lady gaga

After looking through different blogs this morning, I came across this interesting post and thought I'd share it with you. This person has taken it upon himself to compare Lady Gaga's Bad Romance with Aase Berg's With Deer.

http://stevehalle.blogspot.com/2010/02/aase-bergs-with-deer-and-lady-gagas-bad.html

hodge-podge

your life in park

years spent waiting

to be

the "first true discoverer of a lunar."

"no one likes this story so I'll get to the point"

last time we talked

you asked me

"can we get rid of the magnetic field

and still separate the traffic lanes

for the electrons?"

i didn't answer.

"someone would

have the feeling

something

isn't quite right."

this is your fault

don't blame me

"why are we ashamed when someone hurts us?

because it marks us as valueless."

stop running

and turn,

look at what you're missing.

"however, such an effect is not robust,

as it depends on the matching between

the optical wavelength and the thickness of the coating."

i've been told that when people pursue enough,

they succeed.

"nobody has ever been so happy"

-Louise Lloyd Owen

(pastiche of Kate Greenstreet's "Case Sensitive" and excerpts from Physics Today Magazine)

Call me old fashioned...

Since it's Valentines Day, I thought it would be appropriate to research romantic poets and poems today. I went downstairs to the lower level of the library and found a book called Love Letters of Famous Poets and Novelists. There's a section that features love letters from the romantic poet, John Keats. As soon as I started reading these letters, I began to think about how much things have changed since the 1800's. No one writes love letters anymore. Instead, our society texts, emails or writes comments on Facebook walls which isn't half as romantic as a handwritten letter. What happened to sitting down with a pen in hand, pouring your heart and soul out on a piece of paper? Call me old fashioned, but there's something about a love letter that's much more romantic than a Facebook message.

Love Letters of Keats

To Fanny Brawne

My Dearest Lady,

I am so glad that I had not an opportunity of sending off a letter which I wrote for you on Tuesday night-'twas too much like one out of Rousseau's "Heloise." I am more reasonable this morning. The morning is the only proper time for me to write to a beautiful girl who I love so much: for at night, when the lonely day has closed, and the lonely, silent, unmusical Chamber is waiting to receive me as into a sepulcher, then believe me my passion gets entirely the sway, then I would not have you see those rhapsodies which I once thought it impossible I should ever give way to, and which I have often laughed at in another, for fear you should (think me) either too unhappy or perhaps a little mad....though I could centre my happiness in you, I cannot expect to engross your heart so entirely-indeed if I thought you felt as much for me as I do for you at this moment, I do not think I could restrain myself from seeing you again tomorrow for the delight of one embrace. But no-I must live upon hope and Chance. In case of the worst that can happen, I shall still love you-but what hatred shall I have for another!

Ever yours, my love.

John Keats

no more teasing, i promise.

i have teased my best friend, randy, for years about his semi-dyslexic ways. he'll mix up words in sentences or not be able to read a number without switching two variables. my parents always told me that teasing wasn't right and it would eventually come back to bit me in the butt. well, it has.

when i began to make this blog, i asked him what i should name it. i, myself, spent hours thinking about different fun names, but nothing ever lit that spark. i wanted something quirky and different, without too much meaning. to my surprise, i didn't get one idea. I got ten. each was goofy and quirky, just as i had asked. he had taken words and mixed them up, forgetting about the "normal" structure of them. my favorite? downupside cakes. (he used to call them that as a kid because he couldn't get the words in the right order)

so...as my apology for all those years of teasing (you always put up with it so well) i dedicate this blog post to you. comment all you want, with your fun and quirky phrases.

One of my classes this semester focuses on philosophy of the mind. I've taken several different philosophy classes in the past three years, but this one stands out from the rest. Instead of being the talkative student that I usually am, I find myself often being challenged by the daily topics. Today's topic? Poets & their connection to philosophy of the mind. Finally! I had something that I could talk about. After much discussion, my professor said something that stuck with me.

"Why is poetry good and interesting? What makes a poet good, better than the rest? Good poetry, as well as good poets, have the ability to manipulate words/language unlike anyone else."

pamela anderson, trident gum and venice beach.

On Monday mornings, I come to the library by 9am with an iced vanilla latte in hand. For the first hour, it's normal to see me spending more time on Facebook then studying. I look through pictures from the weekend's events while talking to the people sitting around me. Today is different. I decided to sit alone, with my headphones in so people wouldn't distract me. Why? Well, I have found something that is almost as addicting as Facebook. It's pages are full of both inspiration and honesty. It's small size and intriguing cover artwork draw me in almost immediately.

