Quote for writers

A writer must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid.

- William Faulkner

Nameless

Fools they are
Trying to catch the moon,
Quench it in a cup of iron;
The moon will sink them as dust.

Fools they are
Thy crowning them king,
Dwelling on a tower a high;
The moon shall blind them as slaves.

Writers of the Prairies

Sorry for not posting anything lately. I've been really busy because of school. It's a crucial year for me before going to Cegep. You see, I've got my eyes on this really perfect program, but, unfortunately, the number of students accepted is limited to maximum 50 per year. So, ya...there's a lot of work to do, including a contemporary dance routine to create for gym class...ME? Dance??? Well, turns out that I'm not so bad! Anyhow, I've also been busy on my personal activities. Besides just watching TV and sleeping, I've also been reading an amazing book that I found by chance in the national library of Quebec (I just hope that I won't end up with late fees again!). It's called, you've guessed it, Writers of the Prairies. I've never been interested by the prairies of Canada. The book, on the other hand, certainly attracted my attention for some unknown reason: it's just an old, colorless book, but it just looked so enriching! I'll be updating all the interesting summaries and reviews form this book, so watch out!

Quote for writers

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

- Virginia Wolf

Running

In every pocket now weapons lie,
And weary faces of fear and doubt
Come and go
Come and go ... Always the same
... Ere a nervous rut

Why not let Chronos
Be who he must be,
Do what he must do;
Let the seeds of Spring rest,
Let the dawns of Summer breath,
Let the nights of Winter last.
... The leaves of Automne die?

Host of our feiste though you would not apprize?
Greed will not douse Aaron's rod,
Though scurry you may so far and wide,
Till blindly you wrox in your deserving tomb.

Where will you run now?

Romeo, oh Romeo

I'm doing Shakespeare this term in English. Of course, Romeo and Juliet! How cool! Actually, I started some time ago. Two words: Lovin' it. I started out pretty roughly thou by failing my Shakespeare (still having a hard time spelling the name) quest. It's not as if I actually work on those kinds of homework! But when it comes to acting and analysing, damne! Especially the acting part. I have to learn 30 lines in one of Juliet's speech and act it in front of the whole class. I really learned to like Juliet and learned who she really is, not just some girly, witless girl that I've seen in the Zefferelli's version of Romeo and Juliet. No offence, but I really didn't like that version. The newer one with Dicaprio is genius because it interpretes the emotions and the story with so much truth and realism that fits to our modern situation without mutilating the original plot. So, I'm hoping to make Juliet the strong, smart, witty young teenager that I know her to be. Hmmm...

Destiny?

Isn't it weird that most of the best things in life are encountered by chance? Though, I don't really believe in chance... For example, often couples are going to say that destiny brought them together. Anyways, I was just going through this book of Ezro Pound's early, many unpublished, poems and landed on something that perfectly described my afternoon (You can read about it on the post just beneath "The bus ride home"). It was the first page I landed on...seriously. To be honest, I got inspired by him a little too. Well, here it is:

Prelude: Over the Ognisanti
By Ezra Pound (from A Quinzaine for this Yule)

High-dwelling 'bovethe people here,

Being alone with beauty most the while,

Lonely?

How can I be,

Having mine own great thoughts for paladins

Against all gloom and woe and every bitterness?

Also have I the swallows and the sunset

And I see much life below me,

In the garden, on the waters,

And hither float the shades of songs they sing

To soundof wrinkled mandolin, and plash of waters,

Which shades of song re-echoed

Whithin that somewhile barren hall, my heart,

Are found as I transcribe them following.

Everything seems so effortless. If only I could learn to express myself in such a way! (...sigh...) I know what my problem is. I think that I'm just too afraid so my mind is blocked in a way to formalize my writings. But also, my vocabulary is so limited. I'm like trapped in a little box. It's for that reason that I've decided (finally!) to exceed my reading. Who knew that it really helps so fast? Well, it needs it to be fast. My poem based of Pound's style is due veeerrry soon and I still havn't written that perfect poem I've been digging my brain out for! Wish me luck.

The bus ride home

Orange mist engulfs these tired kinds,
Uneasy silence mingles with constant rattling of mind,
And I stand here,
And you sit there,

Unmoving as if reproved.

