Category Archives: Week 4: The Sirens

Week 4: Interpreting Bodies of Water and Everything in Between

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After reading Steve Mentz, “A Poetics of Planetary Water: The Blue Humanities after John Gillis”, I was lead to believe that nearly any body of water from, “…oceans to include rivers, lakes, glaciers, and many other forms of water”, as well as other planetary features, are open to interpretations of any kind. While the text was heavy with neologisms, one takeaway was the way in which the sea is a deep void where stories can brew and be created as Salman Rushdie was quoted the ocean being a, “Sea of stories”. When you think about it there was not only an infinite amount of stories that are also left untold. When the text went on to include glaciers as a different form of body of water, I began to think of the story unfolding relating to that. Glaciers melting, possible new bodies of water forming, what other forms of literature will stem from that into oceanic, or blue scholarship. One question sparking my interest, why new genre will stem from the stories revolving around the melting ice caps? This seems like more of an unfortunate reality, than fiction.

The duality between the ocean being a place of mystery and endeavoring literary journeys, “A poetics that emerges from an encounter with alienating water always relates itself to the awkward relationship of humans and water; we depend upon it and love it, but it cannot be our home”. Similar to what we have been reading lately relating to Merpeople, humanity sees the ocean as a riveting place, yet fears it as much as we do mythical sea creatures. The best we can do at times is simply write about it. Reading between the lines, almost like you’re reading between waves of the sea, like attempting to make sense the the shapes of the clouds. Worth nothing, clouds are an extension of the bodies of water as noted within the text, “[…] take my cue from a famous exchange in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The prince, in mockery and in jest, attempts to interpret clouds”, giving us insight on how bodies of water have been a peak of interest for centuries.

Rethinking water and the lessons of distortion

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In both “A Poetics of Planetary Water” and ”Deterritorializing Preface”, Steve Mentz mentions that water is not just a background detail. Instead, it is something active that shapes human life and the way we think.

About “planetary water”, he says we should include not only the ocean but also rivers, lakes, glaciers, and even vapor in the air. He explains, “Human bodies and cultures form themselves in encounters with water in all three physical phases, liquid, solid, and gas.” This made me realize how often I do not realize or think about water in my daily life. I drink water and walk in the rain, but I don’t usually think about how those small moments connect to bigger systems like glaciers or oceans. Dickinson’s poem about the sea as “Everywhere of Silver” shows how water can be beautiful and scary at the same time, and Whitman’s poem about swimming in the surf reminded me of my own summers at the beach. Reading Mentz made me see those memories as part of something larger, not just small personal experiences.

In the “Deterritorializing Preface”, Mentz suggests “seven new words” to help us think differently. The one I found most interesting was “distortion” instead of “clarity.” Since water bends light, what we see through it is never fully clear. When I read this, I connected it to my own experience in school. I often feel pressure to give clear and correct answers, as if learning always has to be perfect. But the truth is, learning is rarely that simple. Sometimes it is confusing, and sometimes I don’t fully understand things right away. Mentz’s idea of distortion reminded me that confusion is not always failure, it can be part of the process. Like water, knowledge changes depending on where you stand and how you look at it. I thought that if we accept distortion, we can see value in shifting perspectives. It means knowledge is not fixed, but flexible and moving like water. This makes me think differently about learning, and it also makes me less afraid of uncertainty.

Changing one word, clarity to distortion, might not sound like much, but it really does change my thinking about knowledge. It suggests that instead of chasing perfect answers, we should pay more attention to movement, change, and growth. And that feels much more realistic, and also more human.

Humans: The Truest Aquatic Mammalian Species

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Steve Mentz takes a really interesting perspective on establishing a clear relationship between the ocean beyond its existence just being something we enjoy; he recognizes it is embedded in our nature in more ways than one. He references the popular oceanic centric book we often discuss, Moby Dick: “One of the most widely quoted phrases from the novel holds that ‘meditation and water are wedded for ever.’4” (Mentz, 139). The word meditation is what truly defines this, considering how it’s perceived and utilized within modern society. Meditation’s connotation of peace and relaxation begin to flesh out how water belongs to “nature”, in the sense of relaxation’s connection to being stationary, to being at rest.

Without trying, water finds itself resting within us, our genetic makeups, and connecting to it allows almost this greater connection and grounding to ourselves. Minor habits like needing to drink water when we want to stop tears from coming, or splashing cold water when we become so consumed by anger, we need a snap back to reality. It is literally married to our ideals of breaking calamity, our need for stability because of its connection to the natural world around us. The life it takes on, the movement of its own, to run and crash the way we could, to dance and shine the way fire can, draws us to spiritually connect with it as something of solitude, as it juxtaposes flame’s intensity.

