The Nature of Dialogue:

The Sunset Limited and No Exit

 

             A conversation can mean many things. We create them every day, without even giving it a second thought. Communication can inspire, it can torment, it can change our lives with just a flick of the tongue. So what is the nature of dialogue? Is it’s true purpose something more than just a matter of shooting the breeze? Dialogue has such a huge impact on the life experience. “Typically, conversation is not forced, but depends more properly on two or more parties being interested in a subject, be it in an agreeable or antagonistic mode (a cheery tête-à-tête versus a heated argument). The topic under discussion and the remarks of other people may hold one’s attention and interest, and so one participates, responds with one’s own thoughts.”(Quirk, William. “‘Minimalist Tragedy’: Nietzschean Thought in McCarthy’s The Sunset Limited.” Cormac McCarthy Journal Fall 2010)    

There is a play, that I would like to think is based entirely around the strength of its dialogue, Cormac McCarthy’s The Sunset Limited. Two men are sitting at a table in a small room, “This is a room in a tenant building in a black ghetto neighborhood in New York City.”(McCarthy) It was only hours earlier they were complete strangers. But not only do they share the space around them now, but they also have an incredible experience to share. The characters are known only as Black, who is possibly in his late 50s, African American man and White who is a middle aged Caucasian man, and that Black refers to always as Professor. Now maybe McCarthy was on to something by keep their identities vague. As viewers we do learn some about their lives, where they come from, events that hold significance. But it is clear to me that because of this choice to keep things simple, our attention is much more focused on the dialogue between Black and White, and the unintentional relationship they have built. The play begins:

BLACK. So what am I supposed to do with you, Professor?

WHITE. Why are you supposed to do anything?

BLACK. I done told you. This ain't none of my doin. I left out of here this mornin to go to work you wasn't no part of my plans at all. But here you is.

WHITE. It doesn't mean anything. Everything that happens doesn't mean something else.

BLACK. Mm hm. It don't.

WHITE. No. It doesn't.

BLACK. What's it mean then?

WHITE. It doesn't mean anything. You run into people and maybe some of them are in trouble or whatever but it doesn't mean that you're responsible for them.

BLACK. Mm hm. (McCarthy)

One can only imagine how awkward of a conversation it would be, sitting down and chatting after a subway train suicide attempt. Obviously there are light tones and dark tones to their words. McCarthy has written a strong play with very intricate characters, which keeps us listening, bringing the audience into the conversation.

The entire construction of the play, only one room, small, intimate, just two people talking, debating, learning, reminds me of another, Jean Paul Sartre’s No Exit. It is in this play that we are also invited into a single room, where there are conversations and discussions. We are introduced to three different characters, they all are given names and refer to each other as such, two women and one man. They have been guided to this room, which happens to be located in Hell. What makes it kind of odd, to the audience as well as the characters, is that it is not at all what they expected hell to be like. Garcin, who is the gentleman, is the first to enter, followed later by Inez and then Estelle. As they enter at their separate times they are surprised to find no torment taking place, instead just plain walls and furniture. Unlike The Sunset Limited, in No Exit there is one other character. He is only known as the Valet, and to be honest I am not sure it specifies whether it is a man or woman. Mainly, because I feel it does not matter. What really matters is their interactions with each other, and how their connections develop through their dialogue:

VALET. And you’ll find that living in a Second Empire drawing-room has its points.

GARCIN. Really?...Yes, yes, I dare say…Still I certainly didn’t expect—this! You know what they tell us down there?

VALET. What about?

GARCIN. About…this- er—residence?

VALET. Really, sir, how could you believe such cock-and-bull stories? Told by people who’d never set foot here. For, of course, if they had—

GARCIN. Quite so. But I say, where are the instruments of torture?

VALET. The what?

GARCIN. The racks and the red hot pinchers and all the other paraphernalia? (Sartre)

Once all three arrive they exchange words, and do a sort of meet and greet and we are shown through these first few verbal exchanges what kind of people they are. Garcin, a pacifist who tried to run from war, Estelle a heartbreaker obsessed with her own vanity of her reality, and then there is Inez, a woman who tries to connect with people, struggles because she allows jealousy to consume her. I am intrigued by these characters, but I do not sympathize for them. They talk with hollow words it seems.

