Each week in 300 words

A Night Without Armor

2005-11-22T17:02:00.001-08:00

To be honest, I'm not really sure how to write a review on a book of poetry, so I hope this is somewhat close.
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I read "A Night Without Armor" by Jewel (the singer chick from Alaska) because I remember being obsessed with her first album way back in middle school and I thought her songs were so poetic. Once I found out she'd written a book of poetry, I wanted to read it, and this provided me with the perfect opportunity.
I won't lie, the majority of her poems had the same feel to it - either depressed, introspective, or lovey. But there was still that movement of words and feelings that just...FELT poetic. After a while, you could tell which words she really loved. Broken, lonely, blood. I started to remember a problem in my stats class that said that the average poem has about 5.2 new words (or something close to that) with a standard deviation 17? I forget. Anyway, I think she's within the stats.
Overall though, at least if you're a woman, there's a great connection that these poems make with the reader. I say "if you're a woman" because I think that men interpret poetry much differently than women so I don't want to assume anything, especially when this poetry is very clearly "feminine." Maybe the connection happens because they're so raw and point out things you didn't even know you had noticed. Like there's this one poem:
I wrote you those nice
poems only because
the honest ones
would frighten you
And it made me think about our own personal censorship, sometimes because we're frightened it'll hurt others, but mostly I think we just don't want people to hate us.
The poems themselves are all free verse, and she tends to have very short lines save for those few poems are are more like prose poetry or are "stories in poem form." The titles are generally either the first line of the poem or the location/time of where she was when she wrote the poem, which can be either creative or lazy, I'm not sure which. All of them are very "in the moment," seeing a woman on the street, or analyzing one singular emotion that occurs right then. It's not particularly unique by any means, but since when does poetry have to be superspecial? Sometimes you need that extra kick of beautiful sadness or overwhelming inner strength.

metacognition

2005-11-15T17:17:00.000-08:00

When I was in 3rd grade we used to do this exercise called "Metacognition" (which she told us meant "thinking about thinking") and we would write whatever came to mind. I loved this activity because even though I think I totally misinterpreted the whole purpose, I got to investigate something else I had a passion for - word association. Most people would just write a story and let it flow or talk about something that happened to them, but I preferred to just list words as they came to mind. I would go from pencils to Jesus to windowblinds in 10 seconds flat. In a way, it also kind of clues us in to how conversations flow and subjects meld together. I love those moments when a conversation has been just fantastic because you keep evolving the topics and it keeps growing and pushing and it's a fascinating and self-propelling dialogue. Before you know it you're thinking "what were we talking about originally? We got completely sidetracked." But I love those moments because it lives the conversation a vitality it wouldn't have had if the topic stayed static. I mean, you can only talk about one particular item for so long.
In honor of 3rd grade, I'm going to take 60 seconds and write whatever word comes to mind. It's likely to be a lot quicker than it was 10+ years ago, primarily because I'll be typing instead of writing with pencil, and I'm not sure the exercise will be able to work because my hands sometimes go faster than my brain (which has been sluggish as of late). But we'll see.

Car, steering wheel, traffic, lights, camera, action, movies, stars, sky, supernova, wxxi programming, tv, commercials, donations, salvation army, giving, season, christmas, tree, fir, josie's tree farm, 62 acres, horses, stable, stella, phi sigma pi, advising, telemarketing, phones, caller id, cell phones, hong kong, justin, clara, yip, dog, kitten, babysitting, money, adolescence.

That was just as fun as I remember it. I strongly advise you try this. It really gives you insight on your own word/topic associations.

