Critical Study of Edward Bond’s Lear

Edward Bond (1934–) stands as one of the most provocative voices in post-war British theatre. Born into a working-class family in North London and shaped by the visceral trauma of World War II bombings and the stark realities of military service in Vienna, Bond developed a worldview that refused to turn a blind eye to human suffering. He viewed the world not as inherently chaotic, but as a place where violence was structurally engineered by society.

Bond first gained notoriety with his 1965 play Saved, which shocked audiences with the graphic stoning of a baby. However, this violence was never gratuitous; it was an urgent political statement. As a committed socialist, Bond’s work serves as a fierce indictment of capitalism and class oppression. His 1971 masterpiece, Lear, is not merely a rewrite of Shakespeare; it is a radical intervention into the myths of power, authority, and resignation.

The Philosophy: Rational Theatre vs. The Absurd

To understand Lear, one must first grasp Bond’s concept of 'Rational Theatre.' Bond vehemently opposed the Theatre of the Absurd (represented by playwrights like Beckett), arguing that it preached a dangerous pessimism. If life is meaningless, then social change is impossible. Bond rejects this. He believes that human problems have rational causes and, therefore, rational solutions. He employs what he calls 'aggro-effects'—scenes of extreme, shocking violence—to jolt the audience out of passivity. The goal is not to entertain, but to force the viewer to analyse the social structures that make such violence inevitable. For Bond, art is a social act; the writer must be an activist, and the audience must leave the theatre questioning their own reality.

Summary of the play

Act I introduce us to a tyrannical Lear who is obsessed with building a massive Wall to keep out "enemies." He sacrifices his people to build it, executing workers without hesitation. His daughters, Bodice and Fontanelle, eventually overthrow him. However, their rebellion is personal, not ideological; they are just as cruel as their father, brutally torturing Lear’s advisor, Warrington, to protect their own power.

Act II details the counter-revolution. Cordelia (re-imagined here as a guerrilla fighter), leads an uprising against the sisters. During this time, Lear is imprisoned and put on a show trial. In one of the play’s most famous scenes, he witnesses the autopsy of his daughter Fontanelle. Later, in a bid to make him "politically ineffective," the new regime clinically removes Lear's eyes.

Act III presents the tragic irony of the revolution. Cordelia, now in power, becomes a Stalinist-type dictator who refuses to tear down the Wall. Lear, now blind but finally "seeing" the truth, tries to dismantle the Wall himself. He is shot and killed, but his death is an act of active resistance, not passive resignation.

Critical Analysis

1. The Wall as a Political Allegory

The central metaphor of the play is the Wall. It represents the paranoia of the modern state, the division of people into "us" and "them," and the futility of defence through oppression. Lear builds it to protect the people, but it ultimately imprisons them. The tragedy is cyclical: Lear builds it, his daughters maintain it, and the revolutionary Cordelia expands it. Bond argues that as long as the structure of power remains (the Wall), the ideology of the leader creates the same result: suffering.

2. The subversion of Cordelia

Bond’s most shocking deviation from Shakespeare is the character of Cordelia. She is no longer the symbol of divine forgiveness. Instead, she represents the failure of violent revolution. She has been raped and her husband murdered; her trauma transforms her into a ruthless pragmatist. By deciding to keep the Wall, she proves that a change in leadership without a change in social philosophy changes nothing. She becomes the very tyrant she fought against.

3. Violence as a Path to Insight

The violence in Lear—such as the knitting-needle torture or the scientific blinding—serves a specific purpose. It strips away the glamour of power. The pivotal moment of anagnorisis (recognition) occurs during Fontanelle’s autopsy. Lear looks inside his daughter and sees no "evil beast," only human organs. He realizes that her cruelty was not innate (original sin) but socially constructed—by him, and by the violence of their upbringing. This is the core of Bond’s materialism: we are made, not born, violent.

4. The Rejection of Retreat

The character of the Gravedigger’s Boy and his Ghost represent the temptation of
escapism. The Boy lives a pastoral, innocent life, but he is easily destroyed by the soldiers. His Ghost haunts Lear, urging him to stay quiet and wither away in peace.

Bond argues that this innocence is a lie; you cannot hide from politics. Lear eventually allows the Ghost to die, symbolizing his rejection of escapism. Unlike Shakespeare’s Lear, who hopes to "sing like birds in the cage," Bond’s Lear realizes he must act. His final gesture—digging at the Wall with a shovel—is futile in terms of physics, but monumental in terms of morality. He dies not as a tragic victim, but as a political agent attempting to break the cycle.

