Last night, while I was in bed, I remembered this short story titled “Scene” from the collection Suburban Sketches by William Dean Howells. I am not really a fan of realist writing but for some reason I had the imagery of this little short story in my mind, for some reason. I don’t do this and I actually try not to associate words with images – can images ever substitute words? Anyway, this collection of short stories depict the suburban life of people in Old Charlesbridge, and “Scene” is about a young women who drowns herself. She is found dead by the community, who are pretty curious to see what had happened. One of the townspeople says “It was the best thing she cuold do,” creating a story in his mind. The narrator responds: “Upon this answer that literary soul fell at once to patching himself up a romantic story for the suicide, after the pitiful fashion of this fiction-ridden age, when we must relate everything we see to something we have read. He was the less to blame for it, because he could not help it; but certainly he is not to be praised for his associations with the tragic fact brought to his notice.”

Anyway, after this brief introduction, I’d like to quote what I really like about this piece:
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Yesterday, Dr. Daniela Reimann published a post titled “8 ways your ipod can help you be a better student” written by Heather Johnson.  Dr. Reimann has comments disabled so I’m posting here.

The guide is written in a very let’s-think-oh-yes-there-is-this-too kind of way and it’s disturbingly wrong.  So, you can avoid unnecessary (!?) trips to the library by listening to a audio version study guide of The Great Gatsby, eh?  Why not read the novel on time?  Do you really think study guides can ever substitute reading the novel or the short story?

Also, how does an audiobook replace reading? I declare this person who has written this has never and ever read a book, has never made research on anything at all. Are reading and listening the same thing?

These online-this-and-that consultant people are easy with what they talk.


“No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep awake all day.”

So, good night.


Snow

Yes, it snowed. And looking out the window, I repeated to myself:

Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

Thanks.


BeowulfLast week, I and two friends went to watch Beowulf (2007) to see a recent example of digital cinema. Other friends, who saw the movie earlier said that it sucked. I thought the opposite.

I admit that this movie is not for those who like a real camera than one that can move freely in the rendered environment. Until you get used to it, the movie resembles a computer game, which most people would prefer flesh and blood actors (an image is an image, and both are projected images, should not really matter). However, I don’t really think this movie would work in 2.5D (real shooting plus CGI), as it would just be too artificial. This way, the movie is a lot more immersive in my opinion.

Anyway, I think this is a marvellous adaptation of a primary epic – an epic that is based on oral tradition. And the movie maintains these features of oral tradition, where storytelling is important. I really loved how they maintained the heroic ideal – the way Beowulf introduces and defines himself to others. Other than one or two things done for cheap laughs (bah), I think the movie was flawless.

This movie itself is another telling of the story of Beowulf (and Beowulf the epic). How awesome.


Just found this free ebook site at California Digital Library website. I haven’t checked in detail but they offer free online access to quite a lot of books under various subjects. They are academic books by academic publishers.

Check out the library here.


In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

If I remember correct, it was last year, during American Poetry II class, when we read T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Our reading of this poem was different then. But, how true it is when you look at these lines alone – same imagery but different articulation. The women come whenever they want, and leave when they (are) please(d).

Please don’t.


Soon it will snow, and looking out the window, I’ll repeat these:

Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

Thanks Joyce, if it wasn’t for you…


Related to previous post in some respects that no one needs to understand…

Weekdays should be spent to rest up from the weariness of the weekends. As Adam says in Mark Twain’s “Extracts from Adam’s Diary“:

“MONDAY — I believe I see what the week is for: it is to give time to rest up from the weariness of Sunday. It seems a good idea…”


Öncelikle, bugünden itibaren her günün şeteresini tutmaya karar verdim. Her gün yazmasam da genel olarak ne oldu ne bitti, ben ne düşündüm ve hissettim bunları yazmak istiyorum. Yazar ya da sanatçı olmadığıma göre, arkamda bu siteyi bırakabilirim. Ve, Ekşi Sözlükteki espriyi çalacak olursam; gelecekte bu siteyi arkeologlar bulur ve dili çözdükten sonra okurlar. Her neyse, her gün bir şeyler yazağımdan çok farklı olmayacaktır her günüm, ancak dikkatli bakıldığında ilginç şeyler oluyor aslında, ilginç anlatırsanız. Tekrar yapmadan lafı uzatmayı becerebilmek de buna katkıda bulunuyor.
Bugün ÜDS’ye girdim. Sabah 8:20 gibi uyandım. Daha doğrusu saatin 8:20 olduğunu sanarak. Sınav 9:30’da. Ancak bugün saatler bir saat ileri alınmış. Evde de kimsenin haberi yok. Sınava isteksiz girdiğim ev halkı tarafından bilindiğinden dolayı, saat konusunu bildiğim ancak söylemediğimle suçlandım. Herkes güvensiz olmuş, şaşmamalı. Her neyse… Babama sınava kaç dakikaya kadar geç girebilme hakkımın olduğunu sordum. Babam da ‘buna hak mı denir, sürenden yiyorsun’ gibi bir laf etti. Halbuki benim öğrenmek istediğim, olur da kapıdaki polis vs problem çıkarırsa, konuyu bilen birisi olmak ve gereksiz gecikmeleri önlemekti. Ayrıca buna hak denir, eğer bir süreden sonra içeri girmek yasaksa, öncesinde olan süre benim geç kalma payım ya da hakkımdır. Sözcüklere çok takılmamak gerekli, hepsinin içi boş zaten. Konuşmalarımızın yarısında insanları ya anlamıyoruz ya da yanlış anlıyoruz…

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