Caelum

Often coined the ‘worst film ever made’, strangely, I only watched the 2003 movie ’The Room’ a couple of days back after hearing about James Franco’s recent critically acclaimed movie, ‘Disaster Artist’. Somehow, I was spurred on by its ‘hype’ and wanted to gain a good understanding of the premise of Franco’s new movie.

Without equivocation, I can safely say that I completely understand its cult status. Surprisingly, this is one of the only times I can so concretely recall dialogue and moments from a film with this level of accuracy. I doubt I could even do that for some of my favourite movies of all time. Granted, it is partly a testament to the sheer hilarity of the cinematography and writing and the number of times you would need to suspend your disbelief to appreciate and enjoy the movie, but I also feel that in some ways, I got to thinking about the inherent message that the film (Tommy Wiseau), was trying to convey to the audience in his own crazy, yet remarkable approach.

Now, let me attempt to prove to you why I feel that Wiseau, perhaps unwittingly, produced, directed, and starred in a film that just might be an extended metaphor for life.

Wiseau’s film has all of the ingredients that contribute to complexities and adversities that characters could potentially endure. We see drugs, illness (better known as the Breast Cancer that never resurfaces), mental and other personal struggles.

In my opinion, one of the most striking aspects of the movie is that it is essentially a story about human vice. In their own way, each of the characters are ‘real’ as they make their own mistakes- horrible mistakes. We have lust, infidelity, temptation, greed, and ‘pride’, among many others. We see this predominantly through Lisa’s self- centered and ‘flighty’ nature and the reason why they have drastic repercussions at the end of the movie with Johnny’s death and Greg’s abandonment of her. Greg, in turn, loses his best friend when he is disloyal to him and ceases to think about his feelings, and Johnny’s pride in turn, is what probably drives Lisa away and causes her to take such drastic actions.

Moreover, throughout the course of the film, we see the characters overreacting to many of the situations that they need to go through. We see this in the odd drug plot, Johnny’s love and commitment for Lisa, and Lisa’s infatuation with Greg and intimacy issues in her marriage. However, I refuse to interpret this simply as poor acting and characterisation for this purpose. If you think about it closely, people overreacting in their daily lives are very recurring instances we see regularly, be it our friends, families, or acquaintances. Human beings are always melodramatic in their own manner towards situations that concern them or impact them on a personal level. Perhaps, in all its absurdities, the movie attempts and to some degree, showcases this to some extent.

Another major criticism of the movie is the sheer number of supporting characters who have no role and significance to the plot. The story arcs of these characters are often unfinished and, in part owing to the inconsistent style of the narrating technique seen from the beginning of the conflicts. Yet, these characters are often inconsequential in the bigger picture and don’t even get proper introductions. Perhaps, despite everything we go through, life is also dynamically changing all the time and many of the people we meet and events we experience, yield no outcome or fruit in the long run and grand scheme of things.

Here is another composition- this time inspired by Fake Happy, one of my favourite songs of 2017!

The creases that form on either side of her lips-

the kind of hope that renews her faith in humanity.

The light feeling of happy weightlessness in the mind,

that sharpens her ideas.

That unconscious or distracted look of ease,

that surfaces when she’s in the blissful solitude of her thoughts.

The most glorious feeling of near elation- 

when impassioned feelings are translated to words,

or with the passion of argument,

and when languages touches the soul.

The grateful look she shows at a friendly or loving gesture-

followed by the chorus of carefree laugher.

The casual nods-

nothing but a sign of nonchalance and indifference,

or a distracted resignation telling them she’s okay.

When the feeling of those familiar creases don’t meet her eyes,

you know she isn’t listening.

Maybe one day,

when the creases form on either side of my lips,

Maybe she used to be unencumbered,

or somehow wildly liberated-

anything that’s contrary to what she knows now.

She goes about her days,

unsure and weary,

unease pervading her mind,

thinking about what is to be,

and what could have been.

From now on,

life is only reduced to time.

