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))
It's almost amazing what we notice when we slow down. There's still kids all over the WSU campus. Having people running around, laughing, screaming, that kind of thing always kicks up a bit of nostalgia.
There's a group of hackers down the way from me, kicking the bag around lazily. No urgency or requirement of skill, just the Golden Rule of not being a douche bag. I'd like to slide on over, show them how it's done, but that's intrusion. That's not me.
Breaking the flow, unbalancing the circle, blasphemy. Yet I feel the pull.
I see another kid jump off of the wall near the fountain. He's managed to get a cast on his arm since I last saw him, being chased around by a girl with a frisbee full of muddy water.
That girl's gonna date you kid. Just you watch.
Then the jealousy kicked in. Another boy ran by, snatching the frisbee, playing keep away, then trying to same water throwing move. Then a hilarious thing happened; a crowd of white knights came to her rescue, blocking the water, chasing the other kid to get the frisbee, each one vying for the girl's attention, positive or negative. Just attention. I suppose that's the natural order of things though.
'Aggrivate them till they love you'. Things really don't change, children to adults. Grown ups are just smarter and label it as 'testing the limits without getting smacked'.
I think that's an apt enough description of it.
But the kids are enjoying themselves, which is more than I can say for most of my peers that I see wandering about the campus, passing me by, sneering as the smoke curling around my lips before the breeze dissipates it.
Fuck you, hoity toity.
A few college kids pass, shorts cut up enough that you don't need any imagination to see what you want to see. Summer dresses, khaki shorts and sandals, ripped jeans and skater shoes. Chains and hair and piercings and perfume laid on so thick that the birds deem the area they pass a no fly zone for a bit.
A few of them smile behind their shades, cheap sunglasses, designer eye wear, bug eyed visors, but I'm not so sure that smile ever reaches their eyes. It certainly doesn't even shiver down their spines and lend an extra push to their feet. All the posing and posturing and heightened guffaws, there's no extra...zazz!
Not like the kids taking turns jumping off the ledges by the fountain, that 6 foot fall so exhilarating and addictive in the summer sun with the sweet breeze catching their shirts and hair.
Maybe they've got it right.
Maybe we take ourselves too seriously...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
BURNINATING THE COUNTRYSIDE!...
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))
Embodiment of the Birds
Michio Takeyama’s Harp of Burma is filled with many literary symbols which reoccur throughout the novel. The one that attracts the most attention is the harp carried by Corporal Mizushima which represents tranquility within the unit, but also their safety. The harp is used at many points to either distract a threatening company, or to signal Mizushima’s own company on whether a certain area is safe or not. While the harp and the music that is played on it are often seen sprouting up in many areas of the story, it only covers a portion of the characters presented in the novel; namely Mizushima’s brigade as well as their British captors. One particular set of symbols does have a larger philosophical impact upon the novel and gives a broader perspective in regards to not just the Japanese soldiers but the native Burmese as well. These symbols would be the birds that observed and interacted with by the Japanese soldiers. Through these interactions, we are given a clearer perspective on just how this particular unit of soldiers views the war, Japan, Burma and themselves.
A peacock happens to be one of the first birds the brigade encounters, and the first clue that most of what the narrator will describe throughout the book is but a surreal reimagining. In the scene leading up to the peacock’s entrance, the soldiers are gathered around Mizushima while is playing the harp. The scene is described as almost picturesque, the company being on the edge of a lake near a broad forest filled with laughing and chattering creatures. Then the peacock “fluttered down from somewhere” and “paraded in front” of the company for a moment (14). While this is a work of fiction, peacocks materializing out of thin air are out of place in this work. The timing of the bird’s entrance is almost impeccable, coming in while the music is still playing and there are still monkeys and birds playing in the trees. While this does, in fact, make for a “truly happy memory”, it is suspect in that the moment seems too good to be true, as if the narrator threw the wonderful aspects of nature in to glamorize the event of Mizushima’s harp playing. The act of parading around in front of them is echoed and contrasted later in the book during the funeral march of the English soldiers. While lining up for the procession, many of the upper class women are noted of having “golden bracelets and jeweled earrings. But their make-up was unusual – Their faces were spotted with patches of yellow powder” (67). These ornate decorations and strangely specific markings on the face correlate with the markings of the Burmese peacocks. This time the setting is not thought of as a joyous moment, but rather somber as the carriages carrying dead English soldiers jerk the reader out of the beauty of the moment and present them with the truth of the matter; this was a war, and people are dead because of it. This display during a funeral holds a very Burmese point of view, that death is not such a terrible thing and can be beautiful. This view, set next to the Japanese view that life and advancement are the keys to happiness, shows the bias the narrator feels towards his countrymen as he would much rather see a peacock during a simple evening listening to the music of his company rather than a reverent funeral procession for foreign soldiers.
