Ekphrastic: L'Enigme

I guess the artistic spirit of Paris just infected me. Don't get used to it.





Long ago, in ages yet to come,
smoke rises from the glittering city.
The domes and spires and skyscrapers of home
stand blackened shells, or do not stand at all,
fallen and crumbling to dust where they lie broken.

 An angel, young and beautiful as dawn
coursed through the sky. He clothed himself in its pall,
his strong white wings filled with ash and smoke.
The darkness burned his eyes, the silence deafened,
too late, too late to hush the roaring guns,
too late to quench the fires with silver light.

He has placed rings in the young mother's ears,
hidden away the worst of the awful devices.
He tried to fan away the smoke, tried
to turn the beautiful harvest back to gold, tried
to find one green, one living thing, and all
to no avail. The city sleeps around him.

He falls before the sphinx, her slow thighs couchant,
still and silent watcher with distant eyes.
Desperate in his anguish, he looks up,
reaching, imploring, screaming to know: "Why?"
She smiles her curious smile, and tenderly
lifts up his tear-ruined face with a velveted claw,
but her bright eyes are cold and alien,
and her answer the same as it always is.







P.S. You know how a really long time ago I was trying to write a sad poem and the impossibility of that basically killed my blog and my poetry forever? Well, this isn't anything like the poem I was trying to write, but it is way sadder. I guess I just needed some art museums and to be really excited in Paris.


P.P.S. If you're still wondering about my obsession (I don't know why you would be, but just in case), it caused me to hyperventilate from excitement like five times in the past week. Just so you know.

Autumn

Uh, hey guys. Long time, huh. Uh... guess I didn't do so fantastically on the "every week" thing, did I? I kind of started this thing and it was too evil for me to finish because it kind of caused me to realize I would never be a poet because I've actually never really been sad because my life has been basically perfect, and then this caused my creativity to crash and burn, and I kind of gave up on everything. So that's why you got nothing all summer. Yeah.

BUT... then the other day last week the second day of fall it was the falliest day you could imagine and it felt exactly like this poem that I kind of wrote on accident and then liked too much for no one else to ever read it. So here it is. 


The misty mountains are wreathed in smoke
the aerie of some fiery dragon awoke
by the smell of the earth and the feel of the air
and the streamers of moonlight caught in the trees
whose whispers at night carry soft to his lair.
He sighs, and his cold spicy breath will freeze
gilding the grass and the yellowing leaves.
He shakes his wide wings, preparing to fly,
and mysteries like leaves, scarlet and gold,
flake from his scales and fall through the sky.
So reach out and catch one, all stiff from the cold,
then look up through the bones of the bare-branched grove
and shiver to think of his shadow above.




BUT don't get too used to it because I just got a real job writing things which real people who aren't related to me might theoretically read but you will never see because they will be terrible because apparently I've lost the ability to write real sentences that have beginnings and ends and punctuation. But anyway I hope you liked the poem.

Summer Reading List

Whoops, sorry about the gap, finals got a bit ahead of me.
But now that they're over, here is what I plan to read over the summer:

The Wheel of Time series, by Robert Jordan

Uh, yep, that's it. Probably also some of the ones I missed from last summer, but that's it, because have you seen that series? It's HUGE. Also because I will have a job (for REAL this time) and also an obsession, and those are going to take up quite a bit of time. Speaking of obsession, status: last week I was thinking about it, absent-mindedly, and got called out for staring into space with a big stupid grin. Oops.

Qualities of a Totally Awesome Fictional Character

HEY GUESS WHAT IT'S LIST TIME AGAIN 'CAUSE LISTS ARE COOL

Hi. I am still working on that poem/thing, but it really is very difficult, so in the meantime here's a list of qualities that make a fictional character awesome (I guess they could work on real people too, but that seems unlikely). It was kind of fun to think about why I love something, instead of just that I do. Obviously not all my favorite characters have all the qualities, most just have two or three. I'm pretty sure there's only one character ever with all of them. And, of course, it is not the qualities in isolation that create awesome, but the combinations. The list is arranged approximately in order of most influential to my approval.

