Its a Wonderful Life.

As I break between the flowing tears that seem to be falling down my face after watching the movie, The Human Experience, I am filled with such a happiness I am unable to express.
The Human Experience was a film of two brothers and their journey through three different life experiences, the first being homeless in new york city, then visiting the lost children of peru, and finally visting a leper colony. Throughout all of their experiences they seem to find the meaning of humanity and the experiences that they possess.

Many times experiences define a person, and with those experiences we, as a people, have the opportunity to help those who are less forunate. The most touching part of the movie was the brothers ability to forgive their abusive father. THAT is the true human experience- our ability to love even when we feel as if we cannot, even when it seems as if unimaginable to forgive such horrific things.

Happiness relies on our humanity.

Fight for Life

When many think of a hero, they tend to think of those in shining silver armor ready to march on to a battlefield as if we were engaged in a medieval time warp. The fact of the matter is that there are the unseen and unfortunately UNAMED heroes of the present. The fight for life is one that has been difficult to even gain little steps towards success, being that abortion is on the rise and young mothers are aborting their child as late as 9 MONTHS.

This is my frustarating ongoing activity.

In the famous words of Dr. Suess, "a persons a person- no matter how small", I find it frightening that children all across our nation and elsewhere are being aborted as late as 9 months, basically the woman would have to give birth and then shortly after the "doctor" would kill the child. These children do not have a voice, so many others have gathered up the torch to be the voice of the unborn. Women do have a choice , that is a well known fact, but many fail to see that the child inside the womb fails to have a choice. Even though that child is just as much a human life they lack the capability to choose whether they live or die.

Martin Luther King Jr. said in his famous letter from Birmingham jail spoke about how every person is an extremist, but many have to choose what they will be extremists for- love or hate. That is the struggle in all man kind is to dig into our souls and find the strength to fight for love, fight for those who are unable to speak, and in turn fighting for Jesus Christ himself. 
The battle is on- and I will not stop- nor slow down.

Curiousity may or may not have killed the cat?

This poem about Curiosity was among one of my favorites that I have read this quarter, mostly because it came up with a metaphorical way to present an idea that having curiosity is a GOOD thing, not a bad one. In the third stanza the first line, "Curiosity will not cause us to die- only lack of it will." The poem is saying that granted those cats may have used up all 9 lives according to this need for curiosity, they lived life to the wonders that it possesses. The two groups of people that roam the earth are either the "dogs" or "cats", the dogs refuse to fall subject to curiosity and when they do that they fall to a fainted color of what the world holds true and dear. With curious minds we have been able to do wonderful things such as; land on the moon, create technology so small that the naked eye can't see it, change history by simply refusing to move to the back of the bus, and slowly change the outcome of poverty stricken people across the globe. Without curiosity we would all be old dogs just waiting for our lives to begin,  and personally ? I would rather live life curiously...

Defining the Grateful Gesture

This poem by Yvonne Sepia was describing a life with her mother that included the thought that her gratefulness was never enough for her mother. Her mother was always the victim, and with that she had it rough- or someone she knew. The poem was easily understood, and looedk into the cultural differences between generations. Being half mexican myself I know the trials that go into the differences with each generation- my grandmother still believes that looking at an ugly baby means that you will have an ugly baby as a result. Also, it means that many times we aren't as grateful as we should be. Granted that parents and grandparents grew up in a harder time, but who is to judge which time period is harder? Either way it is looked at- times have changed. They will continiously change so learning from previous generations is key. Sepia grew the entire poem from a single idea, an idea of gratefulness. She gave a look into her past and with that made the reader further understand this central idea.

My Thanksgiving Poem :)

Pie Oh My

Kileen Willis

My Mom is a cherry pie, full of delicious taste and fruitful wisdom.

My Dad is a sturdy pecan pie, he is strong on the outside but also is filled with a gooey inside.

Kelsie is a fluffy lemon meringue pie full of sweetness and goodness.

Dana is a rich chocolate mousse pie, bold and daring.

Jenna is a banana creme pie, filled with a delicious sweetness.

God is the whipped creme, brings us all together and is the most important part.

Without it, pie would just be... pie.

Even if you weren't my father...

