Some Poetry, For the Hell of It

She Weeps over Rahoon
James Joyce

Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly falling,
Where my dark lover lies.
Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling,
At grey moonrise.

Love, hear thou
How soft, how sad his voice is ever calling,
Ever unanswered, and the dark rain falling,
Then as now.

Dark too our hearts, O love, shall lie and cold
As his sad heart has lain
Under the moongrey nettles, the black mould
And muttering rain.


maggie and millie and molly and may
e.e. cummings

maggie and millie and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

millie befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
It's always ourselves we find in the sea.


Psalm
Stuart Kestenbaum

The only psalm I had memorized was the 23rd
and now I find myself searching for the order
of the phrases knowing it ends with surely
goodness and mercy will follow me
all the days of my life and I will dwell
in the house of the Lord forever only I remember
seeing a new translation from the original Hebrew
and forever wasn't forever but a long time
which is different from forever although
even a long time today would be
good enough for me even a minute entering
the House would be good enough for me,
even a hand on the door or dropping today's
newspaper on the stoop or looking in the windows
that are reflecting this morning's clouds in first light.

God Bless America
Harold Pintner (author of The Dumbwaiter, for those that were there)

Here they go again,
The Yanks in their armoured parade
Chanting their ballads of joy
As they gallop across the big world
Praising America's God.

The gutters are clogged with the dead
The ones who couldn't join in
The others refusing to sing
The ones who are losing their voice
The ones who've forgotten the tune.

The riders have whips which cut.
Your head rolls onto the sand
Your head is a pool in the dirt
Your head is a stain in the dust
Your eyes have gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the pong of the dead
And all the dead air is alive
With the smell of America's God.

...and finally, a few lines from T.S. Eliot (my favorite poet), taken from his last published poem, "Little Gidding":

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Some Friendly Advice

People from high school keep asking me for advice. It's weird. Giving it, I mean. It makes me feel old, which is funny, because two of the people in particular are just as old as I am, what with the skipping a year and all.

I wonder if I'm qualified to give advice? Is there a qualification? One friend asked me about her love life. I've only had two girlfriends. I ignored the first, and the second and I are...different, in good and bad ways. I am by no means an expert. So why does she think I am?

The other friend was asking me about college, and, implicit in the question, life direction, a little. How the fuck should I know? All I can do is tell you what it's like here, and now. I can also regurgitate for you the shit that people told me? Do I think I'm doing the right thing? Yeah. Do I hope? Yeah. Do I know? ...no. I don't know.

Does anybody? Does anybody know if they've ever done the right thing? How can you look back at your choices and know? I mean, to know that, you would have to know what life would have been like if you had made different choices every step of the way. I don't know. I just hope. I just hope like hell.

So I guess that's what I can tell everybody. I bet that this path that I'm on will get me where I want to go (although where that is...I'm not sure). I hope so, at any rate. And you are more than welcome to hope with me.

Album Review: No World for Tomorrow

And so, ladies and gents (few of you as there are), welcome to my inaugural album review. It's only here because I am particularly excited about this one. I love this band so much that when I think about them, I get what a friend affectionately calls "joy seizures." I shake uncontrollably. But I will try my best to be unbiased, as I review...

ARTIST: Coheed and Cambria
ALBUM: Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV, Vol. 2: No World for Tomorrow

After the loss of half the band, the restoration of a quarter, and the addition of a new member, progressive rock's poster boys Coheed and Cambria have come out with their new album, Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV, Vol. 2: No World for Tomorrow, or NWFT, for short. This album brings to a close the epic tale of Claudio Kilgannon, son of the ill-fated (and title) characters Coheed and Cambria. Never to be outdone, C&C's latest album ends with--what else?--the destruction of the universe.

Intriguing (and confusing) side-story notwithstanding, the music is an issue in itself. Like any good progressive band, Coheed's music does just that: progresses. From their decidedly heavy debut, Second Stage Turbine Blade, the band's sound has changed drastically. No longer dirty and grunge-infused, the band's next release, In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3 brought them the attentions of Columbia records, who distributed the band's next album, Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV, Vol. 1: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness, with the epic "Welcome Home" and inventive "Willing Well" quartet at the close of the album. Many fans are disappointed in this, Coheed's fourth release. They've lost a lot of their edge, it is true. However, "edge" in Coheed's case was just poor musicianship, slowly leaving as these boys grow to fit the mantle handed them last fall by Alternative Press: This generation's Led Zeppelin.

Erroneous comparison? Perhaps not. Frontman Claudio Sanchez certainly has as unique a voice as Plant's, and both he and guitarist Travis Stever are no slouches. They are certainly better than their contemporaries in their genre, as was Jimmy Paige.

