Week 5 - Heritage & A Chinese Banquet

Question #9

Linda Hogan’s “Heritage” would seem to be a lovely poem reminiscent of her childhood, her family, and the memories that both carried throughout her life. Twisted into the final line of this bittersweet ending is a conflicting note. The line “From my family I have learned the secrets of never having a home” speaks of her sense of injustice to the American Indian tribe of Chickasaws. These secrets, though cherished by the rhetoric she uses in such lines as, “to warm fine hairs in my nostrils”, and “He was the man who sang old chants to me,” are a painful reminder that the tribe of her heritage had been uprooted and left to wander throughout their history.

Initially the poem is seemingly full of simple yet important memories of this young girl’s life. The poem really doesn’t possess a lot of affection for the memories and secrets which she was recalling, but is made to feel as though it does. When she speaks of her grandmother, she uses gentle descriptions like “blue-eyed woman whose skin was brown” which appear to be spoken in a loving manner, but really only generalize her appearance. Perhaps the author intended to mislead in hopes of driving home the last line which truly told of her impatience with the way that things were for her family.

The negative and the positive seem to actually inundate this poem throughout, and it is never truer than in the last line. “It was the brown earth of Oklahoma stained with oil” brings out the best and the worst of the state in one line by contrasting the fertile dark soil with the oil that no doubt caused blood to be spilled over its conquest. By far though, the heaviest statement that Hogan makes, and conclusively summing up the entirety of the rest of the work prior is the final statement.

Never having a home is to be a gypsy—to roam, and to be a hunter or a scavenger. Never having a home is to be an indigent. Community and family are readily seen in the memories of Hogan’s writings, but what is lacking is a place of rest. “…all our old houses that are no longer there” sums it up precisely by pointing to the lack of a permanent dwelling. “…followed a stick that pointed west that pointed east” leads into this final line and supports the establishment of a tribe that has wandered without bearings. Spoken from the mouth of Hogan’s grandmother, it places at least three generations in this state of upheaval over a final destination and stable home. No doubt, this constant feeling of transition left a dark mark on the tribe, and was evident in many ways. The most powerful statement Hogan could have made about her feelings of this crime committed against these Native Americans is delivered in her conclusion. Pointing out everything that is great about her nation, and simultaneously subverting the culture that has brought them to this state of unrest, Hogan’s final line is both brilliant and significant.

Question #14

“A Chinese Banquet”, by Kitty Tsui is full of progressive commentary that occurs both outside and inside of Tsui’s head during a family dinner and also brings into the picture a previous conversation, perhaps prior to this particular dinner, which she had with her mother. Interspersed with a general recounting of the dinner conversation is an inner dialogue from Tsui’s brain that leads the reader to develop a better understanding of why this poem was written, and for whom it was written.

She begins by pointing out the differences in dress between her and the other young women, “all the women over twelve wore long gowns and a corsage, except for me”—immediately separating herself out from the rest of the women at the dinner. Although she repeatedly remarks that the dinner is an “informal” affair, perhaps leading us to believe that she felt it so, the consumption of shark fin soup would lead one to believe otherwise as this is a dish typically served at special occasions only. Finding this out may give the reader and inkling into the mindset of the writer when she uses these contradicting statements.

As the dinner progresses, it is clear that the small talk going on around her, “taking a two week vacation in Beijing”, is completely ignored and/or insignificant as she thinks only of “the cloudscape in your eyes”—obviously referring to her partner, who seems to be much on her mind throughout the dinner. Even as the dinner guests attempt to engage her in their small talk, “sold that old car of yours yet?” she is only dreaming of screaming out what she really wants to say. She wants to tell them about what she really cares about. Instead of listening to their wishes and wants, she desperately wants them to know what she is passionate about and how much she loves her partner. Oblivious to the obvious pain she suffers, they drone on in their everyday conversation without a second thought about what may be on her mind.

The writer cleverly contrasts the two and paints a vivid picture of the agony that she suffers by this feeling of being overlooked and misunderstood. The poem she writes for “the one who was not invited”, and plainly juxtaposes the day to day lives of these family members against the desire to share her own. Unaccepted and uninvited, her suffering is beautifully on display in this work.