Emma+Comery

[] "Peter Parasol" [] "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"
 * WALLACE STEVENS** .....is the man


 * __Works Cited:__**

Stevens, Wallace. //The Emperor of Ice Cream and Other Poems//. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1999. 64,52,15. Print. Stevens, Wallace. //The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens//. Canada: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000. 7, 71. Print. Between his tone of outraged condescension and guiltless disgust for the “negress” amidst the “roses,” the speaker of Wallace Steven's “The Virgin Carrying A Lantern” displays a blatant racism for African Americans (lines 1-2). Through his comparison of a black woman to a “bear among the roses,” and characterization of the white “beauty” as the poster girl for purity, the speaker uses the “lantern” of the virgin to cast a black shadow on the “negress” (lines1, 4). The virgin represents all which is holy and true, while the black woman comes to the “false” and ironic conclusion that celibacy is sinful (line 3). As the virgin carries out her “farewell duty,” the speaker arrogantly reprimands the “negress” for the “strong” pleasure she takes in seeing the virgin's corruption (lines 5, 9). But although he gentles his chastising by deeming the situation no more than a mere “pity,” the speaker reveals no qualms for the injustice he does the “negress” (line 2). He firmly believes in the moral superiority of the “beauty” over the “bear.” I imagine him clucking his tongue and shaking his head sadly at the black lady, pitying her because she does not see the “pious” nature of the virgin's “egress” (line 7). The speaker describes her as seeing only the delightful sexuality of the young girl's emergence from virginity. And this sickens him. The speaker's tone in this poem is hardly surprising. Born in 1879, Stevens most likely grew up in a time of everyday racism, and his comfort with derogatory terms sneaks into his poem. His reference to a black woman as a “negress” –an offensive term as any– verifies the possibility of racial prejudice. Throughout “The Virgin Carrying A Lantern,” Steven's speaker glorifies the virgin while degrading the “negress.” The virgin carries a “lantern,” spreading light as if it were truth and righteousness, while the black woman snickers in the shadows. Then the ‍‍‍‍‍virgin's downfall “fill”s the “negress” with prideful “heat” (lines 8, 9). ‍‍‍‍‍ But within the lines of “The Virgin Carrying A Lantern” lurks another possibility. Could Stevens be crusading for an end to racism? One could argue Stevens' intention of using his speaker's beliefs as a backhanded way of showing all that is “false and wrong” about racism (line 3). I could make a case for either side, but I would have to investigate a larger number of Stevens' poems in search of patterns to clear his name of racism accusations. Between a simple rhyme pattern and cookie-cutter stanza set-up, Stevens ensures the reader's focus settles on the meaning of the poem, and not its architecture. As a handful of Stevens' poems do, this poem has a rhyme scheme: A, A, B, C, C, B, D, D, B. This pattern allows for a natural pause upon the completion of each line, thus forcing each word to be fully digested before moving on to the next line. Plus, it permits the reader to breathe. Rather kind of Stevens. || This poem was the deal-closer when I was searching for my poetic soul mate. A humble fourteen lines long, it hurled my mind into a game of ping-pong with its befuddling descriptions of women as “ferocious tigers” in “fine clothes” (lines 10, 13). And because I hadn't the slightest inclination of what Stevens was saying, I sat down and read the poem over. And over. And over. And over. Until, finally, realization dawned. Peter Parasol was Wallace Stevens' original pseudonym. Ergo, Wallace Stevens is Peter Parasol. Surprise! And this begs the question: Is the above poem about Wallace Stevens himself? I am inclined to believe so. The title is a big indication. I look at this poem as a personal ad for the speaker's ideal woman. She must “be beautiful” of “ears, eyes, soul, skin [and] hair,” and at the same time “ferocious” (line 6, 9). Oh, what a feat. The speaker packages this want-ad in a rather classic manner, beginning with two lines of French and sneaking an //Iliad// reference into the second stanza. And then, on the opposite end of the poetic spectrum, he litters his poetry with animal references. Not the most romantic way of courting a woman, calling her a “beast” (line 7). But the stunning amount of animals named within these fourteen lines indicates a pattern. Rather than comparing women to lovely, delicate creatures such as chirping sparrows or long-legged gazelles, the speaker threads mention of “//taureaux//” (bulls), “tigers,” and even an “elephant” into “Peter Parasol” (lines 1-10). ‍‍‍‍‍‍The connotations shadowing these animals fail to cast a flattering light on womankind, but Stevens' compilation of such adjectives as “beautiful,” “large,” and “ferocious” more than atones (lines 9, 10). The speaker