Untitled

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The flesh is machine

A frame that harbors the soul

Soul wants to be free...

This haiku was inspired by chapter 107 in which the carpenter ponders over how everything, including the human body is essentially a machine. It got me thinking of some of my own beliefs. The poem, while inspired the chapter, is also a reflection of my own thoughts on the human flesh and how I believe that its main function is to give us a way to physically exist on this earth.Yet, at the same time, I believe our soul struggles with wanting to physically exist and wanting to be rid of a fallible machine, which is our body. Perhaps this was not necessarily what the carpenter meant when he said the body is a machine, but I also wanted to put my own thoughts about the topic into this haiku.

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This is my interpretation of the doubloon described in chapter 99. I decided to focus on this because this particular chapter really stood out t o me. I liked how each member of the crew who looked at the doubloon had a different interpretation of its meaning. Each interpretation was very telling of each individual’s personality and perspective on the world. I thought that it was a rather unique and creative way for Melville to show characterization.

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I wrote this haiku in reference to the biblical story of Jonah, which was mentioned again in these last few chapters. It has become a central theme to the story of Moby Dick in a way. The story most commonly told is of how Jonah was swallowed by a whale, lived in its stomach for three days, and then was spat out. However, Ishmael questions whether such a thing could be possible. He believes that a whale’s gastric juices would not permit a man to survive in a whale’s stomach. I drew  the whale’s tail in representation of chapter 86 in which Ishmael mentions that the tail shows a whale’s attempt to reach heaven. I thought this was interesting, especially given the tail’s upright position. Perhaps in Ishmael’s mind, Jonah died in the whale’s belly and, like the whale, tried to ascend to heaven.

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Ishmael’s Hidden Thoughts

I have mentioned how I believe the human soul to be like the hidden dangers of the sea surrounded by the visibility of land. I explained my assessment in my account of what happened while I was at sea, which for the moment is titled “The Whale.” You see, the sea hides many horrors within its depths. Some of these we never get to see. In contrast, you can see everything on land. Nothing is a secret. That is how I see the human soul: it contains an island of tranquility surrounded by its own sea of horrors. I don’t know why I am rewriting my assessment here. Perhaps it is just one of those thoughts that helps me to cope with my own sea of horrors.

My account, “The Whale” is the land. It is the surface of the waters. I use it as a means to talk about my love of the sea and my interest in whales. It is my happy place. When I sit down to add more to my account I feel as though I am escaping from all the ill thoughts that have consistently plagued me ever since my voyage on the Pequod. “The Whale” is the part of me that everyone gets to see (and by everyone I mean whoever reads this silly book). You see, it is much easier for me to write about my inaccurate whale terminology and my philosophies. It is the part of me that I prefer others to see. It is my happy place. My happy place...

I don’t need anyone to go any deeper than that. I don’t need anyone to see the horrors that lie beneath. I don’t want truth, I refuse reality. As long as I deny those things, the demons will not come back to haunt me. As long as I don’t put any of that into my account, it will not be real. None of that will be real. So what if what I write is inaccurate? I cannot bring myself to write the truth because... because.... 

Oh dear, I am shutting myself away from my own sea of horrors. Is this right? Should I be doing this? Oh to hell with it. I don’t think I should ever write anything like this again. My demons shall return if I do. I will rip this up, go to sleep, wake up tomorrow morning, and resume writing “The Whale.” After all, that is where the truth lies now, right?

Right?...

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“This elusive quality it is, which causes the thought of whiteness, when divorced from more kindly associations, and coupled with any object terrible in itself, to heighten that terror to the furthest bounds.  Witness the white bear of the poles, and the white shark of the tropics; what but their smooth, flaky whiteness makes them the transcendent horrors they are?  That ghastly whiteness it is which imparts such an abhorrent mildness, even more loathsome than terrific, to the dumb gloating of their aspect.  So that not the fierce-fanged tiger in his heraldic coat can so stagger courage as the white-shrouded bear or shark.”

The purpose of this drawing was to give a visual representation of the point Ishmael was trying to make about whiteness in chapter 42. The way I interpreted it, he was trying to contradict the purity and innocence that is usually associated with the color white by stating that if the color is given to something or someone that is already scary, it makes the whiteness all the more terrifying. It is as though there is no middle ground to the color white. It either makes something look cute and innocent, or makes something look horrifying. With this drawing I was trying to show the contrast between the innocence of whiteness as well as the terror of it. I used a snake as a biblical reference since Moby Dick is filled with them. The snake represents sin, deceit, and mortality. Admittedly, the kitten does not have as much of a symbolic meaning. I simply tried to draw the eyes in a way that made it look cute and vulnerable next to the snake. 

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Ishmael’s Late Night Thoughts

Okay, I know earlier I decided that the strange beggar man, Elijah, was nothing but a humbug, but something about him still plagues my mind. It’s not just that he seemed like he was implying to Queequeg and I that our ship, the Pequod, was basically doomed. I mean sure, that alone would probably concern anyone who’s just experienced such an encounter. However, I can’t seem to shake it out of my head that this man’s name is Elijah (or so he says), and he was very focused on talking about Ahab during our encounter. He kept telling of how Ahab always ran into some type of misfortune while out at sea. I know, I know, any normal person might just shake the whole thing off as mere gibberish, but I cannot do that, no matter how hard I try. His name was Elijah, and he kept associating Captain Ahab with doom. Call me crazy, but that’s almost exactly like the biblical story in which the prophet Elijah foretells the doom of Ahab. The parallel is too much...

I laid awake last night on the bed that Queequeg and I have been sharing. Queequeg had his arm over me again and was sound asleep. How I wished I could join him in the peaceful bliss of sleep, but the encounter with the beggar man and the parallels to the Bible kept haunting my mind. I know this might sound crazy, but I almost feel like I’m a character in a book with very painful foreshadowing. What is going on? Is this dramatic irony? Does the audience know something I do not? Are they all shaking their head at me in pity over what’s to come? Oh Lord, perhaps the beggar Elijah wasn’t a humbug after all...

Maybe, just maybe I’m overthinking all of this. Maybe I’m making a big deal over something that was nothing but coincidence. I mean, can foreshadowing like this really occur in real life? Well, maybe it can...but I am suddenly too tired to think. I do not know what’s come over me. I was wide awake a moment ago, but seeing Queequeg so peacefully asleep beside me has made a wave of drowsiness overcome me. I shall think no more. Whatever happens happens. Oh sleep, please take me.

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Queequeg

He is a savage

His face is marred

His body is covered in ink

His mere presence makes me shake

He is a savage

He is scary looking

He is too friendly for his appearance

He is....

He is strangely civilized

He has a soul hidden underneath the ink

I respect him more than I do some Christians

Is he really a savage?

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Longing

There is an ache in my soul

As though a piece of me is missing

It courses through my very being

Like the venom of a snake

I need to get out of this whirlwind of self-destruction

Before it is too late

 I long for the ocean

To smell its salty surface

Drifting into the air and into my lungs

Reviving me, empowering me

I must be on my way

Before it is too late

 I know I will be alright

I simply need the adventure

To compensate for my dullness

For I am not an exciting man

I am simple and ordinary

Just call me Ishmael