Obsessions

       My love is exponential. The more I am exposed to something, the more and more I love it until I rarely think about anything else. For example (a very small example), when my friends and roommates listen to music I would never choose to listen to myself, over time I grow to like it a little. Or, to take it another way, reading Harry Potter all in a row over three days creates more obsession than reading one a month. This, combined with my dislike of having to wait for the ending of somethings I like (which leads to me reading/watching/listening to it in as short a time as possible), means that I go through phases of mild obsession on a fairly regular basis. Usually the obsession fades into the background of "things I like" within a few days after I'm finished. However, I'm starting to think that is only because I have never been obsessed with anything this good before.

       I'm not going to name my obsession, because I don't want this post to degenerate into an incoherent rhapsody, and I'm sure neither do you. But just imagine all of the superlatives in existence applied to one thing and you'll begin to get an idea of how wonderful it is.

        Anyway, my real point here is to wonder how long people are really capable of sustaining intense emotions like this. You could relate it to being in love, if you like (I have never really been in love, so I cannot). The answer right now: I don't know. It's only been a couple of weeks. But the intensity appears to be growing. So I guess I'll report back in a month or several and let you know: how long can this degree of obsession be sustained??? My prediction: forever.

PS. You have not idea how difficult it was for me to not break into incoherent rhapsody mode.
SO HARD.

On Woman Romantics

       This semester I am taking a couple of survey literature classes, which I am enjoying immensely. One of the reasons I like them is that, because they cover so much time, our readings are mostly restricted to shorter pieces, which often means poetry! I love poetry. And I get exposed to a lot of really excellent poetry I might not have otherwise encountered. One example is “To My Dear and Loving Husband,” Anne Bradstreet, a sixteenth century American woman. For your convenience, here it is:

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.

Thy love is such I can no way repay.

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persever

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

       Nice, isn't it? Nothing particularly fancy, but a well-written verse and very sweet, something you would love your own wife (or husband) to write for you. That's why I was shocked at the reception it received in class discussion.

       One classmate thought it was creepy, like “if he wasn't her husband she would sleep in a tree outside his window and follow him around.” Others said that it was “really sappy” and eye-roll inducing. It wasn't just the guys of the class that thought this either, the “sleeping outside window” comment was made by a female. I was really very surprised. This is a class of English majors, it's definitely not like they had never read love poetry before. I assume they have read other sixteenth-century poetry, most of which is written by men. And while Donne can get a tiny bit creepy on occasion, I would find it hard to believe my classmates think all poets are crazy stalkers. And in terms of sappiness, “To My Loving Husband” ranks just a little bit above “My Mistress' Eyes.” In other words, very low. Therefore, the response was really kind of strange. What is it about this particular poem that would make them see it differently from other love poems? I believe it is because it was written by a woman.

       In the culture in which I am currently residing, there's not really a double standard for sex; both genders are held to the same standard. There is, however, a double standard of romanticism. When a boy writes love notes, buys flowers, and visits for no reason, he's romantic, amazing, and definite husband material. When a girl does it, she's weird and clingy. This may derive from the stereotype that men are afraid of commitment and women are over-eager for it. People may think that being romantic (for a guy) is defying the stereotype, or (for a girl) confirming it. Or perhaps it's the idea that the man should always make the first moves. Think about it: do you find the idea of a woman – a modern, ordinary woman – writing love poetry weird? Well, stop it. I think it's ridiculous. Women deserve just as many chances to be sweet and romantic as men do. So write your love poems, girls! Surprise him with something. Show those men that creepy stalkers aren't the only ones who express their love.

Slow internet: everyone loses

This is the final post of the five promised winter break posts. You don't get to read the fourth one because stupid blogger saved it as just a title and deleted all the words, and it was long and I'm not going to retype it because school starts in less than 12 hours and I couldn't remember it all anyway. You can blame Nicole because she was slowing down the internet until it was practically stopped by watching Doctor Who and that's probably why blogger couldn't/didn't save it. If it ever magically pops up I'll post it because it was really good. The end.

Seafoam

Fifty white horses, all
rearing and plunging, are
galloping on where they
break as they fall.

Lightly they fade away
Borne on the wind and stars
Scattering, sighing, like
moonbeams at day.

After these, fifty more
Year after year they'll be
galloping onward to
crash on the shore.