fluorescent lights shine
bringing everlasting day
fake sun, false light, lies.

a young smiling face
souring at the leaving
no toy horse today.

bells jingle nonstop
asking for any spare change
sir, donation please?

1. Bob Dylan

Way back when I was but a budding teenager, my youth pastor at the time introduced me to the music of Bob Dylan. It was whiny and nasally and weird and I hated it. But he kept playing it, much to our chagrin. In particular, he kept playing “Highway 61 Revisited.” The lyrics were bizarre, but after listening to the song 15 times in a row, it began to grow on me. I had to have more! So I started listening, and as I grew older, the songs became that much more amazing. The lyricism of Dylan is just incredible. And when you think about how much he wrote, the mind just boggles.

2. The Green Lantern

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of the Green Lantern. A superhero limited only by willpower and imagination? That’s amazing. It’s who I want to be. And while it’s a bit melodramatic, his mantra inspires me every time I see it.

“In brightest day, in blackest night, No evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil’s might, Beware my power… Green Lantern’s light!”

3. Jon Stewart

This one is probably the greatest outlier in the series. I really like Jon Stewart, and I think he has a more grounded view of our country and politics than most of the pundits on TV. I would like to think that he gives ideas and issues a fair cop, but I also understand that he has a television show to run. But, all the same, I would rather listen to his views.

4. Peter Griffin

Don’t judge me. You know you have an idiot manchild hiding somewhere in your brain, too. He’s inappropriate, self-centered, and idiotic. But he’s a lot of fun to watch. He’s the monologue that lets you laugh at the world, because if you can’t laugh, then it all gets overbearing.

5. Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman wrote a lot of poetry. Most of it not any good (in my estimation). He also was a man of great self-conviction. He was strong, proud. He knew who he was, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone telling him otherwise. One of my favorite quotes comes from his “Song of Myself.”

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

6. Alton Brown

This man is like some sort of crazy food wizard. He knows all kinds of crazy food lore. He seems to know what every ingredient is, and how those ingredients can go together, no matter what culture the food is coming from. What’s more, he explains all that vast knowledge to the laity like us, and he does so while making it fun and interesting. He’s goofy and that’s just fine, because in the end, he gets results. Forget the Iron Chefs. I want to be a chef like him some day.

Grey

Monochromatic amidst the chiaroscuro haze of time
Memories lost, found, forgotten, repressed, fade into
The background—grey.

Standing wondering staring into nothing,
Stumbling on memories, looking from afar;
The colors faded—grey.

A lifetime of struggle and heartache she’s faced—
Disappointment, pain, sadness, fear—
But none of it mattering now—grey.

Emptiness and loneliness leaving her feeling
Small, helpless, forgotten.
Wanting to fill the void—grey.

Slashing violently through the grey,
Glowing green and growing,
A swathe of color begins to shine

The heartache of the past further obscured,
Further separated, further healed.
Light breaks, contrasts sharpen

She sees herself mirrored,
Magnified, reflected back. All the memories,
All the history, all the haziness of time torn away

The void takes shape; the shape begins to fill,
As her heart is mended, slowly, and as the scabs
Fall away, she looks again—grey.

Grey changing, bubbling, mottled now with
Points of light, bright and clear
Her background begins to disentwine,

And the colors become clear,
Darks and lights, neons and mutes,
What’s clear is it’s no longer—grey.

She is who she is, her past
The palate from which her canvas
Is carefully colored

The streak of green keeps growing,
Glowing verdant against the colors
eschewing from the grey beyond.

Her heart thaws, warms, beats,
A fire, viridescent flame, emerald passion
Envelops her, born for the growing green form

Her prayers answered, no longer alone,
She begins to take heart, she embraces
The virid figure taking shape,

Turning the girl from grey to white—
All color encompassing, infinite possibility—
And the void is filled,

The background vivid and colorful,
Imprinting their hues on the girl,
But she’s encompassed them all,

Not despairing, but sublimating,
Taking advantage of the lessons learned
Looking forward, entwining fingers

With her emerald companion,
The world takes form and color,
And washed away is the—grey.

Knowledge is a burden, Wisdom a curse.
Alone I sit with thy infernal words
In veins you course and havoc wreak, like swords
in diabolic plots, the blades which verse

Destined to be buried in men’s live hearts,
And then, our lives to flotsam changed
Adrift in death’s dark sea. Wisdom imparts
Useless thoughts for our now brackish, estranged,

Encumbered souls. The words Wisdom doth speak
Unto the weary dead do sound as a
Folly. ‘E speaks with words of life which wreak
Havoc to we, the freshly dead. Give way

O Wisdom, leave us now to die in peace
Floating here, we sailors find our release.

In other news, I’ve been working on my application to attend Oxford for the Spring semester of 2009. To be completely frank, the very idea creates in me a giddy anticipation of the adventures (quests?) the trip will hold for me. At the very same time, that idea creates in me a nearly debilitating fear and trepidation that I’m nearly unable to work on the application process at all.

The last time I was considering doing this was just last year. I was thinking about going to Oxford this past fall semester, and following that trip up with a semester in Russia during this semester. I wussed out. As it turned out, though, what with all the crazy stuff that went on with my head, it’s probably a good thing that I didn’t end up going then.

As far as what I’ll do if I get in, I already know because I had to pick classes and things as part of the application process. For those of you who don’t already know, the British do things a bit differently in their university system than we do here in the states. I had to pick a seminar track, and a primary and secondary tutorial. The seminars are like typical lectures, given by a number of different faculty members at Wycliffe Hall. The tutorials are just that: one-on-one meetings with faculty to discuss readings, go over papers, etc. The style is largely self-motivated, because you only meet with your tutor once a week, and you have to make sure to get your assignments done in the meantime.

