Tu, Catulle, putas te me possidere.
Noli me tangere quod propria sim.
Quidquid desideravi, passer ferret,
Numquam ei adaequare posses vix!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Favorite Star Wars Quote:
Princess Leia speaking by way of R2-D2:
"General Kenobi: Years ago, you served my father in the Clone Wars; now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person; but my ship has fallen under attack and I'm afraid my mission to Alderaan has failed. I've placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope."
"General Kenobi: Years ago, you served my father in the Clone Wars; now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person; but my ship has fallen under attack and I'm afraid my mission to Alderaan has failed. I've placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope."
Where the Wild Things Are... (In Latin)
Where the wild things are...
Ubi feri sunt...
The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another,
his mother called him “WILD THING!” and Max said “I’ll eat you up!”
So he was sent to bed without eating anything.
Illa nocte suum vestitum lupinum Max gessit ac fecit malum modorum complurum,
mater eius eum appelavit “FERE!” atque Max dixit “Te edam!”
Ita dimissus est nihilo cibi eso ad cubiculum.
That very night in Max’s room a forest grew and grew and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around, and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max,and he sailed off through night and day, and in and out of weeks, and almost a year to where the wild things are.
Ipse nocte in Maxis cubiculo diu silva crevit quoad vitibus tectum penditum sit ac facti sint muri undique in mundum, et Maxi mare naviculam propriam tulit, atque abnavigavit per noctemque diem, per dies septem, per paene annum ad locum ubi feri essent.
And when he came to the place where the wild things are, they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes, and showed their terrible claws till Max said “Be still!”
Ita venit ad locum ubi feri essent, fremuerunt fremitus atroces eorum et infrenduerunt dentibus atrocibus eorum et volutaverunt oculos atroces eorum et monstraverunt ungues atroces eorum, dum Max dixit “Placete omnes!”
And tamed them with a magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once, and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all, and made him king of the wild things.
Et eos mansuefecit fraude magica, spectans in eorum oculos fulvos, id ipse numquam nictans, et territi sunt et eum vocaverunt omnium plurimum ferum, et regem ferorum factus est.
“And now,” cried Max, “let the wild rumpus start!”
“Quidem,” Max clamavit, “Convivium incipiendum est!”
“Now stop!” Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper.
“Desistete!” Max dixit et dimisit feros ut dormiant nihilo cibi eso.
And Max the king of all the wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.
Ita Max, rex ferorum omnium solus fuit atque voluit redire ad locum certum illum amari gente eius.
Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat, so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.
Dum circumspexit undique mundo procul ac cibum bonum olfecit, igitur necesse ei erat relinquere regiam potestam loci illius ubi feri essent.
But the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go-we’ll eat you up-we love you so!”
At feri clamaverunt, “ O noli abire, te edemus, te plurime amamus!”
And Max said, “No!”
Atque Max dixit, “Minime vero!”
The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye.
Fremuerunt feri fremitus atroces eorum et infrenduerunt dentibus atrocibus eorum et volutaverunt oculos atroces eorum et monstraverunt ungues atroces eorum, sed Max iit in naviculam propriam et dixit “Valete.”
And sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him, and it was still hot.
Atque renavigavit per annumque septem dies et diem et in noctem ad cubiculum eius proprium, cena manente et parata.
Ubi feri sunt...
The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another,
his mother called him “WILD THING!” and Max said “I’ll eat you up!”
So he was sent to bed without eating anything.
Illa nocte suum vestitum lupinum Max gessit ac fecit malum modorum complurum,
mater eius eum appelavit “FERE!” atque Max dixit “Te edam!”
Ita dimissus est nihilo cibi eso ad cubiculum.
That very night in Max’s room a forest grew and grew and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around, and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max,and he sailed off through night and day, and in and out of weeks, and almost a year to where the wild things are.
Ipse nocte in Maxis cubiculo diu silva crevit quoad vitibus tectum penditum sit ac facti sint muri undique in mundum, et Maxi mare naviculam propriam tulit, atque abnavigavit per noctemque diem, per dies septem, per paene annum ad locum ubi feri essent.
And when he came to the place where the wild things are, they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes, and showed their terrible claws till Max said “Be still!”
Ita venit ad locum ubi feri essent, fremuerunt fremitus atroces eorum et infrenduerunt dentibus atrocibus eorum et volutaverunt oculos atroces eorum et monstraverunt ungues atroces eorum, dum Max dixit “Placete omnes!”