Is it possible that Black and White’s conversations may feel more meaningful to themselves and the audience because there are only two of them? Or maybe it is how their story began that might give the sense of a deeper emotional sensation:

                        WHITE. I should go. I'm beginning to get on your nerves.

                        BLACK. No you ain't. Don't pay no attention to me. You seem like

a sweet man, Professor. I reckon what I don't understand is how come you to get yourself in such a fix. (McCarthy)

Black wants to get to know White, he wants him to stay, maybe to learn something about White and then in turn learn something about himself. Their meeting couldn’t have happened just by chance could it? Black does not believe so. There is more to all of this. He feels the need for this moment to continue, so that they can both gain from it, Black talks, then he listens. White listens, then he talks. These two actions are very important when trying to have an impactful conversation.

In No Exit, the three characters Garcin, Inez and Estelle try at first to listen to one another, but it is short lived. Instead of wanting to listen and ask questions to learn about another, they only point out each other’s flaws and in turn try to hide their own. Do they want to open up to one another, or is it merely the three only squabbling:

INEZ. Estelle!  

ESTELLE. Please, Mr. Garcin!  

GARCIN. What is it?  

ESTELLE. You're sitting on my sofa.  

GARCIN. I beg your pardon.  

ESTELLE. You looked so--so far away. Sorry I disturbed you.  

GARCIN. I was setting my life in order. You may laugh but you'd do better to follow my example.  

INEZ. No need. My life's in perfect order. It tidied itself up nicely of its own accord. So I needn't bother about it now.  

GARCIN. Really? You imagine it's so simple as that. (Sartre)

With the trio going back and forth while trying to adjust to their new situation, it’s a surprise if they had heard one another at all. It could be that they are not interested in what the other has to say, their only concern is themselves, which might have a lot to do with why they are in hell in the first place.

In The Sunset Limited Black tries his best to figure out White. He has so many questions and is intrigued by the situation of their meeting. White tries to keep to himself through the evening and makes multiple attempts to leave, but Black won’t have it. One of the times White tries to make his way out, as if he is done with the situation rather than the conversation, but Black just continues speaking as if White’s leaving was all part of the evening at hand:

WHITE. What?

BLACK. Nothin. I'm just settin here studyin the ways of professors.

WHITE. Yeah. Well, I've got to go. (The black gets up.)

BLACK. Well. Let me get my coat.

WHITE. Your coat?

BLACK. Yeah.

WHITE. Where are you going?

BLACK. Goin with you.

WHITE. What do you mean? Going with me where?

BLACK. Goin with you wherever you goin.

WHITE. No you're not.

BLACK. Yeah I am.

WHITE. I'm going home.

BLACK. All right.

WHITE. All right? You're not going home with me. (McCarthy)

 

So with a simple back and forth of words the whole mood of the room changes, White possibly wonders, why does this man care so much? Maybe it is Black’s faith maybe it is his faith in White. As the two continue to interact and converse, you see a change in both men. You can feel how their words are making waves with one another, some positive some a little more unsettling.
In No Exit, Inez seems to be the one who likes to ruffle feathers and make waves. But might it be that she sees through Estelle and Garcin’s airy talk, and knows a deeper truth. Estelle and Garcin seem very well apt to talk the talk, but can they walk the walk? Much can be spoken, but was there anything really said:

INEZ. Yes, I see. Look here! What's the point of play-acting, trying to throw dust in each other's eyes? We're all tarred with the same brush.  

ESTELLE. How dare you!  

INEZ. Yes, we are criminals-- murderers-- all three of us. We're in hell, my pets; they never make mistakes, and people aren't damned for nothing.  

ESTELLE. Stop! For heaven's sake--  

INEZ. In hell! Damned souls-- that's us, all three!  

ESTELLE. Keep quiet! I forbid you to use such disgusting words.  

