Thursday, December 12, 2024

Eve L. Ewing's 1919 (#poem)


or does it explode

July 27 was hot, 96 degrees, or fourteen points above normal. It was the culmination of a series of days with high temperatures around 95 degrees, which meant that nerves were strained. (11)

man it was so hot

how hot was it

it was so hot
you could cook an egg
on that big forehead of yours
 
you a lie
 
man i tell you it was so hot
 
how hot
 
it was so hot
i dropped a tomato in the lake
and made campbell's soup

nuh uh

it was so hot
the sun tried to get in the swimming pool
and everybody else had to get out

boy that's hot

who you tellin
that day was so hot

how hot

it was so hot
our dreams laid out on the sidewalk
and said 'never mind, we good'

-Eve L. Ewing

On July 27th, 1919, a race riot broke out in Chicago. The beaches of the south side were de facto segregated, and a seventeen-year-old Black boy strayed too close what was thought of as a White beach. He may have been struck by a stone--stones were thrown--or he may have been afraid to come into the White beach when his strength ran out, but in any case he drowned. The police, on the scene, took no action, and a riot started that engulfed the city. Twenty-three Black people were killed and fifteen White people in addition to numerous injuries and enormous property damage.

In the aftermath, a committee was appointed by the governor of Illinois to investigate; it consisted of six White people and six Black people. They produced a report: The Negro in Chicago, a Study on Race Relations and a Race Riot, that came out in 1922. The report sounds (by the standards of the time) balanced enough; the epigraph to the poem above comes from that report.

Eve L. Ewing is a professor of sociology at the University of Chicago, as well as a poet. (She also writes for Marvel Comics!) In the course of her academic research, she was reading the report and was inspired to write this short book of poems in reaction. The title of this poem of course alludes to Langston Hughes' Harlem, sometimes known as A Dream Deferred. ("What happens to a dream deferred?/.../or does it explode?"--in this case it exploded.)

As a Chicagoan, I knew the basic outlines of the story but not as many details as I now know after finishing the book, which also includes a historical overview. I did not know for instance that Mayor Daley (the first Mayor Daley, Richard J.) was likely a rioter, though he refused to talk about it and it was never definitely proven. This is shocking...though also not. He would have been seventeen at the time of the riot.
 
Anyway, a fascinating short volume and one I'm glad my library was able to supply.


Wednesday, December 11, 2024

Rosmersholm by Henrik Ibsen (#Norway)

MRS. HELSETH: But children don't cry at Rosmersholm, Miss.
REBEKKA  (Looks at her): Don't cry?
MRS. HELSETH: No. As long as people can remember, children have never been known to cry in this house.
REBEKKA: How very strange.
MRS. HELSETH: Yes, isn't it? It runs in the family. And then there's another strange thing. When they grow up, they never laugh. Never--as long as they live.
REBEKKA: Why, how queer--
MRS. HELSETH: Do you ever remember hearing or seeing Pastor Rosmer laugh, Miss?
REBEKKA: No, I don't believe I ever have,...

Rosmersholm is Henrik Ibsen's play of 1886. Rosmersholm is the ancestral family home of the well-to-do Rosmer family, whose current head is Johannes Rosmer, a pastor 45 years old. But he's a pastor who has lost his faith and has just given up his pastoral role, not least because his wife committed suicide and he's still in grief. Was her death the result of mental illness, or was he in some way responsible? He can't decide.

In addition to Johannes Rosmer, living in the house are Rebekka West, who'd arrived as a companion for Beata Rosmer, but stayed on after Beata's death, and Mrs. Hesketh, the long-standing family maid. Over the course of the play three visitors come, each more than once. Andreas Kroll, Rosmer's brother-in-law, is the first; there are also Peder Mortensgaard, publisher of a left-wing newspaper who has a history with Rosmer, and Ulrik Brendel, Rosmer's former tutor, but now a drunk.

His three visitors all want something from Rosmer. Kroll hadn't visited since his sister's suicide; the grief he and Rosmer share meant they couldn't bring themselves to talk to each other. (The inability to express emotion is a theme.) But now the left has won the last election in Norway and Kroll, a staunch conservative, expects Rosmer to stand up for the forces of good, as he sees them, church and crown and all that. Kroll is organizing a new newspaper advocating conservatism and wants Rosmer to be the editor. But Rosmer thinks the left might have some arguments on its side.

Mortensgaard wants Rosmer to stand up for the left in his paper, but only if he's still a proper Christian: he's got plenty of atheists already in his stable. But when Rosmer's unwilling to lie about his new (lack of) faith, Mortensgaard says he has no use for him, and will be forced to consider him an enemy.

Brendel wants a clean shirt, a jacket--and money--so he can throw it away at a local bar. He's a bit the comic relief, but we also learn some of Johannes Rosmer's back story from their conversations.