What is this fantastic piece that I am raving about? Poetry Magazine

I just came across one while looking through the journals upstairs. One of the poems inside caught my eye instantly. Titled, "In the Loop", (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=238616) this poem talks about the Virginia Tech Shootings which took place almost three years ago. The poet, Bob Hicok, is a professor at VT which immediately gives the poem a sense of reality and rawness. The lines say so much about the horrible shootings and the effects they had on the VT community.

To say that this poem didn't inspire me would be a lie. My Professor has said over and over again to write about modern day things and not limit our poetry to the standards subjects of love, loss and pain. At first, the idea of writing about Jersey Shore, the devastation in Haiti or Facebook seemed childish. I've always thought poetry should be about your feelings, without any references to pop culture. This Virginia Tech poem proved me wrong. Hicok took a modern day event and made it personal. My goal? to do the same.

topics I wish to write about in the future: pamela anderson, MTV spring break, mcdonalds, OPI nailpolish, sorority life, grey's anatomy, uggs, starbucks, iphones/blackberry, runway fashion, perez hilton, twitter, jcrew, credit cards, vera bradley, trident gum and venice beach.

Dear Sir Francis Osbert Sacheverell Sitwell,

A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine, Christian Keck, recommended I read your poetry. After studying abroad in Switzerland and finding a book of yours while traveling, he claimed he was an immediate fan. He went on to say that he had read articles about you, claiming you were a aristocratic snob, who looked down on the middle class. He also mentioned that you were from England, which instantly intrigued me as I am half British myself. I instantly logged onto my computer and in less than five minutes, I was full immersed in Wikipedia's version of your biography. I found it fascinating that you went to Lundgrove School then Eton. I found it even more fascinating that you failed the entry exam to Sandhurst...not once, but twice. The biography went on to say that you had written in the Who's Who (annual British publication of biographies of about 30,000 living notable Britons) that you were "educated during the holidays from Eton." I have to admit that I did laugh as that's quite a cheeky statement to say Sir Francis.

After researching you over the course of a few days, I found a quote of yours which seems to be your life's thesis.

"I have always said that if I were a rich man, I would employ a professional praiser."

-Osbert Sitwell

Although Christian and all the online biographies I could find portrayed you as a talented snob, there is something about you that really intrigues me. The way you look down on people may absolutely drive me insane, but your work is something that does deserved to be praised. I haven't finished my research about you Sir Francis, that I can promise you.

Sincerely,

Louise Lloyd Owen

gouda, feta & stinking bishop

In my recent poetry explorations, I've come across some fantastic quotes:

I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
-Carl Sandburg

Who can tell the dancer from the dance?

-William Butler Yeats

The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.

-Gilbert K. Chesterton

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.

-Robert Frost

You can't write poetry on the computer.

-Quentin Tarantino

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
-Robert Frost

"Therefore" is a word the poet must not know.

-Andre Gide

naked baseball

As I start this blog for my Poetry Senior Seminar, I feel quite apprehensive. Poetry is something that both scares and excites me, like the feeling of going on one of the exhilarating rides at Disney. The thought of having an unknown number of random people reading this makes me 10x more nervous than I get when we workshop poems in class. I sit there on my workshop days, waiting for my chance up at the plate. Once it's my turn, I get up to bat, trying to reassure myself that my poem isn't the worst in the class. I swing and miss. They hate the middle stanza's. I'm telling, not showing. I swing again and miss. I didn't let the true character shine within the lines. I swing one last time, making it to first base. They like the last line.

I imagine this blog as the World Series baseball games. Not only are there the people in the stands staring at you, there are millions of others, all across the world, sitting in front of their 40" tv screens, waiting in anticipation for you to step up to bat. I imagine this blog as complete exposure of myself to to the world, like I'm getting up to bat at the World Series game completely naked.

Quite honestly, I never thought I would start a blog. I have made fun of these things for years, claiming that you had no friends to write in one of these. Over the past few days, I've realized that I was more than wrong. After recently researching blogs, I have found some that I've become almost addicted to, going online at different points in the day to check their updates. Some have even made it to the ranks of being bookmarked along with CNN,the College's website and JCrew. I have no idea what it is exactly that makes me keep going back for more but my eyes are instantly drawn in to both the images and text. I hope that someone's eyes are drawn into my blog, although I question if I have anything that interesting to say. I'm going to take my chances though. I'm taking a breath and stepping up to the plate... completely naked.