The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare. Act Three, Scene Two.
"TRANIO
Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
PETRUCHIO
It may not be.
GREMIO
Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO
It cannot be.
KATHARINA
Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO
I am content.
KATHARINA
Are you content to stay?
PETRUCHIO
I am content you shall entreat me stay;
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
KATHARINA
Now, if you love me, stay.
PETRUCHIO
Grumio, my horse."
In William Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, The Bard tells a comedic tale set in the sixteenth century in which an outspoken woman named Kate marries a shrewd man named Petruchio. Although both of similar demeanor, Shakespeare keeps the outcome of their abstract matrimony unclear, foreshadowing both successful and disastrous endings. Shakespeare indirectly characterizes Petruchio as sophomoric and uncaring about his marriage through the couple’s banter over his decision to leave directly after his wedding ceremony without his wife. Kate, who had allegedly felt repulsed by the thought of marrying Petruchio, almost begs for him to stay home with her: “Let me entreat you” (3.2. 200). Her pleading tone implies that she secretly does admire Petruchio, despite her earlier objections. When he challenges her to convince him not to leave, she responds: “Now if you love me, stay,” (3.2. 205). Because Kate expects this to persuade him to linger, the reader can infer that if Petruchio had asked that of her, she would have obeyed him as a demonstration of her love. Her sincere wish for him to remain may foreshadow a successful marriage based on admiration of each other’s shrewd personality. However, Petruchio immediately reacts to her challenge with: “Grumio, my horse!” a comical yet off-putting reply to Kate’s objections (3.2. 206). His uncaring and immature attitude toward their marriage foreshadows a tragic ending in which Kate may likely have her heart broken “If she had not the spirit to resist” (3.2. 221). Luckily, the direct characterization of her persistent personality allows the reader to have faith in their marriage.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Kay Ryan’s “On the Nature of Understanding:” Understandably Unstable
"On the Nature of Understanding" by Kay Ryan
Say you hoped to
tame something
wild and stayed
calm and inched up
day by day. Or even
not tame it but
meet it halfway.
Things went along.
You made progress,
understanding
it would be a
lengthy process,
sensing changes
in your hair and
nails. So it's
strange when it
attacks: you thought
you had a deal.
Kay Ryan, the multiple award-winning United States Poet Laureate, published her poem “On the Nature of Understanding” in The New Yorker July 25, 2011. After years of fighting the War on Terror in the Middle East and battling the falling economy, Americans can strongly empathize with Ryan’s poem, in which she discusses one’s desperate attempt to tame something wild—only to have the process backfire. By demonstrating the inevitable unsuccessful results of trying to tame something wild, Ryan encourages people to accept that some things will—and should—always stay out of their control. From the very first line, Ryan makes clear that one can never domesticate something wild in stating: “Say you hoped to/ tame something” (1-2). Ryan’s diction of “hoped” implies that one rarely succeeds at taming wild things, asserting that one’s efforts would prove futile. Because of her assertion, the reader finds situational irony when the person who tries to tame the wild thinks that “it’s/ strange when it/ attacks” (15-17). Ryan therefore indirectly characterizes any tamer of the wild as naïve for trying to impress his or herself upon a stronger force. Instead, Ryan promotes a more accepting view of the world, in which one understands that life necessitates an unstable variable in order to stay diverse and change for the better. If one tries to control that unstable variable, he/she will actually inhibit his/her opportunity to learn and grow from it. In discouraging the taming of something unpredictable, Ryan urges those who feel threatened by the unknown to approach it with an open mind, hence allowing people to learn from each other’s differences.
Say you hoped to
tame something
wild and stayed
calm and inched up
day by day. Or even
not tame it but
meet it halfway.
Things went along.
You made progress,
understanding
it would be a
lengthy process,
sensing changes
in your hair and
nails. So it's
strange when it
attacks: you thought
you had a deal.
Kay Ryan, the multiple award-winning United States Poet Laureate, published her poem “On the Nature of Understanding” in The New Yorker July 25, 2011. After years of fighting the War on Terror in the Middle East and battling the falling economy, Americans can strongly empathize with Ryan’s poem, in which she discusses one’s desperate attempt to tame something wild—only to have the process backfire. By demonstrating the inevitable unsuccessful results of trying to tame something wild, Ryan encourages people to accept that some things will—and should—always stay out of their control. From the very first line, Ryan makes clear that one can never domesticate something wild in stating: “Say you hoped to/ tame something” (1-2). Ryan’s diction of “hoped” implies that one rarely succeeds at taming wild things, asserting that one’s efforts would prove futile. Because of her assertion, the reader finds situational irony when the person who tries to tame the wild thinks that “it’s/ strange when it/ attacks” (15-17). Ryan therefore indirectly characterizes any tamer of the wild as naïve for trying to impress his or herself upon a stronger force. Instead, Ryan promotes a more accepting view of the world, in which one understands that life necessitates an unstable variable in order to stay diverse and change for the better. If one tries to control that unstable variable, he/she will actually inhibit his/her opportunity to learn and grow from it. In discouraging the taming of something unpredictable, Ryan urges those who feel threatened by the unknown to approach it with an open mind, hence allowing people to learn from each other’s differences.