INEZ. A damned soul-- that's you, my little plaster saint. And ditto our friend there, the noble pacifist. We've had our hour of pleasure, haven't we? There have been people who burned their lives out for our sakes-- and we chuckled over it. So now we have to pay the reckoning.  

GARCIN: Will you keep your mouth shut, damn it! (Sartre)

It shows how strong of an impact a simple conversation can have, or how quickly it can turn. Dialogue can most certainly be used for good but for devious things as well.

But what are the outcomes of these conversations, are they meant to help or to harm, to enlighten or to learn.  It all depends on who is speaking. Black does much of the talking early on in The Sunset Limited but White listens carefully to what he says and tries to understand in his own way. Black wants to search for the good in White and wants him to see what he is trying to uncover, that there is more to life:

BLACK. …I just get more amazed by the minute, that's all. How come you can't see yourself, honey? You plain as glass. I can see the wheels turnin in there. The gears. And I can see the light too. Good light. True light. Can't you see it?

WHITE. No. I can't.

BLACK. Well bless you, brother. Bless you and keep you. Cause it's there. (McCarthy)

            I think the nature of dialogue is the nature of understanding one another. There needs to be more to all the babble between people. The Sunset Limited gives a glimpse at the strength it can have and how it changes us, makes us question that which is around us. How do we see each other, and what stories do we have to tell? No Exit is different in the way that these people have accepted that they are in hell, but they still think all the everyday trivial issues are relevant. When none of those things matter they are only left with their conversation. And it is then that we see their true nature, and their lack of actual acceptance.

  The word dialogue means only this, the conversation between two or more people. But as I have mentioned, a conversation can hold so much more. It is what can make or break a first impression it is through communication that we learn about one another. But how can we do this in an effective manner? When we speak with someone, are we listening or are we just waiting for our turn to speak? I think the nature of dialogue is the nature of understanding one another.

The Sunset Limited

     Imagine, there you are, standing alone, in a dank and badly lit subway tunnel. Although some may think their day starts when they wake from their beds, but yours doesn't begin until the train arrives. And so you wait. It smells funny as usual, and the sounds around you are the same as always, weird clanks and scampers. You take this train every day, it leads you to where you earn your pay so that you may keep a roof over your head, hot water in the shower and your favorite lamp lit while you read.

But today, today is different. You felt it the moment you stepped out the door. Even though you felt it inside, you were without a clue as to what it might be. What was so different about today? Without dwelling you move your feet forward.

Many minutes have come and gone, as they happen to do while we live life. Time ticking, moving ahead, leaving the past behind. And still you wait, but is it for your train to arrive or is it something else you wait for?

And then, so suddenly, and without warning, another person appears, like an illusion from a magic show. Poof!
They are sprinting, trying to pick up speed, to where there is yet to be a train ready to board.

Time Stops.

And this person, this lost soul you see, is now a part of you. Your lives have connected unexpectedly. Or was it a matter of fate? Thinking back, remembering how today felt different. But that is in the past now, minutes, hours, days, doesn't matter. What matters is now and here you both are...

So, what do you do?

I was asked this question when I was brought into the world of The Sunset Limited.

 

This is a play written about two men, one black and one white. One is suicidal, he is done with this time, with this life and the other, the man who tries to do right. We are told very little about either man, except through a few of their stories and the conversation they build in a small apartment on the rough side of town. White, who was making his way towards the "big exit" is smart, yet shifty. And Black, who is also intelligent, leads a pleasant and simple life that was reborn from darkness.
Black caught White before he leaped on to the tracks of the Sunset Limited. A train that carries travelers to and fro through their lives.

Cormac McCarthy is a well known writer, and creator of the script The Sunset Limited. McCarthy writes with a strong significance tied to this train, and it begins to form as something much more than just linked cars on a set tracks.

The script is far from complicated as a matter of design. There are two characters, and one set. But the complexity of the connection and dialog between Black and White, or also referred to by Black as the Professor. I created almost two pages of questions that arose from this story.