And tamed them with a magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once, and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all, and made him king of the wild things.
Et eos mansuefecit fraude magica, spectans in eorum oculos fulvos, id ipse numquam nictans, et territi sunt et eum vocaverunt omnium plurimum ferum, et regem ferorum factus est.
“And now,” cried Max, “let the wild rumpus start!”
“Quidem,” Max clamavit, “Convivium incipiendum est!”
“Now stop!” Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper.
“Desistete!” Max dixit et dimisit feros ut dormiant nihilo cibi eso.
And Max the king of all the wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.
Ita Max, rex ferorum omnium solus fuit atque voluit redire ad locum certum illum amari gente eius.
Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat, so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.
Dum circumspexit undique mundo procul ac cibum bonum olfecit, igitur necesse ei erat relinquere regiam potestam loci illius ubi feri essent.
But the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go-we’ll eat you up-we love you so!”
At feri clamaverunt, “ O noli abire, te edemus, te plurime amamus!”
And Max said, “No!”
Atque Max dixit, “Minime vero!”
The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye.
Fremuerunt feri fremitus atroces eorum et infrenduerunt dentibus atrocibus eorum et volutaverunt oculos atroces eorum et monstraverunt ungues atroces eorum, sed Max iit in naviculam propriam et dixit “Valete.”
And sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him, and it was still hot.
Atque renavigavit per annumque septem dies et diem et in noctem ad cubiculum eius proprium, cena manente et parata.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Perspectives...
Once a guy ordered a bowl of tomato soup in a nice restaurant. The waiter brought him the soup quickly. It was hot and fresh. The patron then looks into the bowl and finds a fly in his soup; he immediately tells the waiter. The waiter apologizes profusely. The manager gets involved, and ultimately the patron’s whole meal is free.
Once a frog hopped into a frog restaurant. The frog orders a bowl of tomato soup in this really nice frog restaurant. The frog waiter brought the soup quickly. The frog patron looks into his bowl of soup and finds a fly; he immediately tells the waiter. The waiter replies, “Hey, be quiet, if you say anything, everybody else will want a fly in their soup too!”
What is it that we find repulsive about others depending on our perspective? What do others find loathsome in us depending on their viewpoint? What in our culture seems normal to us that should be loathed and reviled and driven out and reformed were we to see it with an unbiased eye?
Once a frog hopped into a frog restaurant. The frog orders a bowl of tomato soup in this really nice frog restaurant. The frog waiter brought the soup quickly. The frog patron looks into his bowl of soup and finds a fly; he immediately tells the waiter. The waiter replies, “Hey, be quiet, if you say anything, everybody else will want a fly in their soup too!”
What is it that we find repulsive about others depending on our perspective? What do others find loathsome in us depending on their viewpoint? What in our culture seems normal to us that should be loathed and reviled and driven out and reformed were we to see it with an unbiased eye?
Sunday, February 25, 2007
An Interesting Article...
An exerpt from "The Aquatic Journal of Eurasia."
Vol. 5 May 2005 Pages 24-33.
The mer-people of the sea reproduce in much the same fashion as the salmon or other marine species of fish. It is a well-documented scientific process. The female deposits the eggs in a sheltered area of an inland stream or bayou, and the male in close proximity deposits his part of the equation. While the initial courtship rituals of the mer-people is largely undocumented and has heretofore gone unobserved by scientists, we can speculate that the ritual is similar to that of the Alpine chamois of Central Europe. From ancient texts, we learn that males vye for prime breeding females through contests involving brute strength, not by butting heads like the chamois per se, but by fighting with their powerful, fish-like tails. It is recorded in Old Norse literature and the little extant Etruscan literature available of sea captains and crews observing this courting phenomenon in the Adriatic and Baltic seas. Although some would argue that much of this ancient literature is a blend of imaginative fancy and fact, these are the best descriptions we have of mer-people mating rituals.
There is a new study being financed by the Tyrolian Scientific Commission to study the mating ritual around the Po River delta in Italy, as many mer-people sightings have been reported by shrimp and clam fisherman especially around Venice as well as in Trieste at times in the early spring when the effluvience of melting snow in the rivers has swollen the low-lying, marshy areas in the brackish waters. What the results of these studies will be we cannot say as of yet, but the prospect of gaining insight into this obscure people is high with new technologies that allow cameras to employ "night-vision" technology in the murky waters where mer-people are commonly reported to have been seen.
