Category: essay

Essay #9

An Epistle to Rep. Luke Messer on the 11th of this month, October, in the year 2017

Luke’s way of handling locals not losing money to immigrants, but health care because of long unnecessary hours at work…

So thus the Tyrants of the 1 percent strike: Taxation without representation…

The problem I have with your statement is “our country”. We are far removed from the ancestors that fought for their rights in this country. And I don’t know your family history, Rep. Luke Messer, but mine were indentured in my adoptive family–I can’t speak about my birth family because I don’t know them.

I think you are grossly simplifying that struggle and the offset of indigenous peoples which your comment disrespects and will continue to disrespect. In an American Literature class, at college, a professor of mine asked a great question in terms of Literature, what is “American”. I think if you were to have any inclination towards history you would understand that it is “immigrant”. You sir, have as much right to this land as I do–and in saying that it isn’t much. I’m sure if you were to search your family history you would agree that through the concepts of manifest destiny and the atrocities in our own state which you choose to ignore made Native Americans suffer. At the state house you could start by changing the name of our state since folks like William Henry Harrison and Mad Anthony Wayne insured that we will almost never find a Native American in what? What was their hunting ground.

What about tax payers dollars that are misspent federally by our ole’ friend Pence. In fact I have a notion to ask you, “Can I not pay my taxes to your state this year?” If we are going to have representatives misspend funds that I am paying so they can have vacations when there are real issues you need to address, sir, then count me out of this mess. I am going to the peace corp to utilize my skills elsewhere as I consider your atrocity of what you feel best represents your people as an outrage.

Respectively Submitted,

–If our representative had any part of a brain he would understand that most of the working class in his state are working 70+ hours to try and get ahead, while they “our right politicians” take all expenses paid vacations on hard earned tax payers dollars so they can boycott a ridiculous sport; if you can prove to me that the gross accumulation of wealth held by sports members are actually helping anyone when they live in multiple mansions when we have homelessness then I am all ears. Try to prove to me that denying immigrants in a way in any state is helping the issue we have. I might lose money but they aren’t doing anything to help me get ahead and ensuring my health so I can help my family. The only thing it is doing is tackling one ecological issue of footprint, and all that is doing is making over population worse elsewhere because of our great advances in medicine.

Write your representatives and inform yourselves.


Essay #8


With all the posts about “disrespecting” the flag I think about how we started creating it when we were torturing Native Americans that still do not have the same rights extended to them on reservations, and essentially forcing their mass-exodus across Wayne County at the hands of Mad Anthony. The red can stand for many things including those we misplaced for Manifest destiny. Thereby killing off of people with our diseases and the harsh situations they faced along the trail of tears, on the passing of Indigenous People’s day. I started thinking,  Do I really want to respect the flag? Then, I thought of the Statue of Liberty–there’s a lady I am disrespecting that needs my help. She can be a symbol I can believe in. Then Woody Guthrie came to mind as he often does these days since Fred Trump’s excuse of a son is in the Fake Tanning office–Good luck to the next guy getting oompa-loompa toned orange spray out of the highest office of the states.

P.S. Do I have to pay taxes if Pence continues to use mine and other tax payers money inappropriately? And well, hell, football was a ridiculous sport anyway. Maybe if we boycott all sports we could put a proper roof over the stadiums and turn them into affordable housing in inner cities for the homeless. Then we could take the extra millions and take away some of the players houses, since really no one needs more than one and maybe they could start to feel how the rest of the little people live, and generate enough revenue to improve infrastructure and education.

This land is your land…

Essay #7

Personal Stories…

“Milk and honey have different colours, but they share the same house peacefully.”
from The Renegade Press, an article by Chris Nicholas…

This is an awesome proverb from Africa, and a great post in equality. Yet you might be like me.

While my difficulty with explaining the differences between Islamic and Muslim beliefs has been a different experience: at times I am appearing satanist or socialist or negative to the biblical few, even in my family; this rhymes in mental violence.

For a moment, imagine some mid-west community I live in, which is very close-minded, not agricultural, but not developed enough to be classified urban, very christian, very conservative, and having the ideal of Beaver Cleaver, limited in educational resources, and an easy place to accept and promote propaganda, and while I appreciate their dedication to labor, it is very working class, and, as such, approaches critical thinking the same way: a bit lazy–where there isn’t much to aspire to beyond the factory or the mechanic’s shop.

