A Book I Just Finished and Liked--A Post by Dale Wisely

[djm]

To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"--

Megrim vs megrims turned up some interesting results.

djm

[Congratulations]

Should I ever be exiled to a desert island , the collected works of Thomas Hardy, including his collected Poems , would be all I would need.

Oh, lord. I read Jude the Obscure and hated every moment of it. I'm willing to blame it on my age, if you are.

[Dale]

Should I ever be exiled to a desert island , the collected works of Thomas Hardy, including his collected Poems , would be all I would need.

Oh, lord. I read Jude the Obscure and hated every moment of it. I'm willing to blame it on my age, if you are.

I read 2/3 of it about a year ago. It may not be your age. I occasionally pick up a classic I've never read--more or less out of guilt--and I....start it.


Dale

[Cynth]

Should I ever be exiled to a desert island , the collected works of Thomas Hardy, including his collected Poems , would be all I would need.

Oh, lord. I read Jude the Obscure and hated every moment of it. I'm willing to blame it on my age, if you are.

I read 2/3 of it about a year ago. It may not be your age. I occasionally pick up a classic I've never read--more or less out of guilt--and I....start it.


Dale

That's one of the books I want to try again. I've known people who just went wild over that book. I read it just a few years ago and it didn't affect me. I guess really I didn't enjoy it. I'm sure there is something there, based on the judgement of so many others, but whether or not I can find it I don't know.

I thought for me age did make a difference in reading A Tale of Two Cities. It didn't affect me much when I was in high school and, as I mentioned, my nieces hated it. After re-reading it recently, I think it is a strange choice for the first book by Dickens to have students read. It is fairly difficult reading for at least the first couple chapters, as in really having to go over and over sentences. The moving moments, or the parts that I was really affected by I think were related strongly to experiences I've had as an adult. I'm thinking especially about the despair of Sidney Carton and also the scariness of mobs, why people join them, the complete loss of rational discourse. I might have given them Great Expectations. I think the reading is not as difficult, particularly right at the beginning, and it seems like high school students would be more able to relate to Pip's growing up and experiences in the world.

[Flyingcursor]

My first attempt at Dickens was David Copperfield. I was 14. It bored me. Last year I tried to read it again. It still bored me.

My other attempts at Dickens have been A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations. No luck. Maybe someday.

I'm actually thinking about reading romance novels so I can try my hand if there are any more contests.

[Congratulations]

I cringe at Dickens. He's like some kind of English Mark Twain.

[Cynth]

THE RUINED MAID

by: Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

" 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"--
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.

"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"--
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.

-- "At home in the barton you said `thee' and `thou,'
And `thik oon,' and `theäs oon,' and `t'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!"--
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.

-- "Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"--
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she.

-- "You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"--
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she.

-- "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!"--
"My dear -- a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.

"The Ruined Maid" is reprinted from Poems of the Past and Present. Thomas Hardy. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1902.

http://www.poetry-archive.com/h/the_ruined_maid.html

That poem is interesting in conjunction with my reading of Dickens right now. It is sort of a step beyond what he could take I think.

I'l ask something here---why are those dashes in some of the words?

That website was good. I found that there are some books that could guide a person with the poetry. I also found another poem there which hit me pretty hard:

I LOOK INTO MY GLASS

by: Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

LOOK into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!”

For then, I, undistrest
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.

But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.

[djm]

I'l ask something here---why are those dashes in some of the words?

Just a guess - he was trying to show that there was a change in the speaker, as there are two speakers in the poem, and each one's speach is surrounded by quotation marks. Perhaps he was trying to make it easier for the reader to tell that the speaker had just changed. I don't know if there is any correct or "formal" way to show this change, or how it would work in a poem.

djm

[JS]

THE MAN HE KILLED

by: Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

"AD he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

"But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

"I shot him dead because --
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

"He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like -- just as I --
Was out of work -- had sold his traps --
No other reason why.

"Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown."

"The Man He Killed" is reprinted from Time's Laughingstocks and Other Verses. Thomas Hardy. London: Macmillan and Co. 1909.

Trading Hardy poems is like trading good tunes, don't you think? I'm probably misremembering a story from one of the Hardy biographies that Mrs. Hardy (his mother) would send young Thomas along to play fiddle with his father in order to keep an eye on the old man. And that the younger Hardy was such an enthusiastic fiddler that a hostess once asked him to stop before he injured himself. (I think the source is Martin Seymour-Smith's Hardy bio.)