Looking at all the many different tutorials they offer, I decided on these, under the English Language and Literature seminar track. Primary Tutorial: Linguistic Theory; Secondary Tutorial: Old Norse Literature (which will be entirely in Old Norse, which they’ll teach us how to read); Alternate Primary (in case I can’t get into it): The History and Use of the English Language; Alternate Secondary: Old English Literature (Again, it’ll be in Old English, which they’ll teach us).

Those may or may not sound at all interesting to you all in the vast internets, but I can’t wait. ‘Course I’ve got to get myself accepted first. Wish me luck, and please forgive me if my next post is some ramblings as I try to straighten out my application essay.

Not The Way it Ought to Be

But surely that’s not the norm,
Families taking such vile form,
Sisters at 6 years old to mourn?
Children going to bed with nothing to keep warm?

Surely that’s not the way it ought to be.
There’s a father who promises love unconditionally
Whether or not the dishes are done; see,
For Him, it’s ok just to be.

With all the hate, all rage and pain
With our other Father, we can regain
The life we’ve lost to our parents vain
And selfish with all their arguments inane.

Surely that’s not the way it ought to be.
A family who’s decree
Is pain and sadness confuses me,
I don’t understand how could we
As a people allow such travesty?

No support, no love, living alone
As children, when their parents are grown
Who, in their age, really should have known
A child needs reassurance, just throw them a bone

Surely that’s not how it ought to be.
Mimetic ghosts chasing, the children flee
Lost in their sanguine-filled sea
Surely, that’s not how it ought to be.

If only they knew about God’s love
The father whose mercy rains from above
The one who came down as a dove
And through ultimate sacrifice of

His son, He’s set us free.
Surely that’s the way it ought to be.
Wrapped in a warm blankee,
Ear to ear, smiling in glee

That there’s nothing to fear.
Sons and daughters near
To our Father who’s ear
A prayer never doesn’t hear.

Surely that’s the way it ought to be.
Brothers, sisters, mothers, daughters as holy family.
Surely that’s the way it ought to be.

There were a few times that I didn’t have anything to say, or forgot to post until way late into the night, but you know, these things happen sometimes. I feel accomplished. Each word I type gives me a sense of glee to know that I actually finished something that I started. And I met all sorts of wonderful new people! I hope you all who started hanging around here will continue to do so. I’ll keep reading all of your lovely blogs because I thought they were so good.

Tomorrow is the big Conference day, and when it’s over, I’ll tell you all about what a mess it was putting it together, but for now, I’ve really got to get on this paper that I’m presenting for it tomorrow. I’ve been pouring over this poem for hours on end, and I’m making headway, but it’s fairly slow going. Things are, however, beginning to fall into place mentally, though; I’ve just got to start getting those ideas out of my head, off of my book and notebook, and into a word processor. After that? No sweat. 5-7 pages should just fall right out. I mean, I’ve done more prep work for this paper than I’ve done in a long time.

Also, I’ll post the paper here after a few months if I can’t get any takers for publication. The title is “Counting the Stars: A New Critical approach to Sir Philip Sidney’s Astrophil and Stella Sonnet 5.” If you’re interested, I can send it to you when I finish it, just comment and ask me.

Congratulations everyone for a job well done!

P.S. As a bonus, here’s the poem itself:

It is most true, that eyes are formed to serve
The, inward light; and that the heavenly part
Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve,
Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart.
It is most true, what we call Cupid’s dart,
An image is, which for ourselves we carve;
And, fools, adore in temple of our heart,
Till that good god make Church and churchmen starve.
True, that true beauty virtue is indeed,
Whereof this beauty can be but a shade,
Which elements with mortal mixture breed;
True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made,
And should in soul up to our country move;
True; and yet true, that I must Stella love.

Enjoy!

The text in question is Sir Philip Sidney’s Astrophil and Stella Sonnet #5, and I’ll be presenting a new critical analysis of those 14 lines of poetry. Have a look:

Here’s the text, with some of my annotations. Yes, it’s just the little part, not anything around it.

Next is my trusty Moleskine notebook.

And finally, you can see the two together, to get an idea of what I do with textual analysis.

That’s pretty much it! Go check out my Flickr page to see those pictures and some extra explanation about them.

One more day! Whew! It’s been long, but I’m glad I’ve made it thus far!

This is one of few poems that I didn’t finish in the same sitting in which I started it. At the time, I didn’t know how it would end. Everything was up in the air, transitioning, and I had no idea where I nor anything else would land.

The ending came several months later when I realized that everything was going to work out, and I’d be OK. Here it is:

“Faces in the Crowd”

I try to hide my sorrow, my confusion,
But all I find, all around is frustration.
The music’s faded, subtle persuasion
That maybe, just maybe, there’s culmination.

The days have grown long;
The feeling faded with the song;
Bells banging loudly, I can’t shake the gong.
Falling from whom I thought I belong.

I thought wrong; things went fast.
What did I think? Why should it last?
My betrothed I loved, now in my past.
Trudging my way forward, trumpets do blast

Revily for new morning
The sun on a new day shining
The light, chances blinding
Onward I go, toward goals unyielding.

For every day I’m thankful.
Of days past I’m mindful.
Those…were wonderful;
These…are painful,

But the world moves ever onward.
And me? I’ll keep facing forward,
Not looking forever backward
At loves and thoughts gone skyward.