I write for my satisfaction. If someone enjoys my writing then I ammore satisfied. There are people not some many who believes it is all awaste of time. I really don’t care about what anyone thinks about me oranyone else whatsoever. At the same time I truly believe everyone havethe right to do what they enjoy most.
Haha most of you folks will be thinking hard to find out what thehell I am talking about. Well… mmm… most of you are young and the passionsof youth will take precedence over every rational in front of you all.So I am not going tell anything further. All will learn. Like I said inone of my poems. I could only pray that you all learn from the wisdomof your predecessors that was left out from their mistakes thanrepeating the mistakes they all did. I am with you or part of you. As Iknow doing certain things have its own consequences and I don’t do it.Not because I was a coward, but because it is just not right. Seek thewisdom, seen, heard, known and the unknown.
Well… here is another dose of “Tess Of The D’Urbervilles”. Ifound it hard to filter this portion out of the original text. Becausethis part is where Tess goes into the plight the most elaboratedescription I’ve ever read in the book. There are portions wherepulling a turnip from the ground with a hack was described in twopages. I know that is just plain stupidity by Thomas Hardy. Well… hewas trying to earn a living with this. You and I don’t read this forearning a living. We want to read the story. I wrote this for thesatisfaction to show what a human can be. What a woman can achieve andhow much endurance one can have when dealing with life. Whatever thatis thrown at you, you can catch it and throw right back at life. That’sthis story is all about. There are two movies made out of this novel.The one thing I expected in both movies is showing the real plight andthrough the penance in living through every hardship Tess achievespurity of womanhood even when she was raped when she was barely 16 thechild born of that savagery dies shortly and deserted by the one whomshe loves more than anything. That’s why Thomas Hardy himself calledthe book “Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-A Pure Woman”. It is not there inboth movies. As Roman Polanski was busy trying to show is mastery ofdirecting a movie and probably got lost in the beauty of NastassjaKinski (Roman Polanski Married Nastassja Kinski shortly after thismovie was released), Ian Sharp on the other hand could only imitatewhat Roman Polanski did as a director. Both were not able to get thecore idea of the novel. Well… as I said in a post long time back theactors did an excellent job in both movies. Especially Nastassja Kinskione of the best of performances by her I have seen.
Now I will take another short break from these as I know the next phasethough about half of the first draft is completed will take almostevery bit of my knowledge in writing to finish. As there is a verytouching letter Tess writes in this phase. I just don’t know whatapproach I should take to get that to poetry. It is fun to get into it.I will burst out emotionally. Well… as a man who don’t drink or dodrugs, the intoxication I get in playing with my emotions throughwriting poetry is awesome and very satisfying.
I will be back with more shorter poems in between and of course my prose experiment in the SajuAshan site.
Here are the previous phases.
Tess Of TheD’Urbervilles. Phase The First–The Maiden.
Tess Of TheD’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden NoMore
Tess Of TheD’Urbervilles-Phase The Third–The Rally.
Tess Of The D’Urbervilles Phase The Fifth–The Woman Pays.
Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase TheFifth-Part 2-The Plight, In Tears And Hope.
The winter cold from the midlands cleared,
The soft air with the bloom of life filled,
Nature later with the might of sun warmed,
Then the decline came with fall.
All the months that went by,
When her mind with full of hopes,
Never grew tired when alone faced,
The state of utter stagnation,
Of work and becoming a vagabond.
Hopes of getting back to Angel Clare,
In walks and sleep, work and food reminded,
At least one moment with Angel Clare,
He whom she grabbed as her own,
Like a shape in a vision disappeared,
Who like an invisible knight,
Fought away every fear in her.
Time is a great healer of minds,
But to Tess time became an eraser,
No letter or whereabouts of Angel Clare,
And the hardship that blended,
With pressure from every where,
Every moment of the day with hopes,
Of joining with Angel Clare,
With the shortening of days started to fade.
But deep in her soul,
There remained a full image of Angel Clare,
The only image of the humanization of her love,
Which he failed to see when lost,
In the material faults thrusts upon her.
Every moment of her plight made,
Her heart and soul and in turn flesh and blood,
To the purest form in womankind.
From a bride with box and trunks,
Tess, a lonely soul bear,
The harsh realities of her punishment,
Wandered from diary to diary,
From the fullness of a dairymaid,
Took the role of supernumerary.
Once milk began to lessen,
She moved to the harvest until done.
The allowance Angel Clare gave,
Which as souvenirs around she carried,
In the memories of Angel Clare,
The autumn rain squeezed her hard,
And every penny left her fast.
Tess became peasant indeed,
From a lonely peasant in love.