Juna's Slam Night

2005-11-05T09:08:00.000-08:00

I went to my very first poetry event last night at Juna's cafe in the Commons. I weaseled a friend to come with me because I wasn't sure what the atmosphere was like and I didn't exactly want to experience it alone. As it turns out, I already knew Kate as a friend's exgirlfriend (once again proving that Cornell really is a small world).
The event wasn't exactly what I expected, but that's not necessarily bad. Since I had no idea what a poetry slam was, I just assumed it was where people go up, read their poetry while the audience drinks coffees or chais and politely applauds when it's over.
This was not the case. It certainly started out that way, with an open mic where poets/writers went up and demurely read their work and were rewarded with appreciative applause. There was a short break and then Kate went up to perform her poetry. It's like watching a singer - inflections and arms everywhere, voices escalating and retreating, exploding out of nowhere, bouncing at the knees - clearly a performance of the heart. I won't lie, at first I was really weirded out by how passionate the poetry was. After I'd warmed up to it, I kind of felt inspired in a way, or at least got ideas for a few poems I'd like to write. It amazed me how people can memorize their poems and recite them in such a way that they make perfect sense, even if it looks like gibberish when it's on a sheet of paper.
Afterwards they had a slam poetry competition. One girl had the most amazing poem about a boss who continued to ask her if she was straight, and in her mind, she wondered about all the definitions of "straightness" and wanted to tell him that she was curvy, or a circle, or something. I wish I had a copy of it, I loved it.
Anyways. It was definitely a crazy experience, although I wish I'd bought some coffee for it, just to complete the scene.

touch and pictures

2005-11-04T06:54:00.000-08:00

I've decided that I love smooth surfaces. I love running my fingers over them and enjoying how pure they seem, and that the surface always feels cool, as though smoothness can never overheat. I found a periodical in the library today with THE silkiest sides. My supervisor and I kept stroking the paper's edges over and over; it was an addiction. Some reward pathway must have been stimulated because I keep wanting to go back and touch it again.
I saw a brilliant picture last night. I didn't notice its glory at first, because it looked so ordinary that I decided it wasn't really worth a second glance. However, since it was my friend who took the photograph, he kept insisting that it was "his favorite photo of the day" and made me look at it again. After inspecting it again, I still wasn't impressed. It wasn't until this morning around 9am that I decided that I very much enjoyed it. Maybe it's because it was morning, or maybe because I was less tired and cranky (which is odd because I'm definitely NOT a morning person), or maybe I was influenced by the collage of leaves through the library windows (as well as the fact that I was surrounded by artwork). Suddenly, the photo was perfect. It wasn't just a tree with a building in the background (boooooring). The tree was highlighted by the sunlight so that the leaves were practically glowing yellow, and the shadows worked in such a way that the building was darkened so that the tree was even more accentuated. It really evoked this feeling of crisp fall weather and made me relax.
I'm going to the Poetry Slam thing tonight at Juna's, since Theo made it sound so interesting :-P So I guess that's what my next post will be about. Stay tuned and stay classy.

ok I'm a doof

2005-10-27T20:17:00.000-07:00

I keep doing that! Saving as a draft instead of publishing as a post. I guess I assume that the first button is the primary one. Also, blue is much more appealing to me than orange. Either way.
I've read Bartleby the Scrivener about 600 times now and although I love the main chunk of the story, the first few pages seem completely useless to me, even now.
I also find it interesting the way poetry works. (I'm just looking at classic poems for a moment now.) If you hear a few lines, you can usually tell it's a poem. Something about the flow, or the choices of words just screams POEM! POEM! at you. For some reason, I can't find that flow or that choice of words.
I'm also having trouble with my next workshop piece...I'm trying to start early because I have a million other commitments (prelims/papers/etc.) that week and I don't want to get swamped. I know what I want to write about, but I'm not sure how to go about it to make it as effective as possible. Oh writing. How you wound me.

psychoanalysis is so much fun

2005-10-26T21:49:00.000-07:00

I know that I rarely seem to directly write about the readings...I feel like if there's anything to say, someone will say it during class, and there's no reason to clog up perfectly good webspace with something that has already perforated the air.
Today was fantastic in nearly every way. I don't think I've laughed so hard in staff meeting (RA staff meeting!!) EVER. Staff meetings are meant to be boring, stiff, something you want to get over with. A resident must have left some marijuana roasting in the corner or something because we had the giggles for a full 90 minutes (or maybe that was just me...). Then at night, my friend Tim came over and we watched Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind after a hefty discussion of it not 3 days prior. (Fabulous movie, by the way, if you haven't seen it yet.) For some reason, we just started laughing about puns on the word "crap" (real mature, I know) for about 45 minutes. It's amazing how fun punning can be.
Point being, despite how wonderful today has been, I still sit here, somewhat miserable. More to add tomorrow.

Crystal what?

