The narrator here seems to be an omnipotent being, describing a particular house on a bad night. The rhyme scheme happens to be an ABAB iambic poem. Now although the narrator does not have much of an impact on the poem itself, in its being omnipotent it prevents any other form of narrator from affecting the tone of the poem. If another person were to be telling it, it would have a much different effect on the reader. A caretaker or traveler could easily make this a horror poem, which it of course is not meant to be. The meter, though, helps develop a rhythm that makes the poem not as much of a horror story as a depiction of the haunted house and its former "tenants." This is not trying to tell any specific story as much as it is trying to describe the house and the fears sometimes brought up by a storm. Obviously, the dead are not roaming the halls, but the storm is frightening other people inside. The rhythm and rhyme help to make the poem lyrical, and relieves some of the pure fright from the scene. Rather than an eyewitness's account in random, free verse terror, the omnipotent speaker allows for a neutral description of the setting.
The particular imagery in the poem helps give us a better idea of the house and its inhabitants. The poem details how the storm is powerful enough to make the house shake as if it were "smitten as with a flail" (line 3). The phantoms are described as "Old terrors...Creep[ing] from their caves to life again" (7-8), and "the packed Pollution of remorse and time, Slipped from oblivion" (13-15). The imagery helps to give an idea of both how bad the storm is and how terrified the residents become. Another useful technique is the use of alliteration, assonance, and consonance. Phrases like "guardian grasp on blood and brain" (6), "assert their squalid lease of sin" (11) help to establish further the flowing quality of the poem. It is orderly, lyrical, and not necessarily meant to evoke mass fear. The use of these techniques help to stress the focus is not on phantoms and the undead but on the fears of the residents.
To me, the poem seems to convey a common pain-in-the-neck. Sounds in the dark often frighten people, primarily because you don't know what made the sound. If you've inherited a creaky old house, chances are it has a long and likely not-too-favorable history. All the ghost stories you've ever heard, and all the rumors about the house, all come to life in your mind. Being half asleep, one can easily think they've seen a ghost or heard some piercing scream. I know personally that when you're just drifting off you might think you see or hear something, I've had that happen before, but at that point, at least I wake up and know that it's nothing. In the middle of a storm, though, there's always going to be creaking and whistling, and then it's bound to get creepy to some degree or another. And as the poem states, we can't believe there's nothing there until there is calmness or light. Of course, you're exhausted by then, but what else can you do about your own mind?
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Sound and Sense -Poem 203
I'm going to assume that the speaker is in fact a teacher teaching his/her students, as the narrator mentions going home while the students go to another class. There is no set rhythm to the poem, no meter or rhyme scheme. This makes the poem more powerful because of what it is about. The narrator mentions that he/she "tried to drown them with my words" (13-14), so having a poem in free verse style like this helps convey a feeling that speech and poetry is almost natural to human beings, and that most can in fact understand it well and enjoy it and will, using the extended metaphor, take to it like a fish to water. Were the poem actually set to a rhyme scheme and meter, it might not have the same impact, and might actually be less entertaining to the point that others might take the idea to be that only versed poetry can be understood or appreciated.
One of the obvious literary devices is the extended metaphor. The entire classroom ends up becoming a fish tank, and all the students fish. Figuratively, of course. This helps to give an idea of how, though the teacher was expecting the students not to understand or take interest in what he said, that they would all figuratively drown, they instead understood everything fairly well and were soon "[swimming] around the room]." The metaphor gives a known experience to colorfully describe the situation, and help to give a sense of remorse even as the class leaves. Out of their natural element of language and back in the real world, they return to their normal lives unable to have the same level of freedom as in the class. Another technique used is the alteration of tone. In the beginning, the narrator seems to be almost surprised at the students' appreciation and comprehension of literature, and then becomes a little remorseful when the class finally lets out. The narrator seems to be slightly upset throughout the piece, though, conveying the idea that he believes literature is not...how do I say this...either really understood or well liked, and that whoever does is often busy in the rest of the boring world, or is only appreciative when it is required as class work.
To me, the poem seems to be from a teacher, surprised but happily surprised at his/her class's understanding of literature. The narrator is a little upset at returning to the real world at the end of class, but there's not much to be done about that. Perhaps naming the cat Queen Elizabeth was to signify history classes, possibly stating that the other things taught in school take the life out of the students and the rest of the day. The narrator would prefer to have that eager class throughout the day because of the freedom that the literature brings, and wearily goes about the remainder of the day as lifeless as his/her class originally was.