I am sorry that I didn't write the poem on my blog, but I'm not feeling too good so I am trying my best to get at least a few words out about the poem I read. Even if you weren't my father was a beautiful touching poem, what makes it so beautiful is that it is about a person in every ones life that is of utter importance.. a father. When Sbarbaro writes in lines 1 through 3," Father, even if you weren't my father, were you an utter stranger, for your own self I'd still love you." I would hope that all of us could relate to that, because a fathers love for his child is so unfathomable that we are unable to even imagine until the point to which men become fathers. A mothers love is unknowing as-well, but they are very different.

Sbarbaro tries to give the readers a look into the triumphs and faults of her father, that he may lose his temper but the love for his child brought him back to earth. He could recognize the fear in her eyes and wanted to rid her of that, so with loving arms he held her against him so she could hear the strong beat of his heart and feel safe. I read a book called captivating last year and it is a beautiful uplifting book about the importance of the Father in a daughters life, the author was trying to also encourage the importance of the relationship with our Heavenly Father, the reminder of this book came about because through the actions of our Fathers- we as daughters - learn so many characteristics that will substantially make who we become. Daddy's are always there to comfort and bring safety, and they give that occasional "you look beautiful"remark that gives us a feeling that we are beautiful- but for reasons only the soul can show.
Even if you weren't my father is a wonderful poem because it isn't complex to understand, it is rather simple, and everyone (I would hope) can relate to this poem in one way or another.

Ethics

Ethics

Linda Pastan

In ethics class so many years ago

our teacher asked this question every fall:

if there were a fire in a museum

which would you save, a Rembrandt painting

or an old woman who hadn't many

years left anyhow?

 Restless on hard chairs caring little for pictures or old age

we'd opt one year for life, the next for art

and always half-heartedly. Sometimes

the woman borrowed my grandmother's face

leaving her usual kitchen to wander

some drafty, half- imagined museum.

One year, feeling clever, I replied

why not let the woman decide herself?

Linda, the teacher would report, eschews

the burden of responsibility.

This fall in a real museum I stand

 before a real Rembrandt, old woman,

or nearly so, myself. The colors

within this frame are darker than autumn

darker even than winter- the browns of the earth,

though earth's most radiant elements burn

 through the canvas. I know now that woman

and painting and season are almost one

and all beyond saving by children.

I find it very ironic that I happened to pick this poem to not only do my blog, but also to teach about being that it is the same author as the last poem I blogged about. Linda Pastan is a Jewish American poet, she obviously wrote unveiling and tends to write about very "dark" or seemingly dark subjects.

This poem "Ethics" seems to be surrounded by the simple question "what would you do?", she strives to answer one of the most difficult ethical questions. The beginning of the poem seems as if she is merely telling a story, then at the 10th line is where it transforms into a poetic style. The deep metaphors of "colors within this frame are darker than autumn even darker than winter..." seem to generate an over all "shadow" like feeling.

A guilty conscience seems to go with us where ever we are, and with that guilt comes an over sense of darkness that envelopes us. The ethical question of whether to save an old woman or a valuable painting seems to not have a right answer for people, those who choose a side may come to regret it, and that is where guilt comes into play. This poem is surrounding the question of, "what would you do?", but also adds to the idea that there will be a consequence for either action the person chooses. Pastan's writing rides on an edge of sadness, but with that brings a light of understanding within the poem itself.

Unveiling.

Unveiling

Linda Pastan

In the cemetery

a mile away

from where we used to live

my aunts and mother,

my father and uncles lie

in two long rows almost the way

they used to sit around

the long planked table

at family dinners,

and walking beside

the graves today, down

one straight path

and up the next,

I don't feel sad

for them,just left out a bit

as if they kept

from me the kind

of grown-up secret

they used to share

back then, something

I'm not quite ready yet

to learn.

As children we all had a view of the world, that it was almost perfect. Our brains were like sponges soaking in all the information that we could possibly handle. The 3rd to last line in the poem was the climactic point, by that I mean; "something I'm not quite ready yet to learn", it is so climactic because of the perspective I am looking at towards the poem. There is a song written by the Christian band "Mercy Me" called Homesick, it is all about how we are hungry to go home- but to our Heavenly home. When Pastan states, "I don't feel sad for them, just left out a bit as if they kept from me the kind of grown- up secret they used to share back then...", I took that as being the greatest secret of humanity- the secret beyond the grave. We at times feel so homesick for our heavenly home we remove the sadness from our life completely, we may miss them, but the truth of the matter is we strive to be where they are. The structure of the poem is set in a longated column which could symbolize the "long planked table" which in turn could very well be a symbol for the earthly way in which is still very much living in.

