Blood Birth -- Child or Demon?

On Friday, I presented the poem Blood Birth by Audre Lorde. Audre Lorde was a black, lesbian, feminist poet who wrote mostly about herself and her own experiences. I felt that in light of some discussion we had in class about women in the two men-dominated books we have read, it would be cool to explore a feminist side of the poetry anthology. And also, I like feminist poetry.

The start of the poem is a very emotional and descriptive account of what seems like childbirth. The first two lines -- “That which inside of me screaming/beating about for exit or entry,” accompanied with the title, sets up a very motherly and tangible space for the reader’s thoughts to go.  It’s also interesting that the word “screaming” is in the first line because the act of screaming is generally expressive and violent, and therefore twists the poem to seem angry -- or anxious. It’s apparent there’s tension and Lorde isn't afraid to show the reader details. Lorde’s honesty with us continues throughout the poem.

In the third and fourth lines -- “names the wind, wanting winds’ voice/wanting winds’ power,” her purpose seems to change from explaining or expressing childbirth to the process of creating poetry. To have a “voice” or “power” explains the writing process and something she is struggling with in the very moment. After I read those lines a couple times in context of the first two, I realized that poetry is also inside of her, wanting to come out. I think it’s very clever of Lorde to create a mash-up of poem writing and childbirth, but it also makes sense because both acts are so emotional and involved.

The next couple of lines -- “it is not my heart/and I am trying to tell this/without art or embellishment/with bits of me flying out in all directions,” really illustrate the conflict Lorde is having. She wants to create the raw story of her giving birth, and explain the details without “art or embellishment,” but she also wants to make a poem. She thinks that poems are different than how she wants to write about her life, but she is also a poet. Her words are “flying out in all directions,” but also show the disorder of childbirth and how it doesn't stick to one formula. So, again, she is both talking about writing poetry (this poem in particular), and childbirth.

The word “screams” comes up again in the line “screams memories old pieces of flesh.” I hadn't realized this verb showed itself twice until someone in class mentioned it. I think the verb is very powerful and the reason it is used twice is because it’s neither very positive or very negative, but more shows a different extreme emotion. Lorde is keying in on the fact that the processes of writing poetry or giving birth are more just intense rather than belonging in the bad or good categories, but are still extremely painful and involved. I am not saying that Lorde seems at ease with the pain she experiences -- she doesn't -- but more that she knows it’s important to write about. The following lines -- “stuck off like dry bark/from a felled tree, bearing/up or out/holding or bringing forth/child or demon/is this birth or exorcism or,” do display her pain and rawness of childbirth. She uses the word “exorcism,” which was very weird for me to read. She is also continuing to talk about poetry -- that if she writes about childbirth, is her poem a child or a demon? It was comforting to me that she asked questions in this poem. As much as it was a very personal poem, I still felt in control of my read of it, and I would say that makes it a successful poem. Lorde doubted herself too much, but understandably.

After these lines, the tone seems to change a bit -- “The beginning machinery of myself/outlining recalling/my father’s business -- what I must be/about my own business/minding.” She is saying that what she is now has to be a reflection of her “father’s business,” and that as a female she really can’t stand alone. She is defined by the men around her: for poetry, for childbirth, for everything. Each line becomes more complicated and possesses a different meaning once it’s paired with the next line. After this is the end of the poem which shines light on the fact that words have color or “complexion” -- “Shall I split/or be cut down/by a word’s complexion or the lack of it.” Up until this point, I was unsure what this poem really had to do with her being black. Of course, because she defines herself as a black feminist, when she talks about childbirth, it is automatically paired with her skin color because they both define her. However, to the reader, it doesn't seem as obvious until this point. She is saying in the poem that whether or not she says these words or doesn't say them, she will still be reflected upon by her skin color. So, ultimately, she is also defined by her color, as is her poetry. She is trying to show that poetry has color, and so even if she only tries to talk about childbirth, it is still about her black identity. I don’t know if I read that part completely correct, but I think that’s the message she might be trying to get at.

The last lines are “and from what direction/will the opening be made/to show the true face of me/lying exposed and together/my children your children their children/bent on our conjugating business.” She concludes the poem questioning what her true identity is -- “from what direction.” This self she describes isn't isolated, but with others and responsible of a future generation because that’s what childbirth results in. This poem ends up being an overall question of her own pain and why it’s important for her to use poetry. Even after trying to explicate it, I am seeing more in the poem than I did before. There are so many layers of feelings and questions that are important for this poem. I am sure there is much more to be said about this, and if any of you have other thoughts, I would love to hear them.