The birds that symbolize the most are the chickens the unit had to prepare for dinner. This was a new experience for most men in the unit as they were astonished to see a chicken run around after it had been beheaded. An unnamed speaker pipes up and asks the men “how do you suppose it feels, running around like that without a head?” which seems to touch on the thoughts they would later have of Mizushima (35). Mizushima and his harp were viewed not truly as the heart, but rather as the mind of the unit, shown through his clever use of disguises and his bravery. Without Mizushima, the unit was basically milling about in the P.O.W. camp, letting their bodies work on their daily chores but never really doing anything that could be regarded as significant. This loss of guidance and purpose is a common theme throughout the novel. The entire Japanese squad could be regarded as the body of the chicken, erratically wandering through the Burmese landscape, avoiding bandits and Allied forces. Before their capture they are even shown to have been “huddled together under the trees” (15) while attempting to avoid an ambush, much like the flailing bodies of the beheaded chickens as they “Ran into the bushes, or cowered down in the grass” (35). The cause for their fleeing through the Burmese countryside was that they had lost contact with the Japanese military, and without that communication line they were not able to receive any guidance or supplies. Their head had effectively been cut off. Yet the comparisons can be expanded to a much larger level. For example; the Burmese natives could be regarded as the chicken’s head, calm but “reproachful” in their ways, merely closing their eyes and excepting whatever fate decides to burden them with (35). The Japanese would then be as the body, running around “drunkenly weaving” around in frantic circles, always looking to advance until finally they simply collapse after all of their wasted exertion to continue to live. What has been lost between these two is the concentration on religion; the Burmese opting for a peaceful way of life while the Japanese leaning towards education and industry to secure happiness for their countrymen.
To piece the unit back together, after the supposed death of Mizushima while on his very last mission, the last two birds are introduced. While profound in the messages they convey between the unit and Mizushima, they act as much more than feathery messengers. Each parakeet is trained to say a specific phrase. These phrases embody the entire essence of both parties. The parakeet trained by the imprisoned Japanese soldiers is told to say “Hey, Mizushima! Hey Mizushima! Let’s go back to Japan, together!” in hopes that the monk would hear their cries for him to rejoin them again (71-72). This one statement encompasses the only thing the unit has hoped for since their imprisonment, and shows their desire to be with their friend and companion once again. The company wants him within their ranks as they go back and try to rebuild what is left of their nation. Mizushima’s parakeet is trained to speak “Ah, I cannot go home!” which expresses the resolution of Mizushima’s pledge as well as the despair and sorrow that he has kept inside by not letting himself be a part of a group that he had grown so fond of during his time in the military. While the two birds, brothers as it were, serve as living symbols of these two different messages, they also tie back in with the imagery of the headless chickens flapping about aimlessly. At the end of the story, Mizushima has the essence of his old company riding on his shoulders, completing and comforting him while he works on his spiritual and mental quest. Through the ordeal of the sharing of music and the shock of the parakeet shrieking the company’s message into his ears, Mizushima is “happy and grateful” for the constant admiration of his former unit (131). Through this his wound has healed and he finds himself able to carry on. For the company, after receiving Mizishuma’s parakeet and letter, they finally come to accept that while he is lost to them, they have his memory and finally accept his true desires. The reception of the parakeet, a symbol for the true form of Mizushima, completes the company to a degree where they are “no longer sad” and can carry on back to Japan to rebuild (131). The two parties are bound back together through these birds, their losses recouped through the simple exchange of common birds.
Without discrediting the harp, the birds still remain in the background for most of the novel. Yet even while not in the foreground, they manage to encapsulate the ideas of unity not only between Mizushima and his unit, or his unit and the nation of Japan, but rather both nations, and all the people who inhabit them. To have such a broad effect over the novel, and to better clarify and display the themes that each represents with such little concentration on the birds themselves is uncanny.
Works Cited
Takeyama, Michio. Harp of Burma. Rutland, VT: Tuttle Publishing,
2001. Print.
))
Embodiment of the Birds
Michio Takeyama’s Harp of Burma is filled with many literary symbols which reoccur throughout the novel. The one that attracts the most attention is the harp carried by Corporal Mizushima which represents tranquility within the unit, but also their safety. The harp is used at many points to either distract a threatening company, or to signal Mizushima’s own company on whether a certain area is safe or not. While the harp and the music that is played on it are often seen sprouting up in many areas of the story, it only covers a portion of the characters presented in the novel; namely Mizushima’s brigade as well as their British captors. One particular set of symbols does have a larger philosophical impact upon the novel and gives a broader perspective in regards to not just the Japanese soldiers but the native Burmese as well. These symbols would be the birds that observed and interacted with by the Japanese soldiers. Through these interactions, we are given a clearer perspective on just how this particular unit of soldiers views the war, Japan, Burma and themselves.
