Let it be known that we are adults/ almost adults. Is that scary?
This thought crossed my mind upon reading Bryan Borland's "Chasing Fireflies," a rather sad depiction of the loss accompanying the transition from childhood to adulthood. Do you still remember those nights "where [you] were content to run in circles, / arms outstretched, / chasing fireflies [?]" That kind of feeling of real freedom, the kind you can taste as a kid who didn't really have anything to worry about. As we cross the boundary from kid to no-longer-a-kid, will we see what Borland saw? Where life "has raised her mask and / revealed her face to be / the unexpected, / where even her smile / might be interpreted / as cold or callous." Have we already begun to see what Borland sees?
The fact of the matter is, we are growing older, and a growing age calls for growing responsibilities. It is sad to think that the wonder, imagination, and magic of childhood may only be a faint memory, when the complexities of life begin to really slap us in the face. We won't have faithful guardians for much longer, those loving parents who have, for 18 years, shielded us from the worst. Will we change in the face of the evil that inevitably pervades this world? Will we have the "the heart to seal their fate / inside a mason jar [?]" Things changed for Borland. Things will change. That's the sadness of the fleeting youth.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
poems
"Poetry is what gets lost in translation." - Robert Frost
Have you ever thought of the transition between the words on the page and the person reading them? Does the entire intention really get through? Does anything get lost in translation?
The more I think about this, the more I believe in a divide, a certain amount of depth eliminated with the jump from words to mind. Every time I write a word, commit a thought to paper, does my reader really understand what I was thinking, what I'm trying to convey? Prose can be clear and illuminating but can also be limiting in a way, losing that sense of depth, emotion, poignancy, or intention that is ultimately lost in translation.
Poetry can be different, though, and for this reason, it is what gets lost in translation. The freedom allowed in the form of poetry is precisely what allows for the expression of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that usually remain untouched in the prose of the conventional nature. Poetry captures the imagination, states the relatable in a way that is understandable. The jump from paper to thought is manageable, eliminating that ordinary cost of transition. Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Have you ever thought of the transition between the words on the page and the person reading them? Does the entire intention really get through? Does anything get lost in translation?
The more I think about this, the more I believe in a divide, a certain amount of depth eliminated with the jump from words to mind. Every time I write a word, commit a thought to paper, does my reader really understand what I was thinking, what I'm trying to convey? Prose can be clear and illuminating but can also be limiting in a way, losing that sense of depth, emotion, poignancy, or intention that is ultimately lost in translation.
Poetry can be different, though, and for this reason, it is what gets lost in translation. The freedom allowed in the form of poetry is precisely what allows for the expression of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that usually remain untouched in the prose of the conventional nature. Poetry captures the imagination, states the relatable in a way that is understandable. The jump from paper to thought is manageable, eliminating that ordinary cost of transition. Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
literate lexington
http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/books/2013/02/06/most-literate-city-washington/1894511/
Check it out. Lexington, KY is the 24th most literate city in the United States. Find this a little surprising? I do, as well. Lexington tops the literate list amongst the likes of Baltimore, New York, Boston, and New Orleans--large cities known for high-end education. The study conducted was based on the number of bookstores, library resources, newspaper circulation, Internet resources and educational levels (the goal was to shift the focus away from reading scores and more on how much people are actually reading)-- factors that are most attributed to bustling cities with high populations. How interesting that a small city in the southern state of Kentucky should be among the most literate cities.
I do feel a certain amount of pride in Lexington for this surprising feat, for we are are mighty city of readers able to compare with the largest cities in the nation. We have a wonderfully efficient public library system and a rather dependable newspaper source-- strong public schools and apparently a good number of bookstores to boot. Way to go Lexington!
Check it out. Lexington, KY is the 24th most literate city in the United States. Find this a little surprising? I do, as well. Lexington tops the literate list amongst the likes of Baltimore, New York, Boston, and New Orleans--large cities known for high-end education. The study conducted was based on the number of bookstores, library resources, newspaper circulation, Internet resources and educational levels (the goal was to shift the focus away from reading scores and more on how much people are actually reading)-- factors that are most attributed to bustling cities with high populations. How interesting that a small city in the southern state of Kentucky should be among the most literate cities.
I do feel a certain amount of pride in Lexington for this surprising feat, for we are are mighty city of readers able to compare with the largest cities in the nation. We have a wonderfully efficient public library system and a rather dependable newspaper source-- strong public schools and apparently a good number of bookstores to boot. Way to go Lexington!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
an open letter to my iphone
Dearest iPhone,
I have a problem. And it's not that I can't iMessage my best friends, message them on Facebook, or tweet at them. It's not that I can't call up my best friend to gossip. It's not that I can't snapchat bizarre faces to my equally bizarre comrades or instagram my beautiful pictures. It's not that I can't use the wonderfully fast LTE network to surf the web, check my email, or find out the latest news, not that I can't check the weather about the incoming winter blast or see the forecast for the next week, that I can't use Wikipedia to remember a fact I can't remember. Not that I can't use maps to find directions back home, check movie times on Yahoo, not that I can't ask Siri how to factor (x^3 - y^3), not that I can't talk to Siri like she's a friend. Not that I can't kill time with Tiny Wings, Temple Run, or Angry Birds. Not that I can't challenge my friends to a game of Ruzzle or Words with Friends. Not that I can't listen to my favorite music on Pandora or Spotify. Not that I can't look up funny cat videos on YouTube, check my grades on Infinite Campus, pin a picture onto Pinterest. Not that I can't do all of things. No, that's not the problem.
