Yay National Poetry Month
It is April, which means it is National Poetry Month. I shall try to post a poem or two a day, b/c I do sort of love poetry. Let's start off with two of my favorites: Langston Huges and Edgar Allan Poe
Theme For English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me---who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white---
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me---
although you're older---and white---
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
-Langston Hughes
A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allan Poe
In other news:
We had sunshine today! Omg, yay! However, it was first of the month, and a Thursday, so life is kind of hell-ish. Also, not feeling the best right now, but, you know, same shit, different day.
I've decided to go to MFA on Saturday, as I want to see the Secrets of Tomb 10A exhibit. This weekend seems like a good idea since most people will probably be hitting up Anime Boston, going home for the Easter Weekend, or going towards Fenway since opening day is on Sunday. I am tempted to walk by the area on Sunday afternoon just to see the hysteria.
I've also just finished watching Generation Kill and now feel like I need to go back and re-watch the whole thing.
Currently reading Helmet for My Pillow: From Parris Island to the Pacific by Robert Leckie. It's one of the memoirs from which HBO's The Pacific is based. It's an interesting read so far, and considering the fact it was originally published in the 1950s, it's a fine example in just how far America has dumbed-down its reading levels over the years. There are words and phrases that would make an SAT test-maker proud, but would drive a post-modern writer insane.
So, why for the love of, well, god, have we not had the obvious skeeball reference from Dogma? It's so obvious, and, okay, maybe copyright issues too, but yeah... I know I've said it for pretty much every episode this season, but really, they're just going there with the whole "on earth, no one knows where, blah blah blah">
And hey, I kind of think Joshua may be God, maybe? I don't know, it's SPN, things can get twisted.
Also, ASH!
Theme For English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me---who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white---
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me---
although you're older---and white---
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
-Langston Hughes
A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allan Poe
In other news:
We had sunshine today! Omg, yay! However, it was first of the month, and a Thursday, so life is kind of hell-ish. Also, not feeling the best right now, but, you know, same shit, different day.
I've decided to go to MFA on Saturday, as I want to see the Secrets of Tomb 10A exhibit. This weekend seems like a good idea since most people will probably be hitting up Anime Boston, going home for the Easter Weekend, or going towards Fenway since opening day is on Sunday. I am tempted to walk by the area on Sunday afternoon just to see the hysteria.
I've also just finished watching Generation Kill and now feel like I need to go back and re-watch the whole thing.
Currently reading Helmet for My Pillow: From Parris Island to the Pacific by Robert Leckie. It's one of the memoirs from which HBO's The Pacific is based. It's an interesting read so far, and considering the fact it was originally published in the 1950s, it's a fine example in just how far America has dumbed-down its reading levels over the years. There are words and phrases that would make an SAT test-maker proud, but would drive a post-modern writer insane.
So, why for the love of, well, god, have we not had the obvious skeeball reference from Dogma? It's so obvious, and, okay, maybe copyright issues too, but yeah... I know I've said it for pretty much every episode this season, but really, they're just going there with the whole "on earth, no one knows where, blah blah blah">
And hey, I kind of think Joshua may be God, maybe? I don't know, it's SPN, things can get twisted.
Also, ASH!