On Friday, Andy and I went on a last-minute road-trip to see one of my favorite bands in concert. It was my third time seeing them, but it's a different experience all the time-- Cloud Cult (the band) is a wonderful group of performers. It blows me away every time. I've been listening to one of their older albums a lot lately; it's called The Meaning of 8, and I would definitely recommend it. This is one of my very favorite songs right now. It kind of describes some of my feelings of late.
I was sleeping in the lilies--
or was I up all night?
These days, it's hard to tell what's half-asleep
from fully alive.
And oh, God, it's beautiful--
insatiable--
the way our chemicals collide.
Oh, God, it's unforgettable--
unpredictable--
the way our chemicals collide.
I very well might be in love. I will admit that here, first.
Incidentally, Andy is my former penpal (for those keeping score at home) with whom I thought I had no chance. I have never been so happy to be proven wrong.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
A Prayer
In other news-- and news there is aplenty, but we'll get the good stuff first-- I may have a new favorite poem. It feels like the distillation of every circular (or spherical) thought process that I have been going through recently.
A Prayer
Whatever happens. Whatever
What is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
--Galway Kinnell.
Correspondences:
So I have been a terrible blog-mama of late. This poor critter is damn near abandoned, but the best explanation I could offer would take weeks at least.
Instead, I will offer this letter that I wrote tonight, as an explanation to one of my dear friends why I have not been around:
(Names and details included; you have been warned).
Instead, I will offer this letter that I wrote tonight, as an explanation to one of my dear friends why I have not been around:
(Names and details included; you have been warned).
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Green leaves
Yesterday was an absolutely tremendous day-- singularly spectacular, I've been saying. Everything was beautiful (and nothing hurt). Work was enjoyable, and my co-workers were great; the seven hours passed faster than I could believe.
Our performance went far better than I had expected, too, and that was a wonderful feeling! Our producer, a well-known theater alum and accomplished actor & director, told me he was impressed at the performance, that he really enjoyed it. He went on to say, "You have a wonderful calm about you onstage. It's very comforting. Something that can't be taught." It meant so much to me to hear that, especially from him. I feel like a lot of this play has been me working on my own, because our director (bless her) is absolutely terrible at constructive criticism-- which is to say, she doesn't really believe in it. She would rather insult and mock and make you change your performance by shame than she would support and suggest... with me being who I am, that has really been weighing on me, and I have felt incompetent and untalented. Last night helped, though, and I think these other performances will be great.
I had the first of my mid-terms today, and although I was worried and resigned to failing, I think I actually did pretty well. I know I made up a couple things on the short-answer identifications (this is for Medieval Scandinavia-- The Viking Age, essentially) but I based them in historical fact. So! I also rocked the face right off both the short essays contextual identifications, and plan to do the same to the take-home essay. Raid and pillage, yo.
In other happy news, I discovered that Poets.org (my favorite poetry reference site, and incidentally the home of a wonderful poetry organization) has archives of their "poem-a-day" selections from past years. I found this one while browsing; I haven't read much Coleridge, but I got some joy from this:
Answer to a Child's Question
Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving—all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he—
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"
Furthermore, the poem for today was one by Sara Teasdale, who I haven't read in years. She was my favorite through middle-school for her accessible verse style and reasonably simple-- though poetic-- subjects. This is one that I haven't read-- or, at least, don't remember.
Barter
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And childrens's faces looking up
Holding wonder in a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstacy
Give all you have been, or could be.
I think that's all for now. I have been trying to recover my poetry-loving self, because for the first time in nearly a year, I have someone with whom I can speak intelligibly on the subject! It makes me so happy... even yesterday, I asked one of the English teachers (!) at my old high school (where I work now) if he'd ever read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (one of my favorites). He said he hadn't, because he didn't like love poems. THE TRAVESTY!
In any case, I must run and catch a bus. Until later!