Conclusion

Edward Bond’s Lear is a demanding text that refuses to comfort its audience. It suggests that sanity in a violent world is not about adapting to the status quo, but about recognizing the madness of the system and attempting to change it. Through the blind king, Bond offers a glimpse of hope: that while the Wall is strong, the human capacity for rational understanding and resistance is stronger.

Text, Summary and Critical Appreciation of "Swimming Chenango Lake" by Charles Tomlinson

Swimming Chenango Lake by Charles Tomlinson

Winter will bar the swimmer soon.

    He reads the water’s autumnal hesitations

A wealth of ways: it is jarred,

    It is astir already despite its steadiness,

Where the first leaves at the first

    Tremor of the morning air have dropped

Anticipating him, launching their imprints

    Outwards in eccentric, overlapping circles.

There is a geometry of water, for this

    Squares off the clouds’ redundances

And sets them floating in a nether atmosphere

    All angles and elongations: every tree

Appears a cypress as it stretches there

    And every bush that shows the season,

A shaft of fire. It is a geometry and not

    A fantasia of distorting forms, but each

Liquid variation answerable to the theme

    It makes away from, plays before:

It is a consistency, the grain of the pulsating flow.

    But he has looked long enough, and now

Body must recall the eye to its dependence

    As he scissors the waterscape apart

And sways it to tatters. Its coldness

    Holding him to itself, he grants the grasp,

For to swim is also to take hold

    On water’s meaning, to move in its embrace

And to be, between grasp and grasping, free.

    He reaches in-and-through to that space

The body is heir to, making a where

    In water, a possession to be relinquished

Willingly at each stroke. The image he has torn

    Flows-to behind him, healing itself,

Lifting and lengthening, splayed like the feathers

    Down an immense wing whose darkening spread

Shadows his solitariness: alone, he is unnamed

    By this baptism, where only Chenango bears a name

In a lost language he begins to construe –

    A speech of densities and derisions, of half-

Replies to the questions his body must frame

    Frogwise across the all but penetrable element.

Human, he fronts it and, human, he draws back

    From the interior cold, the mercilessness

That yet shows a kind of mercy sustaining him.

    The last sun of the year is drying his skin

Above a surface a mere mosaic of tiny shatterings,

    Where a wind is unscaping all images in the flowing obsidian

The going-elsewhere of ripples incessantly shaping.

 

Summary

The poem begins with an autumnal setting where winter is approaching and will soon "bar the swimmer". The swimmer pauses to read the water's "autumnal hesitations," noting that the surface, despite its appearance of steadiness, is already "jarred" and "astir". This movement is influenced by the first leaves dropping, which anticipate the swimmer's action and launch "eccentric, overlapping circles".

Before entering, the swimmer observes the water’s surface as a kind of organized reflection, termed a "geometry of water". This geometry "squares off the clouds’ redundances" and creates a "nether atmosphere" where reflections are seen as "angles and elongations". Due to this clarity, every reflected tree appears as a "cypress," and every bush that shows the season is transformed into "A shaft of fire". Crucially, the sources emphasize that this effect is a "geometry and not / A fantasia of distorting forms," where the liquid variations remain "answerable to the theme", demonstrating a "consistency, the grain of the pulsating flow".

The shift occurs when the swimmer decides he "has looked long enough", and the "Body must recall the eye to its dependence". The physical act of swimming is violent to the image, as the body "scissors the waterscape apart / And sways it to tatters". Paradoxically, the cold water's "grasp" holds the swimmer to itself, and the swimmer grants this hold, understanding that swimming is a way "to take hold / On water’s meaning" and to move within the water’s embrace. This action leads to a sense of freedom that exists "between grasp and grasping".

As the swimmer executes each stroke, he claims a temporary "space / The body is heir to," which must be "relinquished / Willingly". Immediately behind him, the image that was torn "Flows-to," "healing itself". This surface is visually compared to the "feathers / Down an immense wing" whose shadow highlights the swimmer's solitariness.

The swimmer is "unnamed / By this baptism," but the lake itself, Chenango, bears a name associated with a "lost language" which the swimmer tries to interpret. This language—which his body attempts to frame questions into "Frogwise"—is characterized as a "speech of densities and derisions, of half replies".

Finally, the swimmer confronts the interior cold and "mercilessness" of the element, though this severity also shows "a kind of mercy sustaining him". The scene concludes as the "last sun of the year is drying his skin" above the surface, which is now a "mosaic of tiny shatterings". A wind is at work "unscaping all images in the flowing obsidian," highlighting the constant, involuntary motion of the ripples that are "incessantly shaping".

Critical Appreciation

The poem "Swimming Chenango Lake" gains its power from the precise handling of paradoxical relationships—between observation and action, structure and fluidity, and mercilessness and sustaining mercy.