One of the obvious literary devices is the extended metaphor. The entire classroom ends up becoming a fish tank, and all the students fish. Figuratively, of course. This helps to give an idea of how, though the teacher was expecting the students not to understand or take interest in what he said, that they would all figuratively drown, they instead understood everything fairly well and were soon "[swimming] around the room]." The metaphor gives a known experience to colorfully describe the situation, and help to give a sense of remorse even as the class leaves. Out of their natural element of language and back in the real world, they return to their normal lives unable to have the same level of freedom as in the class. Another technique used is the alteration of tone. In the beginning, the narrator seems to be almost surprised at the students' appreciation and comprehension of literature, and then becomes a little remorseful when the class finally lets out. The narrator seems to be slightly upset throughout the piece, though, conveying the idea that he believes literature is not...how do I say this...either really understood or well liked, and that whoever does is often busy in the rest of the boring world, or is only appreciative when it is required as class work.
To me, the poem seems to be from a teacher, surprised but happily surprised at his/her class's understanding of literature. The narrator is a little upset at returning to the real world at the end of class, but there's not much to be done about that. Perhaps naming the cat Queen Elizabeth was to signify history classes, possibly stating that the other things taught in school take the life out of the students and the rest of the day. The narrator would prefer to have that eager class throughout the day because of the freedom that the literature brings, and wearily goes about the remainder of the day as lifeless as his/her class originally was.
Monday, March 24, 2008
James Joyce -Symbol Analysis
One of the more prevalent symbols in the book is one of individual freedom. The ability to be the person you want to be, the person you really are, and to do what you enjoy doing and say what you think without detriment. The ability to exist, one could say. This is expressed in several ways. Firstly, his name's Dedalus, for crying out loud! You can't be more obvious than that! Dedalus (the Greek one) made himself a set of wings to escape the maze he had built for another king. To escape the confines that his intellect and talent had made for him. Dedalus (back to the future) is faced with endless problems to being himself. His family's politically divided, and after a while is poor. His school is religious to the nth degree. He's unsure of himself for most of his youth. He possesses radical ideas and opinions frowned upon by most of the rest of Ireland. He doesn't fit in. To make a long story short, his life is a cage. No matter what he might be, he is locked into this cage of Ireland. His religion, his family, his nation's beliefs trap him. And his opinions only seem to make everyone else push him further away.
He has to escape. At the end of chapter (is it a chapter, or a segment, or what?) 4, Dedalus suddenly has this great realization of who he is and what life means. He's at first trapped by his childhood, not knowing what kind of person to be, going along with the only advice his family can give. His mother says to follow the school's and church's teachings. His father talks about himself. He doesn't know what he is. Then he turns to sin and prostitutes for a while before realizing that this isn't him either. He goes back to everything he was taught before. If it isn't one hand, it must be the other. But he doesn't fit in there, either. And it's not as if he isn't a good Jesuit. His teacher asked him to think about taking a position as a priest, and he gets several positions of merit, let's call them, while in the schools. He's a pretty good religious kid, but that's not who he is. Dedalus, myth, was not just some genius who existed for building mazes. He wanted to live on his own. Sure, he was great, and I'm sure being the king's mazemaker gets you some perks, like a home and food, but it wasn't him. Neither is Dedalus, Stephen, religious. He doesn't belong there. He isn't who his parents and teachers keep telling him to be, he's something unique. He realizes that there's more to life than the extremes he's been experiencing. But he still doesn't really know who he is.
He keeps talking with Cranly about what to do. Now that he's free, he doesn't know where to go from there. All he does know is that his mother and society keeps telling him to change his radical and wrong ways. As he puts it, "You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets" (Joyce 220). He can't quite figure out where to go from here, what to become. All he does know is that he can't stay there. All he knows is that to become an individual he must throw off entirely all expectations of others and live entirely on his own. But he can't even decide whether or not he should receive Easter Communion because his mother asked him to. He's not completely free yet. He has begun to flown, one could say, but isn't accustomed to flying and wants to rest for a bit on land. The only question is, what land? Being free is not only to fly away, but to know where to fly. Dedalus, myth, was still restrained in that he could not fly high into the air. Dedalus, Stephen, does not now where to go from here, or how high to fly. Should he not go because he does not fully believe in the church, or should he be kind to his mother despite his lack of belief? Should he fly high and far away, or stay close to the ground and run along it for a while? Freedom is useless if one doesn't know what they're going to do with it. What is the point of being free if you don't know how you will use that freedom?
