The Future

For some odd reason, since elementary school and on into college, I've had several teachers giving me encouraging remarks towards becoming a writer. This is something that I've considered several times, however I'm not sure if it is something that will ever happen. When I was in middle school I wanted to write children's books, but as an adult I've kind of lost sight of that. I started writing an untitled project a few years back that is not entirely a memoir, but the idea is based on a true story from my past. It deals with a girl who is sexually abused as a child and how it effects her in her later life. Will I ever finish it or will it ever go anywhere other than my hard drive? Who's to say. I've looked at it from time to time, but I've failed at continuing ideas for it many, many times.

Ideally, one of my "dream" jobs was to work in journalism, but I'd want to work within music or fashion at some kind of magazine. These jobs are hard to attain, but maybe it's the imagery of it all that I really like. Again, who knows?

Time will tell and the future will prove my destined path.

Post Secret

I found it amusing that we viewed the Post Secret website in class today. I found this even more amusing because my friends and I have been avid Post Secret readers for quite some time now. The brother of a close friend of mine is actually in one of the books (in a secret that portrays his 2nd grade class picture and how the girl has been in love with him her whole life, creepy). Since Post Secret began there have been several variations to this idea within almost any fandom. On the blogging website LiveJournal.com there are communities for secrets, such as those on Post Secret, in the form of LJSecrets and then through different fandoms (different types of secret communities for bands, movies, etc).

The concept is not a new idea for me, but it's still one that I find to be interesting. It's the chance for some people to get ideas out of their mind and into the world without having to publicly acknowledge them as there own. Standing up and admitting to something is not always the easiest thing to do and, I believe, more times than not people are often crippled by the idea of saying how they honestly feel or what they believe in. At some point in the history of humanity, probably around the moment that judgment came into play, people began to feel embarrassed or ashamed for their honesty. I am no one to be on a soap box, because even I fall victim to this at times. I am not really a fan of secrets in the literal meaning of the word. I really don't have a problem admitting to something if asked or put in the situation where something needs to be admitted. It happens to everyone at some point in time, but I'm perfectly fine with that.

Killing Yourself To Live

When I initially found out that I had to read a book by the name of “Killing Yourself To Live” I was immediately intrigued and flocked to the nearest internet search engine to get down to business. I wanted to know what this book was all about and why it carried a name of such strongly suggested character. It took all of three sentences into a general description of the book for me to realize that I knew I would love reading it and more so, I knew this was a book that my best friend would love to read as well (if she hadn't already read it, which she had).

To be quite honest, I didn't care that this man was driving across the country to view places of famous celebrities deaths, that wasn't my attraction to it. Okay, there was a little bit of attraction there, but my fascination with music and the desire to know as much of it's context as possible was irrelevant in comparison to the actual story I was seeking within the books pages. What really attracted me to this story was the complexity of the way this man's mind worked naturally, how he was often oblivious to it at times, yet so perfectly in sync with his irrationalities that it seemed inspiring. Before even reading the book I read excerpts and discussed it with my best friend, who quickly told me it would either make me fall in love with this man or reevaluate the people I associate with. (Oddly enough, it did a little of both)

The strengths and weaknesses of this book are going to be very dependent on the reader. From a personal standpoint, I didn't find any weakness. The only weakness lies within himself and the disaster that he is as a person, but he knows that he's a little ridiculous and that's part of why I find his story intriguing at all. The beauty of Chuck Klosterman, from my standpoint, is that he's relatable and a total smart ass. This might not be appealing to a lot of people, but considering the fact that my own father labeled me a “sassy smart ass” before I even entered kindergarten, this mans meanderings and experiences while frolicking around the country are almost like reading a road journal that I wrote myself (minus the cocaine of course).

Since reading this book I have recommended it to several people and have even put his other books on “to get” lists. As I said before in class, his style and thought process almost reminds me of James Frey in a way, but without as much carefully scripted tragedy and self loathing. If an overly opinionated, music loving, confused and awkwardly almost tender hearted (in a way he doesn't seem to place) asshole is the kind of guy you like to hear things from, this is the book to read. If not, there are always selections “written” by Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin to please the people I don't associate myself with, meaning the kind who wouldn't read a book like this in the first place.

