I walk so often, late, along the streets,
Lower my gaze, and hurry, full of dread,
Suddenly, silently, you still might rise
And I would have to gaze on all your grief
With my own eyes,
While you demand your happiness, that's dead.
I know, you walk beyond me, every night,
With a coy footfall, in a wretched dress
And walk for money, looking miserable!
Your shoes gather God knows what ugly mess,
The wind plays in your hair with lewd delight---
You walk, and walk, and find no home at all.
It had come to be almost one hour before midnight. Immersed in the cold of a winter night that was reaching full strength, I sat in the dark, in a small spec of space not penetrated by the continuous movement of blue disco lights all around, and participated in card game with a heterogeneous group of men of varying ages and personal backgrounds, some of them known and others familiarly unknown. Heightening the overpowering atmosphere, the reverberations of the latest dance numbers bombarded not only our ears but our entire bodies. This, however, wasn't a nightclub.
This was routine, part of the ride I had to take for my daily commute from the office to my bed. A commonplace affair, the company sent a mini-bus to transport its employees, and this was the natural result. Our young bus driver sped recklessly through the streets, ignoring the painted lanes for the most part just so he might, if at all possible, grab enough sleep before he had to wake up to do it all over again for the employees of the next shift.
The chaos mesmerized me into an introspected state of deep thinking. I tried analyzing my newly embarked journey as a finance professional, a small cog within one of the largest conglomerates that has ever existed. Armed with two postgraduate degrees, I had entered the job market with an energetic hope as well as very high expectations. As the months evaporated before my eyes noticed, I became painfully aware that this reality did not resemble even a tiny fraction of what I had envisioned when I had graduated. And, to be frank, it had taken its toll on me, both physically and mentally. Exhausted, absorbed, and unfulfilled, a monotonous lifestyle had already overpowered me, as if with the commanding attraction of a siren. I could barely visualize a worthwhile future for myself anymore. How had I become a shell, a husk, a body moving asleep; how did it occur so quickly and without warning?
A coworker and I used to share the last row of the bus, perhaps in an unwitting attempt to hide, flee, or resist the overpowering ambiance within the mini-bus in order to preserve some peace of mind as our days came to a close. A senior professional, he had spent more than a decade in a similar industry. Perhaps strangely, we never spoke much, only chitchat related to our daily card game, a game which I initially hesitated to become involved in as I had never played earlier and I find that type of indulgence to be a waste of time. Our relation to one another had an alienated character, and on this particular day we were just having a short-lived chat about work. He was surprised to learn about my credentials and the kind of jobs I had had in the past. As our conversation moved along, I gradually opened up, sharing the misery that had been fermenting inside because, in part, the feeling that the day-to-day activity simply did not meet my expectations. Possessing only the hope of being listened to, to my surprise he countered with a short story that I shall remember until the day I die.
He began plainly enough by asking—"Have you seen a chicken?" Taken aback by the silly question, suddenly a feeling of being the object of mockery sunk in. Nevertheless, having been ambushed and considering his experience and age, the naive reply—"Yes, who hasn't?"—became all I could utter. He again asked me—"Have you ever noticed what they eat?" I was in disbelief, cursing myself for not keeping my mouth shut like always. Unwillingly, I replied again—"No. But they eat grains, I believe." He said—"Exactly! A chicken on a farm has access to free movement, and you would find it always moving around places you may consider unhygienic for a human. But these chickens, no matter where they wander, even if it has to be a pile of dirt, would end up consuming the grains from the dirt."
A rooster pecks at the dirt in the hopes that some grains
may be found so that it may nourish itself,
Perplexed, my mind wondered aimlessly yet determined to find sense in something so senseless. He must have noticed.
"This world is a large playground where you will encounter people of all kinds, opportunities of all types and situations of all difficulty levels. They will try to test you and get you thinking. But you need to realize that not all people you encounter would be your friends, not all opportunities you see might lead to a gold mine, and not all situations that you might encounter would be in your favor. You need to realize that you will always be offered a pile of dirt with gems hidden somewhere within that might fulfill your demands. But the real challenge is that you have to keep looking in this pile of dirt."
The world will offer this unhealthy dung heap every time, yet I can't help but feel that not every pile contains gems, no matter how much one struggles inside these to find them.
Some birds do best when they stop searching in circles and move on to look elsewhere. I no longer work there.
Still, even though I feel that I lost a part of my life, of myself, riding that minivan and struggling at what is to all eyes the ideal first job in the private sector, I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes you dig deeper; sometimes you jump elsewhere. Success doesn't lie in the eyes of others. It is of utmost importance to struggle harder, so long as you don't lose your health and happiness in the process since losing either invariably leads to losing the other. This world has infinite grains and millions of gems, but you won't ever live this present again. Make sure you live it first.
Some rooster may end up living a long life where they get to breed and explore their surroundings. Other roosters end up with another, less fortunate fate.
Sold all over the English speaking Antilles,
Grace's cock flavoured soup mix comes in many
forms, the above being spicy.
