Doors
Doors stick to the shoes I chew the souls out of quiet residential area 51’s coming apart at the un-planeted sentence – knife in prism – oh, affect! Dual good. God’s fencing Alice dragging on a drag queen’s doubled joint to stroke your Facebook gives me a psychic shucks. Chic, this is the skusb of something rootable, and this time it’s not Deleuze and all. It’s delusional. No fucks.
So, we put our likelihoods up cos I know a tap house from how the foot’s fucked. I don’t need to read it. My robbing hoods scoff at the stares that eeked in and spun out for meters, meteors, meatier if you know to meet us on the borderline of personality and taste to order refinement. It puts minds at tease, into violins, their hidden violence, missing personas of interest rates plummet, sic as the plumbing stolen by a cut throat, moaning dew due to be replace exactly like won’t my gut be.
I’ll be raising you to the mourning of my own death, uploading it to the houso complex cloud above for Groucho and Marx. As close as we get to the lock of a plot are – ouch – these light globes that halo me into debt, and collections to let said debts RIP – this one is a faery’s tale of WOAH, a steaming stream of consciousness, piled up obnoxiously in the noughties corner. Oh, no!
Now we owe millions of years. Yesterday, it was billions. So, tiers… your derro predilection of booty is going out with their head space rolled out the red carpet, ace as a sigh. Gap. Me bolt. Later, Leda and I watched and streamed at each other watching Black Swan, live as a wire acting on. “I jut wanted a wife with greater resolution.”
Our notions breeze suss as fuck it, you, that, etc. Dead convolution, conversation. Killing me, matey, just shows I never die. It’s cultured, imperial; perma-fried, chips you can’t bets’re off spreading the wards of AD. You’ve got to fail the grade to pass off the test. Made to disorder truths here can cough. We’ll dismiss them as meaningless.
Aladdin’s hand me downs
My tongue deviates in fountains. You’ll never escape our prying highs. I just wanted a wife with greater resolution. Non omnis moriar.
I know what you did: lost summer. Precedings were adjourned, down under the shade of the Coolabah box, and burnt. I say that at the risk of repeating my selves. My shelves circle, though, loan sharky, defeating that purpose, as if on purpose, or drug use.
Everybody wants to relax like my jeans don’t, drool the world. Erase by serial numbers. Stop the quotes. We’re a long way from home ownership the nigh away to be from me.
More crystalline stumble shows you on TV over fur, fifty livers later. In those days, the sun flat fell, no setting – up or down.
Up. I hover about the bitching; phew. Screams and schemas were heard at least three days ago.
Tomorrow’s yesterday with a wig on!!!!!!! The time is out of points. I’m fuelled by your stare.
Later, I prove lowlife’s what you make it; my atoms cun. My body went awol, but flows and ers were Bloomian beneath my feat. TF1 was the careerist of the queer.
Rack the sky. Wanna see a status go? Between the lines, verb of preference preceding.
And just. Stay fed uploading metadata – her dad’s eyes pickling in a jar under the masses’ hysteria was made common sense to transfer me all your money is no good here we only take long walks away from key change’s welcome but mu cusp remains of enemies empty. Best practice.
You know, drop boxing me into the shit fields forever back down load the idea shot by shot surf scratched it till a tunnel vision of you, lost. “Excuse me, sir,” they misgendered me, “I’m making a scene for futurity to dismember and me to live on in the ellipses of Gods.” Their silence left it up right down to Pluto. Plus, I was empty hearted and cashed.
But it just might have been sass addiction, how I went out with a big bang the babe is old enough to know pigs can fly. It began in social media res (It didn’t; ask Medea). I cleaned my glasses, but I think my eyes were wobbly: they kept failing to a lauded gun. I only do other people’s lives. The prying is optional.
It’s drop it like it cold war shit. Make a strackie. You swore at me till death do part your legs still follow me around fucking Newtown. I’m the closest drug relation of your Hotel Delirium. Pay more intention.
When I do, my imagination gets itchy. Like, I was the only one without a gun to my head case split open that night I saw tear gas in your eyes, sighed off on a MAD tea party. It ended the great depression in verse. It was too brag to veil: trace and bullets = new points of entropy, etorndy. Then, she sentenced me to wash the dishes. I thought it was a homophone.
So again the poem turned on a crimewave, and the suspense is billing me. You’d think it all aver, says my monologue, taking me under – or over – like a boss. But I was barely dying, so….
But then the hissing of your fractured eyes sink holed me up. Mx 8-ball, and it’s what it’s. So, I sent a WhatsApp message: share the sea to my savage slideshow ons if you’re walk. Now they’ve got a cold, and the air is creaky. Freaky.
I started ceased and deceased but still riding poems, thus…. How’s that for starvation of thought?
Dressed to the 999s, the moon is up to get me, the sun is down to fuck me. “Medusa is on. I added the seasoning from hell. Gotta split, love.”
Doing so makes two question marks, minus some dots.
