Some Dance to Remember; Some Dance to Forget. Living It Up at the Hotel California…
A middle-aged white guy sits in the spring semester offering of English 101 with the kids who flunked it during the fall semester (the school wouldn't accept my CLEP credit from 1972, but it turned out good). We were discussing some short story that I forget, now. The teacher was pointing out the meaning of a passage. I didn't see it all and, being the smart-ass I sometimes am, said I thought she might be over reading the passage. She was taken somewhat aback but said I might be right. She is also the teacher who encouraged me to pursue technical writing.
My aversion to over reading things started in high school. In senior English, we were reading Romeo and Juliet. Our teacher was fresh out of college and no more than 4 years older than us. She mentioned that the average contemporary audience member of a Shakespeare play had no more than a sixth grade education. She was picking the play apart, line by line by line. I finally raised my smart-assed hand and asked how, if the audience had no better than a sixth grade education, could they find all the meaning she was finding in the play? She sputtered and said something about the people having intimate knowledge of the underlying themes, and so forth. I can only imagine the expletives she used in the teachers' lounge.
As with beauty, meaning is in the eye of the beholder. Damn, this is going to be a daunting segue to an Eagles song. The more I listen to Hotel California, the more I find in it. I won't go into any of it, because I'm probably over reading it. I love this video. I think it's from a tour the Eagles did in 1994. I like the lyrics, the musicality, the musicianship, the chemistry of the performers that seems to transcend any personal differences and coalesces around the music. I especially like the interaction between Don Felder and Joe Walsh (the lead acoustic guitarists), and I have a soft spot for Spanish style guitar. I hope you enjoy.
Glenn, you have the most wonderful, fresh, fascinating insights! It is a joy to read your posts.
I recall having to learn to dumb down my thinking when studying for the GRE reading comprehension. They ask the opposite of lit profs. And certainly would penalize your kind of thinking too.
As you say, some people can get carried away with their flights of literary fancy - explanations which soar over the heads of most of us - but butter their bread. Probably the same thing happens in my line of work when some therapists want to tack on "interpretations" which simply don't fit... and then hammer them home till the poor patient becomes no more than a conduit for someone else's thinking.
I am in no way going to explain my joy in your post, other than... it brings me joy and fresh insight. And I thank you!
It is the wonderful teacher, who can truly listen to a student. And I'm glad she did!
Thank you, dear Festus... for sharing with the rest'us!
January 19, 2008 9:25 AM | Reply | Permalink
I'm about to venture into a place I probably ought not go, but being a fool and not an angel, I'll rush in. It's a place where your profession and mine intersect.
In grad school, I was struck by Mikhail Bakhtin's concept of the utterance. What follows is what his concept engendered in me.
What I say today derives it's origin from something someone said yesterday which came from something someone said the day before which came from something someone said the day before ad infinitum back to the first utterance. Somewhere at sometime, some creature uttered the first sound, the first utterance. It may have been no more than a squeal or a grunt, but it started a conversation that continues to today and will continue past today into the future until the time comes when there is no more today.
At some level, we know it's important to be a part of and contribute to that conversation. We want to participate so much that we over think, over state, over read. And here, my reach has exceeded my grasp :-)
Glenn
January 19, 2008 11:04 AM | Reply | Permalink
I'm glad she did too. The class was at like 9 in the morning. One day, after class, we sat on a bench in the hallway and talked about writing. She was the first person to tell me that I had a talent for writing. She said that at that moment I could already make a living as a technical writer, just as I was. That struck a spark. Imagine, I could have a livelihood as a sort of word smith. At that point, my life literally changed. I found Texas Tech, earned a second degree, embarked on a second career, learned to dance, fell in love, and more, not all good, but overall good. Funny how one conversation with one person can change a life :-)
Glenn
January 19, 2008 4:52 PM | Reply | Permalink
In the end I think we all arrive at the theories which fit our own experience, worked out, of course, within the ongoing conversations... across the centuries and within our own time.
We are fellow travelers on this earth and within this extended and fascinating conversation.
Fare thee well, fellow traveler!
January 19, 2008 10:54 AM | Reply | Permalink
I'm trying mightily not to slip into my amateur philosopher persona :-) I've only had one philosophy course, and the biggest thing I took away was I ain't no philosopher. Philosophy is a real discipline, and I've yet to see my name in the same sentence with disciplined; it would be grossly oxymoronic ;-) I just think I just think too much.
Ya' know, I would have liked to have seen a first run Shakespeare at the Globe, but I'd have hated to have had a toothache or appendicitis in the 16th or 17th century. These really are the good old days.
Namaste, my friend.
Glenn
January 19, 2008 11:24 AM | Reply | Permalink
Two things, Friends: "Hotel California" (especially this particular performance) IS special. For a brief time I owned a sailboat with that name. Second, your discussion of human beings having links to all others is one of the points made by the great movie I recommended to you the other day, Glenn. "The Bucket List" may be the movie equivalent of your point about "Hotel California."
As always, your discussion is deep and meaningful. Sometimes I feel inadequate to even participate with such brilliant people.
I'm proud to know both of you.
January 19, 2008 11:42 AM | Reply | Permalink
This is something that keeps me doing these things—commonalities. We discover things we share. We see them differently and they speak different things to each of us, but they remain a common thread. And I'm on the verge of over reading, if I haven't already. Hey, speaking of being on the verge.
I love that song by Collin Raye. I wish I could find a better audio of it. Anyway, here's On the Verge. That's something else I enjoy, following tangents and seeing where they lead, sort of stream of consciousness, if you need a serious term, fun, if you don't ;-)
Glenn
January 19, 2008 12:22 PM | Reply | Permalink
Watching "Imagine", Lennon's auto-documentary. He is patiently explaining to some tripped-out guy that had been hanging around his estate that when he wrote lyrics he might only have been playing with words, like Dylan. He was not, in fact, trying to say anything deep (at least not consciously). He says to the fellow, "I probably had a good shit and was thinking about Yoko."
Depth comes from the uncountable connections that the history of shared language entails. It also comes from holding to the feeling one is trying to communicate, resisting the easy emotional trigger and using the one that is actually right, true to the feeling. The writer may only know that it feels right. The audience may find more, after it triggers the sympathetic feeling in them, and others along with it.
Shakespeare tended to throw in the kitchen sink in his plots. His actors may have wanted flashy monologues (just guessing wildly here). In any case, it was a living, and believability took a backseat to overwrought emotion. The idea was to bring them back, or their friends. Remember that in a time not too long after Shakespeare, Dickens could name a character the Artful Dodger, and not mean any sort of ivory-tower purity.
January 19, 2008 3:05 PM | Reply | Permalink