His insight on this intertwined reality ties back to our focus on mermaids specifically when he addresses the ocean’s connection to us: “A poetics that emerges from an encounter with alienating water always relates itself to the awkward relationship of humans and water; we depend upon it and love it, but it cannot be our home” (140). This peace found within it, combined with an inability to ever truly be immersed in it totally seems to have almost driven the need to create mermaids. Desire to be and feel human cognition, but be able to survive as aquatic beings describes them so exactly, and reflects how their existence forces us to recognize how the peace can be disrupted. So long as the world deteriorates at the rate it does, our creatures that depend on it for sustenance, and not just a moment of grounding, suffer and thereby push attention on its decline. It gives us a way to holistically appreciate it, and in trying times, a way to recognize faults.

Odysseus and the Deadly Temptation of the Sirens

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In this week’s reading of “Odysseus and the Sirens” in The Penguin Book of Mermaids, it recounts Odysseus’ encounter with the Sirens, which, if I remember correctly, is one of the most symbolically charged episodes in his journey home. The Sirens, like mermaids, embody the trope of dangerous femininity: they are creatures who enchant men with beauty and song only to lead them to their dooms. What distinguishes this episode is not only the deadly temptation Odysseus faces but also the preparation he brings, having been warned by Circe. Unlike other moments of erotic or sensual temptation in his other travels, the Sirens’ lure is on a different level of danger. It is an intellectual and spiritual seduction that can be tied to the desire for knowledge.

This story carefully shows the tension between control and surrender. Odysseus asserts his authority from the beginning, instructing his men to bind him fast, “Me, me alone, with fetters firmly bound, / The gods allow to hear the dangerous sound” (10). His insistence that chains be “added band to band” reveals an awareness of his own vulnerability. He desires to hear the Sirens but also knows the peril of indulging in their song unrestrained. The physical imagery of bondage that is seen only dramatizes the paradox: Odysseus gains access to the Sirens’ knowledge only through restriction. In this way, the passage uses wisdom as something that can be achieved only by resisting desire, even when that resistance comes through force.

The Sirens’ song itself highlights the danger. They promise Odysseus not sensual pleasure but “new wisdom from the wise” (11), appealing to his heroic identity as a seeker of knowledge. Their words use knowledge as a form of transcendence: “thy soul shall into raptures rise!” Yet the framing of this knowledge is also destructive. By offering the totality of human experience–“Whate’er beneath the sun’s bright journey lies”– the Sirens promise an omniscience that no mortal should claim. Their music is a portal, one that tempts him toward a dimension beyond human limits, where the cost of knowledge is death.

Odysseus’s struggle to break free during the Sirens’ song, despite having planned for this exact moment, shows the seductive power of their mystical, ethereal promise. His men, immune with wax-stopped ears, remain safe because they are locked out of this ‘knowledge.’ The tension between Odysseus and his men shows the danger of intellectual temptation. Odysseus, the seeker, is drawn to the perilous edge, while his men embody the wisdom of ignorance.

Overall, the passages’ reading dramatizes the precarious balance that lies between curiosity and survival. By escaping, Odysseus affirms his self-control, but the scene that is depicted reminds us of that fine line between knowledge that empowers and the knowledge that destroys.

Siren’s Song between Knowledge and Temptation

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The most impressive part of reading “Odysseus and the Sirens” in The Penguin Book of Mermaids was the lyrics of the Sirens’ song. The Sirens tried to tempt humans by using intellectual power and pulling them toward the sea. At this point, I wondered why they used “knowledge” instead of something else as the reason for temptation. In modern society, honor or money might be seen as more powerful temptations. However, after thinking more, I realized that both honor and money usually come from knowledge. Human beings also tend to admire those who have greater wisdom than themselves. For this reason, I think knowledge could be the strongest and most universal form of temptation.

Still, I felt a contradictory emotion because this knowledge was offered not by a holy or noble figure but by the Sirens, who are monstrous beings. Normally, people imagine knowledge as a sacred gift from wise or divine figures, such as gods, prophets, or respected teachers. But here, the Sirens lead humans to death while giving that knowledge. This mismatch makes us feel stronger fear and uneasiness. Their song is both a promise of enlightenment and a trap that ensures destruction. This duality creates a sense of confusion asking ourselves should knowledge always be trusted, or can it sometimes be dangerous? At the same time, the Sirens’ beautiful voices produce desires to hear them, while their dangerous nature causes fear. This combination results in powerful ambivalent feelings. Odysseus’s action of trying to listen to the music while being tied shows that human beings often try to experience temptation while at the same time creating limits to protect themselves. In this way, the scene reflects the human struggle between curiosity and survival.

