HAMLET MY FRIEND- HOW DO YOU DO?

Refreshing the paradigm to truly configure what is quiet the case with Hamlet. No, why quiet so! So.. so eh, what to say? He is audible yes, condescending yes, but where goes his ringing sense as he whooped a dagger dagger play.

“I will speak daggers to her.”

How now, that its your beloved’s father. Should I centre the foci or no foci is centre itself. In Shakesperean play, the true strength of dramatic propensity and vivid chore of what’s of mouth to chew in as it gets its hands on gum ..and sweetly blow. I found it there. A great grand wild in the exodus mind that propels and fore against mashes of man, dust, and nature. He is striving against that thing, ..in becoming a well what to say. I am not as verbosy as Hamlet is, I suppose. He and his assailable hacks of nature leaves nature at dispense itself. But evil is not to surrender. For its not nature? Anomoly of human is in ‘action’. Fore he does one, he need do contemplate one. Don’t you get your elders siege and biege on that till you grow old yourself and think it your duty to screw little heads. Contemplation, meditation… , a kind of thing that doesn’t reciprocates action?

“..wings as swift As meditation…”

But do you think all things of nature are in reciprocal relation? Just how many get reciprocated? Just think on it. His is the fuss on benign of villainy that is all action? Aey, cut chew on this one.. In dramas, just who is more action: Hero or villain? But yea yea, he do, our dear Hamlet acts ..but acts in nerves? But that’s the difference. Oh, now that I think of it, can you think essential outmark difference between a hero and villain ..on lines that threads them apart [aside that evil and virtue. Even to that, now universally granted a hero necessarily not be virtuous. If you need hook on what I am saying, just fuss about any modern drama. Okay.] An actor prior to a damper? Is that so? But that’s substantialy subjective. But hey if drama is objective, where exactly and it gets directed for? For the hellish numbers of drama written and produced.. why note that junk. It defies the very appel to appaling effect. So, the point of view.. is what rolls the ball as subjective or objective? That its arc of adam’s impulse that grades and grands as it pleases? A lease on that one please. Ho, a shudder in brokenhood. Hamlet’s broken. Yet yet yet, to forth ove on next leveing this one,  I hit on why why you say or propose “Oedipus Complex” ..as if he had such subjections, his melancholy at his dead father is not justified. For Oedipus implies an intrisicty to wish forth mother’s love and killing one’s father. And that’s his father, the senior Hamlet. Smash goes your theory dear theorists! And what of delay of dear murderous instinct you want to say? The exact proposition in his DELAY arrives at that you imply he wanted a murder attempt. An attempt is a thing to be delayed yes. But THAT was not an attempt! He sought a better case for his father pinned in purgatory.

“Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damnèd incest.”

His wishes withal, rampant in cope with sense to unsense to plot a seek unto Claudius. Vain how callous in induct that he like a nobler as would, to challenge and acclaim publicly, ..he lie secretly in ambush. But that’s a rat or cat? A latter or prior, yes but is by radical lecture of mind seeking ..seekth forgery out. To lie and land unto frailty beyond, the rapacious cleave of venge’. He prolled about in his nook, ..in consistent mime to reap gain against concotion of dabbed in the pug of his allied life. Is life his ally? Or sense yes? No. He is out of it? And he CHOOSES to? In dire identity, he called forth his tragic flaw. In scum’s sought, you rally ‘gainst to pry fore ALL scum. That’s he duely rolls forth. That’s his tragedy. A recur of unsense choiced out of sense to rally aginst vulgarity could be very gradable sort of tragedy, ..and thus gradeably felt. To purr in lieu, you can’t pull. ‘Cause you are a monopoly of life. And life if rolled, shall boggle polyrinse.

“Does it not, think'st thee, stand me now upon--
He that hath kill'd my king and whored my mother,
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes,
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with such cozenage--is't not perfect conscience,
To quit him with this arm? “  

In retrica of bid of melancholy he is driven, whither he wisheth to steer forth end.. like any man would. A Shakesperean dramatic action with its three componential instrumentalities.. “Thread”, “Movement”, and “Collision”.. riddles forth a row against the wave, consequently breach to suffer.

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

His madness is a feigned breach. And suffers as in the wreck of his conflict. This, the inner conflict anon rolls dump and ho delineates a nigger of fashion of pain feigned in MADNESS. In notorious guise, it oft lends you its identity. You are outrun by its name. Even if:

“..the time is out of joint.”