E.E. Cummings dressed in his First World War military
uniform. WWI was far more psychologically damaging
than the Second World War or, arguably, any other war since
because it was fought in packed trenches with little to no territorial
gains or losses as a result of the introduction of machine guns
and the blatant, constant use of chemical weapons, specifically
mustard gas. Near the end of the war, roaring, mammoth-like
tanks appeared on the battlefields, steamrolling barbwire
and plowing over trenches. Even though the weaponry
mounted on the original tanks wasn't very effective,
the psychological effect upon morale was significant
in virtue of the loud rumble of their engines, their
seeming disregard for infantry fire, not to mention their
sheer size and the fact that most had never seen one before.
With enemy infantry charging behind the tanks, shielded,
the ensuing disarray was often enough to lead to an onslaught.
The nickname The War to End All Wars owes its existence
to the inhumane gruesomeness of the conflict. In the end,
however, WWI wasn't won via territorial gains, but rather
by a flanking strategy that successfully cut-off the supply lines
pivotal to the survival of frontline troops of Germany and
the Austria-Hungary Empire. Edward Estlin Cummings'
palpable zest and love of life is the result of having experienced
one of the most terrifying chapters in human history. For more
information on the Era and its impact on Cumming's poetry,
read "since feeling is first" and the accompanying essay.
as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
—long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame
as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
—long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung
or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
—long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late
worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
—time is a tree(this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough
--------
For a review of the background to the life, poetic style, and historical context that shaped E. E. Cummings' exceptional body of work, please read the brief essay immediately after the following poem—
Photograph by Jalissa Gray - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15244260
Myth
I was asleep while you were dying.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,
the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking
you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.
*
Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.
But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in—still, trying—
I make between my slumber and my waking.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.
From a 2007 Panhandler Magazine interview from the University of West Florida, Natasha Trethewey candidly states "I am deeply interested in the experience of other human beings, no matter how small or seemingly trivial it is." I wholeheartedly share this sentiment. Note the use of the adjective seemingly modifying trivial. Often enough, human beings trivialize the most important matters and elevate in importance the most irrelevant and trivial of issues. If only people were paying attention, like she is!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (b. 1807 - d. 1882),
Harvard professor and lifelong poet who experimented
with many styles throughout his production, including Free Verse.
He garnered instant fame with his first poetry books, Voices of the Night (1939) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841).
"Children" is part of Birds of Passage and was written in 1858.
Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.
In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.
Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.
What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,—
That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.
Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.
(Note: The theme of the dichotomy Dead / Alive, otherwise referred to as Awake / Asleep, is the most prevalent and celebrated theme among the best remembered works of the great poets of history. This theme is anchored in millennia-old archetypes and conveys a hidden psychological message about the state of mind in which it is best to live. Most of the poems posted on this website express that theme in one way or another; such is the case in, for example, Walt Whitman's "O Me! O Life!", e.e. cummings's "since feeling is first", Robert Frost's "The road not taken", John Donne's "Death be not proud", and William Shakespeare's "Sonnet 69" and "Sonnet 94".
This very same theme may also be found frequently among the lyrics of contemporary popular music, and its presence seems to correlate with whether a song will still be played [and/or held in high esteem] decades after its composition and initial release. For an example of this trend, and an accompanying analysis, see Ever wonder what Hotel California means?)
The writers of this song explained that they were trying to describe the Soul of a typical California, that is, a slave under the spell of the American Dream, striving to live (or actually living) the high life in the background of the 1970s. It is, in essence, a song about life and death, which is why Hotel California is consistently ranked among the Top 50 songs of all time if not among the Top 10.
The reason that it ranks so high is because it is one of the better approaches to the theme of the living and the dead (also known as the awake and the asleep). That dichotomy is also the most prevalent theme among the greater works of poetry of all time.
There are many interpretations of the meaning of this song online, but they are largely biased because of religious viewpoints. In fact, many interpretations rely on the dubious presupposition that the members of The Eagles were devil worshipers. There is no grounds to this claim. Sadly, I haven't found a single interpretation out there that analyzes the flurry of metaphors that the song contains in detail and in sequence. Being that the case, I am providing such an analysis below.
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim I had to stop for the night There she stood in the doorway; I heard the mission bell And I was thinking to myself, "This could be Heaven or this could be Hell" Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them say...
Term Meaning: Colitas = Little tails, or what is left over from a marihuana joint.
Interpretation of stanza
The first verse represents life's journey, specifically in the Southern California backdrop. In our natural state, we are fully alive and in touch with nature. The second verse represents temptation to dissociate, in this case embodied by the use of drugs. The third and fourth verse depict the disconnection to nature. The fourth and fifth verse provide the added meaning that, by adapting to society, we lose our natural state and begin the journey into dying in life or being among the living dead. This meaning is further entrenched by what follows in the stanza, especially "This could be Heaven or this could be Hell". The impact of religion and spirituality on the process of dying or disconnecting from nature is highlighted by the expressions "I heard the mission bell" and "she lit up a candle", both of which have a connection to the practice of Christianity.