He has to escape. At the end of chapter (is it a chapter, or a segment, or what?) 4, Dedalus suddenly has this great realization of who he is and what life means. He's at first trapped by his childhood, not knowing what kind of person to be, going along with the only advice his family can give. His mother says to follow the school's and church's teachings. His father talks about himself. He doesn't know what he is. Then he turns to sin and prostitutes for a while before realizing that this isn't him either. He goes back to everything he was taught before. If it isn't one hand, it must be the other. But he doesn't fit in there, either. And it's not as if he isn't a good Jesuit. His teacher asked him to think about taking a position as a priest, and he gets several positions of merit, let's call them, while in the schools. He's a pretty good religious kid, but that's not who he is. Dedalus, myth, was not just some genius who existed for building mazes. He wanted to live on his own. Sure, he was great, and I'm sure being the king's mazemaker gets you some perks, like a home and food, but it wasn't him. Neither is Dedalus, Stephen, religious. He doesn't belong there. He isn't who his parents and teachers keep telling him to be, he's something unique. He realizes that there's more to life than the extremes he's been experiencing. But he still doesn't really know who he is.
He keeps talking with Cranly about what to do. Now that he's free, he doesn't know where to go from there. All he does know is that his mother and society keeps telling him to change his radical and wrong ways. As he puts it, "You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets" (Joyce 220). He can't quite figure out where to go from here, what to become. All he does know is that he can't stay there. All he knows is that to become an individual he must throw off entirely all expectations of others and live entirely on his own. But he can't even decide whether or not he should receive Easter Communion because his mother asked him to. He's not completely free yet. He has begun to flown, one could say, but isn't accustomed to flying and wants to rest for a bit on land. The only question is, what land? Being free is not only to fly away, but to know where to fly. Dedalus, myth, was still restrained in that he could not fly high into the air. Dedalus, Stephen, does not now where to go from here, or how high to fly. Should he not go because he does not fully believe in the church, or should he be kind to his mother despite his lack of belief? Should he fly high and far away, or stay close to the ground and run along it for a while? Freedom is useless if one doesn't know what they're going to do with it. What is the point of being free if you don't know how you will use that freedom?
James Joyce -Passage Analysis
I think I'll go from the last full paragraph on 150 to the last full one on 151. This is the long detailed hysteria of Dedalus after he hears the long hell sermon and has the freaky nightmare, as he runs through the streets to find a priest to confess to. Solely for the sake that Dedalus is completely nuts right now. He continues on and on about how he absolutely must confess, how he's no more than an animal, how it's so terrible what he's done, etc. etc. etc. This particular stream of thought seems to occur in a relatively short span of time (while the following run through the streets occurs over a longer span of time), and is there only to convey how upset and repentant he is. He was never particularly interested in prostitutes. Even on that night where he first went to one, he was more interested in just standing there in her arms, rather than having sex. But he more or less got hooked on it and even then wasn't too particularly proud of it. He's really sorry for what he did, but now he's just in a state of panic.
The previous hell sermon was one of the longest and most detailed descriptions of hell I've ever heard, and am likely ever to hear. Of course, this sermon scares Dedalus stiff. It affects him so much he goes straight into this panic and goes tearing through the streets, thinking "Confess! Confess!" (Joyce 150). Relax, Dedalus. You're not going to suddenly up and die. He's that panicked that he's afraid of dying and then going straight to hell, or even, judging from the top of page 151, sinning again and making it worse. He's a complete nervous wreck. This passage was particularly effective for two reasons. One, the short sentences and many exclamatory sentences help to convey the sense that there is some grand emergency. Knowing that there isn't really that much of an emergency, we know that Dedalus is pretty miserable right now, and feeling very guilty. The second reason is because, unlike the hell sermon, which was long, detailed, and despite being quite detailed, a bit boring. It was just descriptions and scripture, and seemed to drag on and on. This segment, though, is written in short shouts and bursts, and gives a better sense of the emotion involved. Where the preacher seemed to be just up there giving a speech, Dedalus seems to be almost being chased by oblivion. Quite effective if not a little over-dramatic.