..you shall kneed a face. And hampers shall bog thy vision if you had any. And haste shall stomp on thee its lid. And nettle of pod shall sickle life unto reel. Where it pleases thence. Hamlet’s a bleak rudder of each striven soul… . We get to meet him now and then, but little do vision aid, lol :v .

 

#Adieus

 

 

My Apologies to 'Pakistani Literature'

Well, the last time you see I turned it down to proceed. But the nights are long and the sleeps are hard to struck. And I am very much a doctor to diagnose my thesis point about a half-read book right or wrong. So, you may believe, i proceeded with the book “Pakistani Literature”. And I did enter into the poetry section last time with the perusal of two of poems done. I quite forgot the fact sir! that the book i was reading hath contents of different minds. And what i am provided with at the beginning of the book might not be the same that is to come! This oblivious leading lead me to the prejudiced notion of regarding the book unjustified to its subject. So, when i began this time, i was reminded by the click of notion that the last book injected –well to put it in my plain words: the poetry is more prophetic to pierce into the spirits and express undulating spiritual experiences which prose is incapable to even hunt. And i was convinced as i did ‘read’ poetry, or to put it other way did elicit their conjectures and projections of lives, and riding in their caprice becoming part and parcel of their hoods of words. Sometimes a hunter, sometimes a lover, sometimes an artist, or may be a shopkeeper, or one who’s waiting for his rail-train, or being struck by some brooding news from home, or is it a picnic in the sun! When our life is chilled, we are warmed in theirs. We tend to life, when we are dead. That’s why those in corners read more than you basking in love. They are shrunk to borrow life. And so did i that night. These poems propped my head distracted in their throbbing. I loved especially ones of Athar Tahir, Maki Kureishi, and Taufiq Rafat. The poetry- their dusky, simple styles, some real close to our inbred culture, though some in vaults of foreign shades. The tradition i found, even ours could be expressed! The sentiment is in soaring high in the soaking clouds that says ‘see down there you live too’ and down here then i cast my eyes above, then tilt it down ove’ the book, euphoric at finding these reverend spirits found in print. ..How Maki Kureishi puts in her poem “Absent Daughter”,

‘I keep listening

for your voice, but this silence clangs

like a denting yard.’

A sentiment so plain, yet deep and like coaxing those injuries again. End, she says:

‘I hear only

the postman’s tread, and the clang

of your letter.’

In her poem “The Shopkeeper”, how with decent jib of words, she expresses..

‘Carefully, at each slap of the wind

he dusts his shop;...’

In another verse... she goes as..

‘Pausing now and again to assess

his work. Does he sell anything?...’

Oh, i am so in love with her. She writes beautifully. There is no pretension, nor force in it. Its like a sway of feeling. No more.

Alamgir Hashmi in his poem “Down And Out In Malibu”, how he excels in his wandering spirits, and says:

‘The bird and the breeze are themselves a wandering lot,

and do not mind this clumsy seeking of refuge.’

And in his another poem “On Seeing A Poster In The Showcase Cinemas”, he puts..

‘that i am too far removed

to fight back with them the rain, wind, anything.’

The nuance troubled with hope and its subtleties of enaction, that’s the hook of interpretation i score here with his rigorous expression.

There is wonder in art you know, to mark that how of all it chose a penner and exprex’t itself in the vain collapses of poet’s inks.   

...To read more of the poetry of Pakistani literature, consult this book “Pakistani Literature”- The Contemporary English Writers edited by “Alamgir Hashmi”.

P.S

My apologies, in being quick to mark my quirk thoughts on half-read book last time :( . Ah! Just that i have short energy-span.

Pakistani Literature

The striking appeal by the title “Pakistani Literature”, and being never been through any English work of a Pakistani author before, it came more as a phase of mortification in hopes prior to being anything else. To put it honestly so far as I found, the ideals don’t dictate our culture..  the hanking up with a jib of ‘polyglot culture’-well, thats what the preface admits too. Must here observe that with language comes the intimacies with culture, so I personally won’t agree with the title of the book. There’s an unjustification in that! The prose-section, I went through it all. It was fine if to highlight that peculiar issue –the author had a fine sense and he did justice on account of the story itself.  Each of ‘em, I’ll attribute, well a few are aput ah :v . Especially, the short-story “With Music By Dmitri Tiomkin: A Short Story” by “Zulfiqar Ghose” he made a distinguished remark where he says: ‘Those spectators who have to rely on their own eyes are, therefore, full of doubt, not knowing whether to believe the first or the second group of the privileged owners of binoculars, and are discussing whether binoculars should be banned so that everyone could see the same thing.’  How that by mocking the urging minds and curious eyes who hath to put up with something but a ‘source’ is abridging them ove’ away to discriminated lands that they don’t inhabit the same sense? And the queer vicious novelty that heaps of great organs/systems are bringing and bingeing thus distorting and causing such hegemony of truth. Tut!  And what more to put is that ‘The spectators on the highest tier congratulate each other on possessing the best seats, and... they are where they are, and if anything seems to be on the horizon, then let the others squabble over what they make of it. They know what it is, having best view, but they are not going to tell the others who have not paid as much for their lowly seats.’ Now you make of it fella’, i don’t need put another word- . Here was where I found this story awful, elsewhere I was finding trouble in making out what the exactest plot was, though the transitions in it were novel and interesting.  

