I Believe in the Blues

            Through the use of verisimilitude in the image of an old black street performer moaning a blues melody in the poem “The Weary Blues,” Langston Hughes establishes the theme that though the blues are oddly comforting and cathartic, African Americans can never truly escape the struggles they convey. Because the sound devices, imagery, and language make the described scene so obviously realistic, and because they are juxtaposed so inherently with the man’s inescapable sorrow and poverty, Hughes powerfully establishes that African Americans’ sorrows are permanently intertwined with their reality. The fact that the entire poem involves syncopated rhythms and alliteration like “Droning a drowsy syncopated tune” makes it seem like the whole poem is a blues song, showing that black people’s whole lives are a manifestation of the sorrows they sing about in the blues. Hughes uses the realistic image of the man’s “ebony hands on each ivory key” to establish that whites considering themselves racially superior to blacks was a ubiquitous conflict at the time and the main one causing blacks to belt “the tune o’ those Weary Blues.” Other imagery, like that of the “rickety stool” and “pale dull pallor of an old gas light,” creates a mood of poverty. The fact that the speaker sees these along “Lenox Avenue” (a major street in Harlem, New York City’s black district), shows that poverty is an inherent part of African American life. Further than imagery, Hughes uses language and sound devices to achieve verisimilitude. The phonetic representation of the black dialect in the man’s song with “I can’t be satisfied…I ain’t happy no mo’…” shows that he is not trying to fool anyone with a dialect fancier than his natural one; the sorrows conveyed are truly his own. Also, the speaker seems very removed from black people’s situation; he says, “I heard a Negro play” as if this “Negro” is some sort of an outsider. The fact that even a narrator who isn’t a part of black people’s sorrows can see that the blues stem “from a black man’s soul” and can shout “Sweet blues!” because he feels their powerfully sad yet comforting emotions shows that they are very real.  The believable narrator says that though the singer tries to proclaim the blues “far into the night,” and the end of the day he is nothing more than the dead man he describes in his song. Though we are made to believe the blues are at once powerful and comforting, the suffering and weariness that are too large of a part of African Americans’ lives to be overcome with song.

Mind Games. Forever.

            I suppose many of you are surprised that my utter obsession with the Beatles has not yet prompted me to write a blog post about them. But since today is the thirty-third anniversary of John Lennon’s death, I think the moment is now.

            On December 8, 1980, with a single gunshot, Mark David Chapman took the life of the man whose willingness to experiment in the studio and enlightened, literarily aware lyrics made him a giant on whose shoulders future recording artists would indefinitely stand. His death was a supernova, a brilliant, explosive flash of light, a star disappearing instantly into darkness forever…

            Of all Lennon songs, “Mind Games” is one of my favorites. I just love how its powerful, electrically charged chords and weighty message of seeking true peace, love, and enlightenment in lieu of human pettiness is juxtaposed with a funny, quirky music video.

            And like pretty much anything if we put in enough effort, we can relate the lyrics of “Mind Games” to The Great Gatsby.

            With his ability to play others as well as hypnotize himself into believing certain half-truths, Gatsby is a master of what Lennon describes as mind games.

            Lennon proclaims, “Yeah, we’re playing those mind games… projecting our images in space and time,” which recalls how the poor farm boy James Gatz becomes a platonic conception, the fabulously wealthy Jay Gatsby. With his craftiness, brilliant ambition, and cool charisma, Gatsby is—as Lennon puts it—“pushing the barriers, planting seeds” so that Nick will want to facilitate his affair with Daisy and Daisy will see that he is powerful and wealthy, the man she (thinks) she deserves.

            But Gatsby’s goal of claiming Daisy for his own is ultimately quenched and becomes an impossible “search for the Grail” (Lennon), a quest for “the king’s daughter, the golden girl,” “high in a white palace” (Fitzgerald 120) because he is not truly in love with her.

 Gatsby sees Daisy as merely an object to be possessed, a fancy addition to the household with a voice “full of money” (Fitzgerald 120). His false belief that he actually loves her pushes him to “play mind games” with Tom Buchanan; Gatsby’s only goal is to triumph psychologically over Buchanan by making Daisy say she never loved him.

            Throughout “Mind Games,” Lennon makes several allusions to Eastern and pagan religions because he wants us to seek spiritual enlightenment, “lift the veil” of the illusions that others’ and our own mind games create, and push ourselves to find true peace and love rather than the petty need to win over others in worldly ways. If Gatsby really wanted true satisfaction with his life, he should have followed Lennon’s advice to “make [true] love, not war [against Tom].” If he weren't so focused on winning wealth that didn’t matter to him and learned to “surrender” and “let it go,” perhaps Gatsby could have discovered enlightenment and the “love [that] is a flower” and not ended up dead in a pool he never used (Lennon).
Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/johnlennon/mindgames.html

Music video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dHUfy_YBps

Vulnerable.

            Well, I went to the dentist earlier this week and found out my wisdom teeth were coming in.

So, in this post I’ll try to fulfill the expectations of my dental hygienist and let the wisdom of the ages burst from my keyboard like seeds from a dandelion, a puff of yellow brilliance in a field of green ignorance…

            Anyhow, one quote from Gatsby that really spoke to me was this one: “[Gatsby] came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of his purposeless splendor.”

            It means something on so many levels. Up until this point, Gatsby, with his fabulous wealth and cool composure, has seemed too far above the rest of society to be considered an actual human being. But his love—an emotion that is the common weakness of all mankind—for Daisy has transformed him him from an alien-like fetus to a living, breathing child. Like an infant from the womb into the big, bad world, Gatsby is thrust from the safehouse of his wealth and social superiority; the fact that a girl makes him weak at the knees could lead to the collapse of his empire.

Yes, Gatsby is decidedly more human, and decidedly more vulnerable.

            And I thought that as we make a fresh start coming back from break, we could all try to put a little more vulnerability into our lives.

            I’ve never been one to tell my friends everything. Much like the opposite sex, I tend to bottle up my feelings and give off an aura of relaxed contentedness with my life. But I’ve realized that if we let friends into the secret realm of our problems, we build a powerful stronghold of a support system. We seem more human, more trustworthy, more vulnerable to them, so they actually want to help us.

            I’ve also realized that we can’t be calm, collected hosts like Gatsby, feigning obliviousness to the immoral actions of our friends. When we stand up and express our anger at something a loved one is doing, sure we’re expressing human emotion—a sign of weakness—but we are showing love and being the version of ourselves that we most want to be.

            Even things that make us decidedly less human but more vulnerable are important. Mother Teresa said, “If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.” If we follow this new beatitude, we will surely garner criticism from others, but we will also be placed on a higher spiritual plane than most humans. Like Gatsby’s rebirth, like the Renaissance—a rebirth of intellectual energy—we can live like Mother Teresa and have our own rebirth; though vulnerable, we will be set apart, more beautiful than the gloriously wealthy man who sets up barriers to prevent his vulnerability.

            Then we can dare to say:

            I am transformed. I am the same self I always was.

 I am anger. I am love.

I am a lowly nun and a brilliant Renaissance man.

I am vulnerable, but I am invinceable.