This also seems to reflect how overly pious Dedalus still is. Despite his sinful habits, he still is actually quite religious still. In fact, he's able to reflect back on religion frequently. This stresses, though, that religion still forms the basis of all of his opinions at the moment. Religion still rules his mind.
The previous hell sermon was one of the longest and most detailed descriptions of hell I've ever heard, and am likely ever to hear. Of course, this sermon scares Dedalus stiff. It affects him so much he goes straight into this panic and goes tearing through the streets, thinking "Confess! Confess!" (Joyce 150). Relax, Dedalus. You're not going to suddenly up and die. He's that panicked that he's afraid of dying and then going straight to hell, or even, judging from the top of page 151, sinning again and making it worse. He's a complete nervous wreck. This passage was particularly effective for two reasons. One, the short sentences and many exclamatory sentences help to convey the sense that there is some grand emergency. Knowing that there isn't really that much of an emergency, we know that Dedalus is pretty miserable right now, and feeling very guilty. The second reason is because, unlike the hell sermon, which was long, detailed, and despite being quite detailed, a bit boring. It was just descriptions and scripture, and seemed to drag on and on. This segment, though, is written in short shouts and bursts, and gives a better sense of the emotion involved. Where the preacher seemed to be just up there giving a speech, Dedalus seems to be almost being chased by oblivion. Quite effective if not a little over-dramatic.
This also seems to reflect how overly pious Dedalus still is. Despite his sinful habits, he still is actually quite religious still. In fact, he's able to reflect back on religion frequently. This stresses, though, that religion still forms the basis of all of his opinions at the moment. Religion still rules his mind.
James Joyce -Reaction to the Novel
Long title. Well, longer than most. Hence I title the blog with his name and not the title as I usually do.
I found the novel moderately interesting. Often it became a little uninteresting due to the experience being described, and his blending of imagination and reality, but being a stream of consciousness writing you can't expect much else. Especially since he was frequently trying to describe emotions. Most times emotions are difficult to describe shortly due to their complexity and intensity, which often led to a paragraph or even page be listed to a few moments or even seconds of his thoughts. Then the shift back to reality, which proceeds comparably faster... I suppose the most irritating thing was the progression of time, for me. I like when everything moves at a constant pace. The long segments left to vivid descriptions, followed by a skip to a few hours later, or the next day or next year... It was sort of just a sit-back-and-go-with-it type book. Though I must say, that's the most descriptive explanation of hell in the entire world. Remind me to burn those college descriptions from Jesuit schools.
Seriously, as kooky as the book was, as complicated and emotional as it was, it was fairly interesting. I don't think anybody ever understands everything about themselves or the world around them, ever. Definitely not as kids, but not even fully as adults. And everybody changes a good deal based on their experiences, and will undoubtedly not find out who they truly are until they are ready to make their way into the world. I still don't really know what profession I want to be part of, and in a year and a quarter I'm out of high school. And I've been thinking about it since I was about six. Every time I thought I knew what I was going to be, or where I was going to go, within a year my mind was set on something else. Dedalus switched between an obedient religious child to a sin-heavy reclusive ferret to a pious freak to an I-don't-really-give-a-blast kind of thinking guy. Though I haven't gone through any of those radical extremes, my long-winded point is that I still don't know who I am as a person, but I'm fairly sure I'll figure it out in time.
And as far as a connection to the world in general... Stay away from Jesuits, or something, I don't know.
I found the novel moderately interesting. Often it became a little uninteresting due to the experience being described, and his blending of imagination and reality, but being a stream of consciousness writing you can't expect much else. Especially since he was frequently trying to describe emotions. Most times emotions are difficult to describe shortly due to their complexity and intensity, which often led to a paragraph or even page be listed to a few moments or even seconds of his thoughts. Then the shift back to reality, which proceeds comparably faster... I suppose the most irritating thing was the progression of time, for me. I like when everything moves at a constant pace. The long segments left to vivid descriptions, followed by a skip to a few hours later, or the next day or next year... It was sort of just a sit-back-and-go-with-it type book. Though I must say, that's the most descriptive explanation of hell in the entire world. Remind me to burn those college descriptions from Jesuit schools.