If any album has the ability to show the world what Sanchez and Stever can do, it is this one. Unlike the other releases, NWFT has solos aplenty, and even the background riffs can be mind blowing (see "No World for Tomorrow," the title track). Their classic rock emulation becomes evident in "Gravemakers & Gunslingers" above all. It's hard to think of a band to cite...think the four-on-the-floor feel of a good Lynard Skynard song, or Thin Lizzy, but with flashy guitar to shame Rush. Speaking of Geddy Lee, the next track, "Justice in Murder," out-Geddy's the shit out of him. Nobody does poppy, layered falsetto like Claudio Sanchez.

NWFT musically goes places no other Coheed Album goes. Second Stage is the same from beginning to end, a cohesive sound. Album by album, Coheed has been working its way down the spectrum to NWFT. It holds itself together beautifully by taking risks. The last song, "On the Brink," has Sanchez singing with just a piano and a cello for a while, and he goes totally a cappella for a few bars in "Radio Bye-Bye." There's some blues guitar and piano thrown about, along with some very IKSSE:3-like drive on "No World for Tomorrow." The whole album utilizes more non-traditional instruments to great effect. The mis-mash of styles and sounds is quintessentially Coheed, and that's what makes them good. They go places that other bands are afraid to go. They don't worry about "a sound" to adhere to. And that's what gives them the best shot at that Zeppelin mantle. Their sound isn't genre-bound. They take risks. They make music.

Songs to Listen to:
...the whole album, preferably, but if not:
"Feathers"
"Mother Superior"
"Gravemakers & Gunslingers"
"Radio Bye-Bye"

A Prayer

Perhaps one day, God will grant me
a gift
of words.
And then no longer will my pen
put onto the cave walls
only shadows.

Perhaps one day, my words
will find
a vessel.
And then no longer will these
words, pink and new,
reach no one.

Perhaps one day, my words
will form
a bridge.
And then no longer will this sea
of silence imprison me
all alone.

Perhaps one day, this world
will burn
and die.
And then we can remake it,
new and clean,
with words.

A Reflection on My Current Dillema

Today was very interesting. I had a terrible fight with my girlfriend (precipitated by my irresponsibility, as usual, but digressing into something far worse), but we made it through without breaking up for the evening, which I think is a step in the right direction. (She'll read this at some point, so I love you, babe.) After that, I had a fantastic conversation with a person whom I grossly underestimated.

This friend has been going through a terrible, terrible breakup, two years long, I believe. Earlier today her...boy...finally did the best thing ever: he smashed her poor heart. Horrible though it may seem, the trauma of the experience has finally set her on the path to getting over him (which she needed, because she could do a lot better).

Another friend of mine has been in the messiest relationship-ish thing that I've ever witnessed in my life. She and her boyfriend are trying to reconcile their very differing views on their wants and needs in a partnership.

Both of these girls are incredible, smart, funny, engaging, and pretty. They could have their pick of the litter, really, but for reasons inexplicable to all involved, they let complete chumps break their hearts. It made me think of my own girlfriend, and why it is that we stay together.

Tonight, my friend (the first one) really put it in perspective. She said that the good things outweigh the bad, so it's worth it at the end of the day. She also assuaged my fear that changing each other was erroneous. She said to me, "The difference is that you're willing to change. You aren't forcing changes onto each other. You're compromising, not 'changing each other.'" I nearly kissed her. I have always been quite proud (perhaps too proud) of my knack for succinctness, but I could never defend my position with such lucidity before. Perhaps it just takes that little bit of distance for perspective.

As I was staring at the ceiling, I realized that love is a bitch. Literally. That's why Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, was so feared. The power that love holds over us is tremendous and terrible. When we think we have it in our hands, when we think we have mastered it, it slips away. It is only by humbling ourselves to the forces that govern love that we can attain anything worth having. My girlfriend and I are deeply in love, but we are just now realizing how difficult and frustrating a partnership can be. We argue, sometimes fight, but at the end of the day, I love her more than anything, and I think that she loves me too.

We toy with the idea of breaking up, because it seems like it would be easier sometimes. But again, the ancient Greeks warn us of the dangers of denying Aphrodite. When young Hippolytus swears off love, an enraged Aphrodite causes his step-mother Phaedra to fall in love with him. When Hippolytus turns Phaedra down, she accuses him of raping her, a crime for which Hippolytus pays with his life. All because he declared himself above the power of love.