What brought these two together? Fate? Coincidence?
Are these two perspectives valid in the world?
How can we negotiate difference? Do we?
Are all people worth saving?
Who can best judge our own sanity? Ourselves or those around us?

The sequence at the train station, is not in the script. There really is no description except that Black says the Professor just leaped into his arms, but the Professor completely denies ever even seeing Black. So, this leaves the initiation of these two characters completely up to the reader, or audience.

And so I question my own morals after thinking about what brought the two together is...

What would I have done?

Inside Poetry

I used to write poems all the time.
I used to read a lot of poetry too.
In class, at work, at home, at the coffee shop.
This was usually intertwined with intense journaling. It seemed so fluid and natural to write. I was convinced I was a decent poet, but then again not very many people were "lucky" enough to give them a glance.

Fast forward 15 years.

Here I am, reconnecting with my poetic self in my literature class. I still enjoy poetry but have not tapped into the side of my creativity in so long.

Then and even now I had no idea there was so much more to poetry then self expression or a type of story telling, and in no way am I knocking poetry by saying this. There is so much structure, so much detail.
Poetry has it's very own blue prints.

Each word, line, stanza has a specific role to play. Without these roles the poem would not function. Just like a machine, but maybe a more personal one. Creating the basis of beauty and expression, or maybe mystery and horror.





But not only does poetry have a specific layout of multiple forms, it is also like music.
Poetry has sound, in fact it is made up of just that, sound.

When I sat down to try my hand at deciphering the sounds of poetry I realized
"wow, I have no idea what I am doing"
How do we determine the sound of poetry?

Poetry is made up of something called meters. It is how poetry is measured. There are many different kinds of meter, and within these meters are feet.

"Most traditional poetry in English uses the accentual-syllabic form of meter" (pg 592)

This type of meter is based on not only a set of syllables within each line but also a pattern of accents. Now the statement above says that most poetry uses the accentual-syllabic style, but it is most certainly not all poetry. Lots of poems don't follow a regular or strict pattern.

Once learning more about this I began rereading different poems, as well as reading new ones.
New to me that is.
One of the poems I read was Sir John Suckling's Song. It struck me as somewhat bold. It was like an exclamation.

Now looking at Sir John Suckling, bold isn't really the first thing that comes
to mind. Well maybe except for his mustache. But it's his words that strike you, how they are put together and strung along.

Song
Sir John Suckling

Why so pale and wan, fond Lover?
   Prithee why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
   Looking ill prevail?
   Prithee why so pail?

Why so dull and mute, young Sinner?
   Prithee why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
  Saying why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move,
   This cannot take her;
If of her self she will not love,
   Nothing can make her,
   The Devil take her.

Bold or not, I enjoyed the poem. I then spent some time rehearsing the poem, even saying it out loud to hear and feel the words as it went along.
I began to break down the lines, the words and the syllables. Putting into play what I had just recently learned. As I did this more things began to stand out to me then just the syllables but also things like alliteration, and a precise repetition of whole words and lines.

But bring it back to the subject of sounds, and how this relates to the poem Song, I struggled to find its rhythm and it's metrical form. What type of feet and meters does it use? How many are there per line? How many should there be? Goodness, so many questions.
By the end of the semester I am hoping to have a much better understanding of the fine workings of poetry, and I what I can create with the tools I am continuing to learn.

Poetry truly is an intricate structure and

 I tip my hat to those who can build and shape it using it's true building blocks.  

"This Is Just to Say" William Carlos Williams - my thoughts

What is in a title?

 

Does it tell the same story as the poem itself?

William Carlos Williams
This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

~

The speaker is leaving a message, like a memo, an FYI.
As in "oh by the way.."
This is the tone I get from just the title.
But it is in the poem of course I get the sense of the real tone. A short path to an apology. The speaker doesn't say that they are sorry specifically, but they are asking for forgiveness.
Like a note left on an empty container or shelf by a roommate who had a case of the late night munchies. There is something so frustrating about that. They know they have done wrong. Even if it is as simple as eating a few plums.
Do people really need to put there names on everything? Sometimes.. I think the answer will have to be a yes. Here is something I wrote in response to This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams.