Seriously, as kooky as the book was, as complicated and emotional as it was, it was fairly interesting. I don't think anybody ever understands everything about themselves or the world around them, ever. Definitely not as kids, but not even fully as adults. And everybody changes a good deal based on their experiences, and will undoubtedly not find out who they truly are until they are ready to make their way into the world. I still don't really know what profession I want to be part of, and in a year and a quarter I'm out of high school. And I've been thinking about it since I was about six. Every time I thought I knew what I was going to be, or where I was going to go, within a year my mind was set on something else. Dedalus switched between an obedient religious child to a sin-heavy reclusive ferret to a pious freak to an I-don't-really-give-a-blast kind of thinking guy. Though I haven't gone through any of those radical extremes, my long-winded point is that I still don't know who I am as a person, but I'm fairly sure I'll figure it out in time.
And as far as a connection to the world in general... Stay away from Jesuits, or something, I don't know.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Heart of Darkness- Symbol or Theme
For a symbol, I think I'll analyze the Russian. He's the guy that adored Kurtz, with all the rags sewed on his clothes. He's not just another loony bin there for space filling, at least I don't think he is. Firstly, his clothes are patched up with numerous multicolored pieces of rags that were lying around. Rags that Kurtz had lying around. I'm going to guess that this stands for the fact that he absorbed everything that Kurtz said, did, was. He didn't bother to express himself, he simply let Kurtz fill him in with everything and anything he pleased. He refused to think for himself, to see things as they were. He didn't think that there were problems with what they were doing, that they should stop and find a better way, he simply ignored their problems and covered it up with whatever Kurtz would ramble about. He covered up Kurtz's faults with his lectures. And he wouldn't suffer any bad remarks about Kurtz. He was more or less Kurtz's rag doll, a puppet to ensure that all people give him at least some degree of respect that he believes he deserves. He is completely under Kurtz's power.
Marlow describes him as someone "ruled by the the spirit of adventure," and that Marlow actually envied him a little for it. The Russian more or less is able to live only because he's fascinated with moving along, to do more and to assist Kurtz. He mindlessly accepted everything that Kurtz was, and he went with it and moved on. It's almost as if his indifference to good and evil, though primarily evil, was the only thing that kept him alive. His purpose and objective has been dictated to him by Kurtz, and he survives the moral jungle as easily as he survives the actual one. All he is concerned about is his superior, regardless of character. Innocence is often depicted as being a sort of incorruptible invincibility, and Marlow attributes that to his existence. If he wasn't as strong-willed and wasn't along only for the ride, as it were, he would have ended up just as crazy as Kurtz. Of course, this isn't to say he's not troubled by it.
The Russian is a strange person in that he shifts between being exceedingly happy and then overwhelmingly depressed. His "innocence and adventure" seem to contribute to this behavior. What he suffers from is the desire to go on conflicting with his conscience. Though he accepts that Kurtz is corrupted, that doesn't mean he approves of it. He not only respects Kurtz but fears him as well. He seems to be understanding more and more that Kurtz is lost, but is too afraid to stop him from destroying himself. His conscience is telling him something is terribly wrong, but he also wants to see what Kurtz is capable of doing. He desperately wants to succeed with Kurtz, and as a result cannot himself step away from the jungle. He stays behind as well, now hooked on what Kurtz was hooked on, but for a different reason. He now wants to finish what Kurtz started. As a result, he is also doomed to the darkness. He is both afraid of it but at the same time is intrigued by it and wants to see it through to the end. He is eager to succeed but nervous of what lies ahead. His innocence seems to have created two personalities within him, expressive of his likely conflict of Kurtz's deeds and the surrounding darkness versus the great things yet to be done and the rewards that are sure to follow.
