if you break down kinbote you get kin- family/relative and bote- a compensation or amends...
charles means "man"
man, family compensation...? a compensation for the loss of Hazel, only male? he's not much of one...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Final Essay...?
Well, I have been playing around with the idea of the Devil's Advocate with either Nabokov, Humbert, or Kinbote. Kinbote and Humbert stand as their own advocate, Nabokov as theirs...
Also, there's the idea of the personified Death/Destroyer figure...
And then there's the idea of Pale Fire, the poem and story, being a communication from the living to the dead. A kind of Prayer.
Nattochdag- night and day... kinbote and shade, kinbote/hazel and shade...
So, yeah. I have few ideas floating around.
Ooooh, new idea! Just got it during class. Gradus and "reality" who wears its quotes like a clause... yeah not too sure where this is going but there it is.
Also, there's the idea of the personified Death/Destroyer figure...
And then there's the idea of Pale Fire, the poem and story, being a communication from the living to the dead. A kind of Prayer.
Nattochdag- night and day... kinbote and shade, kinbote/hazel and shade...
So, yeah. I have few ideas floating around.
Ooooh, new idea! Just got it during class. Gradus and "reality" who wears its quotes like a clause... yeah not too sure where this is going but there it is.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
My God died young.
My God died young.
you know, atheism is not the first thing that leaps to mind when this line comes up. it's not that simple, it can't be.
it's My God.
my God died young. he was 6'2", gentle giant, blond hair and warm brown gray eyes.
my god died young. 18 with his life ahead of him, a full ride football scholarship to California state. a pediatrician, musician, engineer...
my god died young. 12 years old attending the funeral of a man that terrified me, though i did not why at the time, i learned that my god had died coming to attend that same funeral of the patriarch of our clan.
12 years old standing at a casketless wake with not even ashes to spread of my god, his mother and his father, who were also my gods. with the woman who would have been my god's wife, my god's brother, both of whom are lost to me now, dampening my mourning clothes with salt tears that i could not shed.
my god was gentle to the crawling toddler. he was teasing to the bright child. he was comforting to the coming teen. he was my god. and he died young. my god died young and i can never have him back no matter how much i beg or curse or pray. My God died young.
shade did not just mean atheism. he can't have. he meant that the focus of his devotion, his world died young and he had to be the one to bury her. Hazel was Shade's god despite her flaws, or her perfections; she was his god and she died young, too early. no one should have to bury their children. not one should have to say goodbye too soon to their gods. but they do. because gods, mortal or theological, die young. and they can never come back.
you know, atheism is not the first thing that leaps to mind when this line comes up. it's not that simple, it can't be.
it's My God.
my God died young. he was 6'2", gentle giant, blond hair and warm brown gray eyes.
my god died young. 18 with his life ahead of him, a full ride football scholarship to California state. a pediatrician, musician, engineer...
my god died young. 12 years old attending the funeral of a man that terrified me, though i did not why at the time, i learned that my god had died coming to attend that same funeral of the patriarch of our clan.
12 years old standing at a casketless wake with not even ashes to spread of my god, his mother and his father, who were also my gods. with the woman who would have been my god's wife, my god's brother, both of whom are lost to me now, dampening my mourning clothes with salt tears that i could not shed.
my god was gentle to the crawling toddler. he was teasing to the bright child. he was comforting to the coming teen. he was my god. and he died young. my god died young and i can never have him back no matter how much i beg or curse or pray. My God died young.
shade did not just mean atheism. he can't have. he meant that the focus of his devotion, his world died young and he had to be the one to bury her. Hazel was Shade's god despite her flaws, or her perfections; she was his god and she died young, too early. no one should have to bury their children. not one should have to say goodbye too soon to their gods. but they do. because gods, mortal or theological, die young. and they can never come back.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Midterm essay- Faithful Hound
Joan Goss
Eng 431
Dr. Sexson
10/13/09
"Faithful Hound"
I am nature’s faithful hound."
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov- pg. 135
These particular words jumped out at me. Mostly because it is hunting season and one of our neighbors has hounds that he uses to hunt cats. To hunt mountain lions. One of which we saw the other day, a beautiful, rich mahogany tom, large about 130-140 lbs. Beautiful animal. The neighbor has a handful of hounds of varying breeds. In this case, hunting lions, more is better. A cat will pick off a small pack, but will run from a larger one, only killing a few. But we are not really talking about hunting lions, are we?