War and peace.
The vamphorskes
Your Mcmansions started it, this disease with which I yawn. All of.mine were devised with this door of opportunity cost sucked through an early bird catching a wormhole. It was unpredictable as any opera about soap, the movements of these pixels through the hour glass we figure ate the days of our lies. Did someone say complaint by numbers?
What about my inhumanable alien rights; aren't they enshrined somewhere? Look! Owning up to the bush, doof-head, will not make your convention oven good for resale, or anything at all. Yes, I know I said my buddy is a temple - that's because it's me and he is one. We slide our tithe in between, yeah, his teeth. Not so radical. True. Granting what is and isn't funny bones hard, adrift from my fucks, or preferences theyre for. I guess ploy for them make like cats and back into the lamp, right? Make it now and void, so I did.
So, am I excepted to try rubbing it the wrong way round? A low revs in, but not as response too, and that they're the greatest bid this moment complaints by numbers of living dead is off too, I spose. Bully is the pulped it word of the minute. They girt us anyway, a notional anthem for four eyes. Was there a way out of lined with - line - situations such as this, or a way one needs improve - note without the E. Spare change? Much ado, nothing will convince. It's like an emotion sickness - recalcitrant, shitty. Squawks are shifty until in demand, demented tragic comedy, ala you, allah.
Voldemort was bothered by everything also. What? Despite all my wage, this wetness caging me, concrete following me up stairs taken to circumnavigate the stares, the elevator, rude I will on the not be, Mr Your Honour. The century bangs onwards, remixing the books so the invoice of this degeneration is sex. No more subtleties - ching ching - register cash? You're getting off my Nirvana, standing on my Husqvarna. Cultural cringe. Gold syringe the masses hysteria made common sense to transfer all your money is piecemeal and bought up, peace's boarded up, water not included. Is that what's called a meal deal breaker? War and peace out, Grinch.
(Parking lots of you... Best form a disorderly line up, but no expressions that are not expropriate, Ok?) ...Jesus, mythed up the pointillism, too, entirely contravening our lost lesion. Part the art's not at all, historically speaking, to work off the corruption that was its genetics. MDNA. It could have happened tomorrow, today, but we're here, now, and we copyrighting it don't. There's a parody with which to explain something obvious imported in there somewhere. I'm an anarchist, allegedly. I'll raise anything black - powers, say, but I'd hate myself for milking it like a mural.
Everyone in da house here lives on the edge, had a dream whose living solution was never land, nor discussing how we shared them between us. They leave us closer to witches than riches, the looks they insist on grabbing rattle us, but industry, we snake, bite into the Adam's apple. Eve runs with, rather, this garden of our forking tongue twister games, a pricked pin here and there, code for "glitch this Genius sparks as I stroke your face gives me an electric chair to pull up anywhere.
Grate again because freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Our up. We can do it with one Swiftian motion, adjourned till there's woven a politic with more body. This one holds its heads up in its hands, by its waist, going up and down, a value, toxic. Low or high, we're wasted. But only as regards sobriety's spectacle - it's you can see, but you can't like. We're above the influence here, crunching epidemics out of all proportion. Caesar's chicken salad now we're death-marching for our lives back up slowly and keep your hands in the air like you just don't care.
Sure, I'm stupid, but it's like a fox. Flying over your head, lazy dog, the pupils left; our eyes are all white, hey. Shut that wide open road. Scholars ship these mallets. It's a walkthrough we'll never long, bottoms, be maid or privy to. I'm no Alex Jonestown massacre, but the Crimean war is that never ending storey, a God dammed Ummmmms race. The fall out is boy. Times leaves us fools, ranked rank wank amateurs. Recording everything clicks heals into place. The tape gets trips The corner we're in backs off. Huh? The mirror's a producer of ash. Beeeeep. Beeeeep. Smirk machines make an audience grin. The glint is similar. These cameras get it out their eyes. Fins circle, classically open and wide
That jerk isn't forlorn anymote
Morry pranksters and fateful mcMans guzzling inside out means or prediction. Erudite or or Eros date! A comedy of terrors fellows me off Instagram - insta glam. Mort as any lake, we over and in redcline, wristwatch the Lakers play up down left right up two start select up. Chew chews the alternative - delete control. Traumaturgy be out now illegal discipline. Slap the fetus from Nirvana's wee box, beating still as a symbol don't. Noh udder cymbals fit. We're simple samples served and on ice. Winter came little roo, and too late. I'd like two lattes, earlier, puh-lease, but with a shot of rum to the headspace as well. This jokes too big to be funny for its boots, you foghorn leghorn posse. mead the ows. These might fit
GOD was always with Me
My eyes see the colorful cross with a horizon.
Quietly thoughts turn to God and his creation.
These moments remind me of a life saved by love.
A cross that reflects a light gives warmth to a soul.
Comfort comes in the subtleness of a life given by God.
Jesus’ life gives everlasting freedom of a soul given in passion.