Marlow describes him as someone "ruled by the the spirit of adventure," and that Marlow actually envied him a little for it. The Russian more or less is able to live only because he's fascinated with moving along, to do more and to assist Kurtz. He mindlessly accepted everything that Kurtz was, and he went with it and moved on. It's almost as if his indifference to good and evil, though primarily evil, was the only thing that kept him alive. His purpose and objective has been dictated to him by Kurtz, and he survives the moral jungle as easily as he survives the actual one. All he is concerned about is his superior, regardless of character. Innocence is often depicted as being a sort of incorruptible invincibility, and Marlow attributes that to his existence. If he wasn't as strong-willed and wasn't along only for the ride, as it were, he would have ended up just as crazy as Kurtz. Of course, this isn't to say he's not troubled by it.
The Russian is a strange person in that he shifts between being exceedingly happy and then overwhelmingly depressed. His "innocence and adventure" seem to contribute to this behavior. What he suffers from is the desire to go on conflicting with his conscience. Though he accepts that Kurtz is corrupted, that doesn't mean he approves of it. He not only respects Kurtz but fears him as well. He seems to be understanding more and more that Kurtz is lost, but is too afraid to stop him from destroying himself. His conscience is telling him something is terribly wrong, but he also wants to see what Kurtz is capable of doing. He desperately wants to succeed with Kurtz, and as a result cannot himself step away from the jungle. He stays behind as well, now hooked on what Kurtz was hooked on, but for a different reason. He now wants to finish what Kurtz started. As a result, he is also doomed to the darkness. He is both afraid of it but at the same time is intrigued by it and wants to see it through to the end. He is eager to succeed but nervous of what lies ahead. His innocence seems to have created two personalities within him, expressive of his likely conflict of Kurtz's deeds and the surrounding darkness versus the great things yet to be done and the rewards that are sure to follow.
Heart of Darkness- Passage Analysis
On page 143 of Heart of Darkness (the book, of course, where HoD comes second) Kurtz rants a bit about the fact that he's being taken away from the jungle due to his illness:
"Save me! -save the ivory, you mean. Don't tell me. Save me! Why, I've had to save you. You are interrupting my plans now. Sick! Sick! Not so sick as you would like to believe. Never mind. I'll carry my ideas out yet -I will return. I'll show you what can be done. You with your peddling notices -you are interfering with me. I will return. I..."
Sheesh, he just can't shut up and save his strength, can he? Not in the jungle, at least. Well, it's obvious that he's that obsessed with his objective, that immersed in darkness, that he can't even see he's dying. He doesn't even think he'll be a bit weak during the voyage out. In fact, by his statement that he's "not as sick as they'd like to believe" he seems to convey the message that they'd prefer him to be on death's door. Though he actually is, he's more concerned about the ivory. He's convinced that Marlow and the rest of the people are here only to steal his ivory. Now, this actually has some basis, but Kurtz really doesn't know if it has any basis or not. He's simply paranoid and convinced the world's out to get him. He believes the others would want him to be deathly ill so they can get the vast fortune in ivory that he had amassed. Kurtz would rather remain in the jungle, ill, than to leave and risk the loss of his grand scheme. He realizes this later when he cries out how he's waiting to die. He realizes that he was that concerned with riches that he would have stayed in the jungle and died, that he fought those trying to rescue him. All he was worried about were his plans.
Kurtz also mentions how he was the one that was saving Marlow, not the other way around. He was that confident he was in control of the situation. He believed that he was the sole reason why the rescuers hadn't already been killed by the natives. He thinks he's the greatest hero of all for existing. This is emphasized when he crawls out and tries to go back into the jungle, and then threatens Marlow, only continuing to state how he had great plans. He was also carried out by the natives on a bed, as if he's the kind of person who would normally get such treatment. Kurtz has been treated like a god, more or less, by the natives, and that power has gone right to his head. He's convinced that he's invincible and that he commands the entire jungle, and he's going to do whatever's necessary to stay and continue his dominion over the overgrown depths. He certainly rules over more than one type of depths, that's for sure.
One other thing that he stresses is that he will return. He hasn't even begun to leave, yet he's already screaming how he won't be gone for long. He's dying, and all he can say is that he'll be back. Either he's quite the confident and optimistic fellow or his body's running off without his mind. I really don't think he even left that jungle, quite frankly. He was grabbing on to that darkness with everything he had. He wasn't going to leave, no matter what. This was his home. This is where he felt he belonged. Furthermore, he stressed that he'd show what CAN be done. Not what should be done, but what can be done. He isn't thinking of ethics or reasonable actions, only what he believed was physically possible. He was convinced that he'd rise higher and higher than where he already was. Again, it's either wishful thinking or an insatiable greed. And I doubt he's the kind of fellow who could look on the bright side without going blind. In fact, he's already blind. He's convinced that he can become richer, more powerful, more important...he's just eager for more. He doesn't know when to stop.