Over a decade the immensity of social changes that involve a developing global society, arise, and the globe which is educating its own self to grasp its new characteristics it defines, as early as tomorrow, and at such a pace when there is something different that we have to learn with the next day’s sun, and yet within those minute years and in the complete timeline, which have been felt, where a community tries with extra energy to remain static, and forces my intuitive and sensitive nature into a corner, it is alright when we see military vehicles going down the street displaying which candidate they feel should be in jail; and yet I think, while individuals of armed forces have inherent rights as citizens to cast their votes, I don’t think it is right to take to militarized vehicles and parade in the streets and demonstrate what they think to incite fear in voters.

I live in a state that passes legislation against genders without reading what rhetoric they write, without any understanding for what the words mean, and when we examine these individuals they hardly have any agency when they accept their various roles to represent the people, as it seems, and rather they represent a belief as much as their intolerance for skin color and misunderstanding of instinct, when it comes to gender, and they feel they are under attack, and they exploit anything outside their culture, including those individuals that do not inherit the same rights and privileges we pushed onto reservations that are just expected to be forgotten and are out of the way, and when comparing these opposing faiths, western or eastern, the only thing that really differs is the hemispheres of the world which their believers live in, and in counterpoint I would argue that there are zealots in both, in both! even if the fundamentalists in both camps are so Narcissus they refuse to see their own faces and how they love to thrive off of the war they impose on any opposition–it is a modern, homogenized, corn-fructosed, opioid, genetically-modified crusade.

When a few weird or crazy individuals try to organize a rally of peace, immediately they are met with domineering forces of insensitivity, in a public park that isn’t public, counter-intuitively. Yet that generalization seems much too abstract; they would make the argument that everything is about morals and to every moral they identify and display, they seamlessly convey their equal hypocrisies.

To the point: they would actually go out of their way to obstruct the voting process, and leaving the court house you see the Klansmen judges of the past that served our community in their black and white prints in pride displayed on the wall. I tire, and I ache and I am dreadfully depressed. So, I seek out my own family history, to find that I have a relative that was an indentured servant in America that ended up having slaves himself.

A History professor that I worked for lifted up my spirits with a Mark Twain quote, and the author suggested to “[n]ever argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.” And yet, it is hard for my spirit to acknowledge this sentiment nor the proverb above because I have a passion to educate, and I feel each nerve ending shaking with sitting because I am ready to react.

While the milk and the honey are in our tea, they refuse to digest in my stomach because I am dairy intolerant, which really would show how much of the problem I am and how invested in the separate issues we become. Yes, I could continue to put the cow’s breast in my cup, but I will still have the shits from the tea that I love.

There has to be more to the world than their idols, but for them, in this moment, there won’t be, while we have to relive Antigone, though the faces and roles change and anything you think that matters outside the limited scope and tunnel fuses into the dark matter in the vortex of their universal womb; she will continue to cry over her brother’s body, repeatedly, and her uncle will keep decay out there and let the community suffer in putrefaction, he’ll arrest her, and she’ll hang herself.

We’re in what chess calls Zugzwang or stalemate because we will continue to let each faith martyr themselves and kill countless millions upon millions, and victimize themselves when anything that is different is criminal, or if not criminal not tolerated in social conduct, as over the milennia the count rises of dead and injured, without any real way to educate or adapt them to the real world, and don’t even try to show them the stories they generalized and made their own from cultures they eliminated from around the world.

There’s no talking to them because really they are all too busy creating the hell to step back as a painter to see what has changed in their dismal canvas of time. And what is scary is that their mystified patrons have aspired to high points in decision making and have a very limited scope when dealing with real problems, i.e, praying to their imaginary friends. Yet you are allowed to pay and be in their clubs because you are just going through a phase is enough for me to commit myself to the local psych ward, where I can continue to research their nonsense in safety, and where it is okay to think this way because I am crazy, and in my tax paid tray I continue to eat my bananas.

This state could be defined as committed. And they are, as well. There are costs to heaven on earth. Is it equality that we seek? Is it the color of graphite on parchment? Is it order? And when we move away from our homes, and when we create distance to see the past villainy, and we try to toss it aside, or stomp out what was ruining ourselves, is it any different? Is there any clarity in a change of scenery or is it the same? How do we squelch our demons? How do we adapt without being monsters and start giving back to the world? And when we do give back and when we finally earn something for ourselves, what do we ignore and what is further damaged? And how does the world handle that?

The quote above, and the movie Colossal kind of coincide, as I try to make sense of all of this information. There seems to be something important to me that is very minuscule to someone else to the point they would drive through it with an automobile and kill it. I find it fascinating how “equality” and “making a difference” could be rendered synonymous, and how much money would it take, and how many great things would we have to own before we could accomplish that?