Light from the colorful stained-glass windows.
Knowing that redemption has transformed my soul.
Kneeling at the altar contemplation of life eternal.
Mind Not, O My Dear
O my dear!
I dig up not about your secret yesterdays
I mind not what others think about you
I mind not what others say about me
I have nothing to do with their sense
I am a spiritual lover.
O my dear!
Mind not if I love you very much tonight
And mind not too if my love seems diluting tomorrows
As very moment I do what I like the most
I am a spontaneous lover.
O my dear!
Mind not if you are in a distant land
And I am staying a night with someone
Yet meanwhile chattering your name
You too may do that, I don’t mind
But my dear,
Remain not in a catch-22 about my true love
And ask not" Do you really love me then?"
O dear!
At times, I am a democrat lover,
And at times, I am a biological lover.
[Sushant Kumar B.K. is a Nepalese poet, translator, educator and freelance writer who is originally from Gulariya, Bardiya, Nepal. He writes poems in English and Nepali language. His poems have been featured in national and international anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online portal. He especially loves to read spiritual and philosophical books. He can be reached at bksushant26@gmail.com.]
Undergraduate Open Book Examination:
Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus
Contributing Author Brief Biography
Z I MAHMUD
Enrolled freshman fellow student of the Department of English and Humanities (ENH) at BRAC University. As an English Literature enthusiast and anorak, the contributing author cherishes glowing, glimmering, flickering and hovering through indulgence in imaginative literary genres-of- narratives. Seasons of holidaymaking and vacationing henceforward travelling to the native countryside parsonage with accompaniments of bestsellers noteworthily
sparkling story telling collection of Ian Hamilton’s Penguin Book of Twentieth Century Essays, San Francisco Chronicle critically appreciated as ‘fluid and earthy, eerie and realistic, complex and simple’ Graham Swift’s Booker Prize Novel Waterland, enthralling and revelatory documentary testimony of lucid and insightful manifestations of nature of love :John
Sutherland’s ‘The Oxford Book of Love Stories’, Chairperson Professor Ma’am’s recommended marvelously poetic Barack Obama’s phenomenally unforgettable emotional
odyssey “Dreams From My Father’ (picks of bookstore haul) and campus library checkout The Washington Post Book World’s enchanting review to be “bold, high-spirited, self-mocking, powerfully evocative and deeply revealing’’ Gabriel Garcia-the literature Nobel laureate “Living To Tell The Tale”.
Prior to this edition of literary essays, Synchronized Chaos published the manuscript of a book review and literary criticism concerning Charles Dickens.
The contributing author heartily and gladdeningly welcomes pleasantries exchange and relevant critiquing through email correspondence: zi.mahmud@g.bracu.ac.bd and
zimahmud_anan@yahoo.com
“Conflict inner or outer, is the essence of tragedy.” Consider this reference to Doctor Faustus.
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How does Marlowe in Doctor Faustus present a conflict rather than a mere record of events?
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Write a note on how Marlowe dramatizes the conflict in the mind of Doctor Faustus.
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Doctor Faustus is primarily a study of the mind of Faustus himself. Discuss.
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Trace the mental conflict of Faustus from the beginning till his last hour on this earth in Doctor
Faustus.
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“Merely to make and carry out a contract is not itself the material of drama; the dramatic, imaginative power of the play depends, not upon legal but upon moral cause and effect.”
Illustrate from Doctor Faustus the conflict leading to the tragedy.
Throughout the tragedy the spirits of the Good and Evil Angels are to a large extent the external symbols of the internal conflict between Good and Evil going on in the mind of Doctor Faustus.
Christopher Marlowe has shown a struggle going on in the mind of Doctor Faustus, a conflict
between his conscience and his will, between his hope of redemption and the bond with Lucifer. The inherent element of the conflict is the fountainhead of the entire action of the play and the movement of the action defines the plot of the play.
According to a critic in Faustus we note the perplexities of his divided spirit, his wavering of anguish and remorse, the flickering of the hope extinguished in the smoke of self- abandonment to fear, the pungent pricks of conscience soothed by the transient vision of delight, its prying curiosity which lulls his torment at one moment, the soul’s defiance to yielding despair and from despair to recovering renewed strength to sin and suffer.
Doctor Faustus abjures the trinity ever since scholarism fruits have been harvested in the fields of
philosophy, theology, medicine and law. He wishes to conjure up magical spirits and perform supernatural feats. In this fulfillment of purpose, he stages a conference with Valdes and Cornelius.
The elements of the earth would be in his domain through application and exertion of supernatural charms. In this way, he abjures the Bible, profanes the scriptures and blasphemes his Saviour Christ and dedicates himself to Beelzebub the Prince of Hell.
“The God thou serv’st is thine own appetite,
Wherein is the fixed the love of Belzebub:
To him I’ll build an altar and a church,
And offer lukewarm blood of new-born babes.”