It’s always minutes, hours, days, and weeks,

as the months and years grow yet more uncertain,

with her growing resolve.

Perhaps one day,

she will triumph over all those voices,

and she can finally be free-

Periods of self- reflection define my days. 

Disbelief used to plague my mind,

when I first glanced upon that kaleidoscope of words.

These days it steadily wanes,

as death and decimation become a constant.

The shocking stories of human suffering-

paint the world with yet more taint and needless sympathy,

as our heads turned against the tide,

are eyes unseeing and uncomprehending.

Sometimes I sigh, my heart in my hands, or shed a tear,

but for the most, we are bereft.

Every day is its own history,

every hour brings with it,

a new reckoning or awakening,

as every second brings a new death toll.

The world is a void,

the news opening up an even bigger voice still.

Yet, I continue to read those stories;

I continue to write about blood,

knowing there’s nothing I can do,

even if I could-

Nothing at all. 

As I read more, I begin to learn more about my own train of thought. I find myself embracing certain concepts and perspectives, while at the same time completely refuting others. I even tend to impose my own belief systems on others when I feel very strongly about certain concepts and issues. The more I learn about a mélange of different subjects, the more confused and fascinated I become. But what bothers me is that I cannot confine myself or embrace one ideology completely, as I am aware of its loopholes, gaps, and criticisms as well.

No underlying concept that concerns an issue is ever without contention or disagreement. As individuals, we may ignore or dismiss some of these gaps, while at times, find fault with them or vehemently oppose it. I find myself doing this a lot lately especially after reading a lot about Marxist, Kantianism, Despotism, and Keynesian ideologies. In the case of Socialism for example, I know deep down inside, that I myself am thriving only due to the fact that I live in a Meritocracy myself.

I sometimes feel that my beliefs and ideas border on the hypocritical at times, especially given the sheer dynamism and scope of world issues and politics today. The changing tide continuously alters my perceptions about an array of different issues. I continue to find myself deeming myself ‘quasi’ or ‘neutral’ or ‘liberal’, as I do not find myself exactly subscribing to ‘isms’ or completely supporting a ‘side.’

Perhaps, sometimes, our own prejudices and value systems tend to distort the lens with which we view and perceive the world around us. Pre- conceived notions about socio- cultural beliefs and values can have rather big impacts on our perspectives and those crucial discussions and debates we have with one another, be it in formal or informal settings. This can often cause us to make generalizations about issues that we may know very little about. The more severe the stigma attached to the issue, the more generalizations we tend to make.

These are obviously not necessarily bad or uncommon traits as each and every one of us inherently possesses them. We, the ‘millennial’ generation, deem ourselves ‘open minded’ and more ‘creative’ than our parents and other counterparts; but, with these prejudices and biases- are we really? Am I really?

Despite having these assumptions and having a penchant for jumping to conclusions and arguing with one another, it is rather difficult to obviously think of ourselves as being the embodiment of the archetypical qualities of the ‘perfect’ and ‘unbiased’ and ‘non- aligned’ individual we all so aspire to be. Unconsciously, we tend to thrust our interpretations values, and ideas of a ‘perfect’ world upon one another.  

Do I enforce my beliefs and jump to conclusions? Yes, all the time. Am I called out for being biased and making generalizations? All the time! Am I a hypocrite? Maybe.  

Given the abstract nature of subject content, perspectives, and bigotry in today’s world- who isn’t?

Well, do I get brownie points for being sincere and honest?

Viscerion 

This is probably one of the most personal and genuine feelings I have ever expressed. But I had to do it for my own peace of mind and composure. If you know what I mean and feel the same way too, endure till you know, I guess? 

It’s always great to compose something, no matter what the topic. 

Enjoy! 

Without warning or welcome, 

it encroached upon me. 

It doesn’t speak to me, 

never did it abuse or hurt me. 

but I still feel it every day, 

in my body, mind, and thoughts,

silently, soundlessly, and mentally crippling me.