In my palms, the words of Cox;
Music to my soul,
Oh! Sweet lullaby;
Unaware I soar to Labrador,

Gliding amid the hammocks.

I know now that I am not alone,
Least not for this hither;
By no means in Bonne Bay or Blanc Sablon,
Where eternal dreams linger
Until I find myself woken past a yore …

And I find the tired kinds oddly no more.

After a hard , long day of school, I was in the bus eager to return home, but I was more eager to start reading a book of poem that I borrowed that same afternoon written by a Canadian writter, Leo Cox. He would decribe Labrador and Gaspesie in the most dreamy way in a lot in his poems, so that's what inspired mine!

Believe it or not, I rarely take the bus because I find it really difficult for me being stuck amoung so many strangers. (Go ahead, laugh!) So reading his poetry was really a relief for me, a kind of escape that enabled me to write this not-so-terrible poem. I really need to ameliorate the meters and the rythme. Overthat, my rhymes don't flow so atractively. Well... it's a start.

By the way, I had to use the rhyming dictionary for ...like...every line!!!

...But that's our secret, okay?

Dream on

Pink Floyd, Sarah McLachlan, the Beatles, they are all the greatest signers of our modern time. It seems as if music is slowly overpowering the esteem of classical written poems. Really, it isn’t. Is there no music in poems and poems in music? Truly, they form one whole. It is undeniable that the soul of music and the spirit of words are intimately connected to each other. Music is intimately connected to the body, the heart beat, and poems are basically the reflexions of the heart. So, whether it’s Edgar Allen Poe or Bono, the esteem is quite the same. Therefore, are singers the greatest poets of our time? In many cases, it’s not hard to believe so.
The song “Dream on” from Aerosmith is one of the best lyrics and songs that I have ever seen. Here is a passage...a long passage! (my favourite part of the song!):

Dream on
by Aerosmith

Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It goes by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay
Yeah, I know nobody knows

where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win

Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away

Dream On, Dream On, Dream On
Dream until your dreams come true
Dream On, Dream On, Dream On
Dream until your dream comes through
Dream On, Dream On, Dream On
Dream On, Dream On
Dream On, Dream On

Everytime I look in the mirror the past is gone

I just feel that this song fits so perfectly with what I need right now. It gives me shivers each time I hear it! So what if Steven Tyler was a heavy drug and alcohol addict, Oscar Wilde was paederastic! What they write is truer to their heart than any other superficial artists. You've got to forgive me. I can be soooo seriouse sometimes! I'm just so passionate you know!

I dedicate this post to my older sister who's always gladly willing to lend me her brillant ideas with no cost... I love you, Sera!!!

Quote for writers

Good writers are those who keep the language efficient.
That is to say, keep it accurate, keep it clear.

- Ezra Pound

Dear Ezra Pound

To honor St-Valentines day, my English teacher had the brilliant idea to write a piece of writing about love, not just any kind of love ... bad love! On my part, I chose to write a poem based on the style of my teacher's favorite poet, Ezra Pound. I don't know if it's because I was unconsciously turning into a teacher pet or if I was lured by his unusual name, but the next thing I know is that I was screaming: "WHY did you have to do that?!?!"

Despite being a Mussolini regime sympathizer and an Anti-Semitist, in terms of writing, Pound was a genius. As my teacher would put it, “he stops time”. Throw away the rhymes and the metical system; what matters the most is the harmony of the rhythm and the choice of words. (If you’ve never read his work, I definitely recommend you to!) Above that, he is one of the rare human beings who can actually translate foreign poetry such as Chinese poems and Haikus. In fact, many of his poems were inspired by the Haiku structure. Here’s one of my favorites:

Fan-piece, For Her Imperial Lord

O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,
You also are laid aside.

- Ezra Pound

Gorgeous! I won’t go into the meaning of this poem or else this post would never end, but do you see how the simplest of description mixed with a harmonious rhythm can create such a powerful emotional impact? Ezra Pound was the very vehicle of the modernist movement in poetry … and I have to stand up to him. If I don’t, I’m going to fail this term! So now you can understand why I’m kind of freaking out!!! All the poems I’ve written till now are garbage compared to his. Maybe I’ll post them when they’ll be finalized, or maybe I’ll be too ashamed to even do so!

Dear Ezra Pound, I wish you could help me…May you rest in peace…