A peacock happens to be one of the first birds the brigade encounters, and the first clue that most of what the narrator will describe throughout the book is but a surreal reimagining. In the scene leading up to the peacock’s entrance, the soldiers are gathered around Mizushima while is playing the harp. The scene is described as almost picturesque, the company being on the edge of a lake near a broad forest filled with laughing and chattering creatures. Then the peacock “fluttered down from somewhere” and “paraded in front” of the company for a moment (14). While this is a work of fiction, peacocks materializing out of thin air are out of place in this work. The timing of the bird’s entrance is almost impeccable, coming in while the music is still playing and there are still monkeys and birds playing in the trees. While this does, in fact, make for a “truly happy memory”, it is suspect in that the moment seems too good to be true, as if the narrator threw the wonderful aspects of nature in to glamorize the event of Mizushima’s harp playing. The act of parading around in front of them is echoed and contrasted later in the book during the funeral march of the English soldiers. While lining up for the procession, many of the upper class women are noted of having “golden bracelets and jeweled earrings. But their make-up was unusual – Their faces were spotted with patches of yellow powder” (67). These ornate decorations and strangely specific markings on the face correlate with the markings of the Burmese peacocks. This time the setting is not thought of as a joyous moment, but rather somber as the carriages carrying dead English soldiers jerk the reader out of the beauty of the moment and present them with the truth of the matter; this was a war, and people are dead because of it. This display during a funeral holds a very Burmese point of view, that death is not such a terrible thing and can be beautiful. This view, set next to the Japanese view that life and advancement are the keys to happiness, shows the bias the narrator feels towards his countrymen as he would much rather see a peacock during a simple evening listening to the music of his company rather than a reverent funeral procession for foreign soldiers.
The birds that symbolize the most are the chickens the unit had to prepare for dinner. This was a new experience for most men in the unit as they were astonished to see a chicken run around after it had been beheaded. An unnamed speaker pipes up and asks the men “how do you suppose it feels, running around like that without a head?” which seems to touch on the thoughts they would later have of Mizushima (35). Mizushima and his harp were viewed not truly as the heart, but rather as the mind of the unit, shown through his clever use of disguises and his bravery. Without Mizushima, the unit was basically milling about in the P.O.W. camp, letting their bodies work on their daily chores but never really doing anything that could be regarded as significant. This loss of guidance and purpose is a common theme throughout the novel. The entire Japanese squad could be regarded as the body of the chicken, erratically wandering through the Burmese landscape, avoiding bandits and Allied forces. Before their capture they are even shown to have been “huddled together under the trees” (15) while attempting to avoid an ambush, much like the flailing bodies of the beheaded chickens as they “Ran into the bushes, or cowered down in the grass” (35). The cause for their fleeing through the Burmese countryside was that they had lost contact with the Japanese military, and without that communication line they were not able to receive any guidance or supplies. Their head had effectively been cut off. Yet the comparisons can be expanded to a much larger level. For example; the Burmese natives could be regarded as the chicken’s head, calm but “reproachful” in their ways, merely closing their eyes and excepting whatever fate decides to burden them with (35). The Japanese would then be as the body, running around “drunkenly weaving” around in frantic circles, always looking to advance until finally they simply collapse after all of their wasted exertion to continue to live. What has been lost between these two is the concentration on religion; the Burmese opting for a peaceful way of life while the Japanese leaning towards education and industry to secure happiness for their countrymen.
To piece the unit back together, after the supposed death of Mizushima while on his very last mission, the last two birds are introduced. While profound in the messages they convey between the unit and Mizushima, they act as much more than feathery messengers. Each parakeet is trained to say a specific phrase. These phrases embody the entire essence of both parties. The parakeet trained by the imprisoned Japanese soldiers is told to say “Hey, Mizushima! Hey Mizushima! Let’s go back to Japan, together!” in hopes that the monk would hear their cries for him to rejoin them again (71-72). This one statement encompasses the only thing the unit has hoped for since their imprisonment, and shows their desire to be with their friend and companion once again. The company wants him within their ranks as they go back and try to rebuild what is left of their nation. Mizushima’s parakeet is trained to speak “Ah, I cannot go home!” which expresses the resolution of Mizushima’s pledge as well as the despair and sorrow that he has kept inside by not letting himself be a part of a group that he had grown so fond of during his time in the military. While the two birds, brothers as it were, serve as living symbols of these two different messages, they also tie back in with the imagery of the headless chickens flapping about aimlessly. At the end of the story, Mizushima has the essence of his old company riding on his shoulders, completing and comforting him while he works on his spiritual and mental quest. Through the ordeal of the sharing of music and the shock of the parakeet shrieking the company’s message into his ears, Mizushima is “happy and grateful” for the constant admiration of his former unit (131). Through this his wound has healed and he finds himself able to carry on. For the company, after receiving Mizishuma’s parakeet and letter, they finally come to accept that while he is lost to them, they have his memory and finally accept his true desires. The reception of the parakeet, a symbol for the true form of Mizushima, completes the company to a degree where they are “no longer sad” and can carry on back to Japan to rebuild (131). The two parties are bound back together through these birds, their losses recouped through the simple exchange of common birds.
Without discrediting the harp, the birds still remain in the background for most of the novel. Yet even while not in the foreground, they manage to encapsulate the ideas of unity not only between Mizushima and his unit, or his unit and the nation of Japan, but rather both nations, and all the people who inhabit them. To have such a broad effect over the novel, and to better clarify and display the themes that each represents with such little concentration on the birds themselves is uncanny.
Works Cited
Takeyama, Michio. Harp of Burma. Rutland, VT: Tuttle Publishing,
2001. Print.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sunday, June 07, 2009
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