Imagery and Precision

The language used to describe the water is highly specific and intellectual. The poet establishes the visual reality of reflections not as mere distortion, but as a formal "geometry" that orders the world. This elevates the scene, turning clouds into angles, trees into cypresses, and seasonal foliage into "A shaft of fire". This attention to visual mechanics ensures that the variations in the liquid are grounded in "consistency". The shift in perspective when the swimmer enters is sudden and sensory: the eye cedes control as the body takes over, shattering the previously stable image.

Thematic Exploration: Grasp and Freedom

A core concept is the exploration of how physical engagement leads to philosophical understanding. The act of swimming is equated with taking "hold / On water’s meaning". The swimmer accepts the water’s cold, physical "grasp". This tension between being grasped (held) and actively grasping (moving) is the source of the swimmer's freedom. The sources present the body not just as a tool, but as an agent that seeks understanding, occupying a transient "space" that it is "heir to". The readiness to "relinquish" this space at each stroke further emphasizes the meditative, cyclical nature of the experience.

Language, Identity, and Solitude

The most complex layer involves the theme of naming and communication. The swimmer’s experience is explicitly labelled an "unnamed" baptism, underscoring his solitude. Only the natural world—"Chenango"—retains a name, which serves as a gateway to a "lost language". The sources describe this language as opaque and difficult to interpret ("densities and derisions"), offering only "half-Replies" to the fundamental questions the swimmer’s body frames. This suggests that nature holds profound answers, but they are delivered in a code that is fragmented and ambiguous, requiring the body’s strenuous, primal effort ("Frogwise") to approach.

Conclusion: Constant Flow

The poem concludes by reinforcing the perpetual state of flux inherent in the natural world. Although the sun briefly grants the human body respite by drying the skin, the water itself is characterized by constant, almost indifferent, change. The wind "unscaping all images" in the "flowing obsidian" suggests that any momentary clarity or geometry is subject to immediate erasure and reshaping by the incessantly moving element.

Text, Summary and Analysis of A Letter (poem) by Dom Moraes

            A Letter 

        by Dom Moraes

Almost I can recall where I was born: 

The hot verandas where the chauffeurs drowse,

Backyard dominion of the raged thorn,

And nameless servants in my father’s house,

Whispering together in the backyard dirt

Until their talk came true for me one day:

My father hugging me so hard it hurt, 

My mother mad, and time we went away. 

 

We travelled, and I looked for love too young,

More travel, and I looked for lust instead. 

I was not ruled by wanting: I was young, 

And poems grew like maggots in my head. 

A fighting South-East Asia, with each gun

Talking to me; then homeward to the green 

And dung-smeared plains ruled over by the sun. 

When I had done with that, I was fifteen. 

 

At sixteen I came here to start again. 

An infant's trip, where many knew to walk,

I stumbled dumbly through the English rain, 

The literature, the drink, the talk, talk, talk.

I wrote about them: it was waste of breath. 

For many they were home, for me too wild, 

Too walled for me those valleys full of death 

Who had grown up as wanderer and child.

 

Of one dying poet I was not afraid 

In conversation like an avalanche,

Convincing mainly by the noise he made. 

He reinforced his views with gin-and-French, 

Wrinkled and heaving, tuskless elephant, 

He levelled a thick finger, grained with ink 

‘To love somebody, that is what you want.’ 

‘Yes’, I would say, accepting one more drink. 

 

Three winters I was drunk: one early spring 

Brought me first love for you, my great good news: 

Then my excuse to play the drunken king,

Staggering through bars, became a bad excuse. 

The naked valleys shaken with alarms 

Where hawk and serpent watched, were touched, and slept.

Morning and night your image in my arms

Taught me a harder task than to accept. 

 

Earlier in time I prayed to be forgiven.

Through tide-scurf to the acreage of the whale, 

Truest to loneliness my sail was driven. 

The westward haven of the traveller's tale

I have forgotten, making landfall where 

Chin in your hand, you sit, and gentle things 

Drift on your dream, transparent river where 

The swan sleeps with her young under her wings.

Summary, Text and Analysis of Africa by David Diop

             ------------------------------

Africa by David Diop

            ---------------------------

Africa my Africa

Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs

Africa of whom my grandmother sings

On the banks of the distant river

I have never known you

But your blood flows in my veins

 Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields

The blood of your sweat

The sweat of your work

The work of your slavery

The slavery of your children

Africa, tell me Africa

Is this you this back that is bent

This back that breaks under the weight of humiliation

This back trembling with red scars

And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun

But a grave voice answers me

Impetuous son that tree young and strong

That tree there

Is splendid loneliness amidst white and faded flowers

That is Africa your Africa

That grows again patiently obstinately

And its fruit gradually acquire

The bitter taste of liberty.