It always comes to me in the happiest of moments, 

turning the day grey, 

and the night darker and blacker still, 

promising to one day severely hurt or betray. 

It is always within me, 

it can’t be tamed. 

But it is still submissive and almost always quiet,

yet the weight of its mere presence scorches and burns, 

becoming evermore menacing. 

Standing before the mirror, 

my blank stare takes it all in. 

My eyes its eyes, 

my reflection is its reflection. 

They always tell me that it doesn’t exist. 

It is nothing but a figment-  

Just a nagging feeling of consequence. 

Yet, now I hear its call telling me otherwise, 

growing ever more nettling and demanding. 

I have done it all. I am the best, I deserve this. 

More than anything. 

It’s my voice,

always an octave and decibel level higher than everyone else. 

What do you see around you? What do you read? It rather perplexes me that I read different interpretations and versions of essentially the same thing time and time again. It seems rather ordinary and ‘conventional’ to read news about the Trump Administration, the Republican Party now being in complete disarray, the sheer amount of rhetoric, and obviously, the Russian investigations being conducted against the Trump campaign. Just this morning, I was reading the New York Times, when I clicked on the headlines, and realized the trap I had fallen into. It was declared that President Donald Trump’s own lawyer, Michael D. Cohen had connections with Russian authorities.

Since the Cold War, normalized relations between the United States and Russia has been nothing but an illusory reality that many Presidents have only promised. Donald Trump, in particular, has parroted this throughout his campaign trail. Yet, when we take a look back at the progress of the Trump Administration thus far, we simply do not seem to see the materialization of any promise or success on this front. The recent Russian investigations being conducted by Robert Muller and the entourage of FBI agents are ongoing and White House criticisms only continue to aggravate.  

When we take a look at the striking turn of events since Trump took office, the future of Russia- U.S.- relations indeed seem quite bleak. In the past few months, Congress has resolved to tighten international sanctions against Russia even further. In retaliation, Vladimir Putin has also severely curtailed the power of the U.S. consulate in Russia and cut down the number of foreign diplomats and advisors in the country by a record number. Russian officials recently proclaimed that they would respond to the U.S. shut down by closing down their Consulate in New York, Washington, and San Francisco. Moreover, President Trump continues to argue and prolong wars with words between GOP senators. Not only is this making him more isolated and entrenching the divide between the President and Congressional Republicans, but it also questions his authority and power to make good decisions that favor and safeguard the interests of the United States.

Critics of the Trump Administration, journalists, reporters, political analysts, governments, Republicans, Democrats only seem to think about how the Russian Investigation could potentially accentuate and bring to light the threat of hacking and international espionage by foreign hostile governments. Yet, no one really seems to pay heed to the fact that the sheer magnitude of media attention, controversy, and rhetoric only serve to discredit the system of democracy in the U.S. and the office of the President of the United States. The current state of affairs only serves to trigger yet more suspicion and mistrust within the government and the public.

While a whole nation partakes in this rather pointless debate, Russia continues to capitalize on the chaos. It’s almost business as usual for them, as they continue to follow status quo and stick to the foreign policy they have been following under Putin since the collapse of the Soviet Union. They are at the forefront of an investigation that does not seem to hurt them domestically and Putin’s approval rating in Russia continues to soar. International attention to the U.S. has also now turned quite sour as people question why an inexperienced, misinformed demagogue occupies the hot seat of global governance and international discourse.

As deep as it may come across, this poem is actually literally about not having enough sleep, and often becoming cranky as a result. A lot it is exaggerated- but it is a poem. The poem can also be interpreted as expressing the sensation of feeling sleepy and tired all the time as well.  Bottom line, please get some sleep- at least 6 hours a day! I have learnt this the hardest way possible way. 

They cry out in pain when I open them,

their shrieks and retorts fill my visions.

They rage a silent but fierce battle in my mind.

ever minute, ever day, and every night.

Till now, I have been able to win,

but one day they will pull one over me and put me to sleep.

