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?

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 Anyways, I was just going through this book of Ezro Pound's early, many unpublished, poems and landed on something that perfectly described my afternoon (You can read about it on the post just beneath "The bus ride home").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!!!

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…