What would be “perfect” and what would have to be completed? And what would we have to do? How well does that horror work for someone else–what to them is not horror, but comedy? And is there any point beyond living for one’s self, that if an individual is to achieve the most for his or herself is that fascinating enough or unsatisfying? What is ideal and what is the idea of that?

It is imaginative and I can write about that and it can be a story the rest of the world hates. I hope, selfishly, in the next hour science doesn’t define too much and that something is left unknown, untouched because that is interesting. And yet I write this, and don’t write something else, life is that amazing that there is no right and wrong and only stories and I am not a prophet, and there is no absolute, and that is the only thing we all can be comfortable in together, there is no right answer, and there only is seconds.

Essay #6

The Vita Nuova: A Review of Robert Pogue Harrison’s The Body of Beatrice

Ezra Pound wrote The Spirit of Romance, which is a collection of various essays about medieval literature. In his essay, entitled, “Dante” he is quoted as writing “[about the Vita Nuova, it] is not a thing to be pulled
apart and illustrated by selections…”, and only one critic I can think of has worthily attempted such an effort, and that is Robert Pogue Harrison in his scholarly work, entitled, The Body of Beatrice.

However, in reading Harrison’s book, there is much difficulty in ignoring his try at approaching Dante without relying on the hermeneutic circle that exists.
Caught up in his own theory, he vacates his initial, arguably more interesting, modus operandi, for more of the same, which is to be compared to the former quote of Pound on the classical Troubadour’s bodies of work, with little ground stepped forward.

Yet what keeps others from exploring their own possibilities, or to share their own readings? My argument is that Dante is so masterful at crafting his own manuscript of poems with his own notes and with his own analyses that it hardly leaves anything else for scholars to write about, it suffocates sufficiently any room that would be left to theorize about his particular explanation of Beatrice’s death that one would be pressed to find something the author himself hasn’t managed to write on the topic.

The New Life should be read by undergrads to show them how to write and analyze their own works: what a great example of contributing with other writers, and for an author to gain feedback, or how little pride the author takes from the onset in the execution of various word experiments to refine the words he has written, to aim at finding the right words to communicate exactly what he wants to share with others about Beatrice, mixed with his dreams and various forms. Students would not only see exemplary letters and critique, but would be allowed to comprehend what all it takes to make a book. I suggest Dante Gabriel Rosetti’s translation below.


The Body of Beatrice, by Robert Pogue Harrison

The Spirit of Romance, by Ezra Pound

New Life-Vita Nuova, by Dante Alighieri, trans. by Dante Gabriel Rosetti

Essay #5

Andrew Davis

16 April 2015
Revised, 4 November 2016

The idea of “Digging”: that generously gives back, return upon return,(the close-reading of Seamus Heaney’s poem) is heritage of a family legacy. Much conversation upon what connects a particular people to a place could be in-exhaustive ad infinitum, and what job, role, or profession is to make one’s self into a man, what will be one’s living is carried down in men from one generation to the next, and the weight it begins to gain through the years becomes so heavy–the words a father impresses on his fellow male descendant. The beginning of the poem is deceivingly  simple. Consider how much matter the poet addresses in the opening sentence:

“Between my finger and my thumb /  [t]he squat pen rests; snug as a gun.”

This is not a simple sentence. The predicate is of much sensitivity. Consider the verb “squat” that isn’t thought of, generally, as poetic by its harsh sound lacking in musicality; and perhaps the author means to carry the cadence with the diction he would most certainly apply to the rugged atmosphere, or the crudeness and lack-there-of anything pure in the wild. Most certainly, the reader must consider the ars poetic image or the process the writer presents. What is the process? Since squatting as a process might not be necessarily related to a reader, initially, as one of beauty, one theory is Heaney is honing and carving out a negative sense of the word, which every writer would understand from a very early age which deals with the outward biases of societies upon writers. In families where everyone has to provide some type of labor to get ahead in the world, often, it becomes the weight of children to carry on that labor: factory work, working in a field, and it is important to stress just how important these types of physical work are if you are to make it, if you mean to survive, in the less fortunate places of the world, where opportunity is hard to come by. Bigger than the family legacy, even, all endeavors of art, to the public, are considered biasedly to be unprofitable.  This can be very easily relayed to the reader through an image of a writer sitting at a desk writing and the obstinate wondering at how one economically, politically, or whatever could possibly pass the day away writing when there are real world problems to solve. The image could be in a sense of fetish and bondage, a torturous act of rendering art that gives the writer pleasure. Hard to negate a negativity or the sensitivity for the profession of writing, and the act itself is a victim at stake; the author’s process, then is catharsis. The poet, then, is being assertive–not to be confused with aggressive–on a particular choice one has to make. Consider the environment in which the image is created, especially when that environment is a war-torn Ireland–at civil war between Catholic and Protestant. The pen is an object being held that is filling space between the fingers and might even be considered uncomfortable for people. The poet gives, again, an assertion in his stance on how to address these issues operating the common colloquialism of “[t]he pen is mightier than the sword”. Thereby (refraining this line at the end of the poem) the poet not only adds a music quality to the poem, but also Heaney creates a mantra so that to the reader a motto from Heaney’s book on life, his axiom, is given and handed-down to the world to let them deal with it. After defining what sense, or senses be it, of “Digging” for the writer, Heaney gives us another definition of digging in a following observation:

