She eyes the kitchen clock with hostility. Leave at eleven, home again by four? She is buttering her toast with jagged strokes. Silence is assent in our code.
I go into the next room to phone the taxi. My father lives in a hospital for patients who need chronic care. Marriage is for better or for worse, she says,. As we pass them it gives a sudden sense of every object.
I wish I had been nicer to him before he got crazy. It is hard to find the beginning of dementia. I heard his sentences filling up with fear.
He would start a sentence—about weather, lose his way, start another. It made me furious to hear him floundering—. There was a long pause while snow covered us both. At the hospital we pass down long pink halls. Father sits strapped in a chair which is tied to the wall. His face cracks open it could be a grin or rage. Hello love, she says. He jerks his hand away. Mother begins to unpack from her handbag the things she has brought for him,.
He is addressing strenuous remarks to someone in the air between us. Once in a while some old formula floats up through the wash—. I notice his front teeth are getting black. I wonder how you clean the teeth of mad people. He always took good care of his teeth. My mother looks up. She and I often think two halves of one thought. They keep rolling out of his huge stiff fingers. He used to be a big man, over six feet tall and strong,. But now he turns to me with a rush of urgent syllables.
I have a photograph taped to my fridge at home. It shows his World War II air crew posing in front of the plane. Hands firmly behind backs, legs wide apart,. They squint into the brilliant winter sun of My father on the far left is the tallest airman,. The shadowless light makes him look immortal,. His black grin flares once and goes out like a match.
I wake too fast from a cellar of hanged puppies. It is generally anger dreams that occupy my nights now. My dream was of an old woman lying awake in bed. She controls the house by a system of light bulbs strung above her on wires. One by one the switches refuse to turn the bulbs on. Then she creeps out of bed to peer through lattices.
Anger travels through me, pushes aside everything else in my heart,. I want to curse the false friend who said I love you forever. I reach up and switch on the bedside lamp. I lie listening to the light vibrate in my ears. Falsity and bad love and the deadly pain of alteration are constant topics in.
Well, thou halt paid me back my love! But if there be a God above. Whose arm is strong, whose word is true,. This hell shall wring thy spirit too! There go, Deceiver, go! My hand is streaming wet;. Oh could that lost heart give back, back again to thine,. One tenth part of the pain that clouds my dark decline!
Vain words, vain frenzied thoughts! No ear can hear me call—. Lost in the vacant air my frantic curses fall. Unconquered in my soul the Tyrant rules me still—. Life bows to my control, but Love I cannot kill! How did Emily come to lose faith in humans? She admired their dialects, studied their genealogies,. Her introvert nature shrank from shaking hands with someone she met on the moor.
But the poetry shows traces of a deeper explanation. As if anger could be a kind of vocation for some women. The heart is dead since infancy. Unwept for let the body go. Suddenly cold I reach down and pull the blanket back up to my chin. It is stunning, it is a moment like no other,. I could say, Yes I know that I have two hands.
Then one day I awakened on a planet of people whose hands occasionally. From the next room I hear my mother shift and sigh and settle. Out the window the moon is just a cold bit of silver gristle low on fading banks. Our guests are darkly lodged, I whispered, gazing through. The question I am left with is the question of her loneliness.
Astonished light is washing over the moor from north to east. One way to put off loneliness is to interpose God. Emily had a relationship on this level with someone she calls Thou. She describes Thou as awake like herself all night. Thou woos Emily with a voice that comes out of the night wind. Thou and Emily influence one another in the darkness,. I am uneasy with the compensatory model of female religious experience and yet,.
My education, I have to admit, has been gappy. I remember one Sunday I was sitting in the backseat of the car. We were waiting in the driveway for mother,. A unicorn without a horn is nothing more than a mundane horse. By contact with the world, the unicorn has lost some of its distinctiveness and purity. Like the unicorn, Laura initially radiates uniqueness and innocence. Blue roses, like unicorns, do not exist in the real world. Laura stays home all day to tend to her glass figures, but in reality her hobby provides her with an excuse to avoid real-world adult commitments, such as typing school and dating, that her mother tries to force on her.
Like the unicorn, Laura loses some of her purity through contact with Jim. Having thought she could indulge a childhood fantasy and fall in love with Jim, she learns that he is already engaged and has merely been flirting with her. Laura now has an understanding of the way the world works: Do you write long poems? I've been writer longer poems, but nothing as long as The Glass Essay - much longest is about 10 or 11 A4 pages.
Still too long to get easily published in literary magazines, but not long enough to be epic. I had a look at your blog, and have added it to my links list. With that picture of the Jeep coming up right at the top reminded me of my very best friend Joeli, who was very into Jeeps. Though now that she has abandoned me to live far away in Scotland, she's gone and bought a land rover or range rover, I can't remember which.
Anyway, thanks very much for your comment, and all the very best with your research. I just typed a big message, but I don't think it went through. Thanks for the link. I will link this blog to mine as well. The Glass Essay is an absolute brilliant poem. It inspired a poem of mine that is at the center of my manuscript that I am just finishing.
You can see the first two poems at Wicked Alice, an online journal. I am hoping to publish it as a chapbook. You'll see the Carson inspiration right away. It weaves together a mother, an ex lover, a dog, and Vincent van Gogh.
This has been great chatting about Carson. Jennifer, I definitely will email you soon. I just had a look at your poems on Wicked Alice, and enjoyed them very much. Yes, Anne Carson has a way of being both erudite and accessible. I highly recommend Autobiography of Red as well. Hi Priya, thanks for your comment. I've also enjoyed Autobiography of Red, and am, by coincidence, re-reading it at the moment. I've been doing my bit to change that.
Thanks for stopping by. I'll check out your blog too.
Discussion of themes and motifs in Anne Carson's The Glass Essay. eNotes critical analyses help you gain a deeper understanding of The Glass Essay so you can excel on your essay or test.
“The Glass Essay” is an ambitious, inventive, thirty-eight-page series of interrelated poetic montages and meditations on the loss of love. This central theme is developed using three.
The Glass Ceiling Essay. The glass ceiling refers to those artificial barriers based on attitudinal or organizational biases that prevent women from reaching the . Mar 30, · In a recent comment about verse novels I mentioned The Glass Essay by Anne Carson. For the last few years, since I first read it, this has been probably my favourite poem. At least I think of it as a (long) poem. Possibly it’s verse novel, or maybe an epic poem.
but wildly expressive poem, “The Glass Essay,” in which the narrator, while visiting her mother, meditates on a relationship gone bad, on English novelist and poet Emily Brontë (whom she is reading), and on a variety of other interrelated topics. The Glass Castle Summary Research Paper The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls Jeannette Walls is an aspiring journalist who is ashamed of her past. She grew up with three siblings who were going through the same difficulties as she was, and two parents whose idea of life was different from society.