2005-10-18T07:16:00.000-07:00

That Crystallography piece was insane. I don't think I've seen so many words I don't know in one place within the span of seven pages. Of the ones I at least recognized, there's not much "getting meaning out of context" to be done. Not surprisingly, I wasn't a huge fan, although it was interesting and creative. I especially enjoyed the matrices made out of the names of the elements (and I assume that those elements make up some substance when put together as he did).
Not surprisingly, I loved the Bishop piece. I tend to love most of her work. (A book of her poetry was featured in the movie "In Her Shoes" that I just saw recently. Cameron Diaz reads it out loud to an old blind dude. But I digress.) If I were to pick out a poet who constantly propels you and never makes you feel like poetry is boring, I'd pick her. I loved the "five-haired beard of wisdom" and the fish's physical description makes you envision the nastiest looking beast (at least, it did for me). He's infested with lice, has gunk all over and fish hooks protruding bloodily from his mouth. I imagine that it had to be somewhat bloody, even if she didn't specify it. This also reminded me of the movie "Big Fish," talking about the largest fish ever caught and how he returned it to the ocean because "some fish were just never meant to be caught." I feel like I'm on a "relate everything in my life to a movie or TV show" streak.
Haven't read the Borges yet, but I will right after I publish this entry.

nothing today

2005-10-13T21:11:00.000-07:00

I kind of forgot that we didn't need a blogpost last week...so I'll count that as this week's post. Is anyone else getting bugged by those annoying auto-comments? They're so deceiving! >:o
Also, tabbing within the box does nothing. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected.

Like being Queer?

2005-10-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

First, 2 random comments:
1. I've learned that you can tab within the box. Cool.
2. Snuggled up in bed with a great book and warm milk provides the most satisfying feeling I've had all week.
I was watching an episode of Queer as Folk (my most recent TV addiction) and at one point, a character named Ben states that he prefers writing with pen and paper to using a computer because the beauty of longhand lies in just that - having the time to think while you write. Sure it's slower, but the process almost seems to work better that way. I think he's ignoring those creative bursts where your "pen can't keep up" with the words that are pouring out, but in a way, isn't that experience - the thrill of that rush - incredible in itself?
When you begin writing on a clean sheet of paper, it's remarkable how much that first sentence or doodle or line of a letter/character matters. Suddenly, the integrity of the page seems to disappear, marred by this blasphemous ink that dares to make its mark. If you're going to ruin a perfectly pristine page, you'd better damn well have something good to say. Once your pen hits the page, it's all over. Kind of like how a crease in a paper never goes away, no matter how many times you try to roll it straight over a table edge. And it's especially a pain in the ass when that page is something important - say, your resume (of course, in a resume's case, it's printed, but even so, just stay with me here). And you have to print it all out AGAIN on that obscenely pricy "resume paper." What is it that we have to prove to people how "professional" we are? It seems so unnatural.
Sitting here amonst stacks of books, I hope we never stop publishing. Scientifically, it's already been established that reading from paper is easier on the eyes than reading off a computer (reflection vs. illumination). Besides that, books are just so...beautiful. I miss the way books used to be made, leather bound with gold inlaid letters, borders and symbols. They smell like knowledge.
On a completely unrelated note, I love having someone sing me to sleep. It feels so intimate and comforting.

No internet!

2005-10-01T15:20:00.000-07:00

Who knew - no internet until just now! *fumes* I thought I'd have wireless where I was, but apparently not. Anyways. Here's the book review.
*****
I'd been meaning to read Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha for some time now, considering I bought it at the bookstore about 6 months ago, but haven't gotten around to reading it til now. You can't bring me to a bookstore - I'll inevitably buy something (if not many somethings). So really, the reading of this book has been going on for quite some time now.
I knew very little about Japanese culture before I read this novel and although it only hit on one particular aspect, it gave such a rich description of geisha life that I didn't feel like I'd ever have to research it myself, ever. What really compelled me to keep reading was how connected I felt toward Sayuri, the protagonist and author of the memoirs. Halfway through, you forget that both Sayuri and her "memoirs" are works of fiction, fabricated by a middle-aged white guy. Arthur Golden's descriptions of the exquisite kimonos, ceremonies at the teahouses and fantastic representations of characters completely immerse you.
Perhaps I'm just a typical girl who loves a good romance, or maybe it's because I like to play soothing, candlelight music when I'm reading, but I was close to tears at the end. I think that every woman knows what it's like, to spend a life pining over the perfect man - someone handsome, rich, intelligent, compassionate, classy - and in Sayuri's case, the Chairman of one of Japan's most profitable and successful companies. Sayuri did not limit herself to pining; in fact her fascination and infatuation motivated her to become one of the most highly sought after geishas in Gion. Golden allows you to feel her elation, her hope, her stabbing disappointment when she believes that the Chairman's best friend was planning to take her as a mistress instead of the Chairman himself. I've known many people for years and years, but rarely have I felt so close to a character in a mere book. I think the gushy background music and my own Oriental ethnicity helped.
Even though Golden uses many Japanese names and phrases, somehow, they never distract from the dialogue and flow of the story. Each moment still captivates you as if Sayuri's name was "Sarah" or something else "American." He explains everything so well, from the design on a painted fan to the type of makeup a geisha wears. You'd think the language barrier would detract from the storyline, but it doesn't at all.
I can't wait for the movie. I just hope it doesn't destroy the magic of the novel.