Now for poetry section, i did perusal of few prior to the idea that i was struck with abjection and disgust to drop the book all. For care of knowledge, the dread of falling off the grounds .. thats where depression names itself. And that is the time you must now close the book!

I don’t know if I got prejudiced by what impression I perceived, but anyways that was my notice! If you want to contrast yours, the book is all the way there in the world. Choice is yours to take it if you please.

Cheers~

Aspects of Literature, book !

A brittle child as me would study something a sort, and yet sought it hard to assimilate what he read! The whole book’s about what the hell in essence? I hath yet not learned. The title “aspects of literature”.. so not a book a non-literature fella might be fond of. But well, one engaged in perusal must be capable to derive and produce knowledge. The dumb-heads are here where they struck off. To pucker out my recreation from it and what i remembers is that its something about soaking the soggy leaves soaked in criticism on criticism. Lol. Well, ya’ know that they wanted to pre-mode you with the understanding what criticism is? May be hell yeah its function and the purpose it serves and the kinds like literary criticism, philosophical criticism, and then there was one another name.  Ah! All i’ve t’ say its a good damn thingy to slit and pluck out what ya’ find queer. Thats criticism :v . I mean palease, let the author rest in peace. RIP :3 . Your lures, ooops i could not cure. The hingy brains when stuck up, and grab hold of what rambles in the fists and gives a nimble in the tongue.. there you’re good to go. Go go! Criticise! Yosh! Nay, that i am sliding aside my homework to write this review, that would be awfully awful.. and ahm that is. Justy that me found some contractions of mine shades in goody semblance with Keats that he is such a fanatic mitigated with sense that ‘no more wonder at wonders’. And pooh what dear sorrows L ..says Keats:

‘Of all external things, they saw me not,’

Opsy, ..lol anyone out there with friends that tend to ignore you.. smash it yeah in Keatsian style. Yo! Binge it at their face. . this phrase. It’ll venge out thy pains (Y) .

Of Keats something remarkable is said ah well that struck me quirk .. ‘the “vision of Moneta” is the culminating point of Keat’s evolution.’ ‘Moneta was to him the discovered spirit of reality; her vision was the vision of necessity itself. In her, joy and pain, life and death, compassion and indifference, vision and blindness are one; she is the external abode to contraries... ’ (-extract from book). ‘He, too, is the prey to contraries.’ ‘...the quality with which saturated, the calm and various light of united contraries.’ The juxtaposition of this concept with ourselves, we the modern man struck in same strokes we feel. But he marked it the mirror of his diety, ..we summon it’s a monster lol.

Then on very essential grounds its stroked what poetry is and what poetry is today? The insipid and curing mentions of the beauty that marked in how the author works-out ‘what poetry is’ is marvel-bound. My haste here is telling me brief you and then depart to some engagement that’ll need me. And that’s none other than dinner lol. And then you see ‘a one man show’ like Hardy the author produces his notes of expression, than Ronsard, Tchehov, and a lil of criticism from Coleridge’s angle. Lol, whatelse you wanna know go grab a book bunchy moron and stop waiting for miracles of knowledge to fall on you :3 . It won’t happen, unless you get the hell of your sluggishness and procrastination.

Jumpy up!

Yo!

The book’s:

Aspects of Literature,

J. Middleton Murray

http://www.online-literature.com/george_eliot/mill_floss/9/

The Mill on the Floss e-read :P

Half a loaf- a parable

http://www.landscapesmag.com/teachers/lessonplans/Environmental%20Journal.pdf

You can find it at the above link.

Quarrel Scene :( -_-

Goody goody! a bad episode reminds of a bad episode of life then, ay literature?
~Quarrel scene in 'the mill on the floss'