Week 7 - Comment

Alan's LJ

"I think the best thing about these LiveJournal entries is how we get sidetracked. It always seems to make us think outside the box and truly contemplate what society, beliefs and nature throws at us. I liked this post a lot, mainly for that fact that it got me thinking about these issues."

Week 7 - Insert witty title here.

The readings this week were amazingly long. I sat back and just let the tsunami of words hit me like a brick wall, and of course, I knelt to their power, though it was with some resistance. Don't get me wrong, I love reading, but after a while the world pile up and I can no longer tell my Whitman's from my Hopkins. And don't even get me started on my Dickinsons! But anyway, to come to a somewhat side-tracked point, it got me thinking about books in general and how we'll allow ourselves to push hours from our lives in order to read a 600-ish word slab of a long lost tree. It got me thinking about how my life would be if I did not read books, the journeys I would have missed out on through the roads in my mind, letting the scenes and settings pass me by until I reached the end.

There is no smell more beautiful than that of a fresh, crisp book, I can tell you now. It's like the look of dew on bright green blades of grass in the morning, it just makes you sit back and appreciate. Well, in retrospect they're very different, with the grass your appreciating nature, with the book you're appreciating what was nature before a big man in a tartan shirt, suspenders and a giant axe hadn gone to town on that tall oak. Either way, it's all good in the end. I love the start of the new book, just by the smell, and yet books are my worst enemy. There is no feeling I hate more than getting to the end of a really good book. I'm left with all these questions. What happened to the guy? Was his daughter alright? Did they go to their new home? What do you mean there's no sequel? Like hell there's no sequel! At this point it just gets violent, and I'm torn from the authors house at 3 in the morning by some very official looking men.


                                                        
                                                                           Someone really has to take better care of their books.

So, I'll admit, this did somewhat steer away from the lecture information, but hey, I'm just a direction-changing kinda guy. What really got me off on this diatribe is that I recently finished a good book. Being a fan of fantasy - it's pretty much the only genre of book you can get me to read - I just finished reading the book Orcs by Stan Nicholls. It's a book that'll change how you think about Orcs, it's a funny, violent tale that I recommend all should read. The delight on my face when I found out there was a sequel is unmatched and could only be recreated with some sort of happiness-generating-machine. But, incase you do wish to read it, it is very, very, very violent and gorey.


                                                                                                 
                                                                                                    Caution: book is very gorey.


And so ends another blog. What did I achieve? Well, I'm not quite sure. Was it fun? Hey, it had it's moments. Adieu.
  • Current Music
    Ramble Tamble - Creedence Clearwater Revival

Week 6 - Comment

Lauren's LG

"I really, really liked this!
It caught my attention straight away as I was scrolling down your LiveJournal. The repetition was of course what got me straight away, and I can see how this routine would be stuck in your head, having to do it over and over again.

Great use of rhythm in the piece, I especially liked "The sound, the beat, the aching feet", the sequencing of this was very good. Great work!"

Week 6 - What a long, strange trip it's been.

So we come to the final post before it's shipped off through the fast highway that is the internet and slips neatly onto the doorstep of Michael/Kate's email address. I've decided that seeing as this is my last post, I'd put some extra effort into it and try to analyse critically the texts that we were given. Usually by this point I'd have cracked some joke, witty quip, or humorous anecdote, but I'm trying to restrain myself. I know, I don't think it'll last long either. Anyway, back to the matter at hand; the texts we were given. I'll be focusing on the poetry mainly, as it is something I find much easier to delve into, without getting thoroughly confused and ending up as a huddled mass on my floor, a confused look on my face. I'll be looking at two pieces, one by Willian Wordsworth and one by Robert Frost.

I shall start with William Wordsworth's piece, The World Is Too Much with Us. First, I'd like to see the man behind the lines:


                                                                                  
                                                                            Might I add, he has possibly the finest surname for
                                                                                               someone in his field of work.


In this poem, Wordsworth talks about how we do not often see nature in all it's glory, that in a way it is wasted to the majority of the world. He talks about "Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours", through this we are able to tell how Wordsworth feels about consumerism in our lives, and how we neglect the beauty and splendour that is the natural world. He even goes as far as to spell "Nature" with a capital 'N', showing it's significance and making it stand out on the page.

