English Literture and Silence

The times, they are a changing. Jispa has been studying regularly and I too have been studying along with her. No this time around its not me studying thanks to her but I am genuinely studying for a damn exam that I have to give. In the insurance industry one has to give some relevant exams if one has to represent the firm in various forums. This Saturday Jispa and I, both sat to study on the dining table. I found myself studying seriously, very seriously. I studied the whole day and finished one book of three that I needed to. It was quite surprising. I hate studying and I hate exams and I can’t bear to give any other one anymore.

The last time I gave a test professionally was around 15 years ago when in the broking industry there was a need for certification. I hated the feeling and I never understood why I should be the one giving the exams. They were meant for the sales and the dealers, not marketing professionals. The only reason the CEO made it compulsory for all, was that each certification was compulsory for each terminal and we needed as many as we could get. The stupid dealers were not competent by themselves to pass these tests and hence it was compulsory for all. He had made it a mandatory thing if you want your bonus.

Even then, studying without a purpose is a complete burden on yourself. I just found it difficult to sit down, remove time and study. But this time around things are different. I don’t know. Possibly because it’s a start up and hence there is a greater sense of a shared vision in me or because it’s just that I am older and saner and wiser and I realize that I have to pass this exam, I am studying religiously. I took a pen and the book and went through the whole book word by word. I took in time to understand the syllabus and try and remember the key points. At the end of the day, it wasn’t a chore; there was something more to it.

Jispa has also been studying like it’s serious business. For her studying is not a bore. She is right now amazing me by making notes of what she needs to study and she is carrying her books everywhere. Yesterday while we sat at the Starbucks at a mall, she was busy making her biology notes. I was talking to her, that I was never ever as serious as her about studying and looking at her makes my heart feel very warm. She is putting pressure on her own to study and do well. She wants to study. I told her that I think that, one of the big factors is also what she is studying. The style of teaching, the text books, the ability to put thought, the teachers, everything is so amazing that you feel like studying. I had a shit load of everything and my life was all about mugging up. That was studying. No application of brain or thought or out of the box thinking in an exam. Just shut up and vomit your brain of all the unwanted shit as fast as possible. If you met me 24 hours after an exam, I wouldn’t have even been able to recollect most of the syllabus. I remember cramming formulas seconds before the exam and running inside the class and writing it on the answer sheet, first thing. Then you can refer to it when you want, as you want.  That was my studies.

Jispa has been writing amazing things for her favorite English literature subject. We share a lot of time discussing stuff about how to interpret her English poetry. The other thing we also spend time over is listening to her music. I am trying to connect to it and am making an effort to listen to it. It’s been largely rewarding. I too have been trying to get out some old songs and getting her to listen to it. One song that V-inu played when we were at his place and which came up in the listening list on internet radio was ‘The sound of silence’ which was re-sung as a cover by Disturbed. It’s an amazing version with a really gruff voice of a rock singer. When melody meets a gruff voice and some tempo changing, it makes for a compelling listening.

Here you judge

But while you do so remember the original by Simon and Garfunkel. It’s a lovely one with the melody coming in through the strumming of the acoustic guitar and the vocals in chorus.

You decide which one is the better one!

But the point is not the music, but the juxtaposition of the poetry. With Jispa and me talking music and English, such music with amazing lyrics suddenly has far more meaning that simple melody

"The Sound Of Silence"

Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

‘Neath the halo of a streetlamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

No one dare

Disturb the sound of silence

“Fools” said I, “You do not know

Silence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you”

But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed

To the neon god they made

And the sign flashed out its warning

In the words that it was forming

And the sign said “The words of the prophets

Are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls

And whispered in the sounds of silence”

Tell me it’s not poetry and tell me it’s not literature. Garfunkel once summed up the song's meaning as "the inability of people to communicate with each other, not particularly internationally but especially emotionally, so what you see around you are people unable to love each other”

We look at songs as lower art than poetry and pop songs as the way lower. I have argued that pop songs that fire a population’s imagination are as much literature as anything else. I have argues way back in my blog piece ( http://jaimit.blogspot.in/2009/07/time-to-change-times.html ) that Bob Dylan should be taught in schools and then, recently, it gave me joy to know that he got the Nobel Prize for literature. While there has been enough criticism on this, I firmly support the move. It brings song writers within the realm of serious literature. If Shakespeare would have been alive, would we have given him the Nobel or would we have told him that an Oscar is at best what he can do?

The Nobel prize allowed Jispa and me to revisit our friend Dylan while we were returning in the car. She put the music on as we listened to the times, they are a changing’ and “blowin in the wind”. She took my phone and searched for the lyrics online while the song was playing, enjoying the poetry in the composition as much as the melody.  Who knew English syllabus and Music would merge?

 Now that is song writing! If that doesn’t deserve the Nobel then what does.

A Nobel prize is a cash award for sure, it’s a recognition of the individual for sure, but more than anything, its role is to inspire many more to either emulate and try and achieve or simply still, follow the work being done in order to understand and imbibe. Because simple money can come in the form a grant, but real difference comes from the inspiration that recognition brings about. That is the true value of a Prize, especially if it is as big the Nobel Prize.

--

End bonus video of the "Disturbed" singer on singing the Sound of Silence.

time to change times?

