CUC VAN CUMBER

Whoever has made a journey into the kitchen must remember the refrigerator. It is a branch of the GE appliance family. Every day is a different scene of beauty. The glistening light above, the foggy chill of the door being closed, the reds and yellows of the sauce drawer, and the beautiful greens where Cuc Van Cumber lives in the vegetable drawer. Cuc Van Cumber lived a modest life with his cucumber wife and two cucumber children in their modest vegetable drawer. One day, Cuc wanted to venture to the top shelf of the fridge. While there he met a human with pickle juice. Cuc partook in a bath in the juices and was soon not in his right mind. Soon Cuc drifted off into a hazy slumber. When Cuc awoke, he was more tired than he was before he was drunk off the pickling juices. The appearance of Cuc was shriveled and dark green.  The other residents of the fridge took notice. “Cuc Van Cumber? Is that you?” asked the eggs.  They asked Cuc many questions. “Ladies and Gentleman! I am but a lowly cucumbers son, and a loyal subject of the Mayonnaise!” Exclaimed Cuc. “A Traitor! A Spy!” yelled the items in the fridge. Cuc had noticed that the appearance of the fridge had changed. Cuc had yet to see a face he recognized. “Where is the ketchup?” asked Cuc. “The ketchup has been empty for many years” explained the eggs. “Where is the mustard?” asked Cuc. “Oh he joined the sandwiches many years ago” the celery said. Distraught, he yelled “Does anyone know Cuc Van Cumber?!” The eggs told him, “Cuc Van Cumber? That’s him in the vegetable drawer.” Cuc was confused. “That cucumber is not I. I am not the vegetable I once was. I am a pickle in the shadow of the cucumber I once was. I must be going.” It is a sad tale for Cuc Van Cumber. He went to the top shelf those 20 days ago, and came back a grisly looking pickle. He lost his family and friends, and no longer recognized the refrigerator he once knew. To the end of his days, Cuc sat in the vegetable telling this story. Some thought he was out of his gord, but many believed him, and when their lives were difficult they would have a drink out of Cuc Van Cumber’s pickle jar.

META COMMENTARY

The story of Cuc Van Cumber is an obvious parody of Washington Irving’s “Rip Van Winkle.” Irving’s story exhibits traits of romanticism and that is what I attempted to do in a little more play ful way. In Irving’s “Rip Van Winkle” he states "Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers" (Irving). This is a very basic trait of the romantic writers which is described as "love of nature" (Holman and Harmon) which we read on a website describing characteristics of romanticism. My story is about a cucumber who lives in the fridge, so his nature is the inside of the fridge. To emulate Irving’s vivid description of nature I wrote “Every day is a different scene of beauty. The glistening light above, the foggy chill of the door being closed, the reds and yellows of the sauce drawer, and the beautiful greens where Cuc Van Cumber lives in the vegetable drawer.” Not only is this the “love of nature” trait but it also vivid imagery that makes one think about the various items inside of a fridge and how the colors work against the backdrop of white. The second characteristic of romanticism displayed in “Rip Van Winkle” that I examined was “"a sympathetic interest in the past" (Holman and Harmon).  Irving writes “ "Rip’s heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world" (Irving). To emulate this characteristic I wrote “He went to the top shelf those 20 days ago, and came back a grisly looking pickle. He lost his family and friends, and no longer recognized the refrigerator he once knew. To the end of his days, Cuc sat in the vegetable telling this story.” Irving wrote his passage very nostalgically and I tried to do the same in the end of my story. In “Rip Van Winkle” Rip was very sad that he had slept through the better part of his marriage and his children’s lives.  I tried to capture those same romantic traits in a more playful way with a cucumber and pickle juice. No matter how you look at it, Washington Irving was a great writer who captured the spirit of the romantic movement.

WHEN I HEARD THE MUSIC CRITIC

When I heard the music critic

When the theory and fundamentals were explained to me

When I was given auditory examples of what is deemed as talent

How I scoffed at the man imposing his views on what is real music

And how the hipsters agree that this is what is acceptable, I feel is useless

I fade into my room and lock the door as I plug in my headphones

I am entranced by the bass, kick and snare

I feel comfortable and at home with the low end theory

And I sink into silence as the wordplay puts me to sleep

META COMMENTARY

The poem I chose to parody was “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer” by Walt Whitman. I chose this poem because it is very well spoken, but also because of the way Whitman is described in his short biography. From the Academy of American Poets, “At the age of twelve, Whitman began to learn the printer's trade, and fell in love with the written word” (Academy of American Poets). I connected with this instantly because 12 is the age that I started making hip-hop and writing short stories. Another reason I was drawn to Walt Whitman was because of his use of free verse. I have also never thought that words followed a certain formula and it was very refreshing to read Whitman’s style of writing. Folsom and Price write “at once under the spell of his newly discovered and intoxicating free verse style while also remaining very much in control of it, adjusting and altering and rearranging” (Folsom/Price). To me it has never been about the way the words do or do not rhyme, yet how they are arranged, and in reading Whitman’s work it was very apparent to me that he seemed to cut and paste words from sentences together.

Whitman writes,

"How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars" (ll. 5-8).

The Imagery he uses in decsribing the night makes me think of a serene picture of the moonlight reflecting on the water, and more impressively Whitman paints this picture without rhyming. The words simply flow just like the scene he described. I also believe that the silence and stars were a symbol for the bigger picture, and no matter how much logic and theory you have, sometimes you need to shut up and look up at the sky until you are in awe of it. I tried to apply the same principle except I wrote about hip-hop. Some people don’t see it as a valid art because it is “just people talking.” I have hope because in Whitman’s era, with his use of free verse and simpler language, he may have been seen as “just writing” and now he is considered a legend.