Faustus’ atheism and paganism reflect the overthrow of warnings from Heavens. The Good Angel explicitly warns Faustus of the impending dangers involved in the study of witchcraft and wizardry.
But the Evil Angel lures him in the temptation of infinite possibilities in the power of the magic-the possibility of being a Demigod like figure. The Good Angel is a symbolically impersonating voice of Faustus’ conscience. Since the Good Angel enjoins upon him to leave the ‘execrable art and think of ‘contrition’, ‘prayer’ and ‘repentance’ as they are the only means to bring him unto heaven. As the Good Angel advises Faustus to think of heaven and of heavenly things. Moreover, the Evil Angel
lambastes the words of the Good Angel as illusions, ‘fruits of lunacy’. Nonetheless, the Evil Angel prevails and triumphs in tempting him to the lure of honour and wealth. At this Faustus’ wavering mind resolves to ‘cast no more doubt’.
Even the climax of the drama with congealing of blood and Mephistopheles aiding with chafers and coal so that Faustus might write the bloody pact and mortgage his soul to the Prince of Hell. He contemplates in meditation as if there is a relentless battlefield in the breast between good and evil,
conscience and free will, going on in the skeptic protagonist’s mind. “Whither should I fly?/ If unto
God, he’ll throw me down to Hell.”
The poignant climax of the mental conflict intensifies the tension to the dreadful end as Faustus chastises Mephistophilis through these poignant lines:
“Ay, go, accursed spirit, to ugly hell:
‘Tis thou hast dam’d distressed Faustus’soul.”
As soon as Faustus supplicates in redemption of hoping salvation the critical moment foreshadows
the forces of good struggling to defeat the forces of evil in the mind of Doctor Faustus, “Ah, Christ,
my saviour, seek to save distressed Faustus’soul”. The vigilant legions of the kingdom of infernal
hell appear before Faustus, Lucifer, Belzebub and Mephistopheles to apprise in imperative tone the
bond between Faustus and the Devil, and that therefore he should never think of God.
At the end of the drama and the tragic fall of the hero pathos of poignancy strikes the Representative
of God-the symbolic imagery of celestial divinity in the form of Old Man. The Old Man has a spiritual fecundity of nostromo which might eradicate the tension from mental tortures and agonies
that cast Faustus into despairing disillusionment. The precarious predicament of Faustus would achieve salvation if he breaks his heart and drops blood and mingles with tears to beg the mercy of His Saviour Christ “whose blood alone must wash away” his eternal damnation.
In the entire dramatic literature Faustus witnesses the cumbersome and grotesque macabre of exhumation. When the devil comes to claim his soul at midnight after the expiry of twenty years
promise, Faustus experiences one of the most poignant mental tortures ever seen in the mind of a
tragic hero. His mournful lamentations can be elegised in heart wrenching soliloquy as follows:
“The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The Devil will come, Faustus must be damned!
I’ll leap unto my God!—Who pulls me down?
See, see, where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah my Christ.”
What is soliloquy? What are the uses of it in Doctor Faustus?
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How does Marlowe employ the dramatic device of the soliloquy in Doctor Faustus?
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Discuss the outline of the significance of the first and the final soliloquy in Doctor Faustus.
Soliloquy is a literary device employed by playwrights of Elizabethan and Jacobean era to enable their harbinger of audience’s correspondence tracing the innermost recesses of the characters of
drama. Furthermore, it is through the usage of soliloquy, Elizabethan playwright Christopher Marlowe’s arousal of revelatory intimate thoughts, feelings, motives, intentions, aspirations, expectations, euphoric ecstasy, lamentations, grievances and so on are staged in the soliloquising Faustus’s heart and soul.
In the opening scene of Doctor Faustus Christopher Marlowe’s unparallelled convention of soliloquy has achieved aphoristic excellence. The doctrine of proverb is a eureka
hallmark in Faustus’ temptations to allurement of evil witchcraft. He is compelled by the enticing prospects of black magic or ‘cursed necromancy’. The dramatic monologue happens when the protagonist Faustus-the Marlowian tragic hero, alone on stage, expresses intimate thoughts and
feelings and motives through third-person point of view- “Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin.”
(line 1) Faustus epitomizes the idealistic picture of the laureate of divinity of Wittenberg University.
However, he is in blues by the insatiable thirst and inordinate appetite to gather amass knowledge of the infinite possibilities in the immortalizing celestial hierarchy. Soon we hear the note of dissatisfaction and restlessness in Faustus’ voice; despite his pinnacle of scholarism in academic accomplishments. For instance, practicing law would be ‘mercenary drudge’ and the bleakish aspects of Jerome’s Bible implicates human sinfulness and the damnation that awaits it.
“Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man’’(line 23) : Faustus cannot be acknowledged as the eternal healer and resurrectionist Christ. He perseveres to transcend human limitations to break boundaries and shake the foundations of artificial restrictions on human capabilities.