Sometimes, I feel them drooping like lolling puppets,

their strings too weak to carry their weight any longer.

Every blink is their sanctum,

where light and noise will momentarily not encroach.

They stare back at me in the mirror,

as I dress them up for the day,

and conceal their struggles-

one black brush stroke at a time on the lids.

They silently plead,

now finally almost docile.

For those few hours almost every day,

they finally cooperate and bask in the wonder of strange lands,

till a greater call snatches the reins from them the next day.

They decorate my canvas with colours-

grey, black, and at times, purple veins.

I see similar spectacles all around me-

shadows, markings, and blotches.

All our eyes tell the same story-

of toil, tears, tests, and time,

Recently, while reading the New Yorker, probably one of the best literary magazines out there, I came across a rather interesting poem that made me think a lot about poetry- in its abstract entirety. As a poetry lover myself, I found myself thinking a lot about why I read them at all. There are poems about almost everything, from feeling, emotions, dogs, and chocolate, to wars, politics, history and perversion. Poetry is literally the perfect way to communicate every emotion and feeling we experience and perceive. Let’s face it: there is a poem for literally every random aspect of life.  The poem I read was by Vona Groarke and it was simply called, ‘This Poem’. Seems cryptic? Well, it is beautiful! It is probably one of those quintessential poems about ‘just being’

Strangely, the poem reminds you that a piece of literature does not have to be complicated and overly rife with deep meaning to be beautiful. The way the poet carefully conveys this fact is rather unique, especially as she says that her poem would by in no means, change the outcome of our lives or impact us in any way. Sometimes, it may just be important to enjoy and embrace a work of art, rather than analysing those layers and finding meaning, where the poet or writer may never have intended for there to be any real deep sentiment. As a Literature student, it is always obviously important to let our minds wander and think about words, but in some instances, we may just be better off in simply understanding it and cherishing it for its simplicity and brevity.

As the poem is itself about accepting and embracing simplicity, the aspects the poet writes about are also very common as he speaks of conventional emotions and feelings. The poet repeats the phrase, ‘This Poem’, throughout the stanzas to possibly highlight these rather common sentiments and occurences. She talks about love, heartbreak, friendship, happiness, loss, passion, sensuality, teenage angst, coming of age, work, and toil. These instances are what make up life. Each human experience is its own individual piece of poetry probably because we all write or think about all of these human experiences at some point of time. Our thoughts and feelings become patterns and rhymes that we remember forever.

I loved the poem as much as I did because for once in my poetry analysis reviews, I did not have to wrack my brains and look for meaning that was consistent throughout the poem, or think about the words, phrases or imagery that corresponded with the meaning I was trying to make. At first glance, I knew exactly what the poet wanted to communicate and the message she wished to communicate to her audience.

If life is indeed a manifestation or sum of simple and common human experiences, why is it that we always need to make it sound bigger and more complex than it actually is?

For What It’s Worth- Liam Gallagher 

Whenever you read a poem by Peter Balakian, you are constantly reminded of how humanity may indeed be doomed by all the atrocities we are committing and the wounds we are allowing to fester. In this particular poem, Balakian does well, exactly the same way in yet another unique and distinct way. He talks about death through the eyes of a passer- by, who, in a moment of epiphany, realizes the worthlessness and futility of what Man does by exploiting nature and all that is beautiful.

The Forest is in itself, a window into the real world, where the persona sees the feral beauty of the wild, and all the actions of Man are both to the forefront. Upon closer reflection, you realize that the house is nothing but a thin and weak veil of untruths and hearsay in the persona’s eyes, as implied by the phrases, splints of oak,’ simple timber,’ and simply trees.’ It shows the persona the real darkness and the warped distortion that is humanity. The persona is spiritually and emotionally awakened by his experience and is able to open his heart and mind to the reality that he witnesses, considering the fact that he says that he has ‘been in the caves and found that he could not stay.’ He can now truly understand the depth of the perversion and gallows of uncertainty that plagues the world, and is finally truly able to embrace the night and the harsh realities of the ‘late November.’