Text, Biography, Summary and Analysis of Self-Portrait (poem) by A K Ramanujan

Text

Self-Portrait

I resemble everyone

but myself, and sometimes see

in shop-windows,

despite the well-known laws

of optics,

the portrait of a stranger,

date unknown,

often signed in a corner

by my father.

About the Author

A.K. Ramanujan was a distinguished Indian poet, writer, translator, and philologist, born in Mysore in 1929. Raised in a multicultural Tamil Brahmin family where Tamil, Kannada, and English were spoken, he pursued an academic path, earning his MA in English from the University of Mysore. After teaching in South India, his interest in linguistics deepened, leading him to obtain a diploma from Deccan College in 1958 and subsequently a Ph.D. in Linguistics from Indiana University on a Fulbright fellowship. This academic journey culminated in his 1962 appointment at the University of Chicago, which became his professional home until his death in 1993.

At the University of Chicago, Ramanujan became closely associated with the Department of South Asian Languages and Civilizations. His long-term residence in the United States profoundly shaped his writing, which often explored the "contrast between the East and the West" and the "anxiety of an exile" searching for native roots. His significant contributions as a translator and interpreter of Indian epics and devotional poetry earned him international acclaim. He was recognized with the Padmashri by the Indian government in 1976 and received the prestigious MacArthur "genius award" in 1983 for his groundbreaking work.

Ramanujan's literary output was diverse, including notable poetry collections like The Striders (1966) and Second Sight (1986), as well as significant works in Kannada. He became internationally renowned for his masterful translations from Tamil and Kannada, such as The Interior Landscape (1967) and Speaking of Siva (1993), and later focused on folklore with Folktales from India (1994). His poetry is known for its "psychological realism" and is largely autobiographical, drawing "substance" from his Hindu heritage and Indian folklore. His style is distinguished by "masterly craftsmanship," utilizing "precise, concrete, vivid" imagery and a "terseness of diction" that solidified his place as one of India's most significant poets.

Critical Appreciation

The speaker opens with a stark paradox: "I resemble everyone / but myself." This line immediately establishes a sense of dislocation. The speaker feels he is not a defined individual. Instead, he is just a collection of resemblances, alienated from his own core identity. This feeling is crystallized in the poem's central image: his reflection in "shop-windows."

This image clearly captures the "anxiety of an exile." The speaker lived between India and America, and in this reflection, he finds "the portrait of a stranger." The reflection should be an objective confirmation of the self, based on "the well-known laws of optics." However, this scientific law fails him. It presents an alien figure, highlighting his profound displacement. He is a stranger to himself. His "native roots" are distant, making his current self unrecognizable.

The poem's concluding lines brilliantly connect this personal anxiety to family and heritage. The lines read: "date unknown, / often signed in a corner / by my father." The "stranger" in the glass is not random; it is a portrait created by his father. This suggests his identity is not self-made but inherited. He is defined by his lineage and "Hindu heritage" rather than his own self. The father's signature implies a predetermined identity. This ancestral legacy overshadows his individuality. This idea connects directly to his biography, which notes his poetry "reminiscences his family."

Summary of the Poem The Country Without a Post Office by Agha Shahid Ali

The poem, The Country Without a Post Office, is a meditation on loss, failed communication, violence, and the desperate search for meaning in a landscape ravaged by war and fire. It is dedicated to James Merrill.

Part 1: The Ravaged Country and the Archive

The poem opens with the narrator returning to a country where a minaret has been entombed. The city has suffered total destruction; when the muezzin died, it was "robbed of every Call". Soldiers are actively involved in the annihilation, as they "light it [the fire], hone the flames," burning the world to "sudden papier-maché inlaid with gold, then ash". The destruction is so pervasive that houses were "swept about like leaves for burning".

The narrator notes that many people fled the destruction, becoming refugees in the plains. In a desperate act of fidelity, the remaining inhabitants, including the narrator, "frantically bury houses to save them from fire" and theirs, hanging wreaths on the doors of those left empty. The narrator identifies a lone individual operating from the entombed minaret, who nightly soaks the wicks of clay lamps and climbs the steps to "read messages scratched on planets". This person is also responsible for cancelling blank stamps in an archive for letters with doomed addresses.

Part 2: The Search for the Lost Guide

The atmosphere is dominated by fire and darkness; the people "look for the dark as it caves in". The narrator quotes a message found on the street: "We're inside the fire, looking for the dark". The narrator has returned in the rain to find the person who never wrote back.