In particular, the fact that the Sirens have a half-human shape makes the boundary between humans and monsters unclear. This blurring of boundaries projects suppressed human desires onto the Sirens and makes the emotions of the readers even more complex. It suggests that the dangers we fear most may not come from the outside but from within ourselves, from desires we cannot control. The Sirens’ song is memorable not only because of its beauty but also because it reveals the paradox of knowledge, temptation, and human weakness. It teaches us that even the most valuable gifts, such as wisdom, can also carry danger.

Sirens Temptation of Divine Knowlegde

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In this week’s reading of “Odysseus and the Sirens” in The Penguin Book of Mermaids, the mermaids are painted to be tempting creatures because they promise wisdom and knowledge, which lures men to crash their boats and lead to their unfortunate death. During the Odyssey, Circe helps Odysseus plan against being tempted and warns him against the Sirens. Now this begs the question, why? What were they warning? The sirens in the Odyssey were symbols of knowledge of the truth, and the fear mongered around them was the fear of knowing too much and becoming too powerful.

If I recall the Odyssey accurately, his city was destroyed after a war, which often raises questions about power afterward. The warning against mermaids was used to maintain people’s trust in the ruler and served as propaganda to keep them fearful of knowledge. Specifically, the line “we know whate’er the kings of mighty name, Achieved at Ilion in the field of fame” demonstrates that the mermaids were superior to the mighty; their knowledge was stronger than that of the current ruler (11). So, this effort to prevent people from gaining knowledge is a strategy to keep them uneducated and easy to control. There is also a claim to “fame” with knowledge. 

This raises questions about the misuse of knowledge. Those who use their knowledge maliciously to exploit people. Which would reveal the truth of power held towards the top of the hierarchy. The warning against the mermaids is also a warning against greed. To be greedy of knowledge that destroys the people around you and eventually yourself, almost like an ‘evil crazy scientist’. The never-ending cycle of always having a desire for more will be one’s ultimate demise. So, the sailor’s unfortunate death caused by the mermaid would be just the cause of their death, which would just be a consequence of their own personal sin. 

Overall, the depiction of Sirens is very interesting, as they are monsters of temptation through their promise of otherworldly wisdom. The more knowledge someone has, the harder they are to control, and the desire for more only grows.

Week: 4, Oceanic Distortion

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Steve Mentz’s passage, “Deterritorializing Preface,” provides readers with a set of deterritorializing terms to aid in navigating the blue humanities. I wanted to focus particularly on number six, “Distortion,” because of what Mentz had stated about water bending light. Mentz mentioned visual distortion and how “water-thinking makes distortion a baseline condition” (xvii). I read this as distortion not being a physical aspect of water, but a metaphorical one that emphasizes how human perception of the ocean makes them uncomfortable. As we have discussed in class, humans find mermaids unsettling; this “distortion” aspect that Mentz is talking about shows just that. Mermaids are classified as unsettling not only because of their half-human, half-fish nature, but because of the fear that is brought forth by their home, the ocean.

Mentz also stated the “tri-dimensionality of water,” which highlights the comfort of the surface of the sea and the terrifying depths of the undiscovered bottom of the ocean. After reading this, I instantly thought of how it’s similar to the life of mermaids, both being of the surface and depths of the ocean. Emphasizing the idea that mermaids are never entirely of “one world,” which distorts the world’s perception of them. Also, in a literal sense, the distortion of water messes with how oceanic life is perceived, making something small and innocent seem gigantic and terrifying.

This sense of distortion that Mentz talks about can also be compared to how mermaids are scary because they are a reflection of us. They are the water distorted versions of ourselves, and that is what is terrifying to them. We as humans see the ocean through this water-distorted lens, a reminder that what humans fear most in mermaids is what they see in themselves. I like the idea that water bending light distorts, because when you think about it sometimes tends to look creepy underwater, especially if the water is moving. And it’s interesting to think about how we are terrified of the deep ocean because of the mere fact that we cannot approach it without facing the instability within ourselves. The fear of water is the fear of our own self-image; that distorted version of ourselves is our greatest fear.

Study Song of the Week: Falling Stars by A Shell In The Pit

This one is not so much Mermaid core, but it felt very oceanic, and I honestly don’t know how to explain it further.

The Poetics of Planetary Water: Blue Humanities, Poetics, and Striving for Change

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In Steve Mentz’s work, “A poetics of planetary water: The blue humanities after John Gillis”, Mentz writes, “A poetics of planetary water aims to clarify the relationships between humans and water in all its forms and phases” (Mentz 139). He also adds, “The intimacy between humans and water, an element that surrounds our planet and permeates our bodies, provides a rich reservoir for ideas about change, resilience and the possibilities for new ways of thinking an living” (Mentz 152).

