Food for thought

I don't enjoy the idea of fate. It seems so defeatist.

Yes, you're probably going to meet a lot of people worth knowing in life, and I'll admit it's kind of humbling to think that safe of those relationships were meant to be. But what about all of the bad shit that gets thrown your way? Was it all meant to happen to you? Was there truly no way you or anyone else could have prevented it? Is there really only one person you can ever become? I don't like to think that way, and if somebody tries to use the idea to justify their bad choices - to duck responsibility - then that's even worse.

I prefer to think it's up to us to make good things happen, to meet people who matter. It's... maybe a little bleak to believe that we're not getting backup, but I think there's something freeing to it as well. It really is up to us.

A song for the weather

The heavy rain outside reminds me of this. Figured I'd share it.

Poetry Response #3

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
   That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
   A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
   And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
   Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
   Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay,
   In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
   In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
   Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

            This poem doesn’t spend much time trying to be more than what it is on the surface, and its simple origin – inspired by a walk Wordsworth and his sister went on around Glencoyne Bay in Ullswater – matches the simple nature of the poem. It’s about a person, a lone wanderer, who discovers a host of beautiful golden daffodils beside a lake during their wandering. They don’t fully realize the gift that this patch of daffodils has granted them, but later their thoughts flash back to the sight, which fills them with joy and continues to do so whenever they think about it from then on.

            I can identify with the narrator in that I too tend to become lonely and wander from time to time. This isn’t always a bad thing; I myself enjoy having private time when I want it, because it gives me time to think more freely about things I care about. The way the narrator mentions floating “on high o’er vales and hills” could imply that they view themselves as somewhat above everybody else – perhaps a bit of a cliché when it comes to poets. There are times when I feel the same way for some reason.

            In the final stanza, the narrator notes that when they feel pensive, they think back on the crowd of daffodils and their heart fills with pleasure once more. I’m the same way here as well; I’m fond of retreating into my mind and daydreaming when I’m bored or distressed. It cheers me up a little bit, just like thinking of the dancing daffodils does for Wordsworth. 

Poetry Response #2

Little Orphant Annie

By James Whitcomb Riley

"Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!
        
Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,--
So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout--
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!
        
An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’one, an’ all her blood an’ kin;
An’ onc’t, when they was “company," an’ ole folks was there,
She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!
        
An’ little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachers fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns’ll git you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!"

            I first heard this poem in, I think, third or fourth grade; my class did a unit of study on James Whitcomb Riley and his poems, cultimating in a field trip to his old home in Greenfield. As a result, I remembered this poem pretty well when we read it in class, and hearing it again brought back a lot of memories. It still means pretty much the same thing it meant to me back in elementary school, although I understand the first stanza a little better now; I think back then I wasn’t sure if the goblins came for Annie, but now I know that was just part of her story. 

            The aspect of the poem that I notice first upon reading it is the dialect. A little research has told me that this dialect is apparently nineteenth-century Hoosier dialect, which would fit in with the time and place where it was composed. It gives the poem a very antiquated and rustic feel, which in turn makes it sound more authentic. Combined with other elements such as the meter and the emphasized refrain ending each stanza, this makes the poem quite fun to read aloud. 

            Also, I think the poem lends itself well to the imagination. The descriptions of the
house in the first stanza and the night in the final stanza feel old and homey, and conjure an image of an old house from the nineteenth century – perhaps Riley’s house itself. In the second and third stanzas, the “Gobble-uns” are left purposefully undescribed outside of being “great big Black Things” that can take you away from anywhere without a trace, which allows for a much more frightening image than an actual description could provide. When I was young I remember getting a chill in my spine when I read it, and these days it still makes me grin. 

Poetry Response #1

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

By Dylan Thomas

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

            This is a poem of passion. It’s not hard at all to see that; the title itself is a call to not lay down and accept the bitter certainty of death. Instead, Thomas calls for those nearing their end to “burn and rave at close of day,” to let their flickering souls flare and repel the darkness threatening to retake them. Even in this first stanza, there’s an underlying current of anger that shines through in the word choice – rave at close of day, rage against the dying of the light.

            Throughout the poem, I notice the imagery of light being invoked repeatedly. Burning and raving in old age, words that fork lightning, singing the sun in flight, and eyes blazing like meteors. In every case, this imagery is applied to the dying – it’s they who burn and rave and sing, their words that fork lightning and their eyes like meteors. Moreover, all of these instances of imagery invoke a similar feeling of anger and injustice toward the encroaching night. Light and anger come together to create an image of a flame that drives the darkness back.

            The last stanza, specifically the first two lines, confused me a little bit. The usage of the term father left me wondering if the speaker was referring to their actual father, or to the Lord who bears that title. I believe it refers to their actual father, because the speaker seems to be instructing them to rage against their coming death (which wouldn’t make sense if they were speaking to God). Even here, the feeling of anger is evident, as the speaker tells their father to shed fierce tears from their sad height, to rage as so many good and wise men do. 

Seeing a Distinguished Speaker

About an hour ago I went to this event on campus: Seeking Bipartisanship, a lecture by Ray Lahood, former U.S. Secretary of Transportation. It wasn't very long, and it was kind of interesting. LaHood talked about how a lot of times things happen despite partisanship because there are people who want to get things done and will do what it takes to make that happen. He spoke a little about how there's a lot of voter unrest because Congress doesn't seem to have that attitude these days - that's why so many people are voting for Trump.

Now, I don't intend to support Trump come Election Day - not with all the violence and hatred he incites - but I can kind of understand now why people admire his drive. He says he'll get things done, and people appreciate that. I figure I can respect that without liking the rest of him.

Did any of you guys go? What did you think?

Springtime: RISING

It's a really nice day out there, isn't it?

I don't really have much else to say, just figured I'd bring that to attention. I think it's safe to say that shorts and t-shirts season has begun (*knocks on wood*).

I was out for a walk earlier today, and I heard music coming from the football stadium; maybe the marching band was practicing? It reminded me of the summer I spent in my high school's marching band. It was... well, it was a commitment. We went nine-to-five some days, no lie, but it was pretty fun. We got to travel to other high schools to compete, and saw a bunch of other marching bands in the process. Some of them were really good.

The next year, I decided not to go back to marching band. Too much work for me. I started volunteering at the library instead, and that was more my speed. I got some nice memories of performing, though, I guess I can't say it was all bad.