This search is undertaken "Without a lamp" in houses that are buried and empty. The narrator carries cash, a "currency of paisleys," hoping to buy the new stamps, which are already rare and blank, with "no nation named on them". The narrator suggests the lost guide may be alive, "opening doors of smoke," but only breathing the "ash-refrain": “Everything is finished, nothing remains”.

All efforts at traditional communication have failed; every post office is boarded up. The narrator recognises that "Only silence can now trace my letters / to him".

Part 3: Finding the Guide and the Shrine of Words

The narrator receives an urgent message from the guide: “I'm keeper of the minaret since the muezzin died. Come soon, I'm alive". The guide reports that he issues a "paisley" (sometimes white, then black) only once, at night, urging the narrator to come before his voice is cancelled. The guide insists that the narrator must feel the pain of the situation.

The guide's voice repeats the refrain of absolute finality: “Nothing will remain, everything's finished”. He describes the location as a "shrine of words" where the narrator will find their letters to him, and his to the narrator, urging them to tear open the "vanished envelopes".

The narrator successfully reaches the minaret, concluding: "I'm inside the fire. I have found the dark". The narrator confirms the identity of the guide as the one who nightly lit the clay lamps and used his hands as seals to cancel the stamps. The site is an "archive" containing the "remains of his voice, that map of longings with no limit".

Part 4: Assuming the Role and Perpetual Darkness

Having found the archive, the narrator reads the letters of lovers and "the mad ones," including the narrator's own letters "from whom no answers came". The narrator then assumes the role of the guide, lighting lamps and sending answers, effectively issuing "Calls to Prayer / to deaf worlds across continents". The narrator's lament is "cries countless, cries like dead letters sent / to this world whose end was near, always near".

The narrator now guides themself up the steps of the minaret each night, acting as a "Mad silhouette," throwing paisleys to the clouds. This effort is fueled by the knowledge that the lost are trying to "bribe the air for dawn," which is their "dark purpose". However, the narrator confirms the world’s enduring hopelessness: "But there's no sun here. There is no sun here".

The poem concludes with the narrator sharing excerpts from a prisoner's letters to a lover: “These words may never reach you” and “The skin dissolves in dew / without your touch,” and the narrator’s own desperate statement: "I want to live forever".

Short-Answer Questions from The Country Without a Post Office

Short-Answer Questions from The Country Without a Post Office

1.    What is the significance of the "entombed minaret" in the poem's opening stanza?

2.    How do the "paisleys" function as a form of communication or currency within the poem?

3.    Describe the state of the post offices and what this signifies for communication in the "country."

4.    What role does fire play as a destructive force in the poem, and what is its symbolic implication?

5.    Who is the "keeper of the minaret," and what is his primary activity in the absence of traditional communication?

6.    Explain the meaning behind the phrase "Everything is finished, nothing remains," which is a recurring "ash-refrain."

7.    How does the poem suggest that love and connection persist despite the widespread desolation?

8.    What is the speaker's emotional state as they search for the "him" who never wrote?

9.    Discuss the symbolism of rain throughout the poem.

10. What is the "archive for letters with doomed addresses," and what does it represent?

Answers

1.    The "entombed minaret" signifies a place of spiritual and cultural burial, suggesting that traditional practices and faith have been suppressed or destroyed. It sets a tone of desolation and loss from the very beginning of the poem.

2.    Paisleys in the poem function as both a literal and symbolic currency, used to "buy new stamps" and as a medium for messages, "parchment cut in paisleys." They represent a unique, perhaps desperate, method of continuing communication in a world where conventional means have failed.

3.    The post offices in the poem are "boarded up," symbolizing the complete breakdown of formal communication channels and infrastructure. This highlights the isolation and inability to connect, forcing characters to find alternative, often futile, ways to send messages.

4.    Fire is depicted as a relentless, destructive force that "burns our world to sudden papier-maché" and sweeps houses away. Symbolically, it represents the violence and conflict that have ravaged the country, turning life and culture into ash.

5.    The "keeper of the minaret" is a figure who, since the muezzin died, continues to perform a vital, albeit altered, role in the community. He reads messages scratched on planets and is responsible for issuing new, rare stamps, representing a defiant continuation of communication in a desolate landscape.

6.    The "ash-refrain": "Everything is finished, nothing remains," encapsulates the profound sense of desolation and finality that permeates the country. It expresses the overwhelming loss and destruction, suggesting that little hope or substance is left in the wake of the pervasive conflict.

7.    Despite the widespread desolation, the poem suggests that love and connection persist through the enduring act of writing and searching for lost voices. The discovery of an "archive" of letters and the speaker's relentless quest for "him" demonstrate the human need to transcend barriers and maintain bonds.