Faustus fantasizes to achieve ‘stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man’ which glorifies the intense optimistic spirit of Renaissance. Scientific investigations into the structure of the universe and laws of the physical world; the voyages of exploration, expansion of trade routes and colonization of the
Americas; the printing press publication revolutionary transformation were restoration of classical ideas of civic virtues and public service. “All things that move between the quiet poles/Shall be at my command (ii. lines-58-9), this speech elicits inferences to the scientist’s and the coloniser’s desire to control the natural world.
After these harangues, Doctor Faustus divines in beleaguering the Prince of Parma through voicing
antipathy. Catholic Governor of the Netherlands in the 1580s was an Elizabethan hate-figure. Marlowe’s temperamental tempest can be awakened in the desire to reign as the monarch of provinces. Since Spain plans to invade England and even quell the Protestant rebellion in the
Netherlands which England endowed patronage.
.
Christopher Marlowe’s soliloquising Faustus’ in the ending scene reveal the moral underlying the
drama:
‘’My God, My God, look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while!
Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer!
I’ll burn my books!- Ah, Mephistopheles!’’
The forbidden tree of knowledge should always be forsaken since exercising the prohibitive and restrictive were a catastrophically disastrous cascade of cataclysms. In the ending it awe-inspiringly and marvellously reveal the different moods and deep anguish of a terror-stricken soul of Doctor
Faustus.
The last hour poignant soliloquy undoubtedly embellishes splendor of grandiosity through emotionally and lyrically magnificent poetic passages as resonated in the poetic diction:
“Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damned perpetually!
____________________________________
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!’’
This glimmers the spark of the fleeting season of time that Faustus aspiringly hopes to achieve redemption through contrition, repentance, restitution and supplication. Marlowe underlines the enjambement through the run-on-lines in showcasing desperately frantic Faustus’ exasperating soul.
Faustus’ eternal damnation cannot be salvaged; since the clock will strike;/ and the devil will come, and Faustus must be damned. Ironically ‘sound magician is a mighty God’ proves to be a wretched beast whose soul would dissolve as inhumation of fossilized minerals or soul “be changed into little water-drops,/And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found!” (lines 119-20) These are Faustus’ pleas pledged in supplicating personae to escape the heavy wrath of God as well as prevention to annihilation.
Bibliography and Further Reading
1. OpenLearn Christopher Marlowe Doctor Faustus The Open University UK
www.open.edu/openlearn/history-the-arts/culture/literature-and-creative-writing/literature/christopher
-marlowe-doctor-faustus/content-section-0
2. Dr. S Sen Study Guides Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus
.
How does Marlowe use the classical concept of the chorus during the play?
In ancient Greek tragedy Chorus engrosses fundamentally essential and integral dramatic tropes especially in celebrations of religious festivals and fertility rites. These choral characters were a group of professional band of dancers who chanted lyrical odes and lyric verses while performing dancelike maneuvers at Dionysus’ festivities. They mainly served as commentators on the characters
and events who expressed traditional, moral, societal, religious and cultural attitudes. Later the Elizabethan dramatists were intrigued to introduce a single choral character to perform the announcement or proclamation to the prologue and epilogue of their play. This choral character can be used an idealistic vehicle to act as the spokesperson in the commentary of the actions, causes and effects on the play and as well as, providing justification for exposition of its subject, time, setting and of events happening offstage as Christopher Marlowe’s employment in Doctor Faustus.
The choral character in the prologue announces the proclamation of Faustus’ tragic fate and diabolical
destiny which would ultimately lead this Doctor of Divinity to sell his soul to the Devil and be a fallen satanic spirit vulnerable to the perdition’s fiendish pitfall. Faustus’ lack of self-knowledge and his tragic blindness to his own nature forms the central irony of the tragedy, an irony intensified by
Marlowe’s use of the Seven Deadly Sins. In correspondence to gluttony, the prologue of the chorus chants these poignant lyrical verses:
”And glutted more with learning’s golden gifts.”
“He surfeits upon cursed necromancy” (II. lines 24-5)
The chorus does not talk of gallantry, chivalry, romance, royalty and nobility but of Faustus’ fortunes good or bad (line 8). Faustus’ pedigree of aboriginality resonates parents base of stock (line 12) and despite his subservient socio-economic status, his intellectual brilliance led swiftly to his being
awarded a doctorate at University of Wittenberg. In line 20 the shift in the tone of speech is concerned with Faustus “cunning of a self-conceit’’, which has been exemplified as ‘intellectual
pride engendered by arrogance’.
Finally the chorus acknowledges that the study of black magic or ‘cursed necromancy’ was Faustus’ adamancy of hubris, despite the fact that it jeopardizes ‘his ‘chiefest bliss’ (line 27); that is, his chance of being salvaged by eternal redemption when he is resurrected.
The heavenly matters of theology are abjured in despondency by the tragic hero Faustus since his predestination forecasts malevolent plotting with “swoll’n” hamartia. As the chorus further embellishes the classical allusions of mythological legends in intensifying the downfall and damnation of Doctor Faustus:
“His waxen wings did mount above his reach
And melting heavens conspir’d his overthrow.”