Has a saving-people thing

selfless

transcendent

dazzlingly brilliant and/or possessed of vast stores of knowledge

extremely moral

brave to the point of idiocy

bad-boy vibe (or -girl, I suppose)

     -thieves and assassins are extra attractive, for some reason, especially if they feel guilty about it

tragic

wise and mysterious, perhaps a bit fey

curious intellectual with a sense of wonder

surety of purpose

crazy and funny, ridiculous

doesn't necessarily break the fourth wall, but does tap on it occasionally

quirky/awkward/bumbling (and rocks it)

chivalrous

sweet/adorable/innocent

strong protective/nurturing qualities

loyal

a great leader

being archetypal and maybe a tiny bit symbolic helps too.

      … or a lot bit. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a good symbol.




Obsession status: you could also call this list "reasons why I am obsessed."

The King-fisher

Sitting on his flowered bough he
suddenly falls - not like a thunderbolt but
like a stone
beneath the icy river.
Three ageless seconds and then
he erupts skyward, life
held up in his sharp beak.



Yay, bonus poem! You get this on the same day because it's just a little thing I wrote while my professor was talking about "The Waste Land" (so it's a bit modernist-influenced, don't you think? Has that Imagist thing going?) and because it's pretty much exactly the same as every poem I have ever written.



Oh, and obsession status: a few days ago I realized I was sometimes forgetting about it for hours at a time. So I looked at some pictures and such and I'm better now.

The Hunger Games

Hey, a movie review! Haven't done that it a long time. And for a movie that is recent! Haven't done that... ever.

       So, The Hunger Games. You probably know what it's all about - an adaptation of the bestselling book by Suzanne Collins, about a dystopian American future in which the totalitarian government demands youth from its districts to fight to the death to prevent rebellion. It's a bit more complex than that, of course, but that sentence was getting long as it is, and if you're reading this you have Google. This is about my opinion. So, first impression: I enjoyed it. It was well made, the acting, effects, music, etc. were are excellent, and it was a good and faithful adaptation. Let's talk about that last one first. Fans of the book will love this movie. It is true not only to the plot, but the characters and the themes as well. I'm sure it helped that Suzanne Collins was one of the screenwriters. However, it wasn't so dependent on the book that someone who had never read it would be lost.

       I went into the movie expecting it to be the same-old sort of action/YA type genre standard (which I enjoy but is nothing special). To my surprise, the filmmaking was much more interesting than that. My favorite part was how it really tried to put the viewer into the experience of the characters (usually the protagonist, Katniss). So, when she was confused, the camera angles would be confusing, or when there was an explosion right next to her head, all the sound for the next minute was muffled with a loud ringing. While not a complete innovation, it was much better than not even trying to be interesting.
       All the other elements worked together very well, too. The acting was good, even powerful sometimes. The tearjerker moment jerked a few tears, the scary moment made me jump, etc. Overall, very well done.

       So, should you see it? Sure. If you're a die-hard fan of the book, you've probably already seen and loved it. If you just liked the book, it's a good addition and might add to your appreciation. If you haven't read the book but like dystopian scifi, you will probably like it a lot. If you hate all of those things, however, you probably will hate The Hunger Games movie as well.

Things Improved by Sunlight

Hi there. I'm in the process of writing a long poem/post/thing, but it's taking way longer than I expected (like really really long) and, seeing as it's already about two weeks late (sorry!), here's a filler poem while I finish it. It's really more of a list, but remember, lists are cool.



Mallards with their jeweled heads, and
unexpected stained-glass butterflies
Arching branches shifting dappled
shadows on the ground
Frescoed clouds in soft colors
Mountains with the red light spilling down
And my head, hair hot like metal
dancing solemn as a swinging censer




Obsession status: It is now possible to think about other things. But still somewhat difficult.

Mist

I'm sorry this is so late! I wanted to post! I had one! Blogger wouldn't let me! I promise more stuff very soon to make up for it.



The frozen breath of the earth
cupped in her hands the mountains to keep them warm
Heaven's loving sighs
extend the lunasphere to a soft paper lamp
blunting the sharp peaks
coiling around like a lover
keeping secret the mysteries
deep in the moonstruck mountains.