“Under my window, a clean rasping sound   [w]hen the spade sinks into gravelly ground:  [m]y father digging. I look down”

The captured moment is steeped in repetitious sounds and onomatopoeia. The detailed seconds instinctively capture the “s” we associate with spade. What is more evident is the fact from where to the ear the sound originates What the author heard and notated is produced by Heaney’s father. Now that the noise has been captured we know as readers how Heaney means digging exactly: not only literally, but figuratively. This digging one associates with the business of Irishmen. This is how the heritage is employed and we instinctively should know from the onset that Heaney stands in quite an opposing different stance actively to the choice of his father whose digging a potato field. While there is a heritage with many men digging potatoes as industry carried down from generation to generation, Heaney has made a choice to go a different path than his family. There is a wealth of books on similar subject where men of the pen have traveled long distances to physically create distance between themselves and their own subject matter; however, as easy as it seems this is quite difficult because Heaney hasn’t left: he’s still there in the farm-house where he grew up. This is one part fear, one part courage:  to choose to dig with a pen because it has, not only to do with an inheritance, much to do with acceptance of a ritual and past-time thought of as a hobby, and not a way to make a living, In essence making the word digging his own Heaney draws authority on voice. We are immediately in media res between the conversations of his father and him. These and more are tools of the trade: projection. To further emphasize this point the reader may find the potato in the following room or stanza:

“[t]ill his straining rump among the flowerbeds [b]ends low, comes up twenty years away [s]tooping in rhythm through potato drills [w]here he was digging.”

So, another interesting thing is recognizing the reader’s ongoing action synthesized through the act of looking down through the poet in observation of his father and the reader looking down to the next stanza. “Flowerbeds” are important to note for word choice: connotations the potato bears in similarities to flowers by way of gardens, The word is like a synecdoche. There is an allusion to the exercise, not just his father’s, but the writer’s, and the reader’s. There is an association with digging repeating in refrain so that digging takes on new senses and new meanings. When one thinks on the elegy there is another implied way that we experience his father’s and grandfather’s experience through elegy, and that digging is even a part of the process of memory. How hard it is to separate the praise for these men from the work, or stereotype, the voice will choose not to preference, while not reading as demeaning is a careful balancing act which Heaney does masterfully. The meaning further reverberates upon knowing that Seamus Heaney is in his own grave. Memory is a part of the process because of the time. Twenty years will have passed foreseeing the death of his father in the grave, so that now his father’s ritual is an expiring memory. Of all points this cannot be stressed enough: the death of the Naturalist is not his father’s death (though Heaney’s calculation is correct) it is the inheritance of naturalism in Heaney. The drills and straining are so closely connected that there is instinctively a comment and conversation on physical exertion. Stooping is part of the process. and putting the potato towards the end draws upon its own importance. The piece is very conversational in word choice such as using “till” instead of “until” which gives the poem really a mark of honesty, not to be confused with sensitivity. Another process is introduced in the following stanza:

“The course boot nestled on the lug, the shaft [a]gainst the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep [t]o scatter new potatoes that we picked, [l]oving their cool hardness in our hands.”

Therefore, we have a further observations of the digging process and also how the potatoes are created. The process of how to pick a potato is performed and the third person pronoun “we” is the reader and the author taking part in an intimate process with his father and himself. We even hold the potato itself. The  spade is further used and observed. We feel their pain in the process, particularly in the placement of the spade and the work of digging and seeding the potato garden. The following couplet of praise or exclamation further alludes to the elegiac aspect of the poem:

“By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man.”

Concretely it is resolved that Heaney is the naturalist alluded to in the title of the collection Death of a Naturalist. A praise, a praise is inherent in this, Heaney is observing these multiple things and taking his life under consideration, specifically his own life choices and how he will be different than his own dad and how he will escape his heritage of farming potatoes. We rest on this point of the family:

“My grandfather cut more turf in a day  [t]han any other man in Toner’s bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle [c]orked sloppily with paper. He straightened up [t]o drink it, then fell to right away [n]icking and slicing neatly, heaving sods  [o]ver his shoulder, going down and down  [f]or the good turf. Digging.”

