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Sitaram
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Joined: 14 Sep 2005
Posts: 1079
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 Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 7:31 am Post subject: Why is Jack cremated? |
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It occurs to me that only cremation allows for something to be divided,
shared, or fought over. A corpse in a coffin does not permit such drama.
When my mother passed, I had her cremated, and kept the urn of ashes
in her bedroom, in her home, which she loved, for a year or so, until the
estate could be settled and the house sold, and then I brought them to the
farmland where she was raised, and had a memorial service and burial with the few relatives who still lived in that area.
I am reminded of the story of the death of Guru Nanak, who founded the
Sikh religion around the 16th century in northern India. Certainly many
will find this tradition apocryphal, but it is charming nonetheless.
Nanak was admired equally by Hindus and Muslims. When he died, his
body was covered with a sheet, and the two groups came and argued for
hours who should have the right to bury or cremate the body. Finally,
they removed the sheet, and found, not a body, but flowers, so they
divided the flowers equally between the two groups, and the Hindus
performed their cremation, while the Muslims had a burial service.
++++++++++++++
| leoneill wrote: | I first posted this in another BBM site, but I wanted to let
Annie Proux know how much she has grabbed me, pulled my heart out
like some Aztec priest, flinging it to the junk yard dogs, Sadness and
Heartbreak their names, that guard the wrecks of my life. I sent it to a
couple of local places to see if they wanted to print it, because I want so
much to publicize BBM if it helps even a few more people see it.
.... (remainder of post omitted to conserve space)
In death he, whom in life I tried to flee, became my constant companion.
I still carry him daily around with me. I recall his face at odd times in any
day and we have talked often through the years in my dreams. I love his
visiting me in my dreams, except in the one recurring dream of
unalleviated sadness he appears with no skin, raw, not talking, only
sobbing, his tears moistening his flesh. When Jake said to Ennis “I wish I
knew how to quit you” its resonance was sharp, the quick of its torn and
bare cri de coeur terrible and true.
Wave after wave of more parallels abound, leaping peak to peak,
Brokeback Mountain has much reverberation in my life. I cannot keep
from being profoundly shaken over the memories it gave full life to in the
lives of Ennis and Jake. The mirrored memories of those two sad, poor
boys, now so long ago I’ve mourned; whose best friend, a boy I’ve
always loved, died so fast and hard before I could find names. Brokeback
Mountain heard somehow what I've carried in my heart;it knew and
guessed the ghost kept hidden in a concealed valley, its howls at night
heard over the distance against a small moon; and most of all it showed
that sorrows pure springs are all the same[1], whatever their names.
http://www.annieproulx.com/forum/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=2385#2385
--leoneill
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I am deeply moved by your story. I recommended to members of
http://www.ennisjack.com to come and read your post in it's entirety.
I want to say how wonderful and wise your father was to never say a
word about what he saw. Few people parents are able to exhibit such
composure, self-restraint and forebearance.
Your story bears some similarity to an experience I had when I was age
ten. Don't hesitate to message or email me if you wish.
In a sense, our literary savoring of such stories, true or imagined, brands
us as ghouls, feasting vicariously on the sorrow and suffering of others.
There is something voyeuristic in the activity of fiction. Or, perhaps it is
our selves that we behold, as in a dressing mirror, and this introspection
lessons our guilt to a crime of misdemeanor.
+++++++++++++++++
At ennisjack.com I noticed, some while ago, a link to fan lit for
BBM. Apparently there is a genre of literature written by fans of certain
novels and movies, where they use their imagination to speculate about
sequels to their favorite stories.
I have been attempting to study the works of Annie Proulx and her
biography for a short while now, and I have tentatively arrived at certain
conclusions.
I do not see Annie Proulx as a person who pursues wealth or fame or
power. Were she that kind of person, she would have milked the lecture
circuit for all it is worth in high fees for speaking engagements. Instead,
she refuses all further interviews and engagements so she may get on
with her work. I see her as a genuine artist who is striving to produce
her opus in the unique style and voice which she has created for herself.
I have now examined Accordian Crimes, The Shipping News,
The Old Ace in the Hole and Postcards as well as the short
story BBM, and what I observe is her striving for diversity and continually
fresh innovation, yet remaining within the boudaries of the unique genre
that she has devised.
Were she to capitalize on the popularity of Brokeback Mountain and
write many sequels, then she would be side tracked from her higher
artistic goals.
I am remined of Jean-Paul Sartre who abandoned his brand of
Existentialism, his Being and Nothingness at a time when he might
have travelled and lectured for several years, because he had become
convinced that Marxism and Communism were more important
philosophies to pursue. Some years later, Sartre became disillusioned
with the Socialist position, and abandoned that as well. We see in such a
person tremendous courage and intellectual honesty, to be willing to
abandon something popular and lucrative, and to be willing to admit error,
and seek an alternative. I am reminded of the fact that Sartre refused a
prize (perhaps Nobel? I could goolge for certainty), on the grounds that
were he to accept such a public honor, he could not maintain his unbiased
independence as a philosopher.
When I consider the meticulous painstaking care which Proulx takes to
craft each story and novel, I realize that she is not writing for the general
consumer public, but for herself as a creative artist. For the general
public does not care for the fineness and careful crafting of each sentence
and phrase, or the uniqueness and brilliance of a new genre, or the
profound social and moral issues explored. The world at large is looking
for a passtime.
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