At the same time in Denmark, while one can readily observe the mermaid statue in Copenhagen harbor, one must wonder why such a thing would have been constructed. For the mermaid/merman to have been such an integral part of the culture and lore of ancient land-bound peoples, some basis of truth must have existed to place these creatures in terran man's legends. And regretfully, it is not believed that the mer-people have developed a written language with any existing works. And, moreover, if we were able to begin a dialog with the sea-peoples, the hurdles in communication would be exceedingly difficult since the language as reported by fisherman and others in history has always been likened to a dolphin-like sound, probably based on the principles of echo-location. Hopefully, in the future, increased scientific awareness and willingness of land-man to acknowledge his sea-cousins as equals and not only less evolved, water-bound hominids will give us the knowledge and information to work together with this noble race. Some will say that the mer-races are the caretakers of the seas, and if it were not for them, there would have long ago been a diminishment in the fish stocks that are so important to land-man's survival. It would seem that at this moment that the mer-people and terran man's survival is dependent - one upon the other.
Also, one need only observe his very own hand and see the slight amount of webbing left between his fingers to realize that man on land may have had as a remote forebears the sea-peoples. Genetic sampling is not yet possible due to the reticent nature of the sea-people, but it is hoped that as a part of the mating study, that DNA can be obtained for comparison through gel-electrophoresis to determine the amount of kinship among land and sea man.
(P.S. - I made all this up.)
Vol. 5 May 2005 Pages 24-33.
The mer-people of the sea reproduce in much the same fashion as the salmon or other marine species of fish. It is a well-documented scientific process. The female deposits the eggs in a sheltered area of an inland stream or bayou, and the male in close proximity deposits his part of the equation. While the initial courtship rituals of the mer-people is largely undocumented and has heretofore gone unobserved by scientists, we can speculate that the ritual is similar to that of the Alpine chamois of Central Europe. From ancient texts, we learn that males vye for prime breeding females through contests involving brute strength, not by butting heads like the chamois per se, but by fighting with their powerful, fish-like tails. It is recorded in Old Norse literature and the little extant Etruscan literature available of sea captains and crews observing this courting phenomenon in the Adriatic and Baltic seas. Although some would argue that much of this ancient literature is a blend of imaginative fancy and fact, these are the best descriptions we have of mer-people mating rituals.
There is a new study being financed by the Tyrolian Scientific Commission to study the mating ritual around the Po River delta in Italy, as many mer-people sightings have been reported by shrimp and clam fisherman especially around Venice as well as in Trieste at times in the early spring when the effluvience of melting snow in the rivers has swollen the low-lying, marshy areas in the brackish waters. What the results of these studies will be we cannot say as of yet, but the prospect of gaining insight into this obscure people is high with new technologies that allow cameras to employ "night-vision" technology in the murky waters where mer-people are commonly reported to have been seen.
At the same time in Denmark, while one can readily observe the mermaid statue in Copenhagen harbor, one must wonder why such a thing would have been constructed. For the mermaid/merman to have been such an integral part of the culture and lore of ancient land-bound peoples, some basis of truth must have existed to place these creatures in terran man's legends. And regretfully, it is not believed that the mer-people have developed a written language with any existing works. And, moreover, if we were able to begin a dialog with the sea-peoples, the hurdles in communication would be exceedingly difficult since the language as reported by fisherman and others in history has always been likened to a dolphin-like sound, probably based on the principles of echo-location. Hopefully, in the future, increased scientific awareness and willingness of land-man to acknowledge his sea-cousins as equals and not only less evolved, water-bound hominids will give us the knowledge and information to work together with this noble race. Some will say that the mer-races are the caretakers of the seas, and if it were not for them, there would have long ago been a diminishment in the fish stocks that are so important to land-man's survival. It would seem that at this moment that the mer-people and terran man's survival is dependent - one upon the other.
Also, one need only observe his very own hand and see the slight amount of webbing left between his fingers to realize that man on land may have had as a remote forebears the sea-peoples. Genetic sampling is not yet possible due to the reticent nature of the sea-people, but it is hoped that as a part of the mating study, that DNA can be obtained for comparison through gel-electrophoresis to determine the amount of kinship among land and sea man.
