Poetry Spasm
I was sitting on the couch tonight, reading The Mermaid Chair and obliquely watching the Olympics, avoiding writing because it just seemed like so. much. work. So heavy, so hard. It's been rough, lately. This endless winter. Whine, whine, whine.
And then an iPad commercial came on, and that, of all things, knocked me out of it. Welcome, commercialism. But I'm grateful for it. I'm sitting there, half reading, half letting my mind wander to all the little worries floating around my brain, when I hear familiar words. Have you ever had that feeling, when you hear a phrase you know, a song, a line from a poem, a quote from a movie, and it turns something inside you, something warm, something that says, "here's what's worth it, here's what's true, what's beautiful, what's important." I guess it's joy.
It was a voiceover from Robin Williams' character in Dead Poets Society, quoting Walt Whitman. One of my favorite movies, and one that I used to love showing to my American Literature classes. The Romantics are my absolute favorite, British or American. I'd surround myself in them if I could, smother myself with them and die gladly, quoting poems all day in response to all and any questions --
"What do you want for dinner?"
"For he on honey-dew hath fed,/ And drunk the milk of Paradise!"
"So...nachos?"
OMG "Kubla Khan."
But anyway. Here's the quote:
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, 'O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.' That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
I feel silly. But I also love poetry. Like seriously love it. Poetry as in Whitman and also poetry as in good, beautiful writing, from a movie or not. It's not a part of my life now and that seems like something I should fix. The iPad commercial -- silly -- reminded me of it.
If you're not a poetry fan, here are a couple things you can do to maybe understand the seeming ridiculousness that is this post:
1) Watch Dead Poets' Society
2) Read "The Second Coming" by Yeats out loud. Read it slowly like you're the narrator of a horror movie. It doesn't matter if you don't understand it. That's not the point. Do you have to know all the lyrics of a song or know why the songwriter wrote it to like listening to it?
"WHAT ROUGH BEAST, ITS HOUR COME ROUND AT LAST, / SLOUCHES TOWARDS BETHLEHEM TO BE BORN?????" AHHHHHHH.
3) Speaking of not understanding, go ahead and read "Kubla Khan." Coleridge wrote this one in an opium-induced state (poor Coleridge, but that's another story). It doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to. "Beware! Beware! / His flashing eyes, his floating hair!" WTF, Coleridge? Doesn't matter.
4) Let's get away from the Romantics for a second. Billy Collins, "Flames." Who hasn't felt that righteous rage of, "They'll see! THEY'LL ALL SEE." They will all see. You're only human.
5) And finally, if nothing moves you, try Tom Hiddleston reading "May I Feel Said He." That's all I'll say about that.
I'm not going to apologize for the English-nerd nature of this post. That's pretty much what this blog is. But I am going to tack a Bahamas picture on the end of it so it counts as one of my 365 posts. HA.
A last sunrise...
An Eleutheran security check point.
And then an iPad commercial came on, and that, of all things, knocked me out of it. Welcome, commercialism. But I'm grateful for it. I'm sitting there, half reading, half letting my mind wander to all the little worries floating around my brain, when I hear familiar words. Have you ever had that feeling, when you hear a phrase you know, a song, a line from a poem, a quote from a movie, and it turns something inside you, something warm, something that says, "here's what's worth it, here's what's true, what's beautiful, what's important." I guess it's joy.
It was a voiceover from Robin Williams' character in Dead Poets Society, quoting Walt Whitman. One of my favorite movies, and one that I used to love showing to my American Literature classes. The Romantics are my absolute favorite, British or American. I'd surround myself in them if I could, smother myself with them and die gladly, quoting poems all day in response to all and any questions --
"What do you want for dinner?"
"For he on honey-dew hath fed,/ And drunk the milk of Paradise!"
"So...nachos?"
OMG "Kubla Khan."
But anyway. Here's the quote:
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, 'O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.' That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
I feel silly. But I also love poetry. Like seriously love it. Poetry as in Whitman and also poetry as in good, beautiful writing, from a movie or not. It's not a part of my life now and that seems like something I should fix. The iPad commercial -- silly -- reminded me of it.
If you're not a poetry fan, here are a couple things you can do to maybe understand the seeming ridiculousness that is this post:
1) Watch Dead Poets' Society
2) Read "The Second Coming" by Yeats out loud. Read it slowly like you're the narrator of a horror movie. It doesn't matter if you don't understand it. That's not the point. Do you have to know all the lyrics of a song or know why the songwriter wrote it to like listening to it?
"WHAT ROUGH BEAST, ITS HOUR COME ROUND AT LAST, / SLOUCHES TOWARDS BETHLEHEM TO BE BORN?????" AHHHHHHH.
3) Speaking of not understanding, go ahead and read "Kubla Khan." Coleridge wrote this one in an opium-induced state (poor Coleridge, but that's another story). It doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to. "Beware! Beware! / His flashing eyes, his floating hair!" WTF, Coleridge? Doesn't matter.
4) Let's get away from the Romantics for a second. Billy Collins, "Flames." Who hasn't felt that righteous rage of, "They'll see! THEY'LL ALL SEE." They will all see. You're only human.
5) And finally, if nothing moves you, try Tom Hiddleston reading "May I Feel Said He." That's all I'll say about that.
I'm not going to apologize for the English-nerd nature of this post. That's pretty much what this blog is. But I am going to tack a Bahamas picture on the end of it so it counts as one of my 365 posts. HA.
A last sunrise...
A last Bahamian lunch.
A tiny, unmanned airport gift shop.
An Eleutheran security check point.
A view from the air.
Goodbye, Bahamas. <3