The visual imagery in the poem is rife with meaning. It is beautifully crafted and resonates throughout the poem, forever creating that almost mystical imprint on our minds. The image of the forest, and the apparition of the dear is indeed the crowning jewel of the poem, in my opinion. The symbolism of the deer is so chilling to a point where it is almost haunting. The Deer is representational in nature for all the animals in the forest and every victim that has been raped by humankind as it tells its own story and has a definite voice. The remnants and the entrails of the deer, an apparition, in fact, for all the death who have been wronged by our actions, rises from the ground and ‘speaks’ to the persona.

Despite the fact that the persona continues to talk about how enlightened he is with his new state of mind, he still thinks that nature will continue to bear the brunt and the burden of Man’s actions. The hunters shall continue to cause more strife and pain in all that they see around them. The ‘turning ground’ highlights the scale and pace at which is everything is changing. Man will only steadfastly hold on to every last bit of humanity till he ultimately destroys it all. The ‘Story of Men’, is unfortunately, that of devastation and depredation, which every victim comes to know of when they finally look it in the eye before they die.

Read the Poem!

Japan, Summer 2017

I have been reading some great poetry lately and am really enjoying some of the latest award- winning works. I read a poem by a poet named Tyehimba Jess, a Pulitzer- prize winning author. He has a rather interesting life and strongly believes in the triumph of coloured lives. His poem, ‘Freedsong: Dream Song,’ is a very strong testament to his upbringing and childhood, in my opinion. Its brilliance primarily lies in the simplicity and the sincerity with which he drives home the message he is trying to convey.

By the first line I saw myself instantly drawn into the moment and the mood of the poem. For me, the poem is especially relatable as I know that I may be impacted by similar circumstances. I was also proud of the fact that the persona in the poem, despite being a minority, carves out his own path in life and is content with what life offers him at the end.

‘Box Henry’, is a character in the poem who is in a metaphorical ‘box’, owing to the constraints and restraints in his life. Being a man of colour in a world of perversion, discord and bitterness, is its own obstacle in itself, but going beyond such social bulwarks is really a huge hurdle to cross successfully. The persona in the poem, ‘Henry’, is race and gender neutral and can refer to any minority group or any individual, in fact, who has had to cross societal and social hindrances to achieve what they want in life and reach that desired state of Nirvana we are all after.

The words ‘could’, ‘break’, ‘pried open’, and ‘survived’ accentuate the struggles that our persona went through and how he had to work tirelessly and rough it out to prove himself to the world. He doesn’t seem to lose confidence and lets his ray of hope guide him all the way to the end of his eventful and tumultuous journey through life.

The last line of the poem is probably my favourite when the poet writes, ‘Let Box henry grow in every head.’ Box henry are those inspiring individuals who have fought racial and religious barriers to excel and climb up societal, professional and financial ladders. They make the people around them proud of what they do. I feel that this line of the poem re- enforces the message of the poem sevenfold and is what truly makes Jess’ work so memorable and satisfying to read.

The title of the poem, ‘Freedsong’, truly highlights the fact that crossing those societal hindrances, despite the colour of our skin or societal standing we were born into, is what makes us truly free individuals. Sometimes, we let ourselves be bound by those constraints, and that is sometimes what truly holds us back. Perhaps, we make them worthless pretexts for our fears for the future. Crumbling those walls that surround us is perhaps what truly liberates us. The phrase, ‘black face worn, John was happy’, really embodies all that our persona achieves to make him truly happy at the end of the day.

This poem has probably made my week. It pulled at my heartstrings and really inspired me in a unique way. I hope to imbibe the essence of ‘Box Henry’ and become stronger to deal with the challenging times. There is a struggle out there for so many of us in this community and let’s best be prepared for the incoming storm.

You can view the poem here-

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/90219/freedsong-dream-song