actually sounds complimentary as he lusts after those “ferocious tigers” of women, as if a woman in her most wild, natural form is more appealing than any pampered poodle. Between his confounded question in the second stanza and his plea for women to be “all fair,” the speaker grows more sure of his desires (line 12). At first he merely laments the lack of women lovely “as Andromache,” the steadfast wife of Hector, Prince of Troy, in Homer's //The Iliad// (line 4). But as the poem progresses, so does the speaker's fervor for beautiful women. He “wishes” women wore “fine clothes” and “were all fair,” and this may seem mild enough, but compared to his previous questioning, the statement sounds positively demanding. Then he “wishes” women would stroll “with parasols,” and the subject of Stevens' pseudonym arises once again (line 12, 14). If Peter Parasol was once this poet's name, could he not be wishing women would walk with him, Peter “parasol?” Or perhaps Peter Parasol represents a larger group: the insurance salesmen not usually privy to the attentions of the “most praisable” women (line 5). Of course, these conclusions are both based on mere speculation, but considering a poet's personal life is vastly importance when trying to decipher his poetry, I believe. And thus my final conclusion is this: the speaker of “Peter Parasol” wants to know why there aren't hordes of beautiful women to walk with him. Rather shallow of him, says I. ‍‍‍‍‍‍ || I deem this poem beautifully mystifying. Such images as “grandiose gestures,” “rumpling” “plumes,” and a “subsiding” night lend a romantic glow to the stanzas (lines 3-14). But many of the tweed-jacket-wearing intellectuals of academia swear Stevens is a modernist poet. So I have to believe there is more to “Infanta Marina” than a pretty scene description. Hence my mystification. I decided to start by muddling through the first lines of the poem. A “terrace,” I believe, often has a railing (line 1). One may look at what lays extended beyond the railing, but one may not touch. So this girl ––this child of the sea, if I might translate the poem's title to English–– stands on the border between land and sea, separated by an invisible railing. Yet she has power. With the “motions of her wrist” she can convey her “grandiose” “thoughts,” dictating to the sea from afar (lines 3,4). She rules the ocean, for the “rumpling” of her “plumes” translate into the “sleights of the sails” (lines 6,8). But that railing remains, ergo the very thing she controls is the very thing she cannot be a part of. Between Stevens' announcement that the girl is a “creature of the evening,” and yet also an “infanta marina,” I am floundering to determine her true identity (line 7). She is either a young princess of the sea. . . or a prostitute. She seems to be on the cusp of adulthood, hovering between captivity on her “terrace” and “partaking of the sea” (line 12). But I can flip that dog upside-down and call the “sea” her childhood and the “terrace” railing the restriction imposed by adult responsibilities. The ocean, far-reaching and wild, “utters” its “subsiding sound” of farewell as the “infanta” resigns herself to life on the “terrace” (line 15). This poem intrigues me because I can picture the girl with her “plumes” and “fan,” but I can draw thirty different conclusions from her fifteen line poem. Wallace Stevens' poetry is most fascinating when he holds back, when he deliberately refrains from revealing the “infanta's” identity. Providing only the minimum imagery and description necessary for me to come to a conclusion, Stevens shows his deep respect for his readers. || ‍‍‍‍‍‍‍Widely known as one of Wallace Stevens' cannon balls into the study of perception, “The Snow Man” investigates the difference between “regard[ing] the frost” from the perspective of a poet and of a “snow man” (line 2). One cannot truly understand winter without “a mind of winter,” the speaker declares in what becomes a superfluous tone by the last line of the poem (line 1). ‍‍‍‍‍‍‍ Switching back-and-forth between poet perspective and “snow man” perspective, the speaker comes to realize the only way to fully observe and understand his subject is to become his subject. Like a “snow man,” he must be “cold a long time” before he can see the “junipers shagged with ice” (line 5,6). He must embed himself in the conditions of “winter,” learning to ignore the “misery” in the howling of the “wind” (line 8). To appreciate the “frost” and “blowing” of winter, the speaker knows he must first endure its “cold” “bare[ness]” (line 12). Facilitating the explanation of both his own perspective and that of the “snow man,” the speaker is generous with his imagery. This poem harbors none of the tell-tale Stevens vagueness. The “pine-trees” are not covered with or dipped in or coated in snow (line 3).He purposefully describes them as “crusted,” and such a tantalizingly specific verb shows the depth of the consciousness the speaker threads throughout the poem (line 3). With a fluidity conveying the back-and-forth switches between poet and “snow