titleless
I have been inspired by the recent slew of blog posts to write my own.
I haven't been sleeping well and lately I've been having half-conscious dreams about reading French literary theory and spiders crawling on my face, both leading to sudden fearful awakenings. I go through phases of sleeping so soundly I look forward to bed, and other's that, well, are like I've just described. The benefit of insomnia is I get a lot of thinking done; however, I forget it all by morning. This fits in perfectly with the persistent moon motif in poetry.
I often think about poetry when I'm trying to will myself to sleep at 2:00am in the morning. I'll compose these fabulous lines in my head, or at least they look fabulous to my mind's eye, and then consequently forget most of them and am left with fragments by morning. The poetry I write during the waking hours seems to go through phases like my sleeping patterns, no apparent correlation. Only my poetry , in a sense, matures. I've restricted myself to writing in meter, which is the best thing I could have done for myself. I look at my "free verse" poetry and embarrass myself. I've also realized, with helpful criticism from Kurt, that my handling of subject and meaning is too loose, too vague, and too elusive. I'm finding this alteration the hardest to perform, to take an idea and instead of only creeping around its edges and barely touching its surface, to take the whole matter in my hands and knead it into an entirely new form. I'm not sure how well I'm doing this... I'm also working on a few short stories, but until after Spring Break, poetry is my creative focus.
I've also been reading more and more poetry. I'm beginning to appreciate it, understand it, and feel it more than I had previously.
I've picked out my schedule for next semester, my senior year.
Early Shakespeare
English Drama to 1640
Seminar on Hemingway
Classical Greek Prose
maybe Interpersonal Communication
This will be my last fall semester in college. That's frightening.
I've found that nothing makes a day better than simply being joyful. Realizing I've been given so much and that nothing can happen to take away what I have is emotionally invigorating. This is not to say I'm always happy, but I try always to maintain a level sense of contentedness, not necessarily with myself but with my context.
I haven't been sleeping well and lately I've been having half-conscious dreams about reading French literary theory and spiders crawling on my face, both leading to sudden fearful awakenings. I go through phases of sleeping so soundly I look forward to bed, and other's that, well, are like I've just described. The benefit of insomnia is I get a lot of thinking done; however, I forget it all by morning. This fits in perfectly with the persistent moon motif in poetry.
I often think about poetry when I'm trying to will myself to sleep at 2:00am in the morning. I'll compose these fabulous lines in my head, or at least they look fabulous to my mind's eye, and then consequently forget most of them and am left with fragments by morning. The poetry I write during the waking hours seems to go through phases like my sleeping patterns, no apparent correlation. Only my poetry , in a sense, matures. I've restricted myself to writing in meter, which is the best thing I could have done for myself. I look at my "free verse" poetry and embarrass myself. I've also realized, with helpful criticism from Kurt, that my handling of subject and meaning is too loose, too vague, and too elusive. I'm finding this alteration the hardest to perform, to take an idea and instead of only creeping around its edges and barely touching its surface, to take the whole matter in my hands and knead it into an entirely new form. I'm not sure how well I'm doing this... I'm also working on a few short stories, but until after Spring Break, poetry is my creative focus.
I've also been reading more and more poetry. I'm beginning to appreciate it, understand it, and feel it more than I had previously.
I've picked out my schedule for next semester, my senior year.
Early Shakespeare
English Drama to 1640
Seminar on Hemingway
Classical Greek Prose
maybe Interpersonal Communication
This will be my last fall semester in college. That's frightening.
I've found that nothing makes a day better than simply being joyful. Realizing I've been given so much and that nothing can happen to take away what I have is emotionally invigorating. This is not to say I'm always happy, but I try always to maintain a level sense of contentedness, not necessarily with myself but with my context.