A Hound. An obsessive, blood tracker. An animal that knows nothing but the trail. It hunts relentlessly, neither food nor drink not pain will distract it from it’s chosen path. You would think a hound would be an easy going animal, but they are not. No, these beasts, no matter how they are portrayed on TV, are no lazy porch mutt. They hunt. They hunt fiercely. They track and stalk. Their teeth are not for show, they are a predator. They are dedicated and faithful. Rather a bit like Humbert. Obsessive, faithful tracker who hunted for Lolita, who hunted Lolita.
While I am not as admiring of Humbert I am rather of hounds. Nature’s trackers. Perhaps he believes that he is what nature has made him rather than experience?
Faithful. Full of faith. Filled with it, overflowing and overwhelming. Faith in god, self and other. A "faithful hound." All hounds are faithful until they loose a scent and then they will still wander restlessly until the trail is picked back up or a new one is presented. You cannot pull a hound off of a trail. They are strong and determined creatures and can be vicious. They will take on a larger predator without hesitation. While Humbert and Quilty may be reflections, evil twins, doppelgängers, what have you they are also different it is hunter and hunted, which is the better predator, which is "real". I use quotes because, as has been stated "reality" wears is quotes like claws/a clause, and I
use italics because of the idea of which ever of the twins remains after a battle is the "real" one, the actual person and not a mere shadow of reflection.
Oops. Got distracted. Right! "Faithful hound." Hounds are also very loyal to their masters/handlers. They can get along with other people but they really only belong to one person or family. It is rather difficult to adopt them due to this, and I do not mean legally but emotionally. Lassie might run and fetch help but the hound would pull Timmy out of the well or die trying.
Humbert may be a beast but he is a specific kind of beast. Elvis Presley probably summed Humbert up rather well. "You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, crying all the time." Though perhaps not crying but certainly constantly commenting and talking, even if it is only to us, dear readers.
Even in the end Humbert would have been put down, like a "faithful hound" had he not died. A rabid, obsessive, "faithful hound." It is, I suppose, something amusing, this Humbert the hound, this dedicated monster. A child bride, and her faithful pet. Well, let them to rest then, and let them not wake.
It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake. -Chaucer, Geoffrey.
Eng 431
Dr. Sexson
10/13/09
"Faithful Hound"
I am nature’s faithful hound."
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov- pg. 135
These particular words jumped out at me. Mostly because it is hunting season and one of our neighbors has hounds that he uses to hunt cats. To hunt mountain lions. One of which we saw the other day, a beautiful, rich mahogany tom, large about 130-140 lbs. Beautiful animal. The neighbor has a handful of hounds of varying breeds. In this case, hunting lions, more is better. A cat will pick off a small pack, but will run from a larger one, only killing a few. But we are not really talking about hunting lions, are we?
A Hound. An obsessive, blood tracker. An animal that knows nothing but the trail. It hunts relentlessly, neither food nor drink not pain will distract it from it’s chosen path. You would think a hound would be an easy going animal, but they are not. No, these beasts, no matter how they are portrayed on TV, are no lazy porch mutt. They hunt. They hunt fiercely. They track and stalk. Their teeth are not for show, they are a predator. They are dedicated and faithful. Rather a bit like Humbert. Obsessive, faithful tracker who hunted for Lolita, who hunted Lolita.
While I am not as admiring of Humbert I am rather of hounds. Nature’s trackers. Perhaps he believes that he is what nature has made him rather than experience?
Faithful. Full of faith. Filled with it, overflowing and overwhelming. Faith in god, self and other. A "faithful hound." All hounds are faithful until they loose a scent and then they will still wander restlessly until the trail is picked back up or a new one is presented. You cannot pull a hound off of a trail. They are strong and determined creatures and can be vicious. They will take on a larger predator without hesitation. While Humbert and Quilty may be reflections, evil twins, doppelgängers, what have you they are also different it is hunter and hunted, which is the better predator, which is "real". I use quotes because, as has been stated "reality" wears is quotes like claws/a clause, and I
use italics because of the idea of which ever of the twins remains after a battle is the "real" one, the actual person and not a mere shadow of reflection.