The importance is made alone by repeating the process again and again, though the details change ever slightly or the autobiographical focus shifts from character to character. A physical process cannot be ignored one which passed from family member to family member without question to be paid and is necessary for us to understand Heaney’s family tree, legends, and all. We don’t fully understand the negative consequences or tone quality it takes until the turn in the following stanza which aids in questioning just how positive the praise for the men is:

“The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap [o]f soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge [t]hrough living roots awaken in my head.  But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.”

And perhaps the negative tone quality still does not diminish the testament and witnessing of this work these men have done that Heaney separates himself from: be it allergies, the intensity of the work, the pressure to be performed to create, and feed not only yourself, but others is a heavy burden. Seamus Heaney makes a choice that it is with the pen, “[he’ll] dig with it”, This poem and others can be found in his collection entitled Opened Ground.

Work Cited

Heaney, Seamus. Opened Ground: Selected Poems, 1966-1996. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux,  1999. 3-4. Print.

Essay #4

A Close-Reading of “My Hero Bares His Nerves” by Dylan Thomas

Recently, in web searches, I discovered a website entitled, “Thomas Delighted”, which

forces a feminist reading of Thomas’ poem. The anonymous author of the website

suggests “[that] this poem just exaggerates the stereotype that men are heros and

women are princesses waiting to be saved or seductresses waiting to steal men’s

power” (My Hero Bares His Nerves [from a Feminist lens]). I wish to offer a counter-

point to the former interpretation. (Possessed by Thomas Hardy) Dylan Thomas rewrites

Hardy’s “The Voice”.

Complicated in his image of an arm and anatomy, Thomas writes, “[m]y hero bares

his nerves along my wrist / [t]hat rules from wrist to shoulder” (lines 1-2). As readers, we

should not be so quick to read these lines biologically. The voice is the voice of the poet;

however, Thomas communicates to us that the words he chose are not his own, but the

words he writes are the words of his hero. Yet who is the hero that Dylan Thomas praises

in this poem?

Donald Davie, author of Thomas Hardy and British Poetry, writes of the relationship

between Hardy and Dylan Thomas (See Don McKay’s article in University of Toronto

Quarterly, 1986). Don McKay explores the relationship further in his article, entitled

“Crafty Dylan and the Altarwise Sonnets: ‘I build a flying tower and I pull it down’. There

are other places online where one might find the relationship cited, such as the Wikipedia

biography of Dylan Thomas, in which readers will find how Thomas would reference Hardy

in his public readings. Therefore, I suggest Thomas Hardy as a replacement, in the poem,

for “my hero”.


Rereading the first two lines in this manner,  “nerves” should be defined as sensitive

points, or troubles, strife, and suffering. These are not the afflictions of the poet, but

the afflictions of Thomas Hardy. Note, in the third line, Thomas writes of a “ghost” (line

3), and further, Thomas describes a “mortal ruler” (line 4) ruling over his arm, which is to

imply the poet’s loss of control. The inhabitation and haunting of Thomas indicates that

Thomas Hardy is no longer alive, and Hardy has control of Thomas’ arm (however Thomas

tries to defend against the supernatural force), whether he likes the spirit or not, against

his will: “The proud spine spurning turn and twist;” (line 5).

The voice turns from Thomas to the voice of Hardy: “And these poor nerves so wired to

the skull / Ache on the lovelorn paper” (lines 6-7). The question this séance permits is

whether the I, in the second stanza, is the poet or the dead poet which imbibes of him?

This further adds critical commentary to Hardy’s later life and what caused the writing of

“The Voice”. In Hardy’s biography, on Encyclopedia Britannica, he was estranged from his

wife “some 20 years” before her death. In that time, he had an affair with Florence Emily

Dugdale, who would become his second wife. The article adds that the loss of his first wife,

would be the subject of his later work, including “The Voice” (the poem that Thomas

imitates). This informs lines 8-10, which encompasses “love”, which encompasses

Hardy’s “love hunger”, and which answers who is “tell[ing ] the page the empty ill” (line

10). Thomas reads Hardy’s work, which will be the focus of reading the third stanza.

