Hit the Road Jack-You Can't Go Home Again
I am taking a break from graduate school this semester. Not by choice, really. Basically, I have completed all but 2 courses and then will have to complete a 6 credit thesis and then I will have that durn Master of Science degree. I started this journey in Fall 2003 and have attended pretty much part time, worked full time, and managed to still find time for family and fun. (I'm not looking for any sort of prize for this, I'm just in awe that I've made it this far with all that on my plate. Although I would gladly accept a good ole pat on the back)
Well, I was on track to take my last 2 classes this Spring, but lo and behold, they won't be offered until next fall. So, I have to take an unscheduled break, not to mention it pushes back graduation plans one semester (Summer 2007 Here I Come). I was rather torn about this. Part of me was totally jazzed because I REALLY looked forward to having a break. Another part of me (the sensible and driven side-yeah she exists) didn't want to stop now that I was almost there. But I didn't have much of a choice, so here I am.
Anyway, I decided to try to keep my brain alive and in a studious state by making it a goal to do some pleasure reading during this hiatus. Grad school requires reading a lot of text books and research articles and literature reviews and other not so exciting stuff. So I haven't really had the time to engage in reading of my choosing. Therefore, not only can I catch up on some much needed pleasure reading, but I will also have material for the blog-which may or may not be of excitement to other readers. Heck, it will be exciting for me, nonetheless.
To introduce this month's selection, I will preface it by stating how fabulous I think Jack Kerouac's writing is. Now, I have a feminist friend who abhorred him and accused him of being a male chauvinist. However, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on that one. I tried to find evidence of this accusation, and although he might not have had the most functional relationships with women in his life, he certainly didn't seem to hold contempt for women. In fact after reading Carolyn Cassady's book "Heartbeat" that chronciled her triangular relationship with both her husband, Neal Cassady, and Jack who just so happened to be best buddies I just didn't get that impression about him.
I also have to admit he was one hell of a good looking guy, but my girlie crush is not why I love his writing.
I like Jack for his originality. His attention to the working man. His unpretentiousness. The beauty and honesty with which he expressed some of humanity's deepest emotions- a longing for the past, the search for enlightenment, and a sense of adventurism and curiousity about what was out there beyond the railroad tracks. I have read most of Kerouac's works several times-"On the Road", of course and "Dharma Bums" being the most obvious favorites. I absolutely loved "Big Sur"-so passionate. I also enjoyed reading some of his other known works like "Town and the City", "Dr. Sax", and "Visions of Cody."
My sister gave me for my birthday several years ago a collection of Kerouac's early works which is the subject of this post-FINALLY get to the heart of the matter. It's called "Atop and Underwood-Early Stories and Other Writings." I had it on my bookshelf for these past few years and have now finally picked it up. It's easy to read because it is a collection and doesn't require becoming entrenched in a plot, so you can pick it up and put it down as your schedule allows. I was interested by the title which I first assumed to refer to some natural place. However, Underwood is (was?) actually a typewriter manufacturer. Which got me to thinking about how different the process of writing was during Jack's time. I can just imagine him in his small, dingy apartment type, type, typing away on the keys of his old Underwood typewriter with cigarette in mouth in the wee hours of the morning cranking out the thoughts and stream of consciousness that came to (through) him.
Now, I am old enough to remember typewriters. I took typing in 10th grade which has had lasting benefits-I kid you not. Technology graduated to word processors by the time I got to college, but I still had my trusty Epson typewriter with it's own correction tape. I have one distinct memory of that damn typewriter where I ran out of ribbon and had a big paper due the next day. Here I was at Wal-mart at 6:00 in morning or whatever ungodly hour they opened to buy a new ribbon. I was greeted by a Wal-Mart good morning song where the employees gathered at the front of the store and welcomed early morning customers with a catchy song. Needless to say it most certainly did not brighten my spirits. But, I digress.
I feel very fortunate that the PC is now the method of writing. And I think about how easy it is to delete and backspace and cut and paste and drag. You better believe you couldn't do that with a typewriter. But I wonder if Jack would use a PC instead of a typewriter if he was alive today. His writing was so fresh and quick that I think it might not have been the same had he been able to manipulate his writing. In fact, he probably wouldn't have used a PC in that manner. The true writers I know practice their writing in so many different ways. On scraps of papers, spiral notebooks, journals,cocktail napkins, a web blog. Because a true writer will always be writing in their head. They are astute and when the mood strikes them that just begs a word, a phrase, a sentence, a thought, a story- they can't help but write it down- wherever they can find.
I will end this post with a few snippets from "Atop An Underwood" that I found interesting, insightful, and beautiful:
"I think about the fool and the other fools, and myself a fool. Hurrying away the past of tomorrow, like I had hurried away the past of today, in the past.
Fools, I think. Myself a fool. I must take it slow now and look at the present and say to myself: Look, John, hold the present now because someday it will be very precious. Hug it, hold it
And just yesterday I was sauntering home thinking about the future. The future! What a fool, I, myself,a fool, hurrying."
