I might as well admit...

I used to poke horrible fun at people who blog. It seemed like the most ridiculous, impersonal, over rated cry for attention. At the beginning of the semester I felt horrified and slightly embarrassed at the mere notion of placing something in public where others can freely criticize (I've had horrible experiences witnessing the next generation's online opinions). I would have rather run nude through the streets of Cambridge. After several weeks I have found blogging an excellent way to share and receive ideas, knowledge. It's a way to share information on a tricky topic, or post/read examples of a difficult pattern. Also, blogging gives us an opportunity to get to know each other as individuals and not just text on a page. Even though we can't get to know every poet's work we'll ever read, knowing each other on a personal level helps us help each other portray a desired effect. Then the awakening occurred: my favorite source of information in the equine industry, Fugly Horse of the Day, is a blog. A very popular, very funny, very aggressive blog. It really is funny how most of the things we dislike (people, places, and things, but mostly people) usually end up becoming an extremely valuable, irreplaceable resource.

Curious, as Always

Today in class it seemed impossible for several people to come to the same conclusion with the same preference on any particular piece. It amazes me how differently people perceive what they hear. Are such preferences (content, repetition, alliteration, consonance, rhyme, etc.) cultural or genetic? Do people enjoy certain poems or songs because of an internal processing system, or because they became accustomed to a particular rhythm? Do the same people who dislike music dislike poetry? Or do they only appreciate certain types of poetry? Even within the styles, do you think people who are visual learners align with and value more colorful, descriptive pieces? Obviously not everyone who dislikes poetry dislikes music, but I wonder if somehow, on any level, the two have a connection. Also, do any of you think it is possible, to an extent, that maybe some of us dislike seeing elements in other people's poetry because we cannot make them "work" in our own? Even beyond poetry, (at the risk of sounding like a therapist) maybe we disapprove of certain elements in other people's writing because we were chastised for making a similar attempt.

Possible Anaphora?

The Cure-Love Song

Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am young again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am fun again

However far away I will always love you
However long I stay I will always love you
Whatever words I say I will always love you
I will always love you

Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am free again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am clean again

However far away I will always love you
However long I stay I will always love you
Whatever words I say I will always love you
I will always love you

Technically, due to the consistent line repetition, is this an anaphora? Regardless, poetry, throughout my past and currently, inspires me. I enjoy patterns and receive a great sense of accomplishment when I discover not only a previously unknown (to me) pattern, but a symbol, or even a repeating concept. Although I possess no musical talent, often I hope to write a series of words worthy to be put to music. In each class, when studying a new form, I hope to discover the secret form to create the perfect song. Upon further observation I realize no secret exists. There is no formula, and no particular reason why one form proves better suited for a song than another. Songs reveal themselves in couplets, tercets, quatrains, and every combination. The rhyme schemes are numerous, sometimes obvious, and are equally not present at all. They range from free forms to, possibly, an anaphora. And while I feel as though I should feel disappointed, I am elated; you should be too. Brilliance, although often momentary, comes in every shape and style imaginable. Some of these styles don't even exist yet! We have endless opportunities to leave our literary mark, and that mark is often permanent.

Aubade

The Cure-Just like Heaven

"Show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream" she said
"The one that makes me laugh" she said
And threw her arms around my neck
"Show me how you do it
And I promise you I promise that
I'll run away with you
I'll run away with you"

Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed her face and kissed her head
And dreamed of all the different ways I had
To make her glow
"Why are you so far away?" she said
"Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you
That I'm in love with you"

You
Soft and only
You
Lost and lonely
You
Strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream

Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe her name
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved
And drowned her deep inside of me

You
Soft and only
You
Lost and lonely
You
Just like heaven

This song contains all the major elements of an aubade. A dialogue persists between the lovers, one of them knows they will part, and in the end they are separated. I particularly enjoy the language because of the way the each person's speech is distinct from the other. Also, the description of the waking deeply moves me due to the image of a man who wakes, as if from a coma, and reaches for his lover who left and not to return. The lines "Alone above a raging sea/That stole the only girl I loved/And drowned her deep inside of me" breaks my heart. I am in love with the language and complexity of envisioning someone drowning inside of another. The multiple readings of that metaphor create an interest I often find myself lacking when becoming involved with other literary works.

Ode to a Worm on a Sidewalk

Oh! How I pity your tender rosy body;
Laid to rest on harsh ground by careless waters.
Those giant beasts who pass you by
Pay no respect to your lifeless form.

Forced unto your Maker by harsh sun rays,
You writhe in pain until darkness comes-
Reminding you of your home,
Your birth.

The place you were ripped from
Before your time
Like a premature infant,
With little chance at survival.

That is the place you shall return to,
Soon, but not soon enough.
Not even I, who pities you stops to return you to your home.
No, it does no good.

Your home washed away-
Leaving you to an unfamiliar grave.

I apologize, and am a little embarrassed, but this idea sticks to me every time it rains. I feel horrible for these little critters. They are small, extremely sensitive, and I feel a tiny sense of guilt every time I step on one of them. Also, any suggestions on how to improve this piece? And I apologize if this topic has already "been done" so to speak.

Dictionary

Very often I ponder how it would feel to read and retain all the information in the dictionary. Although it sounds strange, I cannot imagine what one would do with that type of knowledge. But it still skimps across my mind. Being the showoff I am, I'd probably go around using large unfamiliar words correctly and within complicated sentences. At one point in my life I knew a girl who did this. She stayed much more modest with her skill than I ever could. Now a new question emerges. The only dictionary in my parents' house released from publication in 1975 or 1977. Do you have any idea how language transformed in the last thirty years? If you've survived this planet for more than fifteen years, I possess no doubt you noticed the change in the appropriate context for many words. When my parents reached the age I currently reside, "ain't" could not be found within the dictionary. However, it is still considered an informal word of certain dialects. As I check the word count using the Microsoft program, I realize "ain't" ain't even considered correct there, at least not yet. Regardless, it made its way into the dictionary. Things of this nature make me wonder what it would be like to have all those words at my disposal. At the rate language evolves this could turn into a particularly expensive hobby. I may need to purchase a new dictionary twice a year. And here comes another thought: How many words have been discarded? And what did they mean?

Poetry to Me

Horseback riding, in America, developed into two major disciplines, English and Western. Within each of these categories lays numerous, more specific categories. English, to name a few, hosts: hunter/jumper, dressage, park, saddle seat, etc. The same concept applies to Western which hosts: roping, reining, pleasure, trail, stock seat, barrel racing, pole bending, etc. I find this concept applies to poetry. To accomplish a certain effect, one uses a couplet, tercet, or even a combination of stanzas. Even within the Sonnet, there are two main types. A solid foundation remains the leading cause of success. As aspiring writers, it is essential that we learn and practice the rules before trying to manipulate or disregard them. No one gets on a horse for the first time and jumps six feet in good form just like no one writes a perfect pantoum their first time. On that same note, once the rules and foundations are established, a certain amount of liberty may be extracted. I've run barrels in a hunt seat saddle, and I've jumped in a trail saddle. I recommend neither. In both arts, a very select few people are blessed with a shred of natural talent. It happens, it's rare, it's nothing to fret over. People who spend thirty years in the saddle have accidents the same way authors who write their whole lives still find themselves overwhelmed with writers' block. At the end of the day we're looking at two beautiful, remarkable arts. This is how I make poetry make sense to me.