In a million meters marveling upwards
Lies a little lazy laughing girl
She sings such silly songs all day
And laughs like lemurs while she plays

She has her brown brown button eyes
And lovely long lustrous blond curls
She's dressed in perfectly petaled pink
That flows and twinkles when she twirls

Pretty perfect Polly doesn't seem so well today
Her heart begins to break when the daytime goes away

Honestly, the inspiration from this poem came from a youtube video a friend had sent me that showed lemurs "laughing." Of course they're not really laughing, but it sounded like it, and to be honest it sounds kind of creepy. Everything about writing poetry was difficult for me. It is not something that I can do within limitations or set to any strict boundaries. It was writing a specific kind where I struggled, however since I chose free verse for this, it was easier.

It seems to me that my list of favorite poets seems to contain those who have long since passed away. I am a sucker for Whitman, a fan of Tennyson, and love Longfellow from childhood thanks to my grandmother reading his poetry to me. "The Children's Hour" is still my favorite poem by Longfellow. I find Longfellow to be a very talented poet so it is him that I am choosing to write about and share with everyone. I had never heard his poem's read aloud by anyone other than my grandmother, so upon searching for audio and the like I was interested to hear how others read his work.

I was kind of surprised by the amount of tragedy that occurred in his own life. He was married twice and lost both of his wives. His first wife died from complications in a miscarriage and the other died from burns in an accidental fire. Longfellow had five children, three daughters and two sons.

A brief biography can be read about him here on poets.org.

Youtube - A Psalm of Life

Youtube - The Children's Hour
This is a poem Longfellow wrote in dedication to his three daughters.

Youtube - Famous Authors Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A silent, educational film about H.W. Longfellow.


The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
  When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
  That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
  The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
  And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
  Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
  And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
  Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
  To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
  A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
  They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
  O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
  They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
  Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
  In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
  Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
  Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
  And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
  In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
  Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
  And moulder in dust away!

Hymn to the Night by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
    Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
    From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
    Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
    As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
    The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
    Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
    My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
    From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
    What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care
    And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
    Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
    The best-beloved Night!

I find that a lot of Longfellow's writing has a sad or haunting undertone, there are several that are written about death (such as "The Cross of Snow" or "Haunted Houses"), but in consideration to the loss of his wives it seems appropriate. "The Children's Hour" still remains my favorite, maybe because it's just the ideas and words from a man who loved his children and looked forward to fond, simple moments together with them. I think that's inspiring, especially in a world when many parents are willing to abandon that time with their children.

To read more works by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, please see the link bellow:
http://www.hwlongfellow.org

Four Freedoms Poem

Right to practice, right to preach,
Right to hope, and right to free
Tear the binds and break the chains
Walk the line that makes us the same

No need for sick, no need for poor
No need for racism, no need for war
Stand up and let your voice be heard
Don't turn your back on the suffering strange

As a nation, as a world
As a boy or as a girl
If you want to see a change
Then you have to start within
If you want to face the strain
Then you never can give in

You have to be the change.

The poem that I wrote relates to President Roosevelt's speech on the “Four Freedoms” in that it's addressing the problems that the world is still facing this very moment. Sure, these “freedoms” are our human rights, but there isn't a place in the world where all of it exists. So many individuals are far too selfish to see outside their lines and extend their hand. People are willing to say “peace” or “stop world hunger,” but yet they do nothing to aid it. It's almost as if it's become a trend, similar to buying items that say “go green!” yet the item itself is just a marketing ploy. I believe that to create change, you must start change, and that change comes from within. I am far from an exemplary individual, but I still try. If we want these four freedoms to exist, we have to start by making the change in ourselves and spreading that message.

Miracles by Walt Whitman

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
     with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
     and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

This particular poem stands out to me, I think, simply because I am a fan of Walt Whitman's writing. Back when I was a freshman in high school my father gave me a copy of Whitman's book Leaves of Grass. Because I didn't see my father often, and because he had given it to me, it became an instant favorite. This particular poem for me seems to discuss the beauty and miraculous events and occurrences that happen in everyday life that we often take for granted or don't even notice. We're often consumed and busy with our own lives that we forget to watch what nature is doing around us, clearly this is the case or global warming wouldn't have reached the severity that it is today. I actually believe that selfishness is a part of human nature, maybe the instinct to look out for yourself, but in much of the western world self obsession is often front and center. As I read this poem I felt as though Whitman was saying "stop, look around you, because what is happening on it's own, every minute and second of the day, is a miracle in itself."

Other poems I chose were:
Tears, Idle Tears by Lord Alfred Tennyson
The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Good-Morrow by John Donne