man,” this one-sentence poem culminates in the unification of man and snow. The “listener,” who now “listens” to the screeching wind as the snow does, “beholds nothing” which is not part of winter (lines 13-15). Using his “mind of winter,” he sees only “the nothing that is” winter (line 15). For winter is a “bare place” where man cannot survive. The “glitter” of the “January sun” is too “distant” to keep the speaker warm, and only snowmen survive (lines 6,7). But, “listen[ing] in the snow,” the speaker now has the “mind of winter” and blends into the nothingness of winter. Only by becoming “nothing himself” can he perceive winter from winter's eye (line 14). || Abundant with poetic volleys between the perspective of the speaker and the perspective of the “blackbird,” Wallace Stevens' “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” is reminiscent of “The Snow Man,” further investigating the possibilities of varying perception (line 1). Through a series of thirteen vignette-esque commentaries on “looking at a blackbird,” the speaker illustrates his acquisition of dual-perspectivism. Using the common haiku as a poetic blueprint for his thirteen stanzas, Stevens' allows each of his “ways” of observing “a blackbird” the option of standing alone. The stanzas do not rely on one another, but rather build upon their successors to achieve the speaker's culminating epiphany. Between its casting of the “blackbird” as “the only moving thing” and the overarching theme of isolation despite “twenty snowy mountains,” the first stanza serves as the speaker's first stab at observing the “blackbird” (line 1,2). In the second stanza, however, he seeks to try his hand at getting in the “blackbird's” head, using a “tree” simile most likely familiar to a “blackbird” (line 4). From then on the speaker juggles his own “pantomimes” and those of the “blackbird,” questioning whether he “prefer[s] / The beauty of inflections” between the stanzas (lines 8-14). And in the fourth stanza ––amidst comments linking “man” to “woman” and “man” to both “woman” //and// “blackbird”–– the speaker's shift from poet to “blackbird” begins to take fuzzily apparent shape. Then, in the seventh stanza, I all but run smack dab into the transformation, it's so close in front of me. In the ultimate twist of perspective, the speaker adopts the emotions of the “blackbird,” asking the “thin men of Haddam,” Connecticut “why” they “imagine” only “golden birds” (lines 27, 28). These “men” fail to “see how the blackbird”gathers “around the feet” of those “about” the men (line 29-30). It seems to be a gently forlorn reminder from the isolated “blackbird” that “all that glitters is not gold” (Shakespeare, //The Merchant of Venice//). The speaker's ability to recognize the pain the “blackbird” experiences at the hands of mentally “thin men” who cannot see the value of the common bird illustrates his transition into dual-perspectivism. He then reflects with bewilderment upon his realization in the eighth stanza. For although he acknowledges his understanding of poetry's “noble accents” and “lucid” “rhythms,” he “know[s], too” the “blackbird is involved” in this knowledge (lines 32-35). When he observes the “blackbird,” he comes to realize, he //is// the “blackbird,” thus conveying the main idea of perspectivism: to truly know and understand something, you must weave yourself into it, and it into you. With reluctant excitement, I recognize the relevance of this idea as pertains to my poetry project. As my poetic journey rapidly evolves, I find myself seeing more and more through the eyes of Stevens' various speakers. I am his poetry, and his poetry is me. Despite his undeniable connection with the bird, the speaker is “pierced” by the “fear” of the “blackbird” “shadow[ing]” his carriage (lines 46-48). At this point, after having jumped back-and-forth between his own observations and those of the “blackbird,” the speaker is terrifyingly familiar with the bird, a “fear” induced by the striking omnipresence of the animal. This terrifying familiarity flows into the eleventh stanza as well, when the speaker predicts the “blackbird must be flying” (line 51). So familiar is he with the “blackbird” now, he can track its every movement without actually seeing it. His thoughts and those of the bird are one and the same. With meaning as obvious as “The Emperor of Ice Cream”'s “let be be the finale of seem,” the final stanza of the poem waxes lyrical about “evening” conquering the “afternoon” and “snow” being both present and on-the-way (lines 52-54). The purpose of this last stanza stumps me completely, but I sort of like that because it means I haven't become one with both the speaker and the “blackbird.” I will not be the “woman” who is one with the “a man” and “a blackbird.” ||
 * Poems!!!!! || Things I Have to Say About Them :) ||
 * [[file:virgin.doc]] || Summary # 1
 * [[file:peter.doc]] || ‍‍‍Summary # 2 ‍‍‍
 * [[file:infanta.doc]] || Summary # 3
 * [[file:snow man.doc]] || Summary # 9
 * [[file:blackbird.doc]] || Summary # 10

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