The Great Gatsby. Why ?

Image

The Great Gatsby. Why ?

The Great Gatsby Why ?

My guts were eating at me tonight . It was Just one of those nights that compelled me to make a choice .
The choice was between either heading home to watch the 7th playoff game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and Boston or to see “The Great Gatsby” on a night when the theater probably wasn’t crowded . Well Gatsby won out . I paid my 16.00 admission and 11.00 for a small bit of plain popcorn with a pinch of salt and a pint sized diet coke. Guess what …the theater was practically filled on a Monday night at the Manulife building . My wife and I tried to see the movie this past Friday but all the theaters playing Gatsby downtown were sold out . What is it that draws one to this movie besides the promise of the glorious 20 ‘s motifs, decor & dress ? I think it is something else other than that visual appeal . As I settled into my theater seat, put my 3Dglasses on and began to watch ,I realized I had seen the last Gatsby movie made with Robert Redford in 1974 on a week night as well, and that it too was packed at the time. (DiCaprio vaguely looks like a thinner young Redford in the movie) .

What is it about this story that makes it so popular ? Is it the symbolism of the green light at the end of the Harbour, the mystique of the author Fitzgerald & his wife Zelda , the splendour, excess, optimism, and excitement of the Roaring 20s ? I don’t think so, even though they are all relevant and have particular appeal especially in our times . As asserted in a recent newspaper article Fitzgerald wasn’t I think a stupendously artful or impeccable wordsmith . Hemingway in my opinion was a much more powerful wordsmith and a more technically elegant and simple writer. Hemingway’s descriptions of Fitzgerald and his wife in his novel ” Moveable Feast” were very interesting and revealing vignettes of Fitzgerald’ s character . Regardless Fitzgerald has deftly portrayed through the various twists and turns of his story line, the power of love and essentially has unfolded it as a 20’s morality play happening under the bespectacled eyes of G_d as well as thorough the eyes of the aspiring capitalist narrator Nick Caraway . Carraway unfortunately displays a moral sensitivity that propels him into depths of depression In the story , although he appears to be healed by a therapeutic return to his first love of writing. ( I’m sure a there are a good chunk of aspiring and established authors that can identify with that therapy ).

It is in Fitzgerald’ s skillful weaving of many storyline threads of love ,infidelity, and loyalty, into one thick and unbreakable cord that he achieves the memorable. On the completion of his work “The Great Gatsby”, he must have felt an emotion akin to what Hemingway referred to as the silent secret joy that a writer keeps to himself initially, guards jealously and possessively in recognition that something good has just been written. The joy is in the author’s recognition of something truly ,unique and relevant.

The movie itself was visually exciting and creative , the casting unique , the acting so so , but the storyline is what carried it off and made it memorable once again. Gatsby is in love, deluded, dashing , desperate , dedicated , and a pathetic victim all wrapped up into one well dressed package . The layers in the story are peeled away one by one like veiled curtains but no one gets to see the whole story except for Nick Carraway , with the spectacles of G_d and the eyes of the reader watching over him. The layers are fascinating and as they are peeled away the revealed story becomes smaller , more compact and concise. One of classic lines quoted in the movie of course describes how Daisy and her Husband Tom were careless people who in the end receded into their money and carelessness , as Carraway sinks Into to depression and Gatsby into a hopeful final oblivion.

At the end of my movie experience almost all of the viewers stayed in their seats for a while watching the credits roll . It felt as if they didn’t want to quite let it go . I felt that way as well, just as Gatsby did in the story: He clung to the past, blinded by love, regret, and desire, not wanting to realize that things had changed and that there was an ending .

The symbolic light at the end of the pier that Gatsby clung to was green. The colour green is typically symbolic of vibrant and constant love ( Greensleeves and all ) , but change and the many ways that it is dealt with , seemed to be the only relevant constant in this plot , as it is often in real life . Perhaps coincidentally or not , the colour green is also the colour of money, envy, and of forward movement .

Embrace of Midnight Hours

Embrace of  Midnight  Hours

You wash my body with water

and tiny crystals of dissolved salt.

The myrrh refused,

is now welcome,

and received with oils on skin

from rounded vials and bottles

of scented red and blue.

Rubbed on flesh is

fragrant cedar, cypress, myrrh,

and oil of Lebanon.

Tongue, arms, hands,

legs,and feet,

are motionless and limp,

stigmatized with love.

They reside here in limed spa

of striated stone,

so dimly lit by wick of lamp,

and laid out wavering candle.

I hear monotone music

of the chorus

of your beating hearts,

and the feel labour

of experienced hand.

Wrap me in the shelter of your linen

one final time

as in the womb

once long before,

celebrated

with flute and song.

When will I awake

from this narcotic state

to stir again

from my so deep,

and palliative sleep?

The Awakening

He had not seen her for quite some time. Sitting outside the cafe she just happened to run into him with her two young daughters . She was a diminutive woman with fine features and blond hair and her name Anastasia meant resurrection . Her two daughters were dressed identically like two tiny porcelain madeleines except that one was distant ,the other thin and very affectionate .

The thin little one immediately jumped into his lap as if she had suddenly found her long lost father and gently laid her head against his shoulder .She looked up at him with soft hazel eyes . He noticed her eyes had many tiny specs in them .There were so many that together they rivaled and almost crowded out her pupils .”Your daughter is not well”
He said .The mother immediately got up and ran into the cafe .She came back shortly .

He noticed her eyes were red .She had been crying, Her blonde hair slightly disheveled and showing her black roots  She was angry ; not with him but rather at fate and how circumstances could fall together in such a way that her fatherless daughter at such a young  age could be ill and riddled with so many problems.

The little one nuzzled even closer to him.“ Have faith he said . “Time rectifies all things “They kissed each other on the cheek and she went on her way, with her two daughters on either side, holding hands.

The morning broke and he awoke from a deep sleep  .
His eyes slowly opened ,to the sounds of all the birds welcoming the morning, many small birds in a garbled melody of chirps, and the solitary refrain of an intermittent cooing dove nearby .This would be his last day. The pain of the wounds was excruciating now again, and he was sweating blood.

There were crimson tears at the corners of his  eyes,dried blood and dirt on his face  .As dawn broke to a new host of torture he realized the little one ,with her head on his shoulder , had been the dark one himself . He braced himself as the door opened .

From “Mercy Brother ” by PWChaltas

City

Image

Urbane

City
Surrounded by concrete,
lights,
and a crescent moon,
the obsolescence
of hearts confounds.
The milquetoast of regret
seizes,
and shattered glass
repentance
cuts a tear
of cerium oxide rust
in the soul.
It’s imperfect with
the screech of feather
cutting air,
as crackpots entertain
trained monkeys
on bandwidths,
while we engage
in the urbane .

From “Persephone’s Call” by PWChaltas

Love is

Love is

Love is
devotion
and surrender,
in a giving
of the kind,
where in the giving,
you receive
more than you
could ever give,
and more than you
could ever expect,
or deserve
to receive.
It is deeper
than death
and much
more illogical
in the living .
Sometimes love
can destroy
the lives
of lovers .
Never the less
the true lover
is  fulfilled
and sated in the giving,
regardless of
whether it ,
or the lover is
ever
to be returned.