Obsession status: I made a t-shirt. It is awesome.

I make lists now. Lists are cool.

Hello, everybody! Please enjoy a list of some of my favorite words! Not including proper nouns, Latin (or French, somewhat regrettably), or words I just made up myself.


versificatrix
darkling tenebrous gloaming
scythe
threnody
phoenix
luminescence
gossamer
amaranth lethean
lissome 
mellifluous ebullient scintillating
huggermugger
fantastic brilliant magnificent
petrichor (it's a real word, guys! And I would totally wear a perfume called that.)

tintinnabulation and defenestrate get honorable mention.


Obsession status: maintained. Duh. Bonus points if you can spot at least four reasons that should be obvious.

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.

Stingless

Merry Christmas! You get a poem. A poem that's not about Christmas. You're welcome. 


What do you think of a stingless bee?
It's still creepy. Too many legs and
those scary eyes and jaws and
it still looks the same. You definitely
don't want it crawling on you, or even
near you. It just gives you the creeps,
sting or no.
It still makes honey, though
- a sweet service -
and its wings, when you look closer,
are actually kind of beautiful.



Do you think all my poems are the same? It feels like they're all the same. Well???

On the Physicality of Emotions

Wow, I am truly terrible at this "writing-every-week" thing. I apologize sincerely, but I know that is not enough! After all, I did promise. To make up for it, you shall receive at least five posts within the next two weeks, plus guaranteed once-a-week posting for the next year! Even if it is nothing more than a haiku at 11:59 on Sunday, I will write something every single week. Promise.

       Now, my main topic is something I've been thinking about for a while. Several weeks ago, my human development professor brought up a topic that I found very intriguing. He proposed that emotions are wholly the product of a physical body. Supporting this is the fact that nowhere in scripture does it mention any spirits feeling emotion, except in Job, which might possibly be a fictionalization. He also drew on his many years of work in the fields of psychology and behavioral science, noting how much of our emotions are physiological responses to stimuli - fear and its associates, for example, being a product of the sympathetic nervous system, which controls the fight or flight response.

       I had to think about this idea for a pretty long time before I had any idea whether or not I agreed with it. It is true, in my own personal experience, that I am rarely happy when sick or in pain, and rarely sad when physically comfortable. But it is also hard to believe that all joy, grief, and awe depend on my body alone. In the end, I decided I don't believe that is the case. My professor, to illustrate his point, challenged anyone in the class to describe "happiness" without using any reference to their body or physical sensations, as if they were explaining it to a robot. No one raised a hand, of course, but I could have. I would have said that happiness is the state of wanting something to continue, based on love. (It would be extremely hard to argue, in my opinion, that love is a physical phenomenon.) Sadness is wishing something could be different than it is. These are simplified definitions, sure, but that's really only because I'm not so good at describing things. I would be just as bad if I could use the physical aspects.

       However, thinking about the idea has changed my mind a bit. Definitely, bodiless emotions would be different, something I'd never really considered before. Fear, I believe, is a purely physical feeling. It is mostly an instinct to get the physical body out of danger; it really serves no spiritual purpose. However, there might be a cousin to fear that is spiritual, you could call it awe or dread or something like that. But it would be different from what we normally think of as fear. Furthermore, emotions are classified into two types: primary and secondary. Primary, or basic, emotions are those present in very young children, and easily expressed on the face: happiness, sadness, anger, fear, disgust, etc. Secondary emotions are those such as shame, loneliness, friendliness, satisfaction and other feelings that are "learned" from interactions with other humans. The primary emotions are probably more linked to the body and its processes. How different they might be without it I have no idea (obviously). But it is something interesting to think about.


PS. If there is anyone reading this who doesn't take the existence of spirits or souls as a given (unlikely, considering I'm pretty sure my readership is confined to my immediate family), this post was probably pretty nonsensical. I apologize. Just think of it as a thought exercise.

