Book survey
Since our English teacher gave us the day off after collecting Essay #2, I decided to go home and kill time with this book survey. I started this last Tuesday morning, I only finished now. Har har.
1. Total Number of Books I own:
I'd say around 30 to 40. I can't really tell because I still left a shitload of books, most of which are poetry and short story collections, back home in Manila. I have six over here in LA, again most of them are poetry anthologies and one is Plutonian Odes by Allen Ginsberg. Very good read, I tell you.
2. Last Book I bought:
The Best of the Best American Poetry 1988-1997. I found this gem for $2 at a thrift store in Sun Valley while my friend Tompee was digging for vinyl records. It contains another awesome yet witty Ginsberg work, "Salutations to Fernando Pessoa".
3. Last Book I read:
Willa Cather's O Pioneers!, as a requirement for English class. It was written back in an era where language had to be glorified, dignified and elegant (1913). "Fortunate country, that is one day to receive hearts like Alexandra's into its bosom, to give them out again in the yellow wheat, in the rustling corn, in the shining eyes of youth!", she writes. It is a pretty good work of art, but I feel that the language of the street corners and gutters in big cities speak to me more clearly.
4. Five Books that mean a lot to me:
1. High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. You just have to love Hornby's dry wit in this one. Channeling Rob Fleming's (Rob Gordon in the film) relationship woes together with his awesome taste in music is one of the smartest concepts I've ever read. The film is equally good as well because John Cusack hit the role right on target. Definitely recommended for audiophiles and lovers of great, genuine music.
2. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. The official bible of angst, as told by the gospel of Holden Caulfield. This is one of my favorites from way back in senior year of high school. Reading the book from end to end just gives you a feeling of bittersweet catharsis, especially the penultimate part when Holden is watching his kid sister Phoebe ride the carousel and "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" plays in the background. It is the only point in the novel where he feels GENUINELY happy that he is moved to tears. We all can relate to Holden in some way and in some point in our lives. It's true.
3. "Long Walk To Forever" by Kurt Vonnegut. It's not really a book, but a short story from his collection Welcome to the Monkey House. For me, the quintessential love story. This is how romance fiction must be done: indirect, symbolic, and REAL. Again, any hopeless romantic can relate to Newt and Catherine. This story has been immortalized in several poems I've read, and I actually borrowed from the line "One foot in front of the other, through leaves, over bridges" in one of the writings I did about Manila in the 70s. I could say that work was a poem but then again the omniscient critics would be breathing down my neck in seconds. Could've made Miss A read this story had fate been good to me.
4. Shadowboxing in Headphones by Lourd de Veyra. I read the whole thing once, and I rest my case that it's one of the best Pinoy poetry collections I've read, after that one read. A few Formalist proponents panned the book obviously because of its renegade images. But I loved it basically because every single line had impact. In "City of Drawers" he writes:
i am a city.
i am filthy. i radiate the most violent stench.
no, i am a drawer.
pull out my emotions anytime.
i am a city.
i am swallowed by my own luminescence.
i am a drawer.
i hide my truths.
i mask my own shadows.
i am a city.
i am a drawer.
i am a human being.
Again, it's not about the fruitiness of language. It's more on the timing of placing images where they belong. This one has perfect timing, perfect placement. I borrowed this from the lib when I was in senior year, and I'd love to get myself a copy again. Lourd de Veyra is one of my main influences when it comes to poetry and commercial suicide.
5. On The Road by Jack Kerouac. The icon of the Beat generation, and the quintessential example of travel fiction. I wish all travel fiction books were written this way. Kerouac writes in the near beginning, "But when they danced down the streets like dingledoodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the people exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!". It's one of my favorite parts in the novel.
I tag: anyone who wants to answer!
1. Total Number of Books I own:
I'd say around 30 to 40. I can't really tell because I still left a shitload of books, most of which are poetry and short story collections, back home in Manila. I have six over here in LA, again most of them are poetry anthologies and one is Plutonian Odes by Allen Ginsberg. Very good read, I tell you.
2. Last Book I bought:
The Best of the Best American Poetry 1988-1997. I found this gem for $2 at a thrift store in Sun Valley while my friend Tompee was digging for vinyl records. It contains another awesome yet witty Ginsberg work, "Salutations to Fernando Pessoa".
3. Last Book I read:
Willa Cather's O Pioneers!, as a requirement for English class. It was written back in an era where language had to be glorified, dignified and elegant (1913). "Fortunate country, that is one day to receive hearts like Alexandra's into its bosom, to give them out again in the yellow wheat, in the rustling corn, in the shining eyes of youth!", she writes. It is a pretty good work of art, but I feel that the language of the street corners and gutters in big cities speak to me more clearly.
4. Five Books that mean a lot to me:
1. High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. You just have to love Hornby's dry wit in this one. Channeling Rob Fleming's (Rob Gordon in the film) relationship woes together with his awesome taste in music is one of the smartest concepts I've ever read. The film is equally good as well because John Cusack hit the role right on target. Definitely recommended for audiophiles and lovers of great, genuine music.
2. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. The official bible of angst, as told by the gospel of Holden Caulfield. This is one of my favorites from way back in senior year of high school. Reading the book from end to end just gives you a feeling of bittersweet catharsis, especially the penultimate part when Holden is watching his kid sister Phoebe ride the carousel and "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" plays in the background. It is the only point in the novel where he feels GENUINELY happy that he is moved to tears. We all can relate to Holden in some way and in some point in our lives. It's true.
3. "Long Walk To Forever" by Kurt Vonnegut. It's not really a book, but a short story from his collection Welcome to the Monkey House. For me, the quintessential love story. This is how romance fiction must be done: indirect, symbolic, and REAL. Again, any hopeless romantic can relate to Newt and Catherine. This story has been immortalized in several poems I've read, and I actually borrowed from the line "One foot in front of the other, through leaves, over bridges" in one of the writings I did about Manila in the 70s. I could say that work was a poem but then again the omniscient critics would be breathing down my neck in seconds. Could've made Miss A read this story had fate been good to me.
4. Shadowboxing in Headphones by Lourd de Veyra. I read the whole thing once, and I rest my case that it's one of the best Pinoy poetry collections I've read, after that one read. A few Formalist proponents panned the book obviously because of its renegade images. But I loved it basically because every single line had impact. In "City of Drawers" he writes:
i am a city.
i am filthy. i radiate the most violent stench.
no, i am a drawer.
pull out my emotions anytime.
i am a city.
i am swallowed by my own luminescence.
i am a drawer.
i hide my truths.
i mask my own shadows.
i am a city.
i am a drawer.
i am a human being.
Again, it's not about the fruitiness of language. It's more on the timing of placing images where they belong. This one has perfect timing, perfect placement. I borrowed this from the lib when I was in senior year, and I'd love to get myself a copy again. Lourd de Veyra is one of my main influences when it comes to poetry and commercial suicide.
5. On The Road by Jack Kerouac. The icon of the Beat generation, and the quintessential example of travel fiction. I wish all travel fiction books were written this way. Kerouac writes in the near beginning, "But when they danced down the streets like dingledoodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the people exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!". It's one of my favorite parts in the novel.
I tag: anyone who wants to answer!