Breakfast

I awake
It is early, too early
I splash my face
I lace my shoes

The kitchen is crisp with morning chill.
The heat has yet to make it's presence known.

I open the fridge
My grip tightens on the handle,
My knuckles grow pale
My breakfast, my morning's sweet peace
is gone.

In it's place, a small paper
A few lines of hastily scratched gibberish

My house mate
like a masked bandit in the night,
strikes again                    
                                                                    
I close the door
I shake my head
I cannot eat paper
So what now I ask

Coffee and a morning smoke I suppose
Breakfast of champions


(Illustration- Unknown Artist)

Young Innocent Love

 "15" - Jennelle Wressell

Young innocent love
Rushing new as seasons change
Don't ever let go

The love capable of a teenager is a deeply passionate kind of love. Not so much a lustful passion, but instead an enchanting infatuation. It can be hypnotic, so for a moment they feel they are invincible. I’d like to think my poem touches on that kind of love.

I shaped this poem from a thought I had after reading “Love Poem” by Linda Pastan. It felt like a brief story of how the world can rush by when we are young and deep in love. And how all we can or want to do is stay close with one another. But as I said earlier this ecstasy felt between two beings can alter the way they see world around them.

"when we stand
on its dangerous
banks and watch it carry
with it every twig
every dry leaf and branch”
(5-9;441)

Rushing and racing by so even in those most devoted moments of love they must still be weary of what surrounds them.

"that even as we watch
we must grab
each other
and step back"
(15-18;441)
 True love can happen at any age, but the details of an adolescent love feel far more fantastical. Going beyond one's puppy love.

Emily Dickinson and the Dark

What is it about darkness that leaves us feeling a little uneasy?

 

What could be lurking out there? 

For myself...a few things come to mind.

 

 

...but

Darkness can represent so much more then just monsters. Just as light can have a vast variety of meanings.

The dark gives me a sense of mystery, and a desire to explore it.
In Emily Dickinson's "419," there was a strong theme of darkness present. But it wasn't a scary or evil type, it was more adventurous. I read her poem multiple times and each time I read it something different stood out to me.

First time - darkness
Second time - uncertainty
Third time - a pursuit to understand

I felt all three of these thoughts, moved down a path together. One leading right into the other.
Emily Dickinson writes:
"A Moment -- We uncertain step
For newness of the night --
Then -- fit our Vision to the Dark --
And meet the Road -- erect--"
it is in this part that I see the three themes come together.

The second set begins with "We uncertain step." Almost right away get the sense of  I think the human race are natural risk takers, and that we are constantly striving for new great things.

Next it reads "For newness of the night --Then -- fit our Vision to the Dark --" It almost seems like the darkness is considered bright. When I hear new I think of shinny and brilliant. With it written like it is, I feel like I'd have to shade my eyes from the night. But as in most situations in life, we adapt , we are able to see our path and help to understand the choices we might have to make.

Which then leads my thoughts to the end of that set "And meet the road -- erect --". There are still 3 parts left to the poem, but the curiosity to discover starts there.

Emily Dickinson focused a lot on seeing through the dark, so I cant help but wonder if she was writing about her own darkness. Maybe there was a faint longing to venture out and reclaim the light in her life. Just a thought.

For more info on Ms. Dickinson check out this sweet video, and mustache.

 

 

Noun - Verb - Noun

In reference to Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings"

 

An angel, fallen from above, lies hopeless in a cold, wet chicken coop.

With this thought, a picture begins projecting in my mind.

 

Rain is pouring down, crushing his once white wings.

It was as if the rain refused to let him fly. His feathers sagged with a sense of defeat.

The angels body had sunk into the soft earth, creating a snarled and crooked "mud angel".

A variety of feathers were strewn about the ground of the coop like paper confetti.

But this image I had of the fallen angel was not a joyous one.

Instead it was very somber, and suggested a dark curiosity to the unknown.

 

In the story "The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings," I feel the reader is given a chance at creating their own magic using Marquez's writing and its imagery.

For your viewing and listening pleasure..