My guess is that the dashes within the words (not the ones that seem to help with the shifts in speaker, as djm said) indicate how you would pronounce the words if you were singing the poem as a ballad.

[scottielvr]

I'l ask something here---why are those dashes in some of the words?

I think it's about meter and emphasis. There's a name for this metric pattern, which I can't seem to remember right now (maybe someone can help me out, here). Anyway, read this couplet aloud, putting the emphasis on the second syllable of "prosPERity":

"And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"--
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.

Doesn't quite work, does it. Then re-read it, putting the emphasis on the last syllable, as hinted at by the dash: "ProsperiTY."

Same goes for COMpany vs compaNY, and LAdy vs laDY.

I don't care for the hyphens myself; they seem a bit affected. But they don't make the poem any less enjoyable, I think.

I also found another poem there which hit me pretty hard: I LOOK INTO MY GLASS

That one gets to me, too.

[jim stone]

Channel Firing

That night your great guns, unawares,
Shook all our coffins as we lay,
And broke the chancel window-squares,
We thought it was the Judgment-day

And sat upright. While drearisome
Arose the howl of wakened hounds:
The mouse let fall the altar-crumb,
The worms drew back into the mounds,

The glebe cow drooled. Till God called, "No;
It's gunnery practice out at sea
Just as before you went below;
The world is as it used to be:

"All nations striving strong to make
Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters
They do no more for Christés sake
Than you who are helpless in such matters.

"That this is not the judgment-hour
For some of them's a blessed thing,
For if it were they'd have to scour
Hell's floor for so much threatening ....

"Ha, ha. It will be warmer when
I blow the trumpet (if indeed
I ever do; for you are men,
And rest eternal sorely need)."

So down we lay again. "I wonder,
Will the world ever saner be,"
Said one, "than when He sent us under
In our indifferent century!"

And many a skeleton shook his head.
"Instead of preaching forty year,"
My neighbour Parson Thirdly said,
"I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer."

Again the guns disturbed the hour,
Roaring their readiness to avenge,
As far inland as Stourton Tower,
And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.

-- Thomas Hardy




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(April 1914)

[mutepointe]

I finished re-reading "A Confederacy of Dunces" and am now reading "A Picture of Dorian Gray" for the first time.

i very much want to see a movie made of a confederacy of dunces. i was so sad when john candy died. now i'm hoping for michael moore to be in the leading role. if that fails, my brother could play the part.

[Cynth]

My first attempt at Dickens was David Copperfield. I was 14. It bored me. Last year I tried to read it again. It still bored me.

My other attempts at Dickens have been A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations. No luck. Maybe someday.

I'm actually thinking about reading romance novels so I can try my hand if there are any more contests.

Well, you know a person could just not like Dickens. If you tried some and didn't like them, then I would think that was okay, isn't it? I'm sure when he was writing there were people who didn't like him. Plenty in fact. I think, could have this wrong so don't quote me, that George Eliot's husband, said something like he must have been hallucinating when he composed his dialogue.

I have found that sometimes commentaries (like some of the ones in the back of those Norton editions) help me see things that I missed and make me think about things. Of course, that doesn't help with the boredom while reading problem. Some commentaries, of course, seem totally insane, like the one I read that said "Oliver is a handkerchief."! Okay, not insane, but not comprehensible to the likes of me.

I don't think not liking Dickens is a reason to take to reading romances though.

I cringe at Dickens. He's like some kind of English Mark Twain.

You know, Mark Twain is another author I read some of long ago and need to read more of again. I can't really get my head around the idea of Dickens being some kind of English Mark Twain---I guess I haven't read enough Twain to think that through but my gut instinct says that he isn't. Just like you wouldn't say Twain is like some kind of American Charles Dickens . Apparently, Twain and Dickens never met but Twain heard him read and wrote this review:

San Francisco Alta California, February 5, 1868

MARK TWAIN IN WASHINGTON

[SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE ALTA CALIFORNIA.]

The Great Dickens -- An Honest Criticism -- Political Gossip -- Caning the President -- Winter Festivities -- Jump in Washington.

WASHINGTON, January 11th.

Charles Dickens.

I only heard him read once. It was in New York, last week. I had a seat about the middle of Steinway Hall, and that was rather further away from the speaker than was pleasant or profitable.