Staying in White Lines

Hello everyone,

I love having blogs as a way to express ourselves -- It’s so informal and therefore very refreshing and peaceful. I have enjoyed reading blogs so far and I feel very inspired by all of the thoughts people have about the books, or how they relate to other things, or just life.

I am now in this place where I have to write about Invisible Man, but I am a little stuck what to write about -- there’s definitely a lot going on through these chapters. But I first wanted to touch on something that I think about often, and that may, in some way, relate to Invisible Man.

Throughout my whole life I have gone to school, to restaurants, I’ve watched movies that take place in the 1940’s and 50’s, etc. What do these all have in common? Schools have janitors, restaurants have waiters, and movies have all sorts of “help” in them. I’m the type of person to strike a conversation with a random person, so this category of people is no exception. They are supposed to be behind the scenes, but yet are right in our faces. They pick up after us, they make things look shiny and like there was never a mess in the first place. So, I try talking to waiters and janitors (waiters more often), but most of the time I’m given a stare, and they’re generally surprised I am trying to engage with them. They are told to be invisible and they are used to being invisible. By now, especially in a college town like Urbana, most waiters and waitresses are college students and happen to pick up those jobs for money during college. But a lot of the janitors at Uni, other schools, or even for university buildings, do have those jobs for life. So, it becomes more awkward, right? They pick up the slack, but not in that “respectable” type of way (I don’t completely understand). They are forced to work behind the scenes, to be cast into a group of the invisibles, and aren’t really allowed to defy that.

When I was writing Invisibles, it felt like I was writing Incredibles (haha). Anyway, what I am talking about here is a very present thing, but not something that we ever really discuss in a conversation-based level. But we read Invisible Man, a story where the narrator is also invisible in many senses -- classified into the groups he’s a part of that he can’t control, solely a representation of something instead of actually being a solid, tangible person… Of course there’s something powerful about this invisibleness -- it gives the narrator a lens on which to change and find who he really is, but also it must be this constant mind whir of confusion and forced schizophrenia (this is a little intense, I know, but there’s a lot of hallucinogenic images  in here). As a class, we take the idea of this invisibleness so seriously, right? The book is this space where we can explore how awful our narrator’s life is, and I think it’s incredible Ellison was able to include this huge concept in a novel, but I also feel torn. I care so much about this book, I can read and write blogposts about it, I can even feel like my life is so much more connected to this very book than to the help that serves me at a restaurant or in school. We all know that those trash cans lying around with trays on the side holding spray bottles have been touched by human beings.

I am sure this stems from an insecurity of my own -- not the fact that I can take these books seriously, but just why I have to criticize that. I need to have more appreciation for book analysis, I think. Or maybe it’s something else. But still, I do think it’s interesting what space this book serves for us, and how it contrasts to other aspects of our lives. Oops for not writing so much about the book (I am interested in the Jolly Man scene, though, don’t get me wrong).

Expectations

We began to read Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison in class, and honestly I have been both confused and pleased by the different experiences that our narrator has experienced. Ellison leads us through a somewhat uncomfortable, dream-like journey of some of the narrator’s early experiences. It’s interesting I am so quick to say “Ellison leads…” because our narrator is technically the first person. But I guess they work together to create these images.

There are a lot of things to touch on in the earliest chapters, but I am especially interested in the scenery change from the South to the North when he is sent to New York by this “fatherly/authority” figure Mr. Bledsoe. I think 2nd hour and myself aren’t completely sure what his intention is of this? Is Bledsoe giving the narrator another chance? Is he mocking him? Is he giving him false potential? I think it’s hard to figure out because Bledsoe’s character challenges both our narrator and the reader (not what we’re used to). On page 179, the narrator comments “Whether we liked him [Mr. Bledsoe] or not, he was never out of our minds. That was a secret of leadership.” It’s interesting to me that the narrator sheds some type of positive light on Mr. Bledsoe, and I think it’s partly because he thinks he’s satisfied with the new life he is living, and because he wants to become Bledsoe. 

However, I think there is some correlation between the narrator’s change in environment and change in action. On page 179, “I slapped the dime on the counter and left, annoyed that the dime did not ring as loud as a fifty-cent piece,” indicates the more emotional and angry take he now has.

I can relate this to my own life in a way -- and perhaps you can too. I know I’ve had situations where I have to make a transition, and I end up having high expectations of what it’s going to be. And then when it doesn’t fit those expectations, I end up being angry at myself and at my current situation. It hurts to see our narrator in that place, even if he has it a little different than me. So, if I was to give advice to our narrator, I would tell him to go to some therapy, find a way to be happy with Northern life, and live. I believe in him (more than I did Bigger for sure).