The title of the poem is always something I really like to analyze, mostly because many times after reading a poem that is when we fully understand the title of the poem itself- the title gives the poem an even HIGHER meaning. Unveiling could be taken as the unveiling of- death? life? heartache? or even earthly desires. Either way the unveiling is exposing something...

Poetry at 7:43 A.M.

The Coming of Wisdom with Time

William Butler Yeats

though leaves are many, the root is one;

Through all the lying days of my youth

I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;

Now I may wither into the truth.

The understanding of this poem is primarily in the title, let me explain; I realize that normally a poem is understood when reading the poem ITSELF. This poem had the opposite effect on me I feel that I could have read the title and been fine! The poem confused me because of the structure of it, it seems that this is an unfinished thought. The only explination I have is that Yeats did this for the purpose that expands on this idea of "wisdom coming with time".

New quarter. New words.

Acquainted with the Night

Robert Frost

(1874-1963)

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sounds of feet

when far away an interrupted cry

came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

and further still at an unearthly height

one luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

There is so much truth that is lying beneath the poem, in its ambiguity. The vague-ness of the poem allows the reader to interpret the night and it symbolism for that person specifically. I found that the night is exactly what it is, a lifetime of darkness- a depression if you will. "I have been one acquainted with the night" is strong in the repetitive factor and with the fact that everyone can relate to a time where they have been found in accordance with darkness. In the line, I have passed by the watchmen on his beat...", that reminds me of a story that the AP language class had to read relating to a watchmen . The watchmen was constantly hovering over making sure that the person could feel his gaze. The watchmen was merely the fears, struggles, and other feelings that kept us bottled up from our dreams. When I read that line I automatically thought of that story especially because it adds to the darkness that is encompassed within that certain imagery.

Overall, I really liked this poem! It was a good start to the 2nd quarter!

Goodbye 1st quarter :)

Still Memory

Mary Karr

The dream was so deep

the bed came unroped from its moorings,

drifted upstream till it found my old notch

in the house i grew up in,

then it locked in place.

A light in the hall-

my father in the doorway, not dead,

just got home from the graveyard shift

smelling of crude oil and solvent.

In the kitchen, Mother rummages through silver

while the boiled water poured

in the battered old drip pot

unleashes coffee's smoky odor.

Outside,the mimosa fronds, closed all night,

poen their narrow valleys for dew.

Around us, the town is just growing animate,

its pulleys and levers set in motion.

My house starts to throb in its old socket.

My twelve-year old sister steps fast

because the bathroom tiles

are cold and we have no heat other

than that what our bodies can carry.

My parents are not yet born each

into a small urn of ash.

My ten-year old hand reaches

for a pen to record it all

as would become long habit.

There are some memories that people will NEVER forget, and I could imagine that for Mary Karr she would never forget her journey through writing. At the end of the poem when she says, "My ten-year old hand reaches for a pen to record it all as would become long habit", I would imagine that this was one of those "Kodak memories" that can never be erased. Parts of the poem were a little dark for my liking. She tends to talk about her parents using cold words like "dead", I guess why i think those are cold is because growing up my parents always had us use the saying "passing away" because it sounds less abrupt.

This poem was a direct look into the life of Karr, with all the details even to the little things like dew that most of us wouldn't notice. Memories are those final looks into a past time, whether they are good or bad, those memories seem to stick with us for our lifetime. The first time I picked up a microphone or sang would be the equivalent (I feel) to her way of writing. While peoples passions are different, we all have the availability to let that passion come through... and what better way than through rummaging through our memories!

High School.