(P.S. - I made all this up.)
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
"The tiger and the lotus"
Those gates of untold bliss bid me enter in,
This place stirs the animal under my skin,
Dark and venerated, sacred to our race,
A warm and pleasing lovely inner-space,
Forged in this kiln is every living soul,
Such a small vessel makes one in whole.
Like a sentinel guarding a treasure,
Those gates hold a wave of pleasure,
When the tiger pounces on the lotus flower,
Growling at the darling bud of water,
The cat is no longer the thane in power,
Howling in the throes and joys is in order.
Beauteous petals can subdue the wild,
A soft caress, a sensual touch, so mild,
A tiny seed is sown, perhaps a love grown,
Just a speck alone, a little life shown,
Bane and boon to this noble clan,
Brave tiger leaves across the land.
This place stirs the animal under my skin,
Dark and venerated, sacred to our race,
A warm and pleasing lovely inner-space,
Forged in this kiln is every living soul,
Such a small vessel makes one in whole.
Like a sentinel guarding a treasure,
Those gates hold a wave of pleasure,
When the tiger pounces on the lotus flower,
Growling at the darling bud of water,
The cat is no longer the thane in power,
Howling in the throes and joys is in order.
Beauteous petals can subdue the wild,
A soft caress, a sensual touch, so mild,
A tiny seed is sown, perhaps a love grown,
Just a speck alone, a little life shown,
Bane and boon to this noble clan,
Brave tiger leaves across the land.
Unfolding poetry
“479” by Emily Dickinson
She dalt her pretty words like Blades –
How glittering they shown –
And every One unbarred a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone –
She never deemed – she hurt –
That – is not Steel’s Affair –
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh –
How ill the Creatures bear –
To Ache is human – not polite –
The Film upon the eye
Mortality’s old Custom –
Just locking up – to Die.
In “479” by Emily Dickinson, her juxtaposition of seeming opposites of symbolism illustrate a cathartic cutting moment which she resolves throughout the poem. Besides symbols, her grammatical constructs convey the time-sense of her resolution.
Blades cut; blades are sharp. Words dealt as blades to the poet cut as deep to her as any steel. Dickinson’s emotional sensitivity displays itself in the poem readily. She begins as if she is reeling from an encounter with an unknown woman. The woman seems eloquent, yet eloquent in a sense of having a way with words carefully chosen to wreak emotional havoc for the poet.
Often pretty words are thought to be those that make one happy or elated. And yet, Dickinson describes them glittering like a blade. Perhaps the woman offending paid a compliment in two ways. A double entendre likened to the slow kindjal piercing to the nerve were her words.
The symbolic aspects contradict one another, furthering the sentiment of a double edged compliment. By calling words that hurt “pretty” and “glittering,” she contrasts pain or aching with the usually positive adjectives negatively. Later, “a vulgar grimace” contrasts back to the “pretty” delivery of hurtful words. The picture of a sophisticated, urbane lady comes to mind dressed in her finery, standing at Dickinson’s garden gate. The lady stands there and harangues Dickinson. Perhaps the lady was one of those who thinks to be doing “a favor” to her addressee by telling to Dickinson all the should be doing – all the while cutting.
Further, Dickinson resolves the episode in two ways. She uses the infinitive form “to ache” to show purpose. “To ache is human” mirrors the saying, “To err is human.” Perhaps she believes that aching is the purpose or lot of a human and part of the province of what being a human is. She contrasts the aching with “polite” in the same line. Politeness is a social convention typically thought to alleviate pain – that is, relationships among humans. Later, she places the final infinitive, “to die,” at the end of the poem – to die as a human’s final purpose. In the penultimate line, she uses “Mortality” as a noun, suggesting that she has relegated herself to a long line of those hurt by words. Dickinson perhaps shed some tears on the way to the emotional resolution with the “Film upon the eye.”
Dickinson’s use of tense gives clues as well to the progress of the resolution. Stanzas one and two are in past tense; three is in present. Although the poet was hurt, like Wordsworth, she experiences the moment and lets it coalesce. Later, she puts it into words with her overflow of emotion in spontaneity.