These statements are important because they encapsulate the chief intellectual and philosophical purpose of the article: Blue humanities consider the ocean not as one big abstract space but water in all forms-liquid, ice, vapor-than can associate closely and materially with human bodies, cultures, and histories. Through the various states of planetary water, the article argues that literary, cultural, and poetic approaches shed light on how water’s presence in collective imagination and lived experience allows the accommodation of present environmental catastrophes and ongoing climate change.

Poetics of planetary water are of essence because they imply accepting the interdependent relation between human beings and the more-than-human environment. Where scientific discourse measures, records, and explains, the poetic framework places feelings, ambiguity, and multiplicity upfront. This proves especially important in environmental crises that happen to be rapid in transition, not clearly defined, and that require resiliences and adapting instead of trying to maintain everything. The article argues rightly that such a framework could cut disciplinary boundaries and scales-from global systems down to the personal and sensory encounters at the shore, according to Mentz’s findings in Whitman and Dickinson’s works (Mentz 138).

Moreover, poetics allow blue humanities scholars to gather together representation, materiality, and imaginative possibility, as they stress dynamics and transition on the three water phases. It is more than simply theoretical; it is a call to accept that our ways of thinking, writing, or living must mirror the very substance that defines and sustains life. These are powerful and timely ideas when seas rise, ice melts, and atmospheres become unstable.

Power of Blue Humanities

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In the “Deterritorializing Preface,” Steve Mentz suggests replacing “field” with “current.” At first this may seem small and hold little meaning, but it changes how we think about knowledge and ideas. A “field” is something that usually means stable, rooted in one place, and often controlled. When I think of the word “field,” I think of a piece of land that’s fenced off or a “field of study.” Both of these appear to be pretty defined with not much movement. By using the word “current” instead, we can think about knowledge as something that is moving and shifting instead of stuck in the same place. 

A current is always moving. It goes in all directions and connects one place to another. The text asks, “What if instead we redescribe the adventures of thinking as currents, as a rate of flow and change?” This quote really stood out to me because it suggests that knowledge is placed into specific categories, and the word “current” allows ideas to circulate between people, cultures, and environments. Knowledge is something that should never be stuck or kept in one place. The movement of knowledge is what is important. We would never be able to advance or grow if everything we discovered had to stay put. 

Just like the ocean, knowledge is something that no one can own or control. By describing knowledge as something that is “current,” it allows us to see that knowledge is always changing and moving from place to place. Describing it as a “field” doesn’t work because knowledge is something that has no limit and will forever be growing. Knowledge becomes even more meaningful when it flows from person to person. This means we should expect ideas to change over time, and we should learn to see value in motion rather than in stability. 

Replacing the word “field” with “current” does more than just change a word. It gives us a whole new perspective on learning, history, and even politics. Instead of looking for straight answers or permanent solutions, the metaphor of “current” teaches us to look for connections and that motion is good. It means we are growing and adapting to what is new. 

The Poetry of Water in Odysseus and The Sirens

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What is intriguing about poetry is its fluidity. It is a genre of writing that has subgenres so vast and so up for interpretation. In “A poetics of planetary water” Steve Mentz states that “The term“poetics” […]functions as a singular concept: a poetics of planetary water aims to clarify the relationships between humans and water in all its forms and phases” (Mentz 139). Using a poetic lens in literature, especially in reference to water, not only deepens our understanding of water in human and planetary life, but it complicates it too. Using Mentz insight, The Sirens portion of The Odyssey water is not just background or a mere setting, it becomes an active force that shapes human fate and meaning. 

Water may be material that sustains life but it has throughout time and place carried symbolic and poetic meaning. Homer wrote about Odysseus’ journey through the ocean, and at one point Odysseus encounters Siren seas described as: “Sunk were at once the winds; the air above, / and waves below, at once forgot to move” (Penguin 11). Homer does not simply use the water as a means of transportation or material environment but instead uses it as a metaphorical threshold. The imagery creates a feeling of stillness that is both eery and enchanting. A poetic style, in this case, does what prose cannot; with a poetic style the sea is used to embody human vulnerability and temptation, as it shifts between calm and chaos. Whereas with prose you can use imagery but the rhythm and rhyme that helps support that shifting may get lost. 

Beyond the symbolic meaning poetics can help us connect natural phenomena, like water, with cultural meaning. We see in The Odyssey that elements of earth, wind and water, are personified: “Some demon calm’d the air and smooth’d the deep, / hush’d the loud winds, and charm’d the waves to sleep” (Penguin 11). When talking about elements—earth, air, wind, fire—one usually thinks of Science. Something that provides people with all the answers. Yet, this moment in The Odyssey may be scientifically calm, but poetically it is full of imagery of the supernatural and the unexplainable. It has even more personification of the elements which goes against black and white thinking that humans crave so deeply. In this case human imagination transforms water into a source of narrative, intrinsically linking myth and environment together.