Bah!

2005-09-23T14:58:00.000-07:00

Forgot to post yesterday so I have to hurry and do it right now. RIGHT NOW!
I think people have a fascination for writing and rewriting fairy tales. I'm not quite sure why...but I don't think it has anything to do with laziness. There was the Stinky Cheese Man and other Tales (or some title close to that) because of its spin on old fairy tales everyone knew and loved. I'm not sure if that book included the version of the Three Little Pigs from the Wolf's perspective, but it was a great retelling. Wicked tells the story of the Wizard of Oz from the Wicked Witch's side. Disney adapts Hans Christian Anderson tales and other random stories. Into the Woods combined about 6 different classic fairytales. And the list goes on.
So why? Are we all just complete suckers for a happy ending? Sure, the world likes talking about how jaded they are and how everything is shot to shit, and that there's no more faith or hope for humanity, but honestly, 99% of people I know would probably prefer a happy ending to a depressing one (in regards to how they feel when it's over). Stories like Requiem for a Dream see only the dark side of humans (in this case, their relentless addictions) and it's all very contemplative and deep, but it doesn't give us warm fuzzies, it doesn't make us love anything and it definitely is not appropriate for children. Sure, fairy tales that their sexual and violent elements, but the fact is, it's nothing but flowers and rainbows by the time the heroes bid farewell to the readers. Optimism is contagious at least for a short period of time. I've been told that I'm a pessimist by nature, but I know that I feel damn good after a Disney movie or triumphant fairy tale-ish novel. Sometimes, I wish there were more critically acclaimed movies with feel-good endings, but I guess that's not what the population wants right now. They want disaster and drama because it's "reality." In a way, they're only reaffirming what they want to believe, even if it's nowhere near the truth. What can you do.

This week

2005-09-16T14:30:00.000-07:00

Time is strange. In some occasions, time will drag forever, and every moment feels longer than the moment you had to endure previously. Other times, it speeds through like a linebacker and before you know it, you're in the endzone. This week in particular has been odd in the sense that I feel like the weekend JUST occurred, yet another one is already upon us. However, during the week, each day felt like a year, especially during useless sections where you go over the homework piece by teeny tiny piece and it's completely unnecessary if you've done the homework right. But of course, I digress once again.
Today, I'm thinking in particular of a scene from Waking Life where Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are talking about dreams, and Julie mentions that oftentimes she'll waken, look at the clock and it'll say for example, 10:12am. She'll fall back asleep and have these "long intricate dreams that seem to last for hours" and she'll wake up again, look at the clock and it's only 10:13am. It almost seems that in dreams, our subconscious has no reference of time and can change our entire perception of reality. I mean, when you dream, it feels incredibly real, even the ones where you wake up, recount it to a friend and realize how utterly silly the plot really was. Does our subconscious always suspend logic and disregard what we know to be realistic and what isn't?
In case you're wondering how any of this has to do with English and classwork, all this came to mind when I was reading Frank O'Hara's Ave Maria. Naturally, I started thinking about what I'd be like as a mother (a frightening thought for sure) and how I would likely reminisce about my younger years, wondering where the time had flown. And, of course, what the hell my kids were up to. The poem reminded me a lot of my relationship with my parents - probably more my dad than my mom - but even so, I wonder often whether I'll become like them someday, embodying characteristics of them I swore I'd never have.