Dickinson herself cuts with words in this poem, “479.” Her skillful use of symbol and clever, carefully-chosen grammar rend out the emotions of the reader just as she felt them. As a glittering blade can cut to nerve and bone, so can words. As she was cut, so she cuts. And, as those knife-words were double-bladed, so the poem is. Not only does the poem recount a hurtful exchange, but it also counts the exchange among those human things, those inevitable emotions which lead all to the same destination – death. Her seemingly fey attitude is a resolution of sorts. Her hurt has now also died, has been cried out, and resolved.
She dalt her pretty words like Blades –
How glittering they shown –
And every One unbarred a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone –
She never deemed – she hurt –
That – is not Steel’s Affair –
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh –
How ill the Creatures bear –
To Ache is human – not polite –
The Film upon the eye
Mortality’s old Custom –
Just locking up – to Die.
In “479” by Emily Dickinson, her juxtaposition of seeming opposites of symbolism illustrate a cathartic cutting moment which she resolves throughout the poem. Besides symbols, her grammatical constructs convey the time-sense of her resolution.
Blades cut; blades are sharp. Words dealt as blades to the poet cut as deep to her as any steel. Dickinson’s emotional sensitivity displays itself in the poem readily. She begins as if she is reeling from an encounter with an unknown woman. The woman seems eloquent, yet eloquent in a sense of having a way with words carefully chosen to wreak emotional havoc for the poet.
Often pretty words are thought to be those that make one happy or elated. And yet, Dickinson describes them glittering like a blade. Perhaps the woman offending paid a compliment in two ways. A double entendre likened to the slow kindjal piercing to the nerve were her words.
The symbolic aspects contradict one another, furthering the sentiment of a double edged compliment. By calling words that hurt “pretty” and “glittering,” she contrasts pain or aching with the usually positive adjectives negatively. Later, “a vulgar grimace” contrasts back to the “pretty” delivery of hurtful words. The picture of a sophisticated, urbane lady comes to mind dressed in her finery, standing at Dickinson’s garden gate. The lady stands there and harangues Dickinson. Perhaps the lady was one of those who thinks to be doing “a favor” to her addressee by telling to Dickinson all the should be doing – all the while cutting.
Further, Dickinson resolves the episode in two ways. She uses the infinitive form “to ache” to show purpose. “To ache is human” mirrors the saying, “To err is human.” Perhaps she believes that aching is the purpose or lot of a human and part of the province of what being a human is. She contrasts the aching with “polite” in the same line. Politeness is a social convention typically thought to alleviate pain – that is, relationships among humans. Later, she places the final infinitive, “to die,” at the end of the poem – to die as a human’s final purpose. In the penultimate line, she uses “Mortality” as a noun, suggesting that she has relegated herself to a long line of those hurt by words. Dickinson perhaps shed some tears on the way to the emotional resolution with the “Film upon the eye.”
Dickinson’s use of tense gives clues as well to the progress of the resolution. Stanzas one and two are in past tense; three is in present. Although the poet was hurt, like Wordsworth, she experiences the moment and lets it coalesce. Later, she puts it into words with her overflow of emotion in spontaneity.
Dickinson herself cuts with words in this poem, “479.” Her skillful use of symbol and clever, carefully-chosen grammar rend out the emotions of the reader just as she felt them. As a glittering blade can cut to nerve and bone, so can words. As she was cut, so she cuts. And, as those knife-words were double-bladed, so the poem is. Not only does the poem recount a hurtful exchange, but it also counts the exchange among those human things, those inevitable emotions which lead all to the same destination – death. Her seemingly fey attitude is a resolution of sorts. Her hurt has now also died, has been cried out, and resolved.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Introduction: February 1st, 2007
Ahhh, the internet. Such a place where one can find anything and everything. It kind of reminds me of that song, "Portobello Road," from Bedknobs and Broomsticks. So, a blog is where a person keeps a diary of sorts, I suppose. Now, in times past, folks kept diaries under lock and key - their little sanctuary to pour out their thoughts and inner-selves. And, now it's all turned around. Inner is presented to the outer world. But, what to say here? I guess I will have to keep it nice. Not mention specific names. Stay away from moralizing and proselytizing. Or not. Marco Polo in his book of his journey to the Far East had an uncanny knack in that he observed without passing judgment. "The Mongol Tribesmen of Central Asia drink mare's milk with blood for breakfast; they seem to enjoy it immensely. They tout its benefits and believe it to be a perfect drink."