Oops. Got distracted. Right! "Faithful hound." Hounds are also very loyal to their masters/handlers. They can get along with other people but they really only belong to one person or family. It is rather difficult to adopt them due to this, and I do not mean legally but emotionally. Lassie might run and fetch help but the hound would pull Timmy out of the well or die trying.
Humbert may be a beast but he is a specific kind of beast. Elvis Presley probably summed Humbert up rather well. "You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, crying all the time." Though perhaps not crying but certainly constantly commenting and talking, even if it is only to us, dear readers.
Even in the end Humbert would have been put down, like a "faithful hound" had he not died. A rabid, obsessive, "faithful hound." It is, I suppose, something amusing, this Humbert the hound, this dedicated monster. A child bride, and her faithful pet. Well, let them to rest then, and let them not wake.
It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake. -Chaucer, Geoffrey.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Waxwing
I had a moment of embarrassment when i went to look up a picture of a waxwing. you know that pair of tawny and gold birds i found? yeah well they were waxwings. Cedar Waxwings. really bad blonde moment. well here's a picture.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Moths Icarus
Ooh, 'nother brain storm. moths and Icarus who flew too close to the sun and got burned and feel to his death. does than mean that HH is Icarus and instead of pride its obsession/lust/love/perversion? hmm something to think about.
kay. the reason i'm having all these thought blurbs is i'm down with a sinus infection. no it's not the flu, and it's minor but i dont think anyone wants to listen to me being stuffy and miserable in the middle of class.
kay. the reason i'm having all these thought blurbs is i'm down with a sinus infection. no it's not the flu, and it's minor but i dont think anyone wants to listen to me being stuffy and miserable in the middle of class.
Group 4
Group 4 is meeting at the ITC on College St. Wednesday September 30th at 6:00 PM
Bring notes and Laptops if you want.
Bring notes and Laptops if you want.
Butterflies and Moths
if Nabokov thinks the butterfly representative of the soul, then the heart must be a moth. moths continually dare to reach for the light only to be burned much like the human heart which constantly reaches out to find connections. the soul can flit happily about in the bright day spreading cheer, but the heart must be able to survive even in the middle of the night. about five minutes ago i had this little epiphany about moths and butterflies while rescuing an injured moth out of the Hannon stairwell. it was an adorable dusky gray thing very bright and alert for being stunned, and probably injured. his little antennae waving and crawling all over my hands. a bit like juggling a delicate hot potato.
injured butterflies aren't like that. they're too fragile and once they are hurt they pretty much die, at least that's from what I've seen. but a moth can survive. butterflies don't seek out the light because that is where they live, but moths, like hearts, must because otherwise all they will know is darkness, loneliness.
mini spiel
injured butterflies aren't like that. they're too fragile and once they are hurt they pretty much die, at least that's from what I've seen. but a moth can survive. butterflies don't seek out the light because that is where they live, but moths, like hearts, must because otherwise all they will know is darkness, loneliness.
mini spiel
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Picture
here it is. i have a feeling this is going to be an ongoing project but let's see what i can come up with. well for starters the comment that came with the photo is "Hello Horse Creek Hotsprings! Just had a lovely soak." its from a few years ago 3-4, certainly, probably the winter of '05. the snowmobile, my mother's '06 with that lovely metallic orange color i love so much is stopped about 25 feet from the spring shed. that's that brown building there between those two fir trees, i think. beyond that is the Horse Creek road. any way it's an orange '06 RMK that im riding with, and don't quote me on this, but i think it's a 156" track(?). the lovely, durable, and more importantly it fits on the back, tool chest/tub with lunch of salami, crackers, and cheese coated in snow is bolted down with a small coffe thermos, thats actually filled with hot water for cider, on the far side.
i remember my father saying something about the housing for the springs being built sometime in the '60s, '69, i think.
as for myself, my -100 packs and snowmobile bibs are coated with snow and the rest of me is clean as a whistle. it wasn't too cold that day, about 20 or so. just about perfect. an old hoodie head band and my same glasses. one glove because i hate betting fuzzies on my food. chipmunk cheeked and with my usual "oh your taking a picture of me" expression. i had braces for too many years to ever again grin fully. longer hair.
i have seen those trees many many times and yet they never seem to change, even though i know they must. still, i suppose fifteen odd years are truly nothing to a tree. sugar frosted trees, right out of a fairytale with the faintest hint of mist from the springs. a rather marvelous winter wonderland.
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