Promptly at 8 P.M., unannounced, and without waiting for any stamping or clapping of hands to call him out, a tall, "spry," (if I may say it,) thin-legged old gentleman, gotten up regardless of expense, especially as to shirt-front and diamonds, with a bright red flower in his button-hole, gray beard and moustache, bald head, and with side hair brushed fiercely and tempestuously forward, as if its owner were sweeping down before a gale of wind, the very Dickens came! He did not emerge upon the stage -- that is rather too deliberate a word -- he strode. He strode -- in the most English way and exhibiting the most English general style and appearance -- straight across the broad stage, heedless of everything, unconscious of everybody, turning neither to the right nor the left -- but striding eagerly straight ahead, as if he had seen a girl he knew turn the next corner. He brought up handsomely in the centre and faced the opera glasses. His pictures are hardly handsome, and he, like everybody else, is less handsome than his pictures. That fashion he has of brushing his hair and goatee so resolutely forward gives him a comical Scotch-terrier look about the face, which is rather heightened than otherwise by his portentous dignity and gravity. But that queer old head took on a sort of beauty, bye and bye, and a fascinating interest, as I thought of the wonderful mechanism within it, the complex but exquisitely adjusted machinery that could create men and women, and put the breath of life into them and alter all their ways and actions, elevate them, degrade them, murder them, marry them, conduct them through good and evil, through joy and sorrow, on their long march from the cradle to the grave, and never lose its godship over them, never make a mistake! I almost imagined I could see the wheels and pulleys work. This was Dickens -- Dickens. There was no question about that, and yet it was not right easy to realize it. Somehow this puissant god seemed to be only a man, after all. How the great do tumble from their high pedestals when we see them in common human flesh, and know that they eat pork and cabbage and act like other men.

Mr. Dickens had a table to put his book on, and on it he had also a tumbler, a fancy decanter and a small bouquet. Behind him he had a huge red screen -- a bulkhead -- a sounding-board, I took it to be -- and overhead in front was suspended a long board with reflecting lights attached to it, which threw down a glory upon the gentleman, after the fashion in use in the picture-galleries for bringing out the best effects of great paintings. Style! -- There is style about Dickens, and style about all his surroundings.

He read David Copperfield. He is a bad reader, in one sense -- because he does not enunciate his words sharply and distinctly -- he does not cut the syllables cleanly, and therefore many and many of them fell dead before they reached our part of the house. [I say "our" because I am proud to observe that there was a beautiful young lady with me -- a highly respectable young white woman.] I was a good deal disappointed in Mr. Dickens' reading -- I will go further and say, a great deal disappointed. The Herald and Tribune critics must have been carried away by their imaginations when they wrote their extravagant praises of it. Mr. Dickens' reading is rather monotonous, as a general thing; his voice is husky; his pathos is only the beautiful pathos of his language -- there is no heart, no feeling in it -- it is glittering frostwork; his rich humor cannot fail to tickle an audience into ecstasies save when he reads to himself. And what a bright, intelligent audience he had! He ought to have made them laugh, or cry, or shout, at his own good will or pleasure -- but he did not. They were very much tamer than they should have been.

He pronounced Steerforth "St'yaw-futh." This will suggest to you that he is a little Englishy in his speech. One does not notice it much, however. I took two or three notes on a card; by reference to them I find that Pegotty's anger when he learned the circumstance of Little Emly's disappearance, was "excellent acting -- full of spirit;" also, that Pegotty's account of his search for Emly was "bad;" and that Mrs. Micawber's inspired suggestions as to the negotiation of her husband's bills, was "good;" (I mean, of course, that the reading was;) and that Dora the child-wife, and the storm at Yarmouth, where Steerforth perished, were not as good as they might have been. Every passage Mr. D. read, with the exception of those I have noted, was rendered with a degree of ability far below what his reading reputation led us to expect. I have given "first impressions." Possibly if I could hear Mr. Dickens read a few more times I might find a different style of impressions taking possession of me. But not knowing anything about that, I cannot testify.

Dickens was 55 at the time.And Mark Twain was 32.
http://charlesdickenspage.com/america.html


It took me so long to write this that I didn't know all these poems and comments had been posted. So I need to read them more carefully. I'm not ignoring them! Just didn't know they were there.

[Flyingcursor]

This will suggest to you that he is a little Englishy in his speech

Mark Twain rocks.


Thanks Cynth. Perhaps I can now off any pretentions of ever reading Dickens and keep a clear conscience. He's just too Englishy.