readings for the week

Something Alzaldúa says in “Speaking of Tongues,” really strikes me: "I have not yet unlearned the esoteric bullshit and pseudo-intellectualizing that school brainwashed into my writing" (RFRT 77). This is so reminiscent of Descartes’ first meditation when he says,

Several years have now elapsed since I first became aware that I had accepted, even from my youth, many false opinions for true, and that consequently what I afterward based on such principles was highly doubtful; and from that time I was convinced of the necessity of undertaking once in my life to rid myself of all the opinions I had adopted, and of commencing anew the work of building from the foundation, if I desired to establish a firm and abiding superstructure in the sciences.

This also reminds me of James’ and Robert’s mentioning of Yoda on Monday, saying we must unlearn what we’ve learned.

Also, I thought it was amusing when Burke was trying to distinguish between rhetoric and primitive magic, and later he says, “…the rhetorician has the tricks of his trade…they are an art” (B&H 1337). And my response was, “Isn’t Anzaldúa’s ‘art’ magical as well?” Anzaldúa’s art lies in the way she uses language and incorporates cultural aspects into the rhetorical tradition. I can really relate to her in “El camino de la mestiza” (RFRT 89):

She strengthens her tolerance (and intolerance) for ambiguity. She is willing to share, to make herself vulnerable to foreign ways of seeing and thinking. She surrenders all notions of safety, of the familiar. Deconstruct, construct…Se hace moldeadora de su alma. Según la concepción que tiene de sí misma, así será.

From my eight years of studying Spanish, I’d loosely translate it as something about one molding the soul and when that is made, it becomes one’s own and there it is and will be. I especially love the way she goes from English to Spanish. These are her two cultures and the way she thinks. (I do this in my poetry as well, using Romanized Chinese words). Sometimes in a language, translation takes away the true meaning, so I noticed that Anzaldúa sometimes leaves the Spanish as is because there’s no other way to say it. It makes the reading so rich and maybe a little esoteric. Anzaldúa is talking to me, also a woman of color (although I shudder at the term), and I can feel her emotion, her frustration, her dissatisfaction with the world—especially in her non-translated Spanish. Hispanic writers are so sensual--I get tingles as I read.

Burke says that “An imagery of killing is but one of many terminologies by which writers can represent the process of change” (B&H 1324). And like Jarrell’s poem, “The Lost Children,” that Robert brought for 780, something that changes can be lost or dead. However, regarding Anzaldúa’s concepts of the need for change, the term “mestiza” might be less useful in our time when diversity makes life more interesting. Instead of a woman of mixed blood, I would rather advocate men and women who are bicultural or multicultural, who can embrace two or more cultures without losing their main culture. I know many people with these characteristics, who are more tolerant, open-minded, and thus enlightened by these cultural experiences.