Even though I sometimes feel like I can't even talk to my girlfriend anymore, I know that I don't want to be without her. I know that denying my feelings for her would be easier in a way, but the price that I would pay for spitting on love would be far greater than I can imagine. I don't necessarily believe in true love, but I believe that there is one person out there that matches you better than anyone else. I also believe that I have found that person, even though I'm only seventeen--but only for one more day.

And so, to my two friends, I wish one of you luck in finding the man of your dreams, because he's out there, waiting. And to the other, I hope that the man of your dreams wakes up and realizes that he is ruining the best thing he could ever hope to have. Even though you worry that you are messing things up, hon, he is the one that should be worried. You are amazing, and he's taking you for granted, just like you think you do to him.

And to the most important girl of all, I love you more than life. You are the reason the sun rises and sets every day, and without you, there would be nothing but night. I want to be with you forever. I want to grow old together. I want to hold our children, and their children, and (if God wills us lives so long) their children. But most of all, I want to hold you. Every day, for the rest of my life. No matter how long it takes to achieve that goal. I found a wonderful quote that summarizes our position: "I'd like to run away from you, but if you didn't come and find me...I would die."

The Value of Being Good and Pissed Off

Before I begin, allow me to draw your attention to the auspiciousness of this moment. I am now writing my second blog in a month. A big deal, I know. Feel free to congratulate me later.

So, I was with my girlfriend all weekend, and we had a great time reconciling and so forth. However, while we were busy reconciling, there was something very important that I was neglecting. My English 207 paper on Titus Andronicus. And so here it is, almost midnight, and I just finished. I started a little after seven. Of course, that's probably because I thought the paper had to be three to five pages. I was mistaken. The professor asked for five to seven. In a panic, I opened up my laptop and began typing away, armed with a pocket style manual and, of course, the text.

At about 9:00 I had a really nice introduction and thesis. My paragraph on Titus was good, my paragraph on Aaron the Moor only slightly less so. I was explaining a problem with Titus, that problem being excess. Titus, as a hero, doesn't garner any empathy from his audience because he is so aggrieved that no one can really sympathize. Aaron is a terrible villain because we don't know why he is so evil, so we don't care. Those points were easy to make.

My last supporting point discussed the play as a whole. I was planning on talking about the lack of catharsis due to the excessive violence, especially in the last act. I struggled with it. I fought with it. I revised, I re-wrote, I restructured, and I was still having a hard time getting the point to jump out clearly. And then I got pissed. I went off. And in the process, I did something that an English major--particularly a freshman--should never do.

I insulted William Shakespeare.

I read over the line-in-question a couple times. I gaped in horror at what I had done. I struggled to find a way to re-word it. But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, the way it appeared on the screen was the best way I could think to say what I meant. And then I realized. I meant to insult him. Because I was pissed off.

For those of you that have never been subjected to Titus Andronicus: fuck off. You have no idea how lucky you are. Titus Andronicus is without question the worst play I have ever read, Shakespeare or otherwise. It is mindless pulp fiction. For crying out loud, there are only about 23 speaking parts, and of those, half die. And Titus doesn't just kill his enemies, oh no. He kills Empress Tamora's sons first, and he decides to bake them into a pie and serve them to their mother before stabbing her. Even the pie isn't quite enough, because instead of just using their flesh for filling, Titus uses them to make the crust as well. He grinds their bones to powder, then uses their blood to make a paste that he bakes into a "coffin," or pie-crust. Of course, this is all told to the audience. After she digs in, Titus asks her husband, the Emperor Saturninus, if a victim of rape should be put out of her misery. When the Emperor says yes, Titus stabs his daughter Lavinia, who had her tongue cut out and her hands cut off after the Empress's sons-turned-pot pies raped her. The Emperor then says, "Like, Titus, why'd you stab your daughter?" (or something to that effect). To which Titus replies, "Her sons raped her after they killed your brother and had my sons beheaded. Then Titus stabs the Empress. Then Emperor Saturninus is like, "That's my wife, asshole," and he stabs Titus. Then Titus's son is like, "You stabbed my dad! That wasn't nice." Then he stabs the Emperor. Titus's son survives, but only because there really wasnt' anyone left to kill him.

That all takes up less than fifteen lines, the last three deaths only getting a line apiece. Normally, this would be sad, like in Hamlet, but here, I honestly didn't care less. Why? BECAUSE THE CHARACTERS AREN'T EVEN FUCKING PEOPLE! They are just poor representation of vices or emotions or ideals, terribly fleshed out, with one-dimensional depth and no real motivation, save two. IT IS THE STUPIDEST FUCKING PLAY I HAVE EVER READ! AND I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHO WROTE IT! IT STILL SUCKS!