8.    The speaker's emotional state is one of profound grief, desperation, and a relentless, almost obsessive, need to find the lost person and understand why they never wrote. Phrases like "Phantom heart, pray he's alive" and "mad heart, be brave" convey this intense emotional turmoil.

9.    Rain throughout the poem serves as a powerful, melancholic backdrop, mirroring the pervasive sorrow and loss ("dark rain"). It also facilitates new forms of communication, turning into "ink" for messages and symbolizing a cleansing yet persistent grief.

10. The "archive for letters with doomed addresses" refers to the collection of unread or undeliverable letters found in the minaret. It represents the countless voices silenced by conflict and displacement, a repository of unfulfilled longings and lost connections in a world where communication has ceased.

Summary of the Poem 'The Child' by Rabindranath Tagore

The poem, "The Child" by Rabindranath Tagore, chronicles a journey from darkness and chaos through doubt, murder, repentance, and eventual spiritual revelation.

I. The Setting of Darkness and Chaos

The poem begins with a description of profound confusion and dread. When asked, ‘What of the night?’, no answer comes, as "blind Time gropes in a maze and knows not its path or purpose". The darkness is overwhelming, compared to the dead eye-sockets of a giant, while the clouds oppress the sky and shadows resemble torn limbs. A lurid glow suggests an elemental hunger or an ultimate threat.

The environment is "deliriously wild", filled with noise, groans, and words that are "smothered out of shape and sense". The physical world is characterized by ruins, fragments, "fruitless failures of life," and "godless shrines that shelter reptiles". Tumults and fanatic storms rise in the sky, mingling with a "stealthy hum" of sinister whispers, rumours, slanders, and derision.

The people gathered are vague, and their torchlight creates terrifying patterns on their faces. They are violent, with maniacs striking neighbours, leading to indiscriminate fights. Women weep, fearing their children are lost in a "wilderness of contrary paths". Conversely, others defiantly shake their "lascivious limbs," laughing raucously because they believe "nothing matters".

II. The Man of Faith and Doubt

Amidst this tumult, the "Man of faith" stands on a hill crest in "snow-white silence". He scans the sky for light, and when the night is worst, he cries, "Brothers, despair not, for Man is great". The people do not listen, convinced that the "elemental brute is eternal" and goodness is merely deceptive.

Though beaten, they cry out for a brother, and the answer, "I am by your side," comes, but they cannot see the speaker in the dark. They dismiss this voice as merely their own desperate desire, arguing that they are perpetually condemned to fight for phantoms in a desert of mutual menace.

III. The Call to Pilgrimage

The clouds eventually part, revealing the morning star. A "breath of rebel" rises from the earth, accompanied by the murmur of leaves and the song of an early bird. The Man of faith proclaims, "The time has come... For the pilgrimage".

The people, though initially confused, begin to understand according to their individual desires. A small, anonymous voice whispers, "To the pilgrimage of fulfilment," which the crowd amplifies into a powerful meaning. The early sun shines like a "golden garland" on the leader’s forehead, and they salute him.

IV. The Gathering of Pilgrims

The pilgrims gather from all corners of the world, including the Nile, the Ganges, Thibet, high-walled cities, and savage wilderness. They arrive by various means: walking, riding camels, horses, and elephants, and in chariots.

The crowd is incredibly diverse, encompassing priests burning incense, monarchs leading armies, ragged beggars, decorated courtiers, young scholars, and aged teachers. Women—mothers, maidens, and brides—bring offerings, accompanied by the shrill, gaudy harlot. Also present are the gossip, the maimed, the cripple, the blind, the sick, the dissolute, the thief, and the man who mimics the saint for profit.

While they speak publicly of "The fulfilment!" their private desires are darker: they magnify their greed and dream of "boundless power," unlimited impunity for "pilfering and plunder," and an "eternity of feast for their unclean gluttonous flesh".

V. Weariness and Rising Anger

The Man of faith leads them along difficult, "pitiless paths" strewn with flints, over scorching sands and steep mountainous tracks. The diverse following grows weary, suspicious, and angry. They repeatedly ask, "How much further is the end?". The leader only "sings in answer". Though they scowl, the sheer pressure of the moving mass and "indefinite hope" push them forward.

They shorten their rest and vie with each other, afraid of missing their chance. The days pass, and the "ever-receding horizon" makes them sick, causing their faces to harden and their curses to grow louder.