-----
Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place) Such a lovely face Plenty of room at the Hotel California Any time of year (Any time of year) You can find it here
Interpretation of stanza
The chorus changes both times it appears in the song. In both occasions, it highlights the attraction to beauty. In this case, however, it also emphasizes that anyone and everyone can live at the Hotel California. The final two verses represent the possibility of living the high life.
In common dream interpretations, a house represents oneself, such that dreaming of things happening in a house is the same as dreaming of things one is struggling with in one's self. In sharp contrast, a hotel implies an impermanent abode, a transitional place that is not your own and does not represent you. However, as will be seen in the end of the song, this is a hotel from which you can never escape. The message implied is that those souls living in that hotel will never be alive (or in contact with their nature) again.
----
Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget. So I called up the Captain, "Please bring me my wine" He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine" And still those voices are calling from far away, Wake you up in the middle of the night Just to hear them say...
Term meaning: Tiffany-twisted = Tiffany's is a luxury store. The term implies that her mind has been warped by the pursuit of luxury.
Interpretation of stanza
The first verse implies the warping of the mind by the pursuit of luxury. The second verse points to the dissolution of the relation of friendship, friendship being replaced by proximity because of sexual attraction. The third and fourth verses point out the psychological state of the people living at the Hotel California. "Some dance to remember, some dance to forget" but none dance to dance or to live; they are all living in the past in their minds, when they were closer to their natural state.
The next three verses have perplexed most people since the song came out. The main male character asks for wine but the Captain, the person in charge, replies that they don't have that "spirit". Anyone that knows their alcohol knows that wine is not in the spirit class of alcoholic beverages. So what is this referring to? The answer is that it refers to Dionysus, the god of wine, who is also, by the way, the god of living in and getting drunk off of nature (he is, thus, also the god of epiphany). Dionysus plays a large role in Friedrich Nietzsche's vitalist philosophy and in his concept of the superman. In the vitalist Nietzschean philosophy, the values of Dionysus have been in a constant metaphoric struggle with those of Apollo, the god of the sun, who also represents appearances or what you can see.
What about the voices at the end of the stanza? They are the ghosts, the living dead, currently residing at the Hotel California.
----
Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place) Such a lovely face They livin' it up at the Hotel California What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise) Bring your alibis
Interpretation of stanza
This version of the chorus starts off the same as the last one, by emphasizing the attraction to beauty and beautiful things. The fourth verse once again poses the idea that they are living the high life. However, the last two verses add a different meaning altogether, brought home by the final verse "Bring your alibis". What are alibis? They are excuses or defenses. Why is such a word placed in this context? The answer lies mostly in the next two stanzas. The occupants of the Hotel California must bring their excuses and psychological defenses so as to not return to a state of being alive, of being in touch with their own nature.
----
Mirrors on the ceiling, The pink champagne on ice And she said "We are all just prisoners here, of our own device" And in the master's chambers, They gathered for the feast They stab it with their steely knives, But they just can't kill the beast.
Interpretation of stanza
This is the stanza that has provided fodder for Christians to paint The Eagles as a bunch of devil worshipers. It is also the best and strongest stanza in the entire song. It is divided into two scenes, the first described in the first 3 verses and the second described in the final 4.
The first scene describes the likes of a motel room ready for sex to happen in it. The woman tells him the truth of the situation they are in, that they are just prisoners there because of the way they've lived their lives. They have detached themselves from nature, out of their own doing based on the life decisions they have made and the values that have guided their actions.
The second scene returns to the Nietzschean themes that permeate this song and indeed make it one of the great ones. The reference to a "master" is a reference to the distinction between Master Morality and Slave Morality, best explained in Nietzsche's The Genealogy of Morals (see, in particular, Part 2). The masters, in this case, are ready to feast by bringing down the Slave mindset; however, no matter how much they attack that beast, they fail to kill it, and so the Hotel and its prisoners keep going on with their shiny but ultimately vacuous lives. This meaning is further emphasized in the last stanza.
----
Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax, " said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave! "
Interpretation of stanza
The main character becomes frightened realizing that he has made erroneous life choices that now appear to have him trapped. "I had to find the passage back to the place I was before" is a reference to childhood, when he was more in touch with nature, before being conditioned to like and follow the things that ultimately led him to be among the sleeping in life or the living dead. The night man catches him and tells him to relax. Who is the night man? He is death itself, a figure not unlike Hades, the god of the underworld. The night man goes ahead and explains why they are all stuck there: "We are programmed to receive". That's how the brain works! And what have these people filled it with? Glitter... yet all that glitters is not gold. Now our main character is stuck in a situation in which he can check out from the Hotel California all he wants, but he is simply bound to repeat the same psychosocial pattern he has been repeating. It is too late to awake and become alive. The voices will continue to lure him from far away.
