2/19-2/21

 

 

 

is a rose 

 by sebastian grim 

 

dis 

claim

er

 

i have found in my own life that all too often i encounter perplexing circumstances and attempt to maneuver through them with a stubborn rigidity. an unwillingness to be made uncomfortable. 

 

the unknown. the perplexing. the in-understandable. engage with it. find joy in it. if i hadn’t done that i would’ve gone mad ages ago. 

 

Gertrude Stein and the Information Age 

 

Gertrude Stein. Our understanding of this woman is that she wrote poems, plays, essays, and novels. She often wrote things that were a little difficult to understand. She was a Jewish lesbian living in Nazi occupied Paris, and a major figure of the Avant-Garde movement. But there must be more to understand. The-the way that Stein used words was, and is, revolutionary. Her language eschewed form and practically created an entire artistic movement (1). Her ideologies moved a generation towards the obscure. And her writings touched the minds of so many. But what can these writings mean to us today? How can they continue to move us? And in our modern encounters with Gertrude Stein, is there anything to be gleaned? I wish to argue that Stein’s use of text can teach us a great deal about how we interact with the world today, how technology has become far too pervasive in our lives, and how the roots of our humanity are vital now more than ever. 

 

Gertrude Stein lived and Worked in Paris for most of her life. Stein was one off the most notable art colectors and salon hosts in Paris in the first half of the 20th century, and was close friends with-with artists such as PICASSO and MATISSE. She was also close friends with many more interesting artists but history tends to remember   WHITEMEN. Élisabeth de Gramont, The Cone Sisters, Mildred Aldrich, Jane Peterson, Paulette Nardal (2). The Parisian salon society was integral (integer-al) to the development of Stein’s community and her sense of the AVANT/GARDE. salon’s were a form of small artistic community that was developed in Italy in the 16th century, but which experienced its apex in france in the 17th and 18th centuries. gertrude stein continued this tradition by inviting her friends and community over each sAturday evening for the sharing of ideas and discourse on their artistic            ventures. 

​

The way Gertrude stein used words was in stark contrast to the rest literary community. She curated a way of writing that was not dependent on the meaning of words, or the structure of sentences, but rather relied on the audiences ability to feel. Her poems rarely aligned with the accepted cosmographia, and her theatrical works were-were almost alien in their composition (3). Her use of repetitition forced an audience to truly examine the way that they interact with text. In Stein’s poem-Stein’s poem-Stein’s poem-Stein’s poem-Stein’s poem-Stein’s poem-Stein’s poem Sacred Emily she begins 12 consecutive lines with “Next to”, almost as if she is asking     audience to pause and really consider what thesewordsmightmean. In her play Not Slightly there is a passage that reads: 

 

        “A particular relief. 

 

                In a particular relief.

        Not nodding. 

        Explain looking. Explain looking again. Alice ex-

plain looking again.” 

 

Her repetition and slight alterations of words and sentences creates a fluid meaning that runs through all   of   her   works. 

 

Perhaps the most- perhaps the most- perhaps the most remarkable thing about Stein’s writings is that the most remarkable thing about Stein’s writings is - entirely unknowable. There is no real way to determine what her works hold or what they mean, the only way to discern them is to read them. 

        and to feel them 

        and to read them again 

        and to feel them again 

        and alice please explain looking again 

 

if 

you 

were 

to 

explain 

looking, 

where 

would 

you 

start?

 

hereafter horizontal lines are to be considered as shifts, scene changes, forks in the road, traffic lights, alternate time lines, two roads divulging in a redwood, etc.  

 

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Another important technique that Stein used prevalently in her works was complete and utter nonsense. In Four Saints in Three Acts Stein writes: 

 

“Act Four. How many acts are there in it. 

Acts are there in it. Supposing a wheel 

had been added to three wheels how 

many acts how many how many acts are 

there in it.”

 

This 

         is 

               clearly 

                               to 

                                     be 

                                           considered 

                                                              with 

                                                                        the 

                                                                                 utmost 

 

                                                                                           d

                                                                                           e

                                                                                           p

                                                                                           t

                                                                                            h 

                                                                                            . 

​

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is a rose 

 

 is a rose a flower

 

 

  is a rose it’s thorns 

         is a rose it’s petals - it’s stem - it’s leaves 

 

    is a rose photosynthesis 

 

is a rose sunlight

moonlight 

starlight

light  

​

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the bread rose

​

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imagine, if you will, gertrude stein sitting on the stage of an empty theatre.

 

now please, continue imagining things until you die.

​

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finally (FINALLY!) we reach the thesis of this essay. 

 

suddenly a door bursts open stage right and a tall man with an olive branch walks into the theatre. it would seem that the audience must wait for the thesis of this essay-poem because the man is clearly out for revenge. gertrude stein stops reading and calmly asks the man what he is doing. 