Icarus the son Daedalus dared to venture to the zenith of the heavenly skies despite warnings by his father to maintain a steady pathway toward Crete. As a consequence, Icarus becomes a scapegoat to the vulnerability of waxen and feathery wings melting near the approaching glowing sun.
In conclusion, transgressions are trailed to the justice of characters’ rebellion against established social hierarchy and the fruitful plot of scholarisms projections to bleakish prospectus as the choral odes resonate throughout the entire play.
Bibliography and Further Reading
1. OpenLearn Christopher Marlowe Doctor Faustus The Open University UK
www.open.edu/openlearn/history-the-arts/culture/literature-and-creative-writing/literature/christopher
-marlowe-doctor-faustus/content-section-0
2. Dr. S Sen Study Guides Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus
How does Faustus’ relationship with Helen of Troy epitomize the activities of the twenty-four year relationship?
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Explain the allegorical and symbolic significance of the figure of Helen in Doctor Faustus.
Acclaimed literary critic and author of dark gritty fiction exploring human condition JD Palmer comments upon the apparition of Helen in Doctor Faustus as “The invocation of Helen, that superb piece of lyric poetry, is shot through with ironical meanings, not intended by Faustus, reminding us
that this vision is an evil spirit, an illusion in more than the theatrical sense. The actions and words constantly serve to divorce the soaring imaginative vision of Faustus’ poetry from the realities of his self-elected situation; his desire inhabits a splendid, open world of infinite possibilities but his choice
commits him to an enclosed, inescapable destiny.”
Doctor Faustus has turned a deaf ear to the Old Man’s talks of penance and restitution which further deteriorates his moral spirituality. Captivatingly compelling Faustus’ consummate promiscuity with paramour of “peerless dame of Greece” Helen digresses his subconscious perception between heaven and hell, damnation and salvation. He further indulges in coquettish adulation of Helen’s dazzling enchantment and lovely paramour. As twenty four years’ of leading supernatural and magical life embarks the anticlimax, Faustus’s revival and renewal of the pact with Lucifer coincides.
Faustus dupes as the Paris of Helen and beleaguered Whittenberg shall be ransacked by him instead of Troy. Furthermore, Faustus would duel chick hearted Menelaus and after that wearing plum-coloured crests of Helen’s robes strike Achilles in the heel. Then he would return to his dame
paramour for a sweet kiss of immortality.
“I will be Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy, shall Wittenberg be sack’d:
And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest;
Yes, I will wound Achilles in the heel,
And then return to Helen for a kiss.”
“O, thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;
Brighter art thou than the flaming Jupiter
When he appeared to hapless Semele;
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa’s azure arms:
And none but thou shalt be my paramour!”
This is the concluding part of the famous apostrophe of Faustus to Helen , “that peerless Dame of Greece”. Faustus is enarmoured of her heavenly beauty. He compares Helen’s dazzling beauty with the loveliest sights of nature as well as the gods and goddesses famous fort their beauty and
splendour. But all pale into insignificance beside her peerless beauty. Her splendid beauty surpasses even the loveliness of the evening sky adorned adorned with numberless shining stars. She appears to be brighter than Jupiter even in all his glorious brilliance when he appeared at her behest before Sebele, the princess of Thebes who loved him, with the result that she was consumed to ashes immediately. To Faustus the aura of paramour personifies even more beautiful than Apollo
when he was locked in the loving arms of Arethusa, the charming sea nymph or when he was reflected in the serene waters of a lake or a river. So Helen, and Helen alone should be his paramour, none else.
These lines manifestly exhibit Marlowe’s lyrical poetry and the relationship between Faustus' 24 years of blasphemous life profaned by incestuous lasciviousness of adultery.
Characteristics of the Marlowian Hero
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Comment On The Tragic Hero as Conceived by Marlowe
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Discuss Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus as a Tragic Hero
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Comment on Marlowe’s art of characterization.
Or
Do you agree with the view that Marlowe’s heroes in his plays are veritable incarnation of the genius of the Renaissance ?If so, in what sense?
Or
Write a note on the cause of tragedy in Doctor Faustus
This is a fact universally acknowledged that Marlowe is the pioneer and forerunner in his iconic contributions to English Drama through the characterization of titanic tragic hero Doctor Faustus. Since prior Marlowe there was no hero in the conventional sense in the Miracle, Moralities or
Interludes of pre-Elizabethan epoch. Marlowe embodied the spirit of the Renaissance through individualization of tragic heroic personalities endowed with inordinate ambition and indomitable passions. These embodiments are vigorous and radical characteristics with humble parentage who fall from the peak of fortunes to the precarious predicament facing death and damnation. Doctor Faustus is central character and the heroic figure with the accompaniments of minor
characters subordinated to the purpose of heightening and intensifying the psychological conditions of Faustus from various points of views and different perspectives. Unbridled passions in the quest of infinite chances and knowledge of the heavens prompted Faustus’ superhuman energy to achieve earthly glory. Like a Machiavellian hero, Marlowian tragic heroic character Faustus appeals to the audience’s sympathy through the purgation of cathartic emotions arousing pity, fear, admiration, horror, and contempt.