Somewhere in the embodiment of Hardy, Thomas gains an understanding of Hardy’s

life: “Tread, like [A] naked venus / [t]he beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait” could

read as the decay of Emma Hardy into sand, and the “plait” being “bloodred” symbolizing

her death in connection with the style of hair she was known to wear which is found in her

various photographs. Further evidence of the affair is found in what Emma speaks,

“Stripping my loin of promise, / He promises a secret heat” (lines 14-15).


War is a topic of Thomas’ poems. The line that follows in the next stanza has to do

with communication during the war and the telegraph, which would not have been a mode

of communication during Hardy’s time. The point of view shifts back to the poet. In poetry

is T.S. Eliot’s quote upon appropriation and knowing how to properly steal a poem, which

would make Thomas and Hardy “knaves of thieves” (line 18), and Emma “[love’s or]

hunger’s emperor” (line 19). Thomas cannot continue imitating Hardy, therefore

his body rejects Hardy, as excremental waste: “He pulls the chain, the cistern

moves” (line 20). Perhaps, Thomas is rejecting Hardy’s concept of love; perhaps, Hardy is

rejecting Thomas, now giving the poet some advise where he went wrong in love

questioning how Thomas is any different than Hardy, post mortem? Perhaps,this is some

indication of the poem and how the poem comes out of Thomas in its process–Hardy

speaks through Thomas, Hardy releases his hold on Thomas,  and then Thomas moves

upon the paper.

However one might read the end of this poem, Thomas shares with the reader his

experience with a dead poet that he admires. The subject of the poem is “the mortal

coil” of which Hardy has been studied from Thomas’ point-of-view. Poets are not void

of the harmful, cruel maladies that plague men: they are, equally at fault and they are

human. It is from the fault of someone admired that a person may learn some moral.


Therefore, in opposition of one feminist’s hasty reading of this poem, one may read a

counter perspective: Thomas’ poem is not celebrating a machismo of the early 1900s.

Thomas is writing of a fault of one he admired and what Hardy’s mortal coil was.  This

is what Thomas is learning about the history of men and poetry. This is a concept that has

plagued men for centuries: the abstraction of love. Each poet handles love differently.

Works Cited

“Dylan Thomas.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Britannica Academic. Encyclopedia Britannica,

Inc., 2016. Web. 24 May 2016.


McKay, Don. “Crafty Dylan And The Altarwise Sonnets: ‘I Build A Flying Tower And I Pull It

Down.’.” University Of Toronto Quarterly 55.4 (1986): 375-394. Humanities International

Index. Web. 24 May 2016. Hero Bares His Nerves (from a Feminist’s Lens),

nd. Web. 24 May 2016.

Thomas, Dylan. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas. New York: New Directions, 1957. Print.

“Thomas Hardy.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Britannica Academic. Encyclopedia Britannica,

Inc., 2016. Web. 24 May 2016.




Essay #3

A Close-Reading of the Unrhymed Couplets in the Honorable Earl of Rochester’s,

“A Satyr against Reason and Mankind”

In the first distich, of “A Satyr against Reason and Mankind”, John Wilmot presents

the speaker of the poem: “Were I (who to my cost already am / One of those strange

prodigious creatures, man). . .” (1-2). “Cost” implies there is a price to pay for being one

of mankind.  Wilmot will continue to develop the idea through the treatment of a working

thesis, antithesis, counter-thesis, and conclusion in the body of the poem. Another

important word choice in the couplet is “prodigious”. By tracking its etymology,

“prodigious” aids the negative idea of “cost” because of abnormality. By defecting man

with an unknown fault Wilmot gives rise to curiosity in his audience to identify what the

particular failing is. The speaker is highly critical of mankind within his role and presence.

Here is an example of Wilmot’s logic: in order to treat a subject one must have a pure

understanding of it. For Lord Rochester, to further critique reason, man must first exist.


To establish reason as something concrete versus something abstract, Wilmot has to

establish a symbol. There are several diverse figures of language which follow to represent

reason. For example the second distich that Wilmot creates is a conceit drawn between

books and bladders: “Books bear him up awhile, and make him try / To swim with bladders

of philosophy. . .” (20-21). However, what is far more entertaining than creating the

object of reason out of books is that dissecting their matter would spill in a fluid of nasty



Properly creating a treatment of man and reason, Wilmot continues with an example

of mankind. The figure that is closest to the poet is a Wit. Rochester presents for the

reader a portrait of a Wit’s dealings with relationships, having a good understanding of the

Wit’s philosophy on love being a wit himself. Therefore, two concepts of love must exist:

romantic love versus sexual love. When the Restoration Wit writes the following distich,

“Pleasure allures, and when the fops escape, / ‘Tis not that they’re beloved, but fortunate;