Innocence is Bliss? Embracing Wisdom in Stephen Dunn’s “Elegy for My Innocence”
"Elegy for My Innocence" by Stephen Dunn
You always stumbled in,
came out smelling
not quite like a rose.
Your most repeated gesture:
the blush.
You didn't know how to hide.
I do not miss you, but experience
is the guest
who only knows how to stay.
You, at least, were built to go,
which is why you can be loved.
I remember everything you craved.
Interesting, how you were diminished
by whatever you got. Sex,
knowledge, you kept going up in flames.
Each year you became
a little more dangerous,
eyes wide, the same poor reflexes
for pain. I last saw you
in Texas, 1963. No need by then
for a goodbye. Yet I've heard
that at the end of a long passage,
a lifetime, something like you exists,
terrifying and desirable,
and that no one who hasn't sinned
ever arrives. Innocence,
we could be such friends
if that were so. I'd start out now
if I didn't know
the lies told in your name.
In Stephen Dunn’s poem “Elegy for My Innocence,” the speaker addresses his/her Innocence as a person, personifying and explaining their waning relationship. After the turbulent atmosphere of the 1960s in which the Civil Rights movement took violent turns and Lee Harvey Oswald publicly assassinated the young President Kennedy in Texas, the speaker realizes Inno-cence has completely vanished from his/her life. However, the speaker, although feeling nostal-gic over his/her lost innocence, also feels proud of the experience he/she has gained, and there-fore accepts Innocence’s absence. The speaker understands that Innocence never could have stayed in his/her life, admitting, “You…were built to go” (10). The confession evokes a defeatist tone, asserting that everyone’s innocence will disappear at some point, despite one’s efforts to preserve it. The speaker alludes to these useless efforts in lamenting, “we could be such friends/ …if I didn’t know/ the lies told in your name” (27, 29-30). Ironically, because so many indi-viduals have lied to themselves about their painful experiences in an attempt to maintain their blamelessness, the speaker feels that they have corrupted the entire concept of ‘innocence.’ Yet the speaker has wisely learned to embrace his/her sensitive memories, as indirectly characterized when he/she states, “I do not miss you… experience/ …only knows how to stay” (7, 9). He/she reflects upon his/her new insight with pride, knowing “that no one who hasn’t sinned” has had to sacrifice their virtue for wisdom (25). Through this confidence, Dunn urges those afraid of losing their innocence to instead welcome new experiences in order to gain more knowledge over time.
You always stumbled in,
came out smelling
not quite like a rose.
Your most repeated gesture:
the blush.
You didn't know how to hide.
I do not miss you, but experience
is the guest
who only knows how to stay.
You, at least, were built to go,
which is why you can be loved.
I remember everything you craved.
Interesting, how you were diminished
by whatever you got. Sex,
knowledge, you kept going up in flames.
Each year you became
a little more dangerous,
eyes wide, the same poor reflexes
for pain. I last saw you
in Texas, 1963. No need by then
for a goodbye. Yet I've heard
that at the end of a long passage,
a lifetime, something like you exists,
terrifying and desirable,
and that no one who hasn't sinned
ever arrives. Innocence,
we could be such friends
if that were so. I'd start out now
if I didn't know
the lies told in your name.
In Stephen Dunn’s poem “Elegy for My Innocence,” the speaker addresses his/her Innocence as a person, personifying and explaining their waning relationship. After the turbulent atmosphere of the 1960s in which the Civil Rights movement took violent turns and Lee Harvey Oswald publicly assassinated the young President Kennedy in Texas, the speaker realizes Inno-cence has completely vanished from his/her life. However, the speaker, although feeling nostal-gic over his/her lost innocence, also feels proud of the experience he/she has gained, and there-fore accepts Innocence’s absence. The speaker understands that Innocence never could have stayed in his/her life, admitting, “You…were built to go” (10). The confession evokes a defeatist tone, asserting that everyone’s innocence will disappear at some point, despite one’s efforts to preserve it. The speaker alludes to these useless efforts in lamenting, “we could be such friends/ …if I didn’t know/ the lies told in your name” (27, 29-30). Ironically, because so many indi-viduals have lied to themselves about their painful experiences in an attempt to maintain their blamelessness, the speaker feels that they have corrupted the entire concept of ‘innocence.’ Yet the speaker has wisely learned to embrace his/her sensitive memories, as indirectly characterized when he/she states, “I do not miss you… experience/ …only knows how to stay” (7, 9). He/she reflects upon his/her new insight with pride, knowing “that no one who hasn’t sinned” has had to sacrifice their virtue for wisdom (25). Through this confidence, Dunn urges those afraid of losing their innocence to instead welcome new experiences in order to gain more knowledge over time.
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