Over and over again we see in this poem the theme of the sea, as it comes up thrice - he mentions the Sea as a force that was once strong, yet subtle and soft, he uses two Gods of Greek Mythology (Proteus and Triton) which are both connected to the sea in some way. He once again uses the Sea as a way to represent Nature; it's fully bodied, proud and prominant in our lives, yet we spare it not a second glance. He waxes lyrical of how he wishes to glimpse the Gods of the sea in all their glory, to be connected to Nature once more.

Now, let's take a look at Mr. Frost:


                                                                                         
                                                                                     He looks like one of the students out of
                                                                                                      Dead Poet's Society


I can say without a doubt, that I wasn't expecting him to look like that. Not at all. He looks like a composed young gent whose ready for a night out on the town with his lady friend, off to see the new crazy music of Tony Bennett. I was expecting the gruff, age-worn face of a man whose lived so long he knows the names of the rocks. Either way, this doesn't take anything away from the fact that I loved his poem. To me it is simplistic beauty. It tells a story that could go on for a century in just a few stanzas, about the simplest thing. He comes to the woods, his bewildered horse by his side, and waits as the snow falls around him, taking in the beauty of it's glistening light.

Frost describes everything perfectly within simple lines, from the frost covered woods, to the shaking bell of the curious horse "He gives his harness bell a shake To ask if there is some mistake." I can saw without a doubt that this has to be one of my favourite poems. The obscure rhyming scheme, of the third line predicting the following stanza's rhyming pattern. The words have the exact right amount of syllables to make every line flow off the tongue in a calm sigh. It is once again a poem of taking in the beauty of life, the things that we see everyday (well, not snow for us) and are able to wave off without a second glance.


                                       
                                                                        Nothing says nostalgia like sweet, sweet imagery.


And so that is my analysis of these two poems. I'll admit, not as detailed as they could have been, but I believe I was still able to convey the importance of both. I'd like to take this paragraph to say how much I agree with these two poets. If you were to look back on my entry on Thoreau, you will see that I've always been a big fan of the importance of nature. Now, I'm not saying we destroy our material/technological goods, but I think it would be an idea for us to take in nature in all it's crisp, fresh glory. Just the slicing blades of green grass, or the breeze against our faces as we stroll through the country side. Alright, I'm getting nostalgic, stop it Nick you're getting carried away.


And so I leave you with a poem, I had written not so long ago, and one of my favourites to date. It reminds me of things lost and things found.


A Lost Trail

There was a time in which I stood
Against a snow-covered pile of wood.
I traced my fingers against cold stone,
Once a fence now overthrown.

I pushed my foot against the snow
And wondered how far my feet would go.
A woolen scalf bound my face
To protect against the wind in race.

A pointed dog sniffed my shoe
He nudged my foot, one, then two.
He barked and beckoned me to come,
Then jumped off to an excited run.

I ran with him all down the street,
Until he stopped and we did meet.
When I stopped my eyes did roam,
He'd brought me back, he'd brought me home.

Week 5 - Comment

Christianne's LJ

"For someone whose never written a poem before, this is great! I liked the rhyming scheme too, it all worked very well. It had some great metaphors, like how your mother is a pillar of strength.

The repetition of the last two lines was good too, it really made it stick into my head. Great poem!"

Week 5 - I came, I saw, I slept.

This week the discussion topic was identity. It made me think, how can I represent my identity in the most truthful, efficient way? So, I combined my lack of enthusiasm, with my running gag of a stream of images. So I surfed the net in my most usual fashion, and am now going to bombard you with a plethora of images that I think best define who I am as an individual. All images will come with a tiny explanation as to why they relate to me, so that everyone's kept in the loop. And, without further ado, I present you with my life through the eyes of the intertube (in no particular order):


                                                                                           
      Humour: My life would be nothing without it. I almost cried
    with laughter the first time I saw this.


                                                                                                    
      Friends: Yes it is Mr. Toucan, yes it is. I pick this because
      outings somehow always involves Guinnes.


                                                                                                     
                                                                               Music: I'm a big fan of folk music, and music from the 60's,
                                                                                       it's influenced my life greatly through the years.


                                                                           
                                                                                              Theatre: I'll always be an actor at heart.


                                                                                 
                                                                           Family: They're always gonna be there for me, no matter what.
                                                                                                             Elephants are cool too.


                                                                            
                                                                                                          Nerdery: It knows no bounds.