For money Tess can apply to
Angel’s father at Vicarage
Delicacy, pride or false shame,
On account of her dear husband,
And to hide her estrangement,
Tess remained in every mind,
A mystery moving through the English lands.
A D’Urberville sure was she,
As the battle of life she fought,
Better than her best ancestor knight.
Marian another dairymaid at Talbothays,
Who now works in an upland farm,
Tess was now on her way up there,
In her pursuit for a winter job and home.
Being a lonely wife was indeed tough,
The worst of the difficulties Tess faced,
Was the attention she excited,
By her beautiful appearance,
Once as a field woman dressed,
Merciless men like vultures pecked,
At her with the rudest of words.
On her way to Flintcomb-Ash,
A rude moron figured her out,
As an old companion of Alec,
She to a nearby farm ran,
And hid under the bush,
Where some dead leaves she heaped,
And crept into it to spend the night.
Night time noises never scared her,
As no fear out of humanity lived in her,
But that moment on the heap of leaves,
About Angel Clare she thought,
Far away from the senses of her,
Warm and happy he might be,
The love of her and she the love of him,
Upon on a heap of leaves laid,
Like wild animal in fear.
Was there another wretched being as she?
Tess asked herself in thought,
Of her life wasted,
By the crookedness of manly ways,
Then she repeated to herself,
“All is vanity” and kept on thinking,
Oh’ all was worse than vanity-
Injustice, punishment, exaction death.
The beautiful wife of Angel Clare,
Touched the curves of her eyebrow,
And thought a time would come,
When that bone would be bare,
And before she fell asleep said,
“I wish it were now”.
The lazy sun broke through the night,
And Tess woke up to find,
What in the night disturbed her sleep,
Another fancy of aristocratic men,
Pheasants shot down, some dead many dying.
Tess felt ashamed for her nightly gloom,
Standing in the middle of such pain and death,
When she had no pain or bleeding,
And two hands to take care of herself.
In tears she broke the necks of the birds dying,
And put them out of their torture.
The events and rowdy comments made,
Tess realize, her worst enemy was her beauty,
After wearing an old field-gown she took,
A scissors and clipped off her eyebrows,
And tied a handkerchief round her face.
When men started to look at her in disgust,
Tears again came to her eyes,
As she wanted to remain ugly,
In the eyes of weird men,
And consoled herself once more,
With her vow of love for Angel Clare,
As inside her the lessons she learnt,
Pulsed her life through those lessons,
In the years of the dust and ashes,
The cruelty of lust and passions,
And the fragility of the love she felt.
Tess in the bad weather continued,
Farm after farm seeking directions,
And seeking part time employment,
At last the edge of Flintcomp-Ash she reached,
When merciless winter cold eventually pierced,
The old gown she wore as evening closed.
Under the shelter of a cottage she stood,
Watching the rain in light that remained,
And in the heat of the wall warmed her hands,
And the red moist cheek on the wall,
The warm wall the only friendly thing Tess could find.
Standing there in the freezing rain,
She unknowingly said these touching words,
“Who would think I was Mrs. Angel Clare”.
Later she met her old friend Marian,
Who got her the job in the nearby farm,
Where the soil always stubborn,
Even the best man will fail on it,
Tess agreed for a winter job,
Upon the starve-acre place of corn and swedes.
Tess and Marian worked hour after hour,
In rain getting wet and cold pierced in mercilessly,
The wetness and cold did not bother,
As both these souls talked and talked,
About their time in the lush green Talbothays.
And for Marian a bit of rum once in a while,
Kept her warm in flesh and blood.
Tess found her warmth in the talks,
About old days that reminded her,
Of her time of love with Angel Clare.
Then came the white monster they feared,
Freezing every bit of everything,
Other than the soul of these lovely maids,
So they moved to the barn for reed-drawing.
On their way Marian talked about Angel Clare,
Which brought only tears in the eyes of Tess,
And to the direction of Brazil Tess turned,
And put up her lips and blew,
A passionate kiss upon the snowy wind.
Old friend Izz Huett joined later at the barn,
As unemployed she was in the winter time.
Three out of four of the Talbothays gang
Now united, freezing in the barn drawing reeds.
As usual their talk ended up with Angel Clare,
But Tess wanted to talk no more,
As the pain of parting she can’t take anymore.
The unpracticed work of reed-drawing,
And the near freezing cold inside the barn,
Broke her down after hours of work.
Marian and Izz helped Tess with her part,
After couple of hours of work and talk
Izz broke down as tired she was,
After her twelve mile walk the night before.