*Breathes heavily*

As you can tell, I still haven't gotten over what a colossal waste of time that play was for me. At the end of Oedipus Rex, I felt bad for him, although he was so stupid. At the end of Death of a Salesman, I was truly saddened by Willy's demise, even though I knew it was coming. However, at the end of Titus Andronicus, I wondered what took everyone so long. I honestly didn't care at all about the pie thing, and when Titus stabbed poor, soiled Lavinia, I started laughing hysterically. My laughter increased in intensity until the death of Saturninus, at which point I dropped the book on the floor and fell over on my bed, clutching at the stitch that had developed in my side. I then read it to my Chinese roommate, who had his own hysterical fit. He doesn't even speak English very well, and he thought it was pretty damn funny, too.

And so, William Shakespeare, your first tragedy is a steaming pile of shit. My dog could write better. You should have just drawn stick figures. They would have the same complexity, and it wouldn't take as long to watch them die. Don't misunderstand me. You are still the best author in the English language. However, you had a pretty rough start in the tragedy department.

I feel so much better now. Sometimes it just takes a good, long scream.

Or an angry and indignant blog post.

That, William, is catharsis.

A Rediscovery of Something Beautiful

So, deep down I'm a music major. I admit it. And today I was listening to some old choral music that, at one time, I obsessed over. My favorite new choral composer is probably Eric Whitacre, but I realized today that the prize for all-around favorite new kid on the block goes to another: Frank Ticheli. He is a prolific composer of wind ensemble music, notably the innovative settings of the old folk song "Shenendoah" and the timeless hymn "Amazing Grace." (On a sidenote, I've played both of those, and he writes beautiful alto saxophone solos...maybe I'm prejudiced.) Last March, I went to see the University of Oregon wind ensemble perform, and they played a piece of Ticheli's called "Sanctuary." Now, my other home boy, Eric Whitacre, composes for wind ensemble as well, but his pieces just aren't as good. He held the crown of best until I gave a listen to an oldie, but a goodie. But first, the back-story:

Last fall, after being in choir for all of two weeks, Mrs. Antonsen dragged me off to Willamette University for a men's choir festival. They gave us free CDs, and one of them was their Chamber Choir's best recording. It was a great album, containing works by my three favorite postmodern composers: Moses Hogan (he only does gospel, so he's not anywhere near the other two...but he DOES gospel), Eric Whitacre, and Frank Ticheli. Whitacre's "Cloudburst" really caught my attention, with its innovative techniques and radical chord changes. In fact, it overshadowed the quiet brilliance of Ticheli's piece, "There Will Be Rest." Don't misunderstand me. They are both amazing songs that bring me to tears regularly, but the message and the setting of Ticheli's (dare I say it) outstrip Whitacre's.

See, the problem is textual SETTING. Whitacre's music is beautiful, and he does such marvellous things with words, for example: in his setting of e.e. cummings's "i thank you God for most this amazing day" he makes the indefineable words "you" and "God" shimmer, at one point (for you music aficionados) having the first parts sing a Dm7 and the seconds sing an Em7, resulting in an entire octave. Every natural note. From D to D. Ballsy, and beautiful. However, most of Whitacre's songs are beautiful aurally, but convey no message. Ticheli, however... first, I'll show you the poem. It's by Sara Teasdale, with the same name as the piece.

There Will Be Rest
by Sara Teasdale

There will be rest, and sure stars shining
Over the roof-tops crowned with snow,
A reign of rest, serene forgetting,
The music of stillness holy and low.

I will make this world of my devising,
Out of a dream in my lonely mind,
I shall find the crystal of peace, -- above me
Stars I shall find.

A word about the author: Sara Teasdale suffered from severe clinical depression, and she ended up taking her own life. In fact, this is her last published poem.

Taking that into account, Ticheli's setting is all the more poignant. The quiet assertion of the title statement, the descent to the word "low" at the end of the first stanza...supurb. Then, at the final repetition of that line, the piece totally turns for a moment, declaring, announcing, the author's dominion over her surroundings. And then, suddenly, the cascading sound drops to nothing as "in my lonely mind" is nearly whispered. Perhaps my favorite moment in the piece is the last. It is first a prayer, and then, at the resolution, in a strong major chord, a promise, a vow, made especially moving at the thought that the author of the text did indeed make the world of her devising, and she did find her stars, when she ended her life.

Sorry about the esotericism. I couldn't help it. I haven't analyzed music for so long.

And again: Moses Hogan, Eric Whitacre, and Frank Ticheli. All worth many a listen.