Why did Beata Rosmer commit suicide? Though modern diagnoses are perhaps suspect, everyone does assume she was depressed, without quite using the word. But also she had learned she was not able to bear children; so, unless she died, she would mark the end of the Rosmer line and Rosmersholm would no longer have a Rosmer. And, before she dies, she sends a letter to Mortensgaard claiming her husband is in love with Rebekka West.

Was he? Maybe a little. It was in conversation with Rebekka West that Rosmer moved to the left politically; now, during the course of the play, do we see their interactions as perhaps a bit too friendly for an unmarried man and woman? Certainly Kroll does. Can a man and a woman just be friends? It's not always an easy question now, and it was much more loaded in 1886. Kroll at first assumes there's nothing between them, but then begins to wonder; he's the first to suggest that maybe the two of them should get married. He also rather rudely (and inaccurately) suggests to Rebekka West she's a gold-digger.
 
The idea really hadn't occurred to Rosmer before (did I mention repressed?) but once it's suggested, he decides it's a good one and proposes to Rebekka; she turns him down. 

How does all of this get resolved? Ibsen did write one or two comedies, it seems; I've never read or seen any of them, and this isn't one either...

A local troupe (Crow's Theatre) did the play in October and we went to see it. I hadn't read or seen the play before, and I decided to be surprised. (Other than my general sense that Ibsen's prose plays are mostly tragedies.) Then I read it afterwards in a different translation. The stage version said it was an adaptation, by Duncan Macmillan; the translation I just read (quoted above) was by Eva La Gallienne. There was one bit in particular I wondered if it was in the original.

Rebekka West won't marry Rosmer because she says she can't bring the purity to the marriage he deserves. That almost certainly implied she was not a virgin and was being fastidious. For a play set in Victorian times that's not improbable and I think that's what Ibsen intends us to think. Rebekka West believed herself an orphan with a father she'd never met; she was raised by a foster father, Dr. West, after her mother died; it's from Dr. West she gets her education and intellectual interests. She clearly worshipped him. Kroll believes, and goes on to 'prove', though his evidence is mostly circumstantial, that Dr. West was Rebekka West's biological father. She's shocked by the suggestion, says it can't be true, she's not illegitimate, but she begins to believe it.

In the production I saw, the actress curled up in a corner of the stage and half-whimpered her lines; it was a very powerful moment, and the clear implication was that the person she'd lost her 'purity' with was, in fact, Dr. West, her foster father, and she hadn't known he was her biological father. And that's what I wondered about. Ibsen was famously frank about sex for his time, but was he really willing to put even a mention of father-daughter incest on stage in 1886? The Macmillan version did say it was an adaptation.

But as far as I can tell without both texts in front of me, the 'adaptation' was pretty close to a translation, and La Gallienne in the introduction to her translation (from the 1950s; her father, a journalist, had interviewed Ibsen at one time) thinks the incest is implied. So the answer may be, yes, Ibsen was willing. But I do think the text sufficiently ambiguous the play could be staged without suggesting incest, if the director wanted to.
 
Rebecca West, the writer, author of Black Lamb and Gray Falcon, was born Cecily Isabel Fairfield, and took her name from the character in this play. That was a bit shocking. Rebekka West was a pretty admirable figure in the play, but I might prefer a pen name from somebody who had more luck in life myself...


Thursday, November 28, 2024

Piet Hein's Grooks (#poem)

 

Nothing is Indispensable

(Grook to warn the universe against megalomania)

The universe may
be as great as they say.
But it wouldn't be missed
if it didn't exist.

Those Who Know

Those who always
know what's best
are
a universal pest.

Problems

Problems worthy of attack
prove their worth by hitting back.
 
The Road to Wisdom

The road to wisdom? Well, it's plain
and simple to express:
Err
and err
and err again,
but less
and less
and less.
-Piet Hein
 
Piet Hein (1905-1996) was a Danish polymath (theoretical physics, city planning, inventor of the Soma Cube puzzle...) and like all Scandinavians, but especially the polymathic ones, was perfectly fluent in English. He wrote short, aphoristic poems he called grooks (gruk in Danish), a word he made up in both languages. The English versions were done with the assistance of Jens Arup. Martin Gardner in his Mathematical Games column was a huge fan, but do I remember reading about him in Scientific American when I was a nerdy eight-year-old? Not really...but I could have! (Since I was a nerdy eight-year-old, who got a subscription to Scientific American every Christmas.)

They often come with pictures:

Not all of these come from Grooks 2. There were at least six volumes in English (and more volumes in Danish) in the sixties and seventies.

One last...
 
What Love is Like
 
Love is like
a pineapple,
sweet and
undefinable.

-Piet Hein