VI. The Murder

The journey culminates one night under a banyan tree. After a gust of wind extinguishes the lamp, deepening the darkness, someone points a "merciless finger" at the leader and cries, "False prophet, thou hast deceived us!". The crowd echoes the sentiment, with women hissing and men growling.

One person strikes a blow, leading the others to fall upon him in a "fury of destruction," beating him until he lies dead and "his life extinct". The night is then still, broken only by the muffled sound of a distant waterfall and the scent of jasmine.

VII. Acceptance of the Victim

The pilgrims are immediately seized by fear and wretchedness. They begin to wrangle about who was to blame. Just as they are about to fight again, the morning light appears, and they gasp as they gaze at the dead figure. Their crime keeps them "chained to their victim".

Bewildered, they ask, "Who will show us the path?". An "old man from the East" replies simply: "The Victim". He explains that they rejected him in doubt and killed him in anger, but must now accept him in love, "for in his death he lives in the life of us all, the great Victim". The pilgrims stand up and sing, "Victory to the Victim".

VIII. The Renewed Journey

The young call for the pilgrimage to continue—to "love, to power, to knowledge, to wealth overflowing". They cry out to conquer the world and the world beyond. Though the "meaning is not the same to them all," the unified impulse pushes them on.

They are no longer burdened by doubts or weariness. The spirit of the Leader, who has surpassed death, is now within and beyond them. They travel through varied landscapes, including fertile fields, granaries, barren soil where famine dwells, populous cities, desolation, and hovels for the homeless.

When evening comes, they ask the man who reads the sky if a distant tower is their "final hope and peace". The wise man replies that it is only "the last vanishing cloud of the sunset". Exhorted by the young, they continue through the dark toward the "Kingdom of living light". The road seems to know its own meaning, and the dust speaks direction, while the stars sing, "Move on, comrades!". The Leader’s voice assures them, "The goal is nigh".

IX. Arrival and Search

The pilgrimage ends as dawn breaks. The sky reader proclaims, "Friends, we have come". They look around and see ripe corn stretching to the horizon—the earth's "glad golden answer". They see the quiet, daily life of the surrounding villages: the potter's wheel turning, the woodcutter bringing fuel, the cow-herd, and the woman walking to the well.

The pilgrims search for the physical rewards they expected: the King’s castle, the mine of gold, the book of magic, or the sage of love’s wisdom. The star reader, certain the signal cannot be wrong, points to a wayside spring. He walks reverently toward it, watching water well up like a "liquid light," resembling morning melting into tears and laughter. He sings, "Mother, open the gate!".

X. The Revelation

A ray of morning sun strikes the door, and the assembled crowd feels the "primaeval chant of creation". The gate opens, revealing the mother seated on a straw bed with the babe on her lap, described as "the dawn with the morning star". The waiting sun’s ray falls upon the head of the child.

The poet strikes his lute and sings, "Victory to Man, the new-born, the ever-living.". All kneel—the king, the beggar, the saint, and the sinner—and echo the cry. The old man from the East murmurs, "I have seen!".

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Glossary of Key Terms

The Child

The newborn babe revealed at the end of the pilgrimage, seated on his mother's lap. He is the ultimate symbol of fulfilment, representing the "new-born, the ever-living" potential of humanity and renewal.

The Man of faith

The initial leader of the pilgrimage. He stands apart from the despairing crowd, preaches that "Man is great," and guides the people until they turn on him and kill him.

The Victim

The title given to the Man of faith after his death by the old man from the East. In this role, his spirit becomes the inner guide for the pilgrims, as his death allows him to live on "in the life of us all."

The old man from the East

A wise figure among the pilgrims who provides a new spiritual interpretation of events. He recasts the murdered leader as "the great Victim" and is the first to understand the final revelation, murmuring, "I have seen!"

The reader of the sky

A wise man among the pilgrims who interprets celestial signs to navigate the journey. He confirms their arrival at the correct destination and leads the call for the "Mother" to open the gate.

Pilgrimage

The central journey of the poem. It begins as a desperate escape from a chaotic world, fuelled by selfish desires for power and wealth, but transforms into a spiritual quest that culminates in a collective reverence for new life.

Fulfilment

The stated goal of the pilgrimage. Initially misinterpreted by the crowd as material gain ("boundless power," "unlimited impunity for pilfering"), it is ultimately revealed to be the spiritual renewal symbolized by The Child.

Elemental brute

The force that the cynical crowd believes is eternal and true. They see the Man of faith's message of goodness as a "darkly cunning" deception that hides the reality of this brute force.

Godless shrines

An image from the poem's opening that represents spiritual decay and corruption in the world before the pilgrimage. These ruined shrines are described as places that now "shelter reptiles."