Music and writing

2005-09-15T21:21:00.000-07:00

One thing I love about music is how much it moves you. What puzzles me is how lyrics can sound incredible with the tune but sound utterly inane once you take away the notes. Of course, that isn't always the case, but often it is. I think songs are unique in that you don't need both components to be good to make the song itself good. You can have a crappy tune and inspiring lyrics or a fantastic melody and wretched lyrics but the piece can still sound OK, or even great. One tune that comes to mind is the song "All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. I love the sound of the chorus, but when you actually read the lyrics online, it just sounds ridiculous.

All I want is to feel this way
To be this close, to feel the same
All I want is to feel this way
The evening speaks, I feel it say...

I mean, how 7th grade does that sound??? Even so, I can't help but adore it.
That was totally random, but I just felt like saying it.

"Everything will be enobled and justified by age"

2005-08-30T16:41:00.000-07:00

NB: I wrote this as a draft way back the day of the Mullen and Nabokov pieces and forgot to post it, so yeah.
*~*~*~*
I thought that was a fantastic line. Is everything made noble and good just because it's old?
"How can I demonstrate to him that I have just glimpsed someone's future recollection?"
Likewise, the Mullen piece was INGENIOUS! I just loved all the wordplays she used. They were things I never would have thought of and it was just brimming with creativity. It felt like a puzzle, where you have to figure out the theme of each poem.
*~*~*~*
Ok now onto today's pieces. I'd read Bishop's Sestina back in the day when I was taking a writing/poetry class the summer between 4th and 5th grade. It wasn't so much the flow of the piece as the physical patterns and structure of the sestina. I was so fascinated by it that I tried to write my own about a horse that ran away. Needless to say, it wasn't nearly as good as Bishop's. Reading it again this year, I've decided that I love it for the fluidity of the language and how you don't even notice that she uses the same six words in a pattern for each stanza. The sestina is such a brilliant form of poetry.
As for class, I'm glad that we're focusing more on writing than on reading for the time being. Don't get me wrong, I love reading (not as much as ILRies, but we're getting there) but as this is a writing class, I want to just be able to write, let words spill out onto the page and hope that there's some coherence to it all. In the same vein, I have this phobia of people reading and critiquing my writing. I shouldn't be so sensitive to it, but I am. I'm hoping to get over it this semester, so we'll see what happens.

Saying you're new is an excuse for everything

2005-08-29T22:28:00.000-07:00

Seeing as this is the very first for-class post, I've decided to take some liberties with the phrase "or anything else you find relevant to your creative writing practice." Just in case this isn't exactly what I'm supposed to be writing about, I shall claim newbie-ignorance. Besides, I think that delving into my writing past may shine some light on the kind of work that is to come. I think it's fair to say that my portfolio was most impressive in 7th grade, when I had a skating poem published in a book. I thought I was a writing mogul until I received the book and saw that 10,000 other kids were in the book too. So much for feeling special.
Ignoring pieces for class, my writing career began at the age of 13, when I decided it'd be "supercool" to write fanfiction. The plot wasn't horrible, but the writing itself was horrendous. No...I take that back. The plot was pretty bad too. It was far too complicated, not well developed, and completely unfulfilling. At the time of course, I thought I was brilliant, connecting all the mini-plotlines together, something like Playing By Heart or Love Actually except not quite as witty or sophisticated. Regardless, I continued to write fanfiction and I personally felt that I improved over the 3-4 years that I actually kept at it (considering it would be pathetic if I didn't improve at all). I never won awards or anything, but it made me happy to have one reader (aka my best friend) who always sent fanmail screaming "MORE MORE MORE" over the span of about 10-15 lines. I'm sure she copied and pasted each line, but it still gave me warm fuzzies to receive such encouraging feedback.
As in every sad writer's tale, school caught up with me and I no longer had time to complete all my assignments, maintain a social life and continue to write. The first two were more important to me at the time, so writing was written off (badum chhh - I love bad jokes). Since then, I've always wanted to get back into the penning game so I'm starting my season with this lovely class that assigns more writing in one semester than I've done over my last 2 years here at Cornell. Hence, here I am, and if you've made it this far through my tale of excitement turned woe, I congratulate you. Here's a gold star for participation.

testing

2005-08-25T13:13:00.000-07:00

A post just to make sure this thing works.
Isn't this thrilling.