Moving on, this blog may be boring. I am a full-time student right now. I am studying to become an English and Latin teacher. Whoohooo!!! I know that is what the reader is thinking! Well, it is fun, to me at least. Chaucer, Emerson, Thoreau, Shakespear, Donne, e.e. cummings, Hawthorne, Milton, Herbert, Hardy, Bronte, Dickens - that's all good stuff! I am crazy about grammar - words, structures, and, style, and crazier even about Latin. To look at words on their most elemental bases and roots gives one a sense of continuity and meaning that I don't believe I'd otherwise have without having studied language intensely. I do know a little of Portuguese too. But it is very rusty (muito enferrujado).
I'm not sure what all I'll put here. With me doing a lot of writing for the several different classes I'm in, I might even put up some excerpts from essays. I might make posts in Latin just for practice. And, I might even break out some Swedish!!! Well, maybe not so much. Who knows,a poem might just fall out of the sky and land here, as far from poetic convention as can be, but poetry after a fashion nonetheless.
And, I don't want to feel like this blog is just a bunch of self-aggrandizement, but, of a sort, it is. How can me talking about me not be about me? I'm not going to post things self-deprecating and blasphemous to me, intentionally! So, how is the balance struck between a Narcissus-like shrine to me and a web-log resembling a diary? Verily, I know not. Whosoever may choose to read can make their own judgments. That, depending on a reader's perspective is always the rub, is it not? Writing is revealing of a person in several ways. You read what I write, you think you know what I mean, and you interpret what I write on account of what you are. You as a reader have reflected back to you what you think I meant depending upon all those thousand things that make you you. I think that the saying, "The meaning of the poem lies in the belly of the poet," could not be a more apt sentiment to express what happens in the exchange between reader and writer. I may mean one thing, and yet, those subtle shades of meaning surrounding words may very well lead another to carry a meaning far, far away from that meaning which I intended. This, I believe, is what makes good writing remain popular. Now, I'm certainly no writer, but I like to do it.
So, I will just make a bunch a random observations at time with some of it bordering on humor or perhaps however a reader may see it. I will write little rants, perhaps. I will write little stories. And, maybe even a biased commentary on something that may be so far off from a realistic interpretation that any sane person would deem full wise and fair.
Moving on, this blog may be boring. I am a full-time student right now. I am studying to become an English and Latin teacher. Whoohooo!!! I know that is what the reader is thinking! Well, it is fun, to me at least. Chaucer, Emerson, Thoreau, Shakespear, Donne, e.e. cummings, Hawthorne, Milton, Herbert, Hardy, Bronte, Dickens - that's all good stuff! I am crazy about grammar - words, structures, and, style, and crazier even about Latin. To look at words on their most elemental bases and roots gives one a sense of continuity and meaning that I don't believe I'd otherwise have without having studied language intensely. I do know a little of Portuguese too. But it is very rusty (muito enferrujado).
I'm not sure what all I'll put here. With me doing a lot of writing for the several different classes I'm in, I might even put up some excerpts from essays. I might make posts in Latin just for practice. And, I might even break out some Swedish!!! Well, maybe not so much. Who knows,a poem might just fall out of the sky and land here, as far from poetic convention as can be, but poetry after a fashion nonetheless.
And, I don't want to feel like this blog is just a bunch of self-aggrandizement, but, of a sort, it is. How can me talking about me not be about me? I'm not going to post things self-deprecating and blasphemous to me, intentionally! So, how is the balance struck between a Narcissus-like shrine to me and a web-log resembling a diary? Verily, I know not. Whosoever may choose to read can make their own judgments. That, depending on a reader's perspective is always the rub, is it not? Writing is revealing of a person in several ways. You read what I write, you think you know what I mean, and you interpret what I write on account of what you are. You as a reader have reflected back to you what you think I meant depending upon all those thousand things that make you you. I think that the saying, "The meaning of the poem lies in the belly of the poet," could not be a more apt sentiment to express what happens in the exchange between reader and writer. I may mean one thing, and yet, those subtle shades of meaning surrounding words may very well lead another to carry a meaning far, far away from that meaning which I intended. This, I believe, is what makes good writing remain popular. Now, I'm certainly no writer, but I like to do it.
So, I will just make a bunch a random observations at time with some of it bordering on humor or perhaps however a reader may see it. I will write little rants, perhaps. I will write little stories. And, maybe even a biased commentary on something that may be so far off from a realistic interpretation that any sane person would deem full wise and fair.
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