/ And therefore what they fear at heart they hate…” (43-44) it is to portray a particular

man’s need of sexual appetite, his fear for committing to a relationship, while gravitating

upon the seriousness of creating another being between two individuals, consummating

and connecting as one. The word choice of “fops” further establishes a negative context in

which to read this couplet. Therefore, a comment is being made on the seriousness of

which individuals take the creating of mankind. As creation is not being taken seriously,

that the sexual act is only being made consummate for relief of pleasure, the Earl is

suggesting the seriousness to which individuals take their own being. However, in

existence is an opponent contrary to Wilmot’s working thesis. Drawing between man and

reason, definitive types of the former and definitive types of the latter, the working thesis

aims to suggest that man comes from such animalistic practices. Further developing a

hypothesis that dismisses two primary practices of mans’ existences: creating thoughts

and the working of thoughts, and creating men, and the mechanics of creating men. The

testing of the premise brings about the antithesis.


An act of the flesh needs a parallel treatment of like-mind; in the restoration period,

the poet would find his challenger in a church. For the former act, committable

sin—taking of the flesh, outside a marriage—needs a proper judge. The antithesis is

present in the fourth distich, in which Wilmot crafts the persona of a priest in these

following critical lines: “But now methinks some formal band and beard / Takes me to

task. Come on, Sir I’m prepared…” (46-47). The word choices of band and beard allow for

the creation of a symbol that represents the priest, and their personification develops

from the symbol acting through the verbal phrase, “takes me to task”.

The fifth distich is a fragment of dialogue in the voice of the priest. The priest makes a

judgment call against the Wit in the following lines, “Likes me abundantly, but you take

care / Upon this point not to be too severe” (50-51). However, what is important to note,

the taste (that the priest does not have for the likes of the wit) is fragmentary. Further

comment is being made upon the Wit. Wilmot gives the priest the knowledge to know that

Wits are “severe” upon “points” and matters of opinion. Even more important to note is

that the “point” is in a manner of personification because with the application of logic it is

impossible to be severe on a point. In the next distich, quite similarly, God is a form of idea

or reason for personification (64-65). The seventh distich simply hashes out the opposite

senses of warmth and freezing having the reader “Dive into mysteries, then soaring pierce

/ The flaming limits of the universe. . . ” (68-69), and immediately following these

feelings the priest handles a major critical point of the academic aptitude of religion by

presenting abstractions asking the reader to “[s]earch heaven and hell, find

out what’s acted there, / [a]nd give the world true grounds of hope and fear” (70-71),

allowing for a response to the antithesis.

The counter-thesis, and re-working of the initial premise Wilmot creates follows in

the voice of the Wit. The re-introduction of the initial speaker allows the priest and the

wit to debate about religion. Immediately each couplet that follows is a critique of the

former antithesis of the priest. The first couplet treats sources of the religious material,

and both of them being of particular disdain: “From Patrick’s Pilgrim, Sibbs’ soliloquies; /

And ‘tis this very reason I despise” (74-75). A recount, of the feelings of hot and cold the

priest perceives in lines 68-69, morphs with the witty speaker’s experience, of having to

learn religion in school: “Borne on whose wings each heavy sot can pierce / The limits of

the boundless universe” (84-85). The abstraction of religious feelings “hope” and “fear”

from salvation or “heaven”, or from damnation and “hell”, transmit into the wit’s

negative personification of the abstraction of god: “’Tis this exalted power whose business

lies / In nonsense and impossibilities” (88-89).  Therefore the speaker concludes that the

only way to live properly is not to think outside of the bounds of Earth, but to breathe and

be here, opposes somewhere else and all the hard work it takes to fabricate something

from nonexistence: “Our sphere of action is life’s happiness, / And he who thinks beyond,

thinks like an ass” (96-97). All of these first hand experiences and thoughts leads to a re-

evaluation of “reason” into instinct which is more akin to what the speaker perceives as


The Witty speaker further debates the priest ending “This plain distinction, Sir, your

doubt secures, / ‘Tis not true reason I despise, but yours” (110-11). Supplanting the word

choice of “doubt” creates a paradox, considering most would be arguing against the priest

on the grounds of religious faith.  Considering the use of life experience in the evidence

and testimony of the Wit during the debate may suggest the Wit’s reason for thinking that

faith exists. This adds to the debate on Reason and Mankind, and clarifies that the Wit

believes the priest shares a kinship with himself in the doubts of their reason and their

species. While one has the luxury to turn away from Earth and posit about a future life, the

latter must stare into it and make peace with it. Yet, the concept of instinct is not fully

present until the following two lines.