In short, this paragraph shows how crazy Kurtz is. Even as he lay dying, with others trying to rescue him, he's convinced that he's perfectly fine and that he's in command of the whole situation. He believes automatically that everyone's after his fortune in ivory, and that they all wish him dead. He's against the world, and that he will show them all up in time, when he returns home to the station in the center of the jungle. He has far more waiting for him on his return. Kurtz no longer wants the rest of the world. He just wants his ivory and his adoring natives. He wants that absolute power, and there isn't anything in the world that can get him away from that darkness. He's completely beyond any help.
"Save me! -save the ivory, you mean. Don't tell me. Save me! Why, I've had to save you. You are interrupting my plans now. Sick! Sick! Not so sick as you would like to believe. Never mind. I'll carry my ideas out yet -I will return. I'll show you what can be done. You with your peddling notices -you are interfering with me. I will return. I..."
Sheesh, he just can't shut up and save his strength, can he? Not in the jungle, at least. Well, it's obvious that he's that obsessed with his objective, that immersed in darkness, that he can't even see he's dying. He doesn't even think he'll be a bit weak during the voyage out. In fact, by his statement that he's "not as sick as they'd like to believe" he seems to convey the message that they'd prefer him to be on death's door. Though he actually is, he's more concerned about the ivory. He's convinced that Marlow and the rest of the people are here only to steal his ivory. Now, this actually has some basis, but Kurtz really doesn't know if it has any basis or not. He's simply paranoid and convinced the world's out to get him. He believes the others would want him to be deathly ill so they can get the vast fortune in ivory that he had amassed. Kurtz would rather remain in the jungle, ill, than to leave and risk the loss of his grand scheme. He realizes this later when he cries out how he's waiting to die. He realizes that he was that concerned with riches that he would have stayed in the jungle and died, that he fought those trying to rescue him. All he was worried about were his plans.
Kurtz also mentions how he was the one that was saving Marlow, not the other way around. He was that confident he was in control of the situation. He believed that he was the sole reason why the rescuers hadn't already been killed by the natives. He thinks he's the greatest hero of all for existing. This is emphasized when he crawls out and tries to go back into the jungle, and then threatens Marlow, only continuing to state how he had great plans. He was also carried out by the natives on a bed, as if he's the kind of person who would normally get such treatment. Kurtz has been treated like a god, more or less, by the natives, and that power has gone right to his head. He's convinced that he's invincible and that he commands the entire jungle, and he's going to do whatever's necessary to stay and continue his dominion over the overgrown depths. He certainly rules over more than one type of depths, that's for sure.
One other thing that he stresses is that he will return. He hasn't even begun to leave, yet he's already screaming how he won't be gone for long. He's dying, and all he can say is that he'll be back. Either he's quite the confident and optimistic fellow or his body's running off without his mind. I really don't think he even left that jungle, quite frankly. He was grabbing on to that darkness with everything he had. He wasn't going to leave, no matter what. This was his home. This is where he felt he belonged. Furthermore, he stressed that he'd show what CAN be done. Not what should be done, but what can be done. He isn't thinking of ethics or reasonable actions, only what he believed was physically possible. He was convinced that he'd rise higher and higher than where he already was. Again, it's either wishful thinking or an insatiable greed. And I doubt he's the kind of fellow who could look on the bright side without going blind. In fact, he's already blind. He's convinced that he can become richer, more powerful, more important...he's just eager for more. He doesn't know when to stop.
In short, this paragraph shows how crazy Kurtz is. Even as he lay dying, with others trying to rescue him, he's convinced that he's perfectly fine and that he's in command of the whole situation. He believes automatically that everyone's after his fortune in ivory, and that they all wish him dead. He's against the world, and that he will show them all up in time, when he returns home to the station in the center of the jungle. He has far more waiting for him on his return. Kurtz no longer wants the rest of the world. He just wants his ivory and his adoring natives. He wants that absolute power, and there isn't anything in the world that can get him away from that darkness. He's completely beyond any help.
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