On Friendship

        What is friendship, anyway? What makes a friend? I started thinking about this question when I read the "Friendship" chapter in C.S. Lewis' The Four Loves, a couple months ago. I was pretty sure his definition was wrong, but I realized that I wasn't quite sure what I thought friendship was. I think I've got it now.
         Of course, I can only speak for my friendships, not having great experience with anybody else's. So if this doesn't fit you, I'm sorry write your own definition. Lewis said his definition was only about male friendship (the whole chapter is actually pretty sexist, even for 1960), so maybe mine is for female friendship. And of course it is possible that I am, once again, writing about things I am unqualified to explain.

        Lewis asserts that true friendship occurs only when two people discover something they are both passionate about, and that all real friendship must therefore be "about" something. I was slightly offended; by this definition all my dearest friends to whom I am not actually related are demoted to mere "companions," a lesser relationship than real "friends." My closest friend and I have nothing in common. We are complete opposites: she is popular, outgoing, athletic, on the good side of crazy and loves to party and date. I am none of those things, loving instead books, poetry, and solitude. We do have some things in common - we both like learning, boys, the gospel and chocolate - but we also have them in common with about 95% of the female population at BYU. According to Lewis, such different people can't be friends, and yet we are. His definition must be at least incomplete.

        So what else is there - what is friendship? It's a choice. My friend is my friend because I love her. Why do I love her? Because she's my friend. Circular, yes, but so is friendship. When people choose to love each other, to watch out for and care about and cry with each other, they become friends. Nothing else is necessary, only love.

Simile #1 in POS Major

Note: not its actual title, but I kind of had to, didn't I? Also, more posts on the way soon, because I feel bad about disappearing for so long and not fulfilling my moral obligation.



Like waterfalls
rushing, pouring, giving
watering living
laughing, dancing, surging
flowing
continuing

Like trumpets
bold and brassy
clarion clear
harmonic, lovely, sweet
exhilarating
annunciatory

Like wings
flight
heaven
joy

Per

Hi. Here's your story. Sorry it's so late, I expected to be done with it a week ago. So you better like it because it was hard. And you're not getting another one until at least Christmas. Despite all the work it took, I'm not sure if I like it or not. I suspect this happens because I will insist on writing about things I know almost nothing about. And in ways I'm not very good at. Thoughts?

This was inspired in part by a story by Katherine Mansfield, The Garden Party. And in part by a poem by Susan Elizabeth Howe. But it's not really like either of those.

Per is a Latin word meaning through. I'm not sure why it's the title of this story. It just is.

 __________

A Report

       So, everyone, looks like I'm back at college for the year. I guess that means it's time to report on my summer reading. To my eternal shame, I did not manage to read all of the books on my reading list, despite having a job that just barely qualifies as part-time. I did, however, read most of them, and they will all get read eventually. In fact, I fully expect them all to be read by the beginning of next summer, just in time to start a new reading list. And I did read many many books that weren't on the list, so that should count for something, right?
       Also I wanted to tell you that I am working on a story, and you should have it at least by the beginning of next week. So don't despair. However, if, in the coming two semesters, a week has passed without a blog post, please forgive me. It probably means I procrastinated an important paper; I trust you can sympathize.     

The Ocean

I didn't say so last post, but I feel really, really bad about neglecting this blog so long, especially when I don't even have the excuse of busyness. So to make up for it, I give you two posts in one day. AND, as further apology, I will try very hard to get you a story by next week. That's how sorry I am.



The ocean has always frightened me a little.
Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to it -
a love affair that's less than unrequited,
a fascination I can't quite explain.

Perhaps because it's so mysterious,
unknown, so deep and strange and unexplored.
We know it's very beautiful, a world
as full of life as ours, but we know too
that deeper down is  only terrible darkness.

So powerful, the waves, the tides - a force
unstoppable, inexorable, immense.
The sea is merciless, it's true, and yet
so filled with lovely secrets whispered soft
and only fuzzily caught in shell-like ears.

I splash at the edge, in fun, maybe imagine
a life beneath the water's glittering face,
look longingly out to sea and the setting sun,
and tell myself I'm not afraid at all.

But if I were someday to take the plunge, I would
calm my racing heart, look up, and smile,
open my eyes, and dive.