High School is like that never ending shuffle on my Ipod. Music is this never ending guidance, and it seems that we're in an eternal marriage. Music and I although we may stray sometimes,often, fall in love all over again. It has been that strength for me... In high school there are those days that you just roll out of bed seemingly unhappy- but there are the days that it make it worth while because  it just seems like a beautiful song. High school cannot really be related to me actually, and I guess for the pure fact that my one goal is to get OUT of this awkward time. Music is my release and it brings me back to the beauty of life and the goodness that can be withheld in it! Sad days are yet to come, like the sad songs, but the minute goes through the song and right there is the hope that there is happiness behind.

High school is like that never ending shuffle on my Ipod. I hope the music continues... but just away from high school.

Hollow Man

As much as I would love to write out the entire poem written by T.S Eliot, I simply think that it would be much longer then my blog- which would embarrass me. ha
At first while reading this poem I was filled with the deep darkness the tone was meaning to send forth, and as I rad it the third or forth time the more I liked it, I guess because in my confusion I began to see the wonderful complexity of the poem.
Eliot includes so many biblical allusions that are very relatable, because through my knowledge of the Bible and the little things I have heard/learned about the after life- this poem drew me in. The antecedent scenario really helped me when it came to why exactly there was such a darkness in the poem, after we learned that Eliot had suffered a breakdown I knew exactly why he wrote this poem. I believe that all of us have those moments where we just look at humanity and only see the darkness that seems to envelope it, we see how man kind has belittled and tormented others; and we wonder... how could those people have hearts?

After reading this poem I grew more fond of it because of our polar opposite ideas. I believe that even in the worst of circumstances we have to look at the good in man in order to get through that tough time. The Hollow Man tells of the darkest truth about man kind, so we have to take it from there and learn to prove Eliot wrong- man kind is not hollow with straw, rather, man kind is filled with a deep human passion.

Words.

                A difficult question was raised by Simon Wiesenthal, "You are a prisoner in a concentration camp. A dying Nazi soldier asks for your forgiveness. What would you do?"

                People like to throw around words. We do it to socialize, to inspire, and sometimes even to hate. Some words though are so heavy that we need to take a step back and truly reflect on what they actually mean.  When attempting to answer this question there are certain words that need to be defined first.

                Vengeance. Vengeance as defined by Cynthia Ozick is "the act of bringing public justice to evil, not by imitating the evil, not by initiating a new evil, but by making certain never to condone the old one; never even appearing to condone it."  Vengeance as defined by the Catholic Church is "the infliction of punishment on someone who has done moral wrong. In this sense, only God has the right to avenge wrong doing."

                Cynthia Ozicks visualization of vengeance is the epitome of the mind set one should have when forgiveness is not even an option. To condone, upon her thinking, is too easy. Ozick states,"It blurs over suffering and death. It drowns the past. It cultivates sensitiveness toward the murderer at the price of insensitiveness toward the victim."

                Let's define forgiveness. Ozicks definition is simple-Forgiveness is pitiless. It is showing more compassion towards the murderer than the victim.

                The Catholic Church states," Forgiveness is the pardon or remission of an offense."  What some people may say is the "easy" way out isn't always necessarily true. Asking for forgiveness at times can be the most difficult thing. It implies having to contemplate  the inner most faults within one person, and most often that person is yourself. As human beings it is very natural to feel that forgiveness is too easy. We want to avenge those who were hurt, we want others to feel the pain that we felt, and at times we may even want blood to be spilt so that persons pain may not be in vain. 

                                                                Here's another word. Compassion.

                Acting out as a result of anger or revenge may cause a sense of compassion to be lost. Without compassion there is no humanity. If I may be so bold, a person who brutally beats an innocent human being or kills those who have not done wrong, hold no compassion,  some Nazi soldiers were exactly that! They had no compassion so that made them seem like had no humanity.

                There is a call to action. We must remember  to remain in tune with all the emotions God gave us, but with caution. We must continue to have compassion for those who may be our enemies because that way we may maintain our humanity. We must forgive. Forgiveness will prevent us from becoming the monster who may have deeply harmed us. As a very wise man once said, "But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father." If we do not forgive , slowly, we will become exactly what we hate most.

                To answer the question,  what would you do??  I would simply use my words.

                                                                                I forgive you.

