Reviews for Habitats of the world

The average rating for Habitats of the world based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2009-04-18 00:00:00 Erick Viera The subject of Gjertrud Schnackenberg's book length poem Throne of Labdacus is the Oedipus myth--as told by Sophocles in his famous play "Oedipus the King." Schnackenberg's approach will at first startle those familiar with her work. Gone is the lush language of her previous efforts, replaced now by an austere imagism that recalls H.D., in particular, that poet's Helen in Egypt. Schnackenberg seeks to tell those parts of the story "outside the play," with the god Apollo providing the fresh viewpoint for the ancient story. In Part One, "The God Tunes the Strings," the first ten lines tell the whole story: The first warning passing through Thebes - as small a sound As a housefly alighting from Persia And stamping its foot on a mound Where the palace once was; As small as a moth chewing thread In the tyrant's robe; As small as the cresting of red In the rim of an injured eye; as small As the sound of a human conceived-- The last couplet closes the circle, with its image of a gouged eye, followed immediately by the "sound" of conception--itself no louder than a fly stamping its foot. This is an impressive compression, with its quick flash of communication. The life of Oedipus, his fate, as well as the fate of plague-doomed Thebes, are all suggested in these ten lines. Moreover, this "flash" (suggestive of Part Two's title "The Shape of Lightning") with its loaded imagery comes from on high (Zeus--or beyond) to the listening god Apollo. Apollo is meant to be the conduit for this tale. And the god begins immediately, "mouthing the words," committing them to memory, and then to music. But, as the god turns the squeaking pegs in their holes, he feels unease, for he himself is "frightened / By the self-blinding.." and by a story "The meaning of which nobody knows." The Throne of Labdacus is divided into ten parts, though it isn't always easy--without careful rereadings--distinguishing the "why" of each part, since this is not a linear retelling of the story. Instead, what the reader finds in Schnackenberg's vision is an intense meditation on images and events drawn from the play. To some extent this can be hard to follow at times; nevertheless, the impression grows, as the poem proceeds, that the poet is doing some fine (and elaborate) weave work. Familiar images from the Oedipus story bleed into each other: a peg turning in its hole becomes the wheel of a chariot; the wounded feet of a baby become the wounded foot of a young man slaying his father, and the feet of father and son blur together as both cross into Jocasta's bedchamber; Jocasta's rope becomes a broken lyre string, and so on. The effect is cinematic and cumulative as Schnackenberg assumes the camera's eye--a poetic Eisenstein. Schnackenberg also draws on sources outside of Sophocles. This is reflected throughout the poem in the refrain-like "Others say.." or "Some said..." as different (and sometimes contradictory) tellings are worked into the poem. The purpose for this is to plot the story historically by suggesting a variety of contexts: its ancient beginnings in "gossip," to folklore, and finally the play itself. At one point, Schnakenberg goes so far as to state "everything is true." When it comes to Sophocles, she questions how the dramatist's Athenian version differs from how it was understood centuries before at its roots -- in Thebes: In Thebes, the people see unfathomed sacrilege In swiftly succeeding, savage episodes; But in Athens the people quarrel Over what is meant - The dilemma over what the Oedipus story means has been debated for centuries. The classicist, Bernard Knox, in his essay "The Freedom of Oedipus," sees Oedipus as heroic, not feeble. This, according to Knox, was the understanding the Greek playgoer of the 5th century would have had upon seeing the play "Oedipus the King." Schnakenberg seems conscious of Knox's opinion--though in the end rejects such an interpretation as a fairly common "face-value" reading. In an endnote to the poem, she states that in "the Greek religious view, fate and free will need not be paradoxical and opposed...". Where Schnackenberg finds room for maneuver is in what the gods don't say. Since the gods (or more precisely Zeus) do not disclose all and humans are not all-knowing, what we humans perceive as free will may, in fact, be fated. It is Apollo, the relayer of the prophecy, who must witness firsthand Oedipus' fate in all its starkness: The god simply says, I saw what I saw -- A throne of snow. A threatening goad. A digger's foot tamping down And tamping down a mound at the place Where three roads meet, leaving no visible evidence Of who was buried there - In part three ("What-Is And What-Is-not"), Apollo himself flees fate - or as Schnackenberg often prefers--Necessity: for the gods, like men, are also fated. The throne of snow will in the end be an empty throne. Both Olympus and Thebes will share a similar fate. Apollo senses the handwriting on the wall. However, such flight is