Our performance went far better than I had expected, too, and that was a wonderful feeling! Our producer, a well-known theater alum and accomplished actor & director, told me he was impressed at the performance, that he really enjoyed it. He went on to say, "You have a wonderful calm about you onstage. It's very comforting. Something that can't be taught." It meant so much to me to hear that, especially from him. I feel like a lot of this play has been me working on my own, because our director (bless her) is absolutely terrible at constructive criticism-- which is to say, she doesn't really believe in it. She would rather insult and mock and make you change your performance by shame than she would support and suggest... with me being who I am, that has really been weighing on me, and I have felt incompetent and untalented. Last night helped, though, and I think these other performances will be great.
I had the first of my mid-terms today, and although I was worried and resigned to failing, I think I actually did pretty well. I know I made up a couple things on the short-answer identifications (this is for Medieval Scandinavia-- The Viking Age, essentially) but I based them in historical fact. So! I also rocked the face right off both the short essays contextual identifications, and plan to do the same to the take-home essay. Raid and pillage, yo.
In other happy news, I discovered that Poets.org (my favorite poetry reference site, and incidentally the home of a wonderful poetry organization) has archives of their "poem-a-day" selections from past years. I found this one while browsing; I haven't read much Coleridge, but I got some joy from this:
Answer to a Child's Question
Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving—all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he—
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"
Furthermore, the poem for today was one by Sara Teasdale, who I haven't read in years. She was my favorite through middle-school for her accessible verse style and reasonably simple-- though poetic-- subjects. This is one that I haven't read-- or, at least, don't remember.
Barter
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And childrens's faces looking up
Holding wonder in a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstacy
Give all you have been, or could be.
I think that's all for now. I have been trying to recover my poetry-loving self, because for the first time in nearly a year, I have someone with whom I can speak intelligibly on the subject! It makes me so happy... even yesterday, I asked one of the English teachers (!) at my old high school (where I work now) if he'd ever read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (one of my favorites). He said he hadn't, because he didn't like love poems. THE TRAVESTY!
In any case, I must run and catch a bus. Until later!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Won over
I thought today was awesome before, but... For the first time in my life, I've won something! Today is not just great, it is a day that shall be remembered forever in the annals of giddy histrionics!
Really, though, I am so excited and so proud to be the recipient of Scotland for the Senses' tartan scarf giveaway! The day it arrives is officially designated for PHOTO OPPORTUNITIES. In the meantime, here is a wonderful poem by Sir Walter Scott, called MacGregor's Gathering. Needless to say, it occupies a special place in my heart, nestled down amongst the thistle.
MacGregor's Gathering
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!
Gather, gather, gather.
Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful halloo.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Gregalach!
Halloo, halloo, halloo.
Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Kilchurn and her towers,
Glen Strae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours,
We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach!
Landless, landless, landless.
But doomed and deserted by vassal and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword.
Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach!
Courage, courage, courage.
If they rob us of name and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh to the eagles!
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalach!
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance.
While there's leaves in the forest and foam on the river,
MacGregor despite them shall flourish forever.
Come then, Gregalach! Come then, Gregalach!
Come then, come then, come then.
Though the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Gregalach!
Halloo, halloo, halloo.
Here's more information about the MacGregor clan history. :] If you're reading this, I hope your day is as blessed as mine has been! Journals to come later.
Really, though, I am so excited and so proud to be the recipient of Scotland for the Senses' tartan scarf giveaway! The day it arrives is officially designated for PHOTO OPPORTUNITIES. In the meantime, here is a wonderful poem by Sir Walter Scott, called MacGregor's Gathering. Needless to say, it occupies a special place in my heart, nestled down amongst the thistle.
MacGregor's Gathering
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!
Gather, gather, gather.
Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful halloo.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Gregalach!
Halloo, halloo, halloo.
Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Kilchurn and her towers,
Glen Strae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours,
We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach!
Landless, landless, landless.
But doomed and deserted by vassal and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword.
Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach!
Courage, courage, courage.
If they rob us of name and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh to the eagles!
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalach!
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance.
While there's leaves in the forest and foam on the river,
MacGregor despite them shall flourish forever.
Come then, Gregalach! Come then, Gregalach!
Come then, come then, come then.
Though the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Gregalach!
Halloo, halloo, halloo.
Here's more information about the MacGregor clan history. :] If you're reading this, I hope your day is as blessed as mine has been! Journals to come later.
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