The only other living things, besides mankind and their imaginations, are present in

the animal kingdom. The priest leaves the company of the wit, as the wit turns his thought

from teleological debate to “creatures”. The Wit forces itself to comprehend the

differences between man and animal, relaying a positive comment on the thought-to-be

inferior beings: “Those creatures are the wisest who attain / By surest means, the ends at

which they aim” (117-18). Since the Wit finds nothing in common with anything else in

existence, now it forces itself to enter commune with animals. Much like the wit satiates

its appetites, so do animals. Just as animals in a corner will snap and bite, the wit finds

something in common with reacting viciously when the wit itself is in a corner: “With

teeth and claws by nature armed, they hunt / Nature’s allowance to supply their want”

(113-14). It is in the uses of “allowance” and “want” that Wilmot matches what man’s

want is, perhaps out of moral or religion or any other ethical philosophies have here

before proven hindering.


The want to attack another living, innocent sentient being is a violation of moral code

and ethic. This leads to a life of destruction and chaos for the wit which upon its life states:

“Leading a tedious life in misery / Under laborious mean hypocrisy” (151-52). Recognizing

this weakness the Witty speaker concludes that man, at the core of its being, is an animal

asking the reader, “Look to the bottom of his vast design,  / Wherein man’s wisdom,

power, and glory join” (153-54).

After a close read of the distiches present in the first part of the poem, seeing where

previous scholars abound in thoughts on form, psychology, language study, arrive at a

distinction of the poem ahead of its time in historic, and/ or speculation on sociologic

theory. A character persists throughout the poem. Postmodern and deconstructionist

theory and beliefs in this character argue that it needs to exist. The character must exist

because of the turmoil the character witnesses. This is a testament to the triumph of “A

Satyr against Reason and Mankind”. Where other scholarly attempts fail in recent years is

to explore how Wilmot chose to go against the common grain of form from the period.


Everything written, during the 17th century, follows the pattern of the heroic couplet,

not often turning from a precision with the form. Initially, Wilmot might come into

contempt for his doggerel sounding verses. The question (I would pose to the most critical

of scholars is) thus: what is the need for the persistent, heroic couplets, if what is so

triumphant in this piece is against the grain of popular 17th Century poems, against all

philosophy of the time, against that period’s popular opinion?


Many scholars see an over-arching nihilism present within the poem. The poet calls

not only for the absence of religion, not only the current state of man to return to a more

primitive time, when dealing in the treatment of creatures because man is a creature, but

the poet, also, enlivens an argument for the complete relishing of desire. The problem is

not the destruction of religion, but rather that the poet cannot unleash its vengeance like a

common animal upon another animal. As much as Wilmot might be tempted, he is

trumped by his own, humanist, morals and ethics. Therefore, everything Wilmot presents

within the poem calls for the reader to go against the common thread of society.

Presenting what the poet learns firsthand, readers have an account which gives them a

guide to refer to.


The close-reading of the poem necessitates a paper that will lead to the argument for

the unrhymed couplets to be the ground from which to arrive at literary analysis of John

Wilmot’s “A Satyr against Reason and Mankind”. This further sets him apart from the

wits and the restoration Poets of the time on his own merits, and without the trials of

biographical and critical contempt that the Wit in his period faces, which he blatantly

demands to end.

Work Cited

Cousins, A. D. “The Context, Design, And Argument Of Rochester’s A Satyr Against

Reason And Mankind.” SEL: Studies In English Literature, 1500-1900 24.3 (1984): 429-

439. MLA International Bibliography. Web. 1 Dec. 2013.

Gill, James E. “The Fragmented Self In Three Of Rochester’s Poems.” Modern Language

Quarterly: A Journal Of Literary History 49.1 (1988): 19-37. MLA International Bibliography.

Web. 5 Dec. 2013.

Johnson, Ronald W. “Rhetoric And Drama In Rochester’s ‘Satyr Against Reason And

Mankind’.” SEL: Studies In English Literature, 1500-1900 15.3 (1975): 365-373. MLA

International Bibliography. Web. 5 Dec. 2013.

Russell, Ford. “Satiric Perspective In Rochester’s A Satyr Against Reason And Mankind.”

Papers On Language And Literature: A Journal For Scholars And Critics Of Language And

Literature 22.3 (1986): 245-253. MLA International Bibliography. Web.5 Dec. 2013.

Wilmot, John. “A Satyr against Reason and Mankind” The Norton Anthology

of English Literature. Greenblatt, Stephen. Vol. C. 9th ed. New York: Norton, 2012. 1679.



29 November 2013, revised 21 May 2016