-from Go Back, 1940.
"[Y]ou realize that a man can take a train and never reach his destination, that a man has no destination at the end of the road, but that he merely has a staring point on the road-which is Home.
...I hope little madman, tht you realize that the destination is really not a tape at the end of a straight-away racing course, but that it is a tape on an oval that you must break over and over again as you race madly around. And whether you give up the race after circumventing the swarming oval once, or whether you continue through the marathon alleys lof life-whichever you do, little madman, you shall always return to the place where the road begins."
-from Where the Road Begins
"Young Fellow(YF): That's why I'm not worried about world affairs. That's why I am worried about the world. But I'm not the first one. As long as we have forests and rivers and grass and cigars and human beings like you and the fellows, it's okay. There's no harm done. World affairs go on an on and solve themselves and then un-solve themselves; but he world itself, she's something to worry about. She's the only thing that we men have. And we can't have her if we don't take the time off once in a while to puff on a stogie, let's say, right in a spot like this. "
-from There's Something About a Cigar, 1941 (a play)
"Give them the money, and they hand you the stuff. Take it, criticize it, taste it, and above all, get your fill of it. You can't be an artist unless you're a member of humanity. Hermits make awful poets, I think. You can't ruminate peacefully by a little stream in the woods unless you've just been liberated from the turmoil of civilization. Peace is a relative thing. And it always turns out to be short-lived."
....How wise that rock looks. Never says a word, can't be wrong. It has something that I haven't got; and I have something it lacks. Who is the luckiest? The granite is forever truthful-it is in its nature. I cannot be forever truthful. Yet, on the other hand, the granite is part of this vast scene here on the shores of the Hudson; I, my fine young masters, am not only part of the scene, but am Master of the scene. I see it, smell it, feel it, and own it. The granite does none of those things. It merely is part of the scene. It is not conscious of the scene. I am. I may not be forever truthful, but I have a chance to try. The granite will never have a chance to own this scene."
-from "God"
"...Time, damned and cursed Time must persist, and does. New Time advances, destroying old Time. Time advances in its maddening amble, unstopping. All things persist and will not delay for one meagre second. Why? Why? Why?"
-from Farewell Song, Sweet from my Trees
"Remember above all things, Kid, that to write is not difficult, not painful, that it comes out of you with ease, that you can whip up a little tale in no time, that when you are sincere about it, that when you want to impress a truth, it is not difficult, not painful, but easy, graceful, full of smooth power, as if you were a writing machine with a a store of literature that is boundless, enormous, endless, and rich."
-from "Credo"
Well, I was on track to take my last 2 classes this Spring, but lo and behold, they won't be offered until next fall. So, I have to take an unscheduled break, not to mention it pushes back graduation plans one semester (Summer 2007 Here I Come). I was rather torn about this. Part of me was totally jazzed because I REALLY looked forward to having a break. Another part of me (the sensible and driven side-yeah she exists) didn't want to stop now that I was almost there. But I didn't have much of a choice, so here I am.
Anyway, I decided to try to keep my brain alive and in a studious state by making it a goal to do some pleasure reading during this hiatus. Grad school requires reading a lot of text books and research articles and literature reviews and other not so exciting stuff. So I haven't really had the time to engage in reading of my choosing. Therefore, not only can I catch up on some much needed pleasure reading, but I will also have material for the blog-which may or may not be of excitement to other readers. Heck, it will be exciting for me, nonetheless.
To introduce this month's selection, I will preface it by stating how fabulous I think Jack Kerouac's writing is. Now, I have a feminist friend who abhorred him and accused him of being a male chauvinist. However, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on that one. I tried to find evidence of this accusation, and although he might not have had the most functional relationships with women in his life, he certainly didn't seem to hold contempt for women. In fact after reading Carolyn Cassady's book "Heartbeat" that chronciled her triangular relationship with both her husband, Neal Cassady, and Jack who just so happened to be best buddies I just didn't get that impression about him.
I also have to admit he was one hell of a good looking guy, but my girlie crush is not why I love his writing.
I like Jack for his originality. His attention to the working man. His unpretentiousness. The beauty and honesty with which he expressed some of humanity's deepest emotions- a longing for the past, the search for enlightenment, and a sense of adventurism and curiousity about what was out there beyond the railroad tracks. I have read most of Kerouac's works several times-"On the Road", of course and "Dharma Bums" being the most obvious favorites. I absolutely loved "Big Sur"-so passionate. I also enjoyed reading some of his other known works like "Town and the City", "Dr. Sax", and "Visions of Cody."
