But What Really Makes Writing Good?

 

On Being Brought from Africa to America

By Phyllis Wheatley

 

‘Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,

Taught my benighted soul to understand

That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:

Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.

Some view our sable race with scornful eye,

“Their colour is a diabolic die.”

Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,

May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.

 

I decided to go with the poem, On Being Brought from Africa to America, by Phillis Wheatley because I felt like it distilled some of the same vibrant points as Blood Meredian and White Noise. When reading all three, one has to come to realize that close reading involves reading the text over first for the experience, as well as for the emotions that it evokes. From there we come to grips with what the text os trying to convey, the literary dictions and organization, as well as what the story is trying to communicate as an underlying meaning.For instance, the Blood Meridian seems to be almost an post apocotalyptic narration which seems to be very open ended. The text is very detaied and has very colourful images being brought up, but the finalty or purpose of the text is minimal. The theme seems to be deep and dark, but as a whole one cannot get a full comprehension of what the purpose of the text is, seeming almost too descriptive and repetitive. In parallel to "Why I Write", I feel that it connects to the idea of "shimmering grammer", as if the colourful language and imagery depicts a vital point in time that emphasizes on the mood, tone, and plot. His use of words sets a tone for the reader that becomes inquisitive of what the purpose of the text really is. The tone feels massively dramatic and it leaves me wondering what will happen next. The colour tones are very dark and gloomy which bring out the ideas of negative imagery being pushed very forcibly. I feel like, in comparision to Barthes, however, that if there was more of a back story to the text I would have more of an apprectiation for what McCarthy was trying to explore. 

 

White Noise seemed to be alot more specific, descriptive, and formulaic. I feel like the order of this one, as opposed to Blood Meridian is much more consice. The text focuses on compositions of substances, formal instructions of where objects are coming from and going. I feel like this aids me in building an idea in my mind of what is infront of me when putting myself into the text. By being so descriptive as well I feel like the first person use makes me feel mor connected. By doing such things as breaking down a cloud to its components, which is something I obviously cannot do on my own, I feel that Delillo was trying to introduce me to factors I would never have looked at myself. The clouds when being contrasted with Blood Meridian emphasizes a more scientific breakdown of the clouds compenents, which causes the text to seem like it is to be an instructural piece. The text flows in a very fluid manner, which I appreciate.Overall, I feel as if White Noise needed a character like The Fool in a Shakespearean play, because the fools always work to break up tension. The Fool always acts as a character of inelligence who uses clever comic relief to leave the audience with less of a feeling of fear and chaos. If White Noise were to use such a comedic element, I feel that the underlying themes and tones would still be understood by the audience, but they would feel more at peace with the text as a whole.

 

In contrast to the poem I chose, I feel like these texts are more formal and descriptive whereas On Being Brought from Africa to America is much more satirical and ironic. I feel like my poem needs much more concise reading between the lines and focusing on the paratexts, as opposed to White Noise which I feel like is a lot more blunt and plain with what its text conveys. On Being Broght from Africa to America holds much information within its paratext of the title, which conveys what the satire will be about. By using historical terms and biblical terms, the speaker of the poem emphasizes an irony within the poem of herself being a person of colour who is extremely intelligent. When reading this poem, the reader should read the back story of Phillis Wheatley to know she herself was a slave. Just as the reader should research the time frame in which the poem was published to understand the satire of the poem in ference to it mocking its male caucasion audience. This poem unlike the other two texts, can be understood better when one knows the back story of it. Whereas White Noise and Blood Meridian can be read once and understood for their tones and themes.

 

Part Two 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Am I awake or dreaming? Is this all real? I cannot feel my own body. I cannot hear anything, not even my own volitile screams. Is this all for nothing? This vortex I am stuck in consumes me as if I were nothing but a lifeless ragdoll. How do I push through when my own flesh and blood, my eyes, are playing tricks on me. In the remote distance I can see a form of life. Some courageous human must be encounterting the same erratic storm as I. But what form of tourment is mother nature bestwoing on me now? Am I a comatose being, thrown over board by my very own treachurous ship that I see ahead of me? Am I drowning like a useless rat that masks itself within the decaying wood of our ark? 

 

Or is this sphere of opague whiteness a hurricane of snow. I can feel nothing but my rappid heartbeat, excelerating as I stare forward. I am being consumed by the darkness around me. I must push forward into this great unknown land. I try to push my unmoving legs forward, but no such movement commenses. I cannot even blink my eyes to take away to liquid slashing them.

 

I stand as a statue and recalculate the matter. 

 

Am I paralyzed from a colossal fall that brought me to this paralisis?

 

Or am I already dead?

 

Am I awake of dreaminh? Do I want to know?

 

The thought of being entrapped within my corpse is one I have always pondered while walking among the living...Is it now a fate I am cursed with among the lifeless?

 

 

 J.M.W. Turner's "Snow Storm—Steam-Boat off a Harbour's Mouth"