Later Marian told Tess, what Izz told her,
About what happened between Angel and Izz,
Tess first tried to ward off what was told,
But poor girl can’t stand the fall of her love,
She burst into tears after months of hope,
As every step of her plight was laid,
To wash off the impurity from herself,
In the penance of her as she plunged in misery
All for her love for him and his love for her.
Though Marian lent her consoling words,
Tess soon got a grip on her grief,
Her own fault of not writing she accepted
And waiting for him to get back to her.
Though Tess managed her grief well,
Doubts failed her in writing a letter,
She took the ring from the ribbon,
That closer to her heart she kept,
And wore it all night to fortify,
Her claim as the wife of Angel Clare,
Who proposed to another to go with him,
After he left her without a touch.
With what words will Tess write her entreaties,
Or should she even care for him anymore?
All doubts faded to dark,
As darkness filled her consciousness,
Though asleep still the drop of tear held on,
In the corner of her eye,
Like sorrow held on to her love, always.
The story of Izz pierced deep,
Into the heart of Tess even in sleep,
There are no more ways to feel,
A love she can’t even speak about.
What at hand was flowing out,
And there are no ways she knew,
To alter the flow of events holding on,
To her silence far away from the world of Clare.
Emminster Vicarage the house of Angel Clare,
The only world of Angel Clare at hand,
A fortnight later after the shock of Izz,
Tess started on a wintry morn,
Still cold but as the freeze melted,
Fifteen miles each way was no simple adventure,
But for love and the love of her,
Tess seen no other way,
But to enlist that mother-in-law on her side,
And in turn earn her way back to Angel Clare.
Fifteen miles with the thought of love,
Went as if it was just a fifty yard walk,
Tess walked through the now hated Blackmoor Vale,
Were all that she love lay green even in winter,
That which clung on to her as parasites,
Now smiling at her mockingly.
Alienated she walked into Emminster,
Where at the corner of the lane she changed,
Her walking boots for a fashion shoes,
Though dressed to her best as country girl,
Tess’s confidence lessened as she closed in,
On a house where she truly belong,
Where none was there to greet her,
Where none was there to answer the door bell.
The lane she walked still remained deserted,
All accidents she hoped to favor her,
Did not happened at all as she stood,
In front of a door that never opened.
There was always an explanation,
For everything Tess gone through,
Now she figured that they were all at church,
On that Sunday noon time she chose to come.
Tess walked to the lane she came,
Towards the church nearby,
By then poured out were the congregation,
Amidst she found herself in.
Though she tried to walk away,
Two pedestrians caught up right behind,
Their loose talk she overheard,
When they started to speak about,
A young lady going ahead of them,
Mercy Chant the lady betrothed to Angel Clare,
Was the subject of the young men sounded,
Like Angel Clare in tone and tune,
Tess was not wrong as they truly were,
The brothers of Angel Clare.
Tess brisk walked in haste,
But even in the hurry overheard,
Angel’s brothers feeling pity for him,
In not marrying Mercy Chant but a dairymaid,
They called the marriage a queer business,
And defined the marriage ill-considered,
For his estrangement from his own family,
And Angles own extraordinary opinions.
Tess uttered no word but still walked,
But the young men outpaced her to reach,
Mercy Chant to exchange greetings,
And found the walking boots Tess left,
Which Mercy Chant picked up for the poor,
With mocking words about the owner,
As an imposter who came to town to excite,
Sympathy of the town folks in barefoot.
Tess the D’Urberville she now is,
Could not stop but walk away,
In tears the blinding tears running,
Down her face which she knew,
Just as sentiment she felt.
Fate once again rolled the dice here,
As unfortunate she was in not meeting,
The father but the more starched and ironed,
Sons of a father filled with charity.
Tess on her way back sighed,
Feeling pity for herself in losing her boots,
But consoled herself by speaking to herself,
Their lack knowledge about the boots,
Saving the pretty ones she changed for,
And their lack of knowledge about who chose,
The color of the pretty frock she wore,
But tears again filled her eyes,
As these speeches also ended,
With subject of her love, Angel Clare.
Tess half way back to Flintcomb-Ash stopped,
At a cottage for break from her walk,
But found that village almost empty,
On a bright Sunday afternoon.
For her query she found out,
Most have gone to hear preaching,
Of a young Christian man in a nearby barn.
Tess when resumed her walk have to pass,
Before the barn where the preacher preached,
Behind the small crowed Tess stood perplexed,
As the voice of the preacher pierced deep,
As horrific not as angelic,
She moved ahead a bit to see that face,
Which was blinded by the afternoon sun,
But the moment her vision cleared,
The voice with the face she recognized,
Precisely that of Alexander D’Urberville.
(End Of Phase The Fifth)
Here is the text I followed. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles Phase The Fifth-The Woman Pays.