The problem is that I can do all those things. #sleepdeprivediphoneaddictedteenager
Jessie
Thursday, February 21, 2013
reckless lovin'
Beloved is, in many ways, a case study of love and all its implications. The story centers around a mother's uncompromisable and reckless love for her children, a kind of emotional attachment so strong that it has twisted her sense of logic and rationality to the point where she would kill her children rather than allow them to suffer.
As the romantic I am, the notion of love is magical and enchanting, a kind of unforced bond formed regardless of intention. A mother is certainly inclined to love her children. Children are certainly inclined to love their mother. This is not intentional. In Sethe's case, loving in that way is dangerous and unhealthy, a love that is "too thick." But it is not intentional, and that fact renders her love uncontrollable. Reckless, yes. But controllable-- not likely. Even the desire to control such emotions would likely only be a fruitless quest.
Sethe is a dramatic and extreme example. But how much far removed is she really from real life? Human beings are inherently inclined to love and inherently inclined to desire meaningful love. The inevitable and uncompromisable desire to find it and have it-- that is what, at the simplest level, is unhealthy in itself. It is not intentional, and certainly impossible to control.
As the romantic I am, the notion of love is magical and enchanting, a kind of unforced bond formed regardless of intention. A mother is certainly inclined to love her children. Children are certainly inclined to love their mother. This is not intentional. In Sethe's case, loving in that way is dangerous and unhealthy, a love that is "too thick." But it is not intentional, and that fact renders her love uncontrollable. Reckless, yes. But controllable-- not likely. Even the desire to control such emotions would likely only be a fruitless quest.
Sethe is a dramatic and extreme example. But how much far removed is she really from real life? Human beings are inherently inclined to love and inherently inclined to desire meaningful love. The inevitable and uncompromisable desire to find it and have it-- that is what, at the simplest level, is unhealthy in itself. It is not intentional, and certainly impossible to control.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
letters!
There are many wonderful things in this world. But there aren't many things much better than a nice, handwritten letter.
Well... that may have been a slight exaggeration. But there is hardly another gift as heartwarming to me as a lengthy letter written in the familiar handwriting of a wonderful friend. Nothing says "I care about you" like the time dedicated to putting thoughts to paper-- not just blankly typing but truly writing, with meaning and consideration.
I truly do relish the pleasure of reading words thought out for me in a font of personality, not the typefont of computerized images. I keep letters sent to me in a drawer, for another wonderful part of handwritten letters is the ability to take them out time and time again to experience the enjoyment all over again.
I know how much I enjoy letters and long, written-out birthday cards. And that is why I am a passionate birthday-card-writer (all of my birthday cards are novels. No empty space. None.) The birthday cards I write to my friends are the fruits of my labor as an author of heartfelt words, and it is through my handwritten masterpiece that I can share the joy of handwritten glory with a friend.
So why are handwritten letters important? Because they can make people happy, people like me.
Well... that may have been a slight exaggeration. But there is hardly another gift as heartwarming to me as a lengthy letter written in the familiar handwriting of a wonderful friend. Nothing says "I care about you" like the time dedicated to putting thoughts to paper-- not just blankly typing but truly writing, with meaning and consideration.
I truly do relish the pleasure of reading words thought out for me in a font of personality, not the typefont of computerized images. I keep letters sent to me in a drawer, for another wonderful part of handwritten letters is the ability to take them out time and time again to experience the enjoyment all over again.
I know how much I enjoy letters and long, written-out birthday cards. And that is why I am a passionate birthday-card-writer (all of my birthday cards are novels. No empty space. None.) The birthday cards I write to my friends are the fruits of my labor as an author of heartfelt words, and it is through my handwritten masterpiece that I can share the joy of handwritten glory with a friend.
So why are handwritten letters important? Because they can make people happy, people like me.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
thoughts from all-state
Maestro asks the orchestra a simple question-- one of those questions that every person opens his mouth to answer but hesitates because of its unsuspected complexity.
What is music? Some violist raises his bow and says, "organized sound." Interesting thought.
But what is music? We spend so much time in our lives listening to it, playing it on instruments, being surrounded by it. Even so, the word "music" seems to have no single definition because a single definition would be unable to do it justice. All that music encompasses seems impossible to constrict into the limitations of a few words or phrases.
What is music? Sure, it's organized sound. But can organized sound really be enough to make you feel boundless joy, deep sadness, irrepressible anger that music can induce? Can it be a medium for self-expression as a unique art form? Can it be as beautiful as music can be? Is music really just organized sound?
But maybe that's what the entire purpose of art forms is--to mean something different to every individual. My definition of music is surely not the same as any other individual's definition. My definition of any form of expression would unlikely to be the same.
What is music? Some violist raises his bow and says, "organized sound." Interesting thought.
But what is music? We spend so much time in our lives listening to it, playing it on instruments, being surrounded by it. Even so, the word "music" seems to have no single definition because a single definition would be unable to do it justice. All that music encompasses seems impossible to constrict into the limitations of a few words or phrases.
What is music? Sure, it's organized sound. But can organized sound really be enough to make you feel boundless joy, deep sadness, irrepressible anger that music can induce? Can it be a medium for self-expression as a unique art form? Can it be as beautiful as music can be? Is music really just organized sound?
But maybe that's what the entire purpose of art forms is--to mean something different to every individual. My definition of music is surely not the same as any other individual's definition. My definition of any form of expression would unlikely to be the same.
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