 

i am reading sebastian grim’s freeplay. 

 

says the man. 

 

stein, confused because they thought THEY were reading 

sebastian grim’s freeplay replies with the question: 

 

est-ce bien?  

 

                                                                     the man:    no 

 

gertrude stein reminds themself to keep breathing and to sit up straight and continues reading despite the vengeful man’s warning.

 

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sdrawkcab efil evil ew 

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if gertrude stein suddenly appeared back in her paris salon on this very day she would wonder at a great many things. she would likely find the plaque with her name on it to be rather gauche. and the automobiles much too prevalent and loud. she would wonder why some of us travel all over the world but never take the time to meet our neighbors. she would walk 53 minuets to the east and wonder at the site of the charlie hebdo attack. she wonders how many attacks have happened in the past year (4). she would check her instagram and wonder at the amount of inactive activists. she would wonder why we continue to let our planet die even though we have the ability to heal it. she would wonder why we watch vapid empty entertainment instead of investing in art. she would wonder at the fact that we have a device containing the totality of human knowledge in our pockets and we use it to take pictures of ourselves. 

 

she would wonder at a great many things. 

 

   she would wonder at a great many things. 

 

       she would wonder at a great many things. 

​

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to exorcise self hatred is to exercise self love

 

i’ll say that again 

 

to exorcise self hatred is to exercise self love 

​

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​

nothing 

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing  nothingno  thingnothi ngnothingnothi ngnothin gnothing no th ingn othi ng n o t h i n gn o t h i ng n ot hi n gn ot h i n gnot h i ng     no t h i n gn o  t    hi n g n o t h i    n g n o t     h  i          ngnothingno  t   h i ng n ot h in g o n ot  hing not        h    i ngno         t  hi n g n o th i n g n o th i ng n o t h       i       n      g       n o t      h    i   n            g noth i   n           g    n o  t h i      n gn n 

    o          thti         n     g gg  n o thting       no     t  n             o                   th              in     g   n          o      th i    n  g           n               o      t               h                  in                g           

    n                       o                             thi      

                     n                       g             

    

   n                                o                        t

        

              h                                   i 

 

                                 n 

 

         g

 

then a match is struck

 

a hand holds the match 

 

two eyes are briefly illuminated 

 

the match is put to the wick of a candle 

 

the fire spreads 

 

the candle lights a room 

 

the writer rights by candlelight 

​

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“alas” mutters gertrude stein to themself. this writer 

probably wrote by computer light judging by the online 

format of this freeplay 

 

gertrude stein looks out at the empty theatre and wonders 

weather the writer acknowledges the irony of the previous 

entry 

 

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a rose is given to the military police in myanmar. 

 

red. the color of a rose. the color of blood. the color of the gag tied around the mouth of a journalist.

 

the color of democracy or the color of colonialism (5).

​

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​

the door on gertrude steins left creaks open and a woman emerges.

red dress.

barefoot.

breasts.

long hair.

sex.

the woman glides towards gertrude stein. the woman places her hand on gertrude steins chest, the heart.

 

their heart beats.

their hearts beat.

 

touch.

the woman sings a sorrowful song.

 

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rose is a rose is a rose is a rose 

 

       rose is a rose is a rose is a rose

 

a 

ro

se

i

s

ar 

ose 

isa

r

ose

i

saro

se

 

          r o s e i s a r o s e i s a r o s e i s a r o s e 

 

  roseisaroseisaroseisarose

 

                                                   rose is a rose is a rose is a rose 

 

                                                           is a rose 

 

a rose is ~just~ a rose 

​

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intermission 

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a definition and subsequent etymology of the word pretentious 

 

characterized by or full of claims to greater excellence or importance than the truth merits 

 

from French prétentieux  

from prétention pretension 

from Medieval Latin pretentionem (nominative pretentio) (6)

 

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ငါကမြန်မာပြည်သူများနှင့်အတူရပ်တည်သည် says gertrude stein (7) 

 

gertrude stein would still be in myanmar today serving in the peace corps if not for ...  

 

thank goodness for ... says gertrude stein’s son 

 

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​

The audience think they are inching closer towards the thesis of this essay. 

 

 

gertrude stein scoffs at anyone who thinks 

a thesis can be incoming rather than outgoing 

 

 

they continue to read with the assurance that the thesis 

will arrive thinly veiled in half hearted poetry 

 

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        gertrude stein sits in the empty theatre, at peace in the 

        knowledge that their life is so much larger and so much 

        smaller than they can ever imagine. 

 

        they sit in the theatre and watch generations of love 

        seekers sit in those seats and see a world 

        unfold before their eyes. 

