Carpe Diem Poetry

How would you respond if some guy slid into your dms saying "hey cutie, don't know if u heard but like...this flea bit both of us so we're basically married and we might as well get down to business HAHA JK JK...unless ;)"

Creeped out?? Me too!!

Carpe Diem poetry is nothing more than horny guys writing out pleas for sex using ridiculous imagery to create an illusion of humor to seem less intimidating. I would love to see statistics on the success ratio for these poets' attempts to flirt with women, and I'm betting they're not high.

This poetry only exists because of the oppressive structures in place that silenced the female responses to it. Fleas are not sexy, and worms taking your virginity are downright insulting. I'm not sure what it is about these men and bugs, but their approaches could certainly use some improvement.

The Trifles of Women

Nothing is more satisfying than marginalized people capitalizing upon their oppressors' oversights. I felt like I was in on the cover-up with Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Peters in Susan Glaspell's Trifles. The insignificant womanly matters turning out to be precisely what the male detectives should have paid attention to is exactly the kind of irony I live for. The solidarity of women is nothing to mess with.

Let's look into some of Mrs. Wright's trifles. From dead birds, to the kitchen, to quilting, her goings on are all discussed as things in the way of the "real" investigation, when this was actually all of the evidence.

The best (and worst) part of the irony is that the two men are following Mr. Wright's footsteps during their investigation. It's set up that the motive behind the murder is Mr. Wright's distaste and neglect of the things important to his wife. He most likely killed her pet bird, and he isolated her to the house without appreciation of her domestic work. When the investigators ignore those same things that were important to her, they miss what would be damning evidence.

Since the women empathize with Minnie and are willing to conceal evidence on her behalf, it is worrisome that their husbands are guilty of the same as Mr. Wright. Perhaps they will be inspired by Minnie's bid for freedom from her cage, and maybe even be willing to risk getting their necks wrung for trying the same.

The American Dream Is Dead

In Death of a Salesman, Willy Loman's descent into madness and probable suicide mark the perils of capitalism and the American Dream. Unlike system-wide dystopias in which individuals criticize its pitfalls, the Loman family's microcosm dystopia is suffered through without the characters ever realizing what the true antagonist is.

Willy cares so much about how he is perceived in terms of wealth, status, and being "well liked," without ever realizing that the best way to be seen as wealthy and successful is to put your nose to the grindstone and stop talking about wanting to be wealthy and successful. My favorite part of the whole play is when Willy says to Charley about Bernard, "The Supreme Court! And he didn't even mention it!" to which Charley replies, "He don't have to-- he's gonna do it" (Norton 1753).

The American Dream in Willy's life is all about the illusion of success, which is exactly what gets in his way of true success. Money and materials can't be the end goal, because in the process he loses everything that he realizes he's missing at the end of his life- happy marriage, independent children that still love him, and a meaningful career.

Because the American Dream makes success the end goal, like Willy does, the appearance of success matters more than the substance. So, is a mannequin replica closer to the living, or the dead?

Bartleby: The Man, the Myth, the Legend

There is something intensely bold and stupid and admirable about Bartleby looking his boss in the face after a request is made of him and replying "I would prefer not to," not once, but twenty times through Herman Melville's short story, "Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street." 

At first, it's all responses to the boss/narrator asking him to review his work, which was always perfect. Then, the contexts of the statement escalate to conversations about basic duties of his job, leaving the office once he stops work (where he is essentially a squatter), and finally saying, "No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all." Savage, but also sad.

Bartleby is the best at what he does, to the point where he is almost robotic. He is both a perfect specimen of a worker, and lacking all motivation required to follow through. He exemplifies what society's "ideal" in the corporate world of excellent workers would fully entail, including the underbelly of the spirit such a system would suffocate out of workers. While Nippers and Turkey clearly have their faults, they don't suffer breakdowns like Bartleby, and their single defense against having the same experience is their imperfection.

Bartleby is a warning against the sacrifice corporate America demands of us, and I think we may already be halfway there.

When it comes to preferences, I would also prefer not to do pretty much anything asked of me, as would nearly everyone if they're honest. The inclination is already there, but we don't have the perfection needed to act on it, which is all that keeps us doing what we need to do.

Why Don't We Memorize Poetry Anymore?

Apparently Wordsworth's "I wandered lonely as a cloud" is commonly memorized by schoolchildren in East Asia, at least according to Dr. Reed. This got me thinking about the few times in school I had to memorize poetry. In third grade, I memorized a poem called "Johnny Stuck Jellybeans Up His Nose" that I remember to this day- a thrilling tale of peer pressure and death by Jellybean. In fifth grade, I memorized the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll, because I was on an Alice in Wonderland kick. I don't remember all of that one anymore, except a few lines that included frightfully weird words like "bandersnatch" and "brillig". I've memorized a few poems since then, never on purpose, but always from the urge to repeat a string of words that feel good together.

Should we memorize poems more? Maybe the practice in elementary school stemmed from some memory development technique rather than the appreciation of poetry itself-more a means than an end. Or maybe we don't feel the same magic of beautiful words that we did before it became embarrassing to be un-ironically enthusiastic about an art that so vulnerably connects us to something bigger. After all, there's a reason the most heartfelt prayers are silent.

Regardless, I want to memorize more poetry.