My sister gave me for my birthday several years ago a collection of Kerouac's early works which is the subject of this post-FINALLY get to the heart of the matter. It's called "Atop and Underwood-Early Stories and Other Writings." I had it on my bookshelf for these past few years and have now finally picked it up. It's easy to read because it is a collection and doesn't require becoming entrenched in a plot, so you can pick it up and put it down as your schedule allows. I was interested by the title which I first assumed to refer to some natural place. However, Underwood is (was?) actually a typewriter manufacturer. Which got me to thinking about how different the process of writing was during Jack's time. I can just imagine him in his small, dingy apartment type, type, typing away on the keys of his old Underwood typewriter with cigarette in mouth in the wee hours of the morning cranking out the thoughts and stream of consciousness that came to (through) him.
Now, I am old enough to remember typewriters. I took typing in 10th grade which has had lasting benefits-I kid you not. Technology graduated to word processors by the time I got to college, but I still had my trusty Epson typewriter with it's own correction tape. I have one distinct memory of that damn typewriter where I ran out of ribbon and had a big paper due the next day. Here I was at Wal-mart at 6:00 in morning or whatever ungodly hour they opened to buy a new ribbon. I was greeted by a Wal-Mart good morning song where the employees gathered at the front of the store and welcomed early morning customers with a catchy song. Needless to say it most certainly did not brighten my spirits. But, I digress.
I feel very fortunate that the PC is now the method of writing. And I think about how easy it is to delete and backspace and cut and paste and drag. You better believe you couldn't do that with a typewriter. But I wonder if Jack would use a PC instead of a typewriter if he was alive today. His writing was so fresh and quick that I think it might not have been the same had he been able to manipulate his writing. In fact, he probably wouldn't have used a PC in that manner. The true writers I know practice their writing in so many different ways. On scraps of papers, spiral notebooks, journals,cocktail napkins, a web blog. Because a true writer will always be writing in their head. They are astute and when the mood strikes them that just begs a word, a phrase, a sentence, a thought, a story- they can't help but write it down- wherever they can find.
I will end this post with a few snippets from "Atop An Underwood" that I found interesting, insightful, and beautiful:
"I think about the fool and the other fools, and myself a fool. Hurrying away the past of tomorrow, like I had hurried away the past of today, in the past.
Fools, I think. Myself a fool. I must take it slow now and look at the present and say to myself: Look, John, hold the present now because someday it will be very precious. Hug it, hold it
And just yesterday I was sauntering home thinking about the future. The future! What a fool, I, myself,a fool, hurrying."
-from Go Back, 1940.
"[Y]ou realize that a man can take a train and never reach his destination, that a man has no destination at the end of the road, but that he merely has a staring point on the road-which is Home.
...I hope little madman, tht you realize that the destination is really not a tape at the end of a straight-away racing course, but that it is a tape on an oval that you must break over and over again as you race madly around. And whether you give up the race after circumventing the swarming oval once, or whether you continue through the marathon alleys lof life-whichever you do, little madman, you shall always return to the place where the road begins."
-from Where the Road Begins
"Young Fellow(YF): That's why I'm not worried about world affairs. That's why I am worried about the world. But I'm not the first one. As long as we have forests and rivers and grass and cigars and human beings like you and the fellows, it's okay. There's no harm done. World affairs go on an on and solve themselves and then un-solve themselves; but he world itself, she's something to worry about. She's the only thing that we men have. And we can't have her if we don't take the time off once in a while to puff on a stogie, let's say, right in a spot like this. "
-from There's Something About a Cigar, 1941 (a play)
"Give them the money, and they hand you the stuff. Take it, criticize it, taste it, and above all, get your fill of it. You can't be an artist unless you're a member of humanity. Hermits make awful poets, I think. You can't ruminate peacefully by a little stream in the woods unless you've just been liberated from the turmoil of civilization. Peace is a relative thing. And it always turns out to be short-lived."
....How wise that rock looks. Never says a word, can't be wrong. It has something that I haven't got; and I have something it lacks. Who is the luckiest? The granite is forever truthful-it is in its nature. I cannot be forever truthful. Yet, on the other hand, the granite is part of this vast scene here on the shores of the Hudson; I, my fine young masters, am not only part of the scene, but am Master of the scene. I see it, smell it, feel it, and own it. The granite does none of those things. It merely is part of the scene. It is not conscious of the scene. I am. I may not be forever truthful, but I have a chance to try. The granite will never have a chance to own this scene."
-from "God"
"...Time, damned and cursed Time must persist, and does. New Time advances, destroying old Time. Time advances in its maddening amble, unstopping. All things persist and will not delay for one meagre second. Why? Why? Why?"
-from Farewell Song, Sweet from my Trees
"Remember above all things, Kid, that to write is not difficult, not painful, that it comes out of you with ease, that you can whip up a little tale in no time, that when you are sincere about it, that when you want to impress a truth, it is not difficult, not painful, but easy, graceful, full of smooth power, as if you were a writing machine with a a store of literature that is boundless, enormous, endless, and rich."
-from "Credo"
posted by amyd | 11:11 PM
1 Comments:
Ahh, that was a nice post...
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