears on my sheets
then walked outside to hear my neighbor
erasing ten thousand years of hard labor
with a single note of his violin
and the sound of the traffic rang like a hymn
as the holiest leaf of autumn fell from a plastic tree limb
beautiful ---and ugly

like right now
i'm needing nothing more than for you to hug me
and if you do
i'm gonna scream like a caged bird
see...life doesn't rhyme

sometimes love is a vulgar word
sometimes hate calls itself peace on the nightly news
i've heard saints preaching truths
that would have burned me at the stake
i've heard poets tellin lies that made me believe in heaven

sometimes i imagine hitler at seven years old
a paint brush in his hand at school
thinkin what color should i paint my soul

sometimes i remember myself
with track marks on my tongue
from shooting up convictions
that would have hung innocent men from trees
have you ever seen a mother falling to her knees
the day her son dies in a war she voted for

can you imagine how many gay teen-age lives were saved
the day matthew shepherd died

could there have been anything louder
than the noise inside his father's head
when he begged the jury
please don't take the lives of the men
who turned my son's skull to powder
and i know nothing would make my family prouder
than giving up everything i believe in
still nothing keeps me believing
like the sound of my mother breathing

life doesn't rhyme

it's tasting your rapist's breath
on the neck of a woman who loves you more
than anyone has loved you before
then feeling holy as jesus
beneath the hands of a one night stand
who's calling somebody else's name

it's you never feelin more greedy
than when you're handing out dollars to the needy
it's my not eating meat for the last seven years
then seeing the kindest eyes i've ever seen in my life
on the face of a man with a branding iron in his hand
and a beat down baby calf wailing at his feet

it's choking on your beliefs
it's your worst sin saving your fucking life
it's the devil's knife carving holes into you soul
so angels will have a place to make their way inside

life doesn't rhyme

still life is poetry --- not math
all the world's a stage
but the stage is a meditation mat

you tilt your head back

you breathe
when your heart is broken you plant seeds in the cracks
and you pray for rain

and you teach your sons and daughters
there are sharks in the water

but the only way to survive
is to breathe deep

and dive