 

        they sit in that theatre and watch as a ghostlight 

        orbits them like an old star collapsing in on itself 

 

        gertrude stein sits in that empty theatre until this very day,         when with a jolt they awake and find themselves reading               some freeplay written by a 21boy, and they chuckle at the             ridiculousness of it all 

 

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​

a           

                                                     r

    

                                                        o                                     

                                                          s 

                                                           e 

                e

                                                             i 

               l                                             s 

      

               c                                            a 

               r                                            n 

 

                i                                          u

                   c                                     n

                                                        f

                       d                             i

                            e                    n

                                 h           i

                                         s

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​

breathe in  

 

     breathe out 

 

breathe in  

 

     breathe out 

 

breathe in 

 

     breathe out 

 

                  re  member

 

remember what it is to have a body 

 

 to have a mind

 

  to have a soul 

 

nourish those things 

 

 cherish those things 

 

the sun and the moon live in you live in you live in you

 

love         love        love        love 

beyond    beyond   beyond   beyond 

all           all           all          all 

reason    hope       time       space 

 

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​

gertrude stein looks into the audience. they slowly become aware of a pair of eyes gazing back at them. they are kind eyes. the eyes of someone who has seen the world for many many many years. the old person in the audience whispers something that gertrude stein cannot hear. but they know that whatever has been said,

is true.

 

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                                     ^    flight      

                                      |    taking     

                                      |    dove        

                                      |    a             

                                      |    are          

                                      |    you         

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-please leave this space blank-

​

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wake up 

        wake up 

                wake up 

                        wake up

                                wake up 

                                        wake up

                                                wake up

                                                        wake up

                                                                wake up

                                                                        wake up 

                                                                                wake up 

                                                                                        wake up 

 

an a

larm c

lock o

r a war

ning (8)

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“I smell the smell of summer still” 

 

says a five year old gertrude stein

he sits in a window of an old farm house on a late 

september day 

 

he has come to the profound realization that the smell of summer is the greatest smell in the world. made only greater when it really ought to smell like fall. 

 

stein’s mother writes down his observation in hopes that he 

     will become a poet like her 

              he will not 

       he will just know in his heart for the rest of his days that words are life itself. 

 

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gertrude stein hears a giggle behind them. a chill runs up their spine, but they know that the empty theatre could never hurt them. they feel a young person approach. they whisper something.  but they know the child will not hear for many years. and that is as it should be.

 

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gertrude stein wrote. she wrote because that was how she made sense of the world. she made sense of a nonsensical world by making nonsense make sense. 

 

i write. i write because i think that if i fit my whole human heart into 160 characters, i will suddenly feel less alone.

 

gertrude stein watched. she watched the birds and the trees and the sun and the moon. 

 

i watch. i watch because i trust someone else to make sense of the world for me. i don’t mind if the truth is hidden behind layers of pretense and toxicity. i watch because it is comfortable. 

 

gertrude stein spoke. she spoke with people she didn’t agree with, because to agree is to accept that both participants have only a rudimentary understanding of the subject matter. 

 

i speak. i speak in order to listen to myself. 

 

gertrude stein listened. she listened because to understand another person’s soul is the closest we will ever get to god. 

 

i listen. i listen to music and podcasts and people who have the same opinion as me and i take that as reassurance that my little life is meaningful and that i am correct in my assumptions about the nature of things. 

 

gertrude stein felt calm. 

 

i feel like every move i make is the wrong one.

 and the crushing weight of the time i’m living in is stealing      the life from my bones. 

  and i can barely get out of bed in the morning because of the nonsense that goes on in my brain 

   and this computer screen is killing my mind 

    and my lungs wish they could just collapse 

     and life is meaningless 

      and everything i do is wrong 

       and i eat too much glucose so i’ll die soon anyway 

         and the universe won’t notice 

          and technology is gouging out my brain so fast that i barley care 

            and i’m a fraud 

             and i don’t deserve any of the things i have 

              and 

               and

                and

                 and

                  and 

shhhhhhhhhhhhhh  

gertrude stein puts a finger to my lips

and hands me a rose 

​

gertrude stein hopes for a better future because they know that even amidst all the meaninglessness of life. the most profound joy can be found in the words we speak. the deepest well of love can be found in the art we see. and the truest sense of calm can be found in the world before us. (9)

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gertrude stein rises from their chair on the stage of an 

empty theatre after finally reaching the thesis of this 

poem. they leave the theatre trusting that it will fill with people again. 

 

humanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidaltidahumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidalhumanityistidal

 

stein steps out the stage door into a dark wet ally. their 

nose assaulted with the dank smells of that place. despite 

the cold and the wet and the vengeful man, and the sensual woman, and the old person, and the young person,

gertrude stein has a ~simile~ on their face. quite like a smile. 

​

​

      on their walk home they look 

 

              and they see 

 

and they smell 

 

                            and they love 

 

        and they live                                  and they die 

 

and they decide to be happy 

​

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