And so that is me, in all essence. I was born, I live, and eventually I shall die. I encourage anyone to do this, it's rather fun trying to find all the images, even if it is fairly time consuming. It's like watching yourself in tiny bite-sized pieces on a webpage. I hope you all enjoyed!
  • Current Music
    Shamrock Tunes - Fiddler's Green

Week 4 - Comment

Cristina's LJ

"That was truly amazing.

"If only the gap between wealth and misery

Were as wide

As the gap between his teeth."

I loved that line, it made me grin as wide as my mouth would let me. Everything about your poem was right, I kept a the picture to the right of it, just so as every line went down, I could trace the image with my eyes, from the knobbly end of the crutch, to the bottom of his dirt-clad shoes."

Week 4 - Puttin' a Name to a Face

As was covered in the Lecture this week, images have the strange ability to stir the cauldron of our thoughts with the big wooden spoon of creativity. So it got me thinking, what experiences have I gone through in which paintings and images have affected the my creativity, and have got the juices flowing in my tea-cup sized brain? So I swam softly through my thoughts <insert metaphor here> and picked out the certain pieces I could remember. The most recent I remember would be my trip to Italy at the beginning of the year, and the many churches and art galleries that we visited. Now, I myself am not a man of God, though there is something about churches that is truly astounding, the impressive, storming architecture that looms over you, an overwhelming sense of power flowing through it. Me and my family would spend hours going from church to church gazing lustily at the monolithic statues that struck all sorts of poses, muscles bulging. I have to say, I'm a sucker for a great piece of historic architecture, it's glazed granite and marble fills me with a sense of power myself, as though you become one with the pillar, strong enough to hold a mighty roof over your head.


                                                                                    
                                                                             An example of great architecture, the Trevi Fountain


But, for some strange reason one of the greatest pieces of architectural genius, is one that does not exist. It comes from H. P. Lovecraft, the famous horror writer. I am, of course, talking about his revered The Call of Cthulhu. That's right nerds, it is our time to shine, huddle around me and hear of my tale, put your calculators away and your laptops back on your desks. It was as I was looking through and anthology of his works entitled Necronomicon, that I spied a picture. This picture was of Cthulhu, the great beast that lies entrapped, waiting for his freedom, his size was never spoken of though was regarded with cautious glances and sweaty palms. With his octopus like head with it's many darting tentacles and it's wings spread far in the sky, it sits above a monolith that should not be. It has been stated that the monolith has no real structure, and that one can neither tell when it goes in our out, no angles can be perceived. It is this image that truly makes me scared, and if you haven't read The Call of Cthulhu, then go out right now and find a copy.

Well, wouldn't you know it, I look and I look, but I can't find the bleedin' picture on the internet. So, you'll have to go by my very brief description. But, ask me to bring it in and I will supply you with the picture. I recommend you read the story first, as it will completely set the scene for you.

And so I come to the end of another post. What have I achieved? Nothing. Will you go out and buy The Call of Cthulhu? Of course you will, don't be silly. So I leave you with a quote from said text; a chilling sentiment in the depths of so many flowing pages.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die."
- H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu
  • Current Music
    The Irish Heart Bear - Van Morrison & Jerry Lee Lewis

Random Poems

I decided I would put some poems down. The first poem The New Raven links to my previous entry, about how I long to experience nature, and how it always eludes my grasp as I am confronted by an electrical post, or the sound of a passing car. The second poem The Wooden Army is a smaller poem, though for some reason I like it a lot.

The New Raven


A raven should fall to wood,
It's talons scraping crusty bark,
Instead it taps the steel hood
Of a car in the dark.

Where it's feather should fall to grass,
Sleeping in blades of green,
Instead it meets tar harsh
To go alone and unseen.

It's eye dark in the night
Reflects a shine from a light,
It should hide such a sight,
Or fall forever in it's plight.

It sits low in the dim,
Forever waiting just for him
No weight under limb,
Keep alive the starving kin.


The Wooden Army

The King sleep always sneering,

The Queen places hands endearing,

The Knight rides loudly cheering,

The Bishop paces slightly leering,

The Castle's walls hide the clearing,

The Pawn holds his head in fearing.

The Player holds his Kingdom together,
Saves the damsel,
And lives forever.

  • Current Music
    Cathedral - Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Week 3 - Comment

Kate's LJ

"I look to your userpic and I get a sense ... a red-panda like sense.

Haha nah, but seriously I think this is a very original, innovative idea. It not only acts as a quick and accessible way to read your current thoughts/emotions, but it also separates your LiveJournal from that of everyone else.

I say keep with the animal theme. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a cute animal, haha."