The delineation psychological conflict or the spiritual struggle in the mind of the hero is the chief theme in Doctor Faustus. Ultimately through blemish or drawback as frailties of the protagonist leads toward doom and disaster. The tragic hero Faustus tragic flaw : ‘’glutted more with learning’s golden
gifts’’ and surfeiting upon ‘’cursed necromancy’’. It is crystal clear that the delineation of the character of the hero and depicting the conflict in his mind is the most significant landmarks in Marlowian drama.
Marlowe’s Fasutus though in course of being fair or foul with inherent tragic flaw, should neither be someone virtuous nor vicious. Insolence of pride and vanity of self-indulgence through over excessive confidence lead to hubris as “His waxen wings did mount above his reach,”/ “And, melting, heavens conspir’d his overthrow;” These classical allusions to the legends and myths of the diabolical destiny that fated Icarus as a fallen and vanquished soul. After the opening of the chorus recital Faustus soaring imaginative vision can be envisioned in these memorable lines:
“Divinity adieu;
These metaphysics of magicians,
And necromantic books are heavenly:
—————————————————
O what a world of profit and delight,
Of power, of honour, omnipotence,
Is promised to the studious artizan!
All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command…..
—————————————————-
A sound magician is a mighty God:”
The soul of Doctor Faustus is inflamed with a glowing craze for superhuman magical charms and sensuous hedonistic impulses. Portrayal incarnations of Renaissance Drama tantalizing individuality, audacious ambition, a hegemonic yearning for knowledge and etherealizing euphoria of ecstatic life are intrinsically inherent intricacies which can be explored further. “Lord and commander of the elements” enticingly allured the temperament of Faustus to sell his soul to the Devil and write the bond with blood from his own veins.
We can regard Doctor Faustus as a tragic hero of that modern tragedy where the prick of conscience
haunts the protagonist’s heart and soul. Despite selling his soul to the Devil, Faustus is suspended in the havoc of the heart and soul battlefield where there is the harbinger of interior struggle and inner conflict between the opposing forces of Good and Evil from the beginning to the end. This inner conflict gives rise to the choice between two alternatives amidst the polarity of being pulled in opposite directions. Being a staunch Protestant reformer, Christopher Marlowe’s embodiment of conventional doctrines and dogmas pertaining to Christian theology can be recognized in Faustus’
depth of the subconscious self. Fluctuations of the wavering loyalties of Faustus are overwhelmed by the incantations of conscious and subconscious forces.
The tragic hero Doctor Faustus’ boasting pride, haughty insolence, presumptuous impertinence are responsible for the downfall and damnation in similarity for which the Milton of Lucifer also fell, Through mastery of the black art of magic Faustus wishes to be a Machiavellian and a mighty god:
“All things that move between the quiet poles,/ Shall be at my command.”
And the grim irony of the protagonist’s sky high expectations are belied during his career as a renowned magician aspiring to dream of becoming Jove on earth and ultimately disillusioned.
Appealing like a pampered child to “fair nature’s eye to be resurrected through perpetual day.
“That Faustus may repent and save his soul!”
In concluding the essay, we can remark Helen Gaerdener, the American author, rationalist public intellectual, political activist and government functionary relevant observations: “The great reversal from the first scene of Doctor Faustus to the last scene can be defined in different ways: from presumption to despair, from doubt in the existence of hell to the belief in the reality of nothing else….from aspiration to deity and omnipotence to longing for extinction. At the beginning, Faustus wishes to rise above his humanity, at the close he sinks below it, be transformed into the beast or
‘’into little water drops’.
At the beginning he attempts usurpation on God, at the close he is an usurper upon the Devil.’’
Moral Inflation
Paying $3 for a cup of coffee
is the closest I get to praying
these days, as the tip jar is fuller
than my Sunday School soul
that once made me feel so special
placing money
in the collection plate at church,
only to be indoctrinated a second time
years later
on how minimum wage
defiles the free market
by a man who also preached
against the electric company's
monopoly and other economic evils
which have yet to engulf me in flames
as I place my change in the tip jar.
FLYING FREE
She let the bird
out of its cage,
opened the window wide,
watched the creature
tentatively pace the sill
for a minute or two,
then fly away.
It was a parakeet
and only knew captivity.
It never occurred to her
that the bird would not survive
the harsh New England winter,
or that it was so tame,
it could hop up, willingly,
on a red-tailed hawk’s claw.
She imagined her own life
within iron bars,
how she’d dearly love
someone to set her free.
She dreamed of
something other than survival.
Of prey animals
and all she had to give.
NEW MORNING
Early morning,
cocks stop crowing,
other birds take up the call.