Deliriously wild

A phrase used to describe the state of the world at the poem's outset. It signifies a condition of absolute chaos, confusion, and senselessness where "words [are] smothered out of shape and sense."

Outline of The Man Who Turned into a Stick by Kobo Abe

The play The Man Who Turned into a Stick is written by the Japanese dramatist Kobo Abe. It is a dark, philosophical exploration set on a hot, sticky Sunday afternoon in June on a main thoroughfare near a department store. It details the aftermath of a man's transformation into an inanimate object and the administrative process conducted by agents from Hell.

The Inciting Incident and Characters

The action begins with a young man (HIPPIE BOY) and a young woman (HIPPIE GIRL) sitting on a sidewalk curb, appearing withdrawn and indifferent to their surroundings. They may be sniffing glue. Suddenly, an ordinary stick, about four feet long, falls hurtling down from the sky. It lands in the gutter near the hippies. The HIPPIE BOY picks up the stick, using it to bang a rhythm on the pavement. The hippies treat the incident with withdrawn cynicism, wondering if hitting them or missing them would have been the true "accident".

The stick is in fact THE MAN WHO TURNED INTO A STICK. The Man, through internal monologue, coordinates his movements with the stick being held by the HIPPIE BOY. He recalls that he was leaning against a railing on the roof, looking down at the crowds below, when his boy called him for a dime to look through a telescope. He transformed and fell off the roof at that second, insisting he had no intention of running away from his child.

The Arrival of the Earth Duty Squad

The two central figures driving the plot are MAN FROM HELL, a supervisor, and WOMAN FROM HELL, who is recently appointed to the Earth Duty Squad. They arrive, noting that "Today, once again, a man Has changed his shape and become a stick". They are on a mission to retrieve the stick, which they believe is "a valuable item of evidence relating to a certain person".

The agents identify the setting as Ward B, thirty-two stroke four on the grid, and note the time of the incident was precisely "twenty-two minutes and ten seconds before" the hour. They are looking for the stick to verify its certification number, decide on punishment, and register its disposition.

Conflict and Negotiation

The Hell agents demand the stick, but the hippies refuse to hand it over. The hippies are characterized by their nihilism: they state that "Aims are out-of-date" and they don't understand anything anymore, claiming "Everything is wrapped in riddles". The HIPPIE GIRL suggests the stick looks like the HIPPIE BOY.

The conflict intensifies when the WOMAN FROM HELL hurries off and confirms a complication: the man's son is coming. The boy is causing a disturbance in the department store, insisting he saw his father turn into a stick and fall. The Stick can hear the child's footsteps.

Alarmed by the child's approach, the HIPPIE BOY decides to sell the stick, setting the price at five dollars. He justifies the sale as a "contradiction of circumstances"—he is selling it because he doesn't want to. The MAN FROM HELL pays, but warns the boy, "It wasn't just a stick you sold, but yourself". The hippies quickly exit.

The Nature of the Stick and Final Disposition

After retrieving the stick, the MAN FROM HELL gingerly picks up the dirty object. The agents then discuss the nature of the transformation and the deceased:

The Man's Life: The stick is covered in scars, indicating harsh treatment, yet the MAN FROM HELL calls it "capable and faithful". He argues that a stick is the "root and source of all tools" and that its faithfulness lies in the fact that it remains a stick, "no matter how it is used".

The Rarity of Sticks: The WOMAN FROM HELL is perplexed because she cannot recall any stick specimens in the specimen room. The MAN FROM HELL clarifies that this is because sticks are so common. He reveals that during the last twenty or thirty years, the percentage of sticks has steadily increased, reaching 98.4 percent of all those who die in a given month in extreme cases.

Judgment: The MAN FROM HELL references the textbook, which says: "They who come up for judgment, but were not judged, have turned into sticks and filled the earth". He concludes that the deceased, having been a "living stick" who turned into a "dead stick," requires "No punishment" and "Registration unnecessary" (Certification number Me 621). The Man From Hell asserts that the stick was created because the person was "satisfied with himself", a claim the STICK furiously rejects.

Before departing for their next assignment, the MAN FROM HELL stands the stick up in a hole in the gutter. The WOMAN FROM HELL suggests they give the stick to the child so he might use it as a "mirror" to ensure he doesn't become a stick like his father, but the supervisor dismisses this idea.

The play ends with the MAN FROM HELL addressing the audience, stating that they are surrounded by a "whole forest of sticks," representing "All those innocent people, each one determined to turn into a stick slightly different from everybody else, but nobody once thinking of turning into anything besides a stick". The STICK remains frozen between "fury and despair", wondering what would be better to turn into than the one thing "somebody in the world is sure to pick up".