After reading the Bob Dylan post, v-inu was like ‘my firend is listening to Bob Dylan!!! What happened to you?’ I think he was wondering if I had gotten potty in the head (for those wondering where they have heard the phrase, credits - Bill Waterston). The answer is guilty as charged with a slight variation on the crime. I dint get potty in the head – I always was potty in the head. Odd heads attract. That why we are still friends, you fiend. Before you point out, noopes, that is not a spelling error, you fiend. Add Dinesh to the equation and you have the cone heads.
So in continuation of my new found passion, here is more Bob Dylan. Learning from mistakes of the last experience I am not over theorizing. In fact I am not theorizing at all. The words of Umberto Eco come to mind - "I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth. "

So hence I am merely reproducing the lyrics of – The times they are a changing. Quite nice poetry. I wonder why popular culture is shunned by the text books. We had the bal bharati series of text books with only works of poets that had died at least a 100 years ago. Don’t get me wrong. They were pretty ok, even inspiring and interesting at times but wouldn’t Bob Dylan in there be cool? I can even imagine my poetry teachers getting a guitar and a harmonica to class and singing the songs. Ok on second thoughts – I don’t want THEM to sing it. It would have made poor Bob uncool. But you get the point.
So before I introduce Bob let me introduce you to some of the poetry I remember reading / learning.

William Wordsworth (1770 –1850)
The Solitary Reaper

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

I loved this one. I was in love with the solitary reaper. Well yah, in love with the image of the solitary reaper that I had in my mind. This poem stirred up all the newly found hormones of a 14 year old.
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The next one was a favorite then and is a favorite now. This I knew by rote then and I often quote from it now. It was an inspiring one. I quite liked it.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
A PSALM OF LIFE

Tell me not in mournful numbers,

"Life is but an empty dream!"

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us further than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act -- act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour and to wait

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The next one appealed to my nationalist tendencies. I was a staunch nationalist. I wanted to join the army. I also completed my C certificate in the National Cadet Corps. I still remember my number - No 1 Mah Air Sqd 91/105601. I am a bit more ambivalent or should I say pragmatic about nationalism now.

Sir Walter Scott – (1771- 1832)
This is my own native land

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

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And now let’s have Bob Dylan. He would have been able to hold his own in face of the older greats. At least in the high school text books for sure.

Bob Dylan (1941 - )
The Times They Are A-Changin'

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to youIs worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road isRapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

Now that would be pretty cool. Have this in the text book and also have the audio visual play.
As for now – I am inspired enough to play cowboy and shoot with my mouse.

how many thoughts must a man have before we can call him a man?

One of the first things that happened in this new place is that I started going through some old DVD’s I had. I saw one without a label. Hmm what is it. a ha – some songs, deaf leopard, Bob Marley, Bob Dylan etc.. hey hold on Bob Dylan huh? I am no music geek. In fact I am hearld music anything but I remember liking some of Bob Dylan. Let play it. Today as I was playing the song I rediscovered was ‘blowing in the wind’. I had definitely heard it during college days, but I felt something else as I heard it today. The lyrics got out and reached some inner core. The amazing simplicity of the song had me spell bound. Even as I read or play it over and over again I find myself as captivated as ever.
I reproduce the lyrics here:-

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, n how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, n how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before theyre forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin in the wind,
The answer is blowin in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, n how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, n how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin in the wind,
The answer is blowin in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before its washed to the sea?
Yes, n how many years can some people exist
Before theyre allowed to be free?
Yes, n how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesnt see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin in the wind,
The answer is blowin in the wind.

It is simple direct poetry at its best. In fact it is so simple that I got a bit confused trying to decipher the answer ‘is blowing in the wind’. What was on his mind? What is the poet alluding to? What is it that he is saying? Searching on net I came across the following para:-

"Blowin' in the Wind" is a song written by Bob Dylan and released on his 1963 album The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan. Although it has been described as a protest song, it poses a series of rhetorical questions about peace, war, and freedom. The refrain "The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind" has been described as "impenetrably ambiguous: either the answer is so obvious it is right in your face, or the answer is as intangible as the wind". The song makes no reference to a specific event.

But further reading got me to these words that Dylan himself wrote:
There ain’t too much I can say about this song except that the answer is blowing in the wind. It ain’t in no book or movie or TV show or discussion group. Man, it’s in the wind—and it’s blowing in the wind. Too many of these hip people are telling me where the answer is but oh I won’t believe that. I still say it’s in the wind and just like a restless piece of paper it’s got to come down some ...But the only trouble is that no one picks up the answer when it comes down so not too many people get to see and know ...and then it flies away I still say that some of the biggest criminals are those that turn their heads away when they see wrong and know it’s wrong. I’m only 21 years old and I know that there’s been too many ...You people over 21, you’re older and smarter.

The song is so simple a protest. Simplicity. That is the essence of his song, his verse and his thought. Only a work of an uncluttered mind can think like this. Sometimes I find it so silly that we try and see for deeper, hidden agendas and meaning where none really exist. It must be coming from an inner core of human mind that seeks to demystify and ‘solve’ everything. Sometimes they need no solving. Let them be. A blank mind can absorb so much.

That is also one of the reasons that I like teaching undergraduates as opposed to post graduate student. Something cracks once they get into an MBA. An attitude that says, I know it all. A selfish self centered attitude, a desire to control your own destiny, a stronger sense of internal belief that doesn’t open to outside influence? I don’t know. I too must have been that once I guess. Who knows – I might still be one now.

For some reason another post of mine comes to my mind as if its related http://jaimit.blogspot.com/2007/04/long-live-buddha-kill-him-on-road.html