desperate and useless and recalls the oracle given to Oedipus: "Flee birth." Being the god of poetry, Schnackenberg sees Apollo's nature as not so mechanical. If there is any wiggle room in a cold universe, it lies with Apollo--a poet. But Necessity's messenger (Necessity represents some sort of universal trump--card over both gods and men) finds Apollo hiding out among the debris of history. The messenger places the tablets of the Oedipus story into the unwilling god's hands: The god touched the tablets like a blind man, Then wiped with his palm The tale of Oedipus into a smear And substituted, on behalf of Zeus, a law That vibrated in the heavens With Zeus's pity: The human being, in the end, is an injured body. An injured body that lies where no law Can touch it. An injured body that lies unburied Outside the bourne of right and wrong. But he had written this in the language of the gods: The tablets showed only an expanse of illegible waves Like a depiction of Zeus's rain in undulating sheets Whipping a storm through Thebes This message of pity - perhaps even mercy in the New Testament sense--isn't, as long as it remains in god-speak, communicated to the human race. Or, perhaps worse, it's a deliberate lie issued out of pity. In either case, truth seems lost in a rain-driven scene straight from Kurosawa's Rashomon. Truth, as revealed in the poem, is multi-faceted, perhaps meaningless. But for whatever reason, the text is eternal--always reemerging, even though each reemergence is like the recurring "paths worms make in excrement." Apollo's own isolation increases as the poem progresses. In one poignant passage, Schnackenberg has Apollo calling to Oedipus, while at the same time recognizing that he himself has, from up above, been cut off from answers and explanations. The god, on behalf of Zeus, calls Oedipus! Oedipus! The only name he has to call him by. Then strains to hear a reply. He leans forward in his shining chair In Delphi; Nothing. Far up, he sees His father's empty throne of snow, And Olympus dripping silence; silence; silence. As if there is nothing that Zeus wants. Oedipus! Oedipus! Nothing. Yet Oedipus has heard the god; And, seated on a throne of rock In a shadowy wood, he lifts His bandaged face in response. Riddleless. Answerless. Interestingly, in Schnackenberg's poem both Necessity and Oedipus are described as "Eyeless," and even Apollo is likened to a blind man. To what degree they are all joined at the hip is a clear reference to Heraclitus' maxim that character is fate (also alluded to in an endnote by Schnackenberg). Such a joining is here effectively depicted as both grotesque and heartbreaking. Before it, the reader also feels riddleless and answerless, as if viewing a horrific drawing by Goya: A story sent to the god By Faceless Necessity Who had held a clay tablet up To the bandaged eyes Of a Bound Man Playing his harp with his feet... Despite all this fluidity, however, Schnackenberg does believe in a primal event behind the story, and by poem's end, she returns to the enduring tableau: At the heart of the music, A slamming silence in the heart of Greece. At the heart of the slamming silence, A wobbling cart appears in the far distance, A royal chariot that stalls at the crossroads... However, if death is on all the borders of this tragedy, Schnackenberg also finds there is, at its heart, an act of mercy. The unnamed shepherd (who Schnackenberg reveals as Apollo) acting on impulse, and without consideration of past or future, saves the abandoned and maimed infant, Oedipus. If Schnackenberg sees heroism, or more importantly, freedom, it is here and not with the more familiar self-blinding that occurs later. For all the poem's inevitability and seeming lack of consolation, Schnackenberg closes with an act of kindness that makes what was once a distant god manlike, the poem heard, the gap between heaven and earth painfully bridged: Far up in the glinting, undefiled Cleft of Delphi, music is being made By the god, who turns from the sight And closes his eyes-- I was riveted, chosen beguiled -- The god who, delicately, As if plucking a single fate From a heap of entangled fates, Touches a string and replies: I rescued the child.

Review # 2 was written on 2007-06-11 00:00:00 Tammy Doyle This is a poetic re-telling of the story of Oedipus. The god Apollo is given the task of putting the story to music, and you see the events happening through the god's eyes- even the gods are unable to stop Fate or Necessity. The book is simple sometimes, a bit obtuse at others; it might not make sense to you unless you have a good understanding of the myth and Greek culture in general. She gives a lengthy introduction in the back of the book though, which could be helpful. Certain portions of the poem are breath-taking, some are genius. She does a fantastic job of preserving the feeling of the original myth; she re-tells the story in great detail, but she doesn't add too much, or make it too elaborate. I'd recommend this book to anyone interested in or familiar with Greek tragedies. I read it twice through just to make sure I didn't miss anything.