A town awakes,
leaves the sex dreams in their bed somewhere,
pushes the fear dreams to the back of their heads.
Much shaving, face washing, coffee,
now the dreamer must go out and do it.
Work harder or less, steal or put back,
screw the neighbor's pretty wife
or demons in an office bathroom.
The light has moved everyone on from where they were.
Apology replaces act.
Honing in trades places with randomness.
It's to do with the brightness
and the stirring of a spoon
or the spray of hot water on the skin.
A scrawny rooster booted last night out the door.
Other birds feed on its flesh.
A town barks like its dogs,
purrs like its kittens.
Today, a bum could be the mayor.
A mourning widower might find a bride
behind that tombstone.
A shy girl will read Homer.
A boy from Brooklyn will go to Texas.
The rooster flops down from his fence,
double-trots to the barn
to rustle up some hens.
The birds are singing a song
that a clock taught them.
A guy says never leave me
to a woman who wasn't here before.
A child recites the alphabet
before the day knows that's how words are made.
CHILDHOOD FEARS
One ugly toad
on the banks
of the small pond
was enough to send me
running back home.
My pond,
the one where I collected tadpoles,
was held hostage
to that gruesome creature,
whose chief weapon
was simply to be.
Cane toad,
that insidious interloper,
barely raised an eye
in my direction,
as if it believed its own legend,
that one touch of its slick brown skin
would be enough to kill a grown man.
My mother tried to assure me
that they were harmless.
And in a way
that strangers in vehicles were definitely not.
I might have dreamed
that, on my way to school,
a car pulled over
and a toad poked its head out,
said something like,
“Hey kid, do you want a ride?”
I didn’t.
But, for a time there,
my dreams were headed in that direction.
YOUR DANCE
Marriage slowly evaporating
an emptiness at home
that not even a daughter can fill,
just like your dancing dream
faded when your father lost his job,
and now spinning round the room
clutching a wine bottle –
it’s not the same,
not while your back hurts
from falling on the ice,
and his silence is like some intolerable barrage –
you still sleep together
but it feels like you’re in different rooms –
so much for the tango,
so much for expecting flowers on your anniversary,
you can’t even get tipsy –
and your thirteen-year-old is so busy texting,
sure, her life is going great,
she hasn’t grown older,
she hasn’t had to move around just to break the tension,
and she can get away with eating chocolate,
and wearing jeans –
you have to laugh,
at her age,
you could amuse myself by catching raindrops in your palm –
now you’re in company but alone
for no one can hear you,
as your confidence peels away,
you fear your slightest error,
for your mind’s a clearing house
for all past mistakes,
and most of them are assigned to you –
and to think, you could have been a ballerina,
you could have learned tap,
you might have found the one thing you were good at
instead of the many where you just get by –
your dance, these days,
merely wards off doing nothing –
it’s clumsy and misguided
and unsuited to applause.
IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING
Childhood
is about remembering how it was,
adventures in phone calls,
a weakness sweet as early spring,
pulse in a swirl when it’s not tick-tocking,
the half-assed bringdowns of a true believer,
age of reason as proposed by a fourth grade teacher,
two bucks to mow a lawn,
farts loud and smelly enough to empty a building,
big words, small actions,
alone with an ache,
an idea in my head
falling short of the mile marker,
stolen wine sip held long on the tongue,
briefly glimpsed nude painting in library art book,
some green and fungus-like stuff oozing from the nostrils,
an uncanny ability to be found out,
bowing head in grass with the animals,
quarreling with the word “no”,
diminishing belief in the efficacy of prayers,
any given weekend,
stuff that appears on the horizon,
upticks in knowledge, downgrades in cuteness,
tears fewer and fainter,
a liking for loud metal music,
(and loud metals as well),
TV-watching face supported by palms and elbows.
beautiful women - who knew?
learning to be careful but not careful enough,
rushing in more than stepping away,
an inferior swimmer in a no-nonsense ocean,
singed fingers on just about anything hot,
the first bucket-list to include Mount Everest,
learning the art of unseen hands,
thwarted by the second chapter of an immense novel…
as if words would just roll down a window
and I could shove my tawny head through.
“The bamboo bush listened without a word. Winds rustled sweet nothings through and around. Satisfied, yes, she was satisfied. Her heart was lighter. She had found her bearings here. This place which had become a spot of solace for her; she couldn’t stay away or stray away— summer, or winter, fall or spring; the bamboo bush, an extension of herself, couldn’t be parted with. The rainwater dripped down its leaves.
Skies above, far above, somewhere the greyness matched. It matched not above nor below but at the core, not the core of the earth; it was all a connected cycle. It matched the color of her mood, the greyness of the heart, an organic interconnection. The rain, the bamboo bush, the grey skies, her heightened mood, all in one chain of cosmic order. Separate, yet connected. Connected through a natural network. She loved her life, she hated her life, she just didn’t know what to do with her life; her sufferings purpled like the blooming jacarandas under a silent, grey sky.”