Here we go- 1943

1943

Donald Hall

The toughened us for war. In the high-school auditorium

Ed Monahan knocked out Dominick Esposito in the first round

of the heavyweight finals, and ten months later Dom died

 in the third wave at Tarawa. Every morning of the war

our Brock- Hall Dairy delivered milk from horse-drawn wagons

to wooden back porches in southern Connecticut. In winter,

frozen cream lifted the cardboard lids of glass bottles,

Grade A or Grade B, while marines bled to death in the surf,

or the right engine faltered into Channel silt, or troops marched

-what could we do?-with frostbitten feet as white as milk.

This poem is a reflection upon World War II, which I find quite appropriate being that Donald Hall was alive during that era. As he is talking about the destruction amidst the boys out fighting for our freedom, our lives in America go on as normal as they possibly can. "Every morning of the war our Brock-Hall Dairy delivered milk from horse-drawn wagons to wooden back porches in southern Connecticut."

Often times, we are unable to see the damage that war presents until we are DIRECTLY affected. There are boys over in Iraq fighting for us but we remain unaffected so therefore- we go on our lives in complete normalcy. That is where it becomes difficult because we strive to thinking about our soldiers but we will never be able to fully grasp what this war has done in its aftermath unless we have been in the crossfire. For example, a couple at my Church recently lost their son because he was a soldier who was killed in Iraq. For them this war is a complete and total reality, they personally have been through the repercussions that war brings. We need to not take for granted the wonderful lives our soldiers have allowed us to have, they have given us safety.

Sometimes the struggle is trying to find something that we can do here in the states that is of value close enough to what the soldiers are doing for us in Iraq. Hall states, "while marines bled to death in the surf, or the right engine faltered into Channel silt, or troops marched -what could we do?- with frostbitten feet as white as milk." THAT is where the true struggle lies, what can we do to help? They are achieving so much, and working so hard- for whom? We CANNOT take our freedom for granted... we cannot under any circumstance.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation, under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all."

The Halo that would not Light...

The Halo That Would Not Light

Lucie Brock- Broido

When after many years , the raptor bak

let loose of you,

He dropped your tiny body

in the sacarab- colored hollow

of a carriage, left you like a finch

Wrapped in its nest of linens wound

With linden leaves in a child's cardboard box.

Tonight the wind is hover-

Hunting as the leather seats of swings go back

And forth with no one in them

As certain and invisible as

Red scarves silking endlessly

From a magician's hollow hat

And the spectacular catastrophe

Of your endless childhood

Is done.



 It is so funny how life works, because it was just this weekend that I had learned that as a part of the Pro- Life movement there will be 40 days of fasting and this poem reminded completely of the reason why I am a pro-life activist. This poem made me think of all those children who will never be able to see the beautiful light of day. They are angels, but unfortunately will never be given the chance to have their halos glow with the Lords light.

This poem was a representation of the childhood that many do not like to think about- the childhood that some many never get to know. It is a very dark though, but very impactful because I feel like everyone can relate to this poem whether they know someone who lost a child, or they themselves feel like their childhood is lost to them.

A halo is the simplest symbol of Angels. When we think of the glowing beauty above the head- we think of a golden love only to be found from God. A love of and for a child is simple and beautiful like the glowing of a halo. It is always bright- and even Jesus himself  said that we should love as children do. Mostly because they love with ALL their hearts.

Throughout these next 40 days I will be thinking about this poem, in remembrance of all those little children with- as I believe- their glowing halos.

To Myself.

To Myself

W.S Merwin

Even when I forget you

I go on looking for you

I believe I would know you

I keep remembering you

sometimes long ago but then

other times I am sure you

were here a moment before

and the air is still alive

around where you were and I

think then I can recognize

you who are always the same

who pretend to be time but

you are not time and who speak

in the words but you are not

what they say you who are not

lost when I do not find you

There are two pictures above this text, in the first picture picture there are several faces. One face in particular floats alone by itself in the corner. That beautiful face is of my oldest cousin Michael Brandon Shahan, to whom I lovingly called Brandon (and on the rarest occasions- Bam Bam). The second picture is of my loving Uncle Charles. Unfortunately, both Uncle Charles and Brandon's lives ended early so we had to say goodbye to Uncle Charles in 2005 and soon after- Brandon in 2007.  

When I read the beginning of this poem I automatically saw their faces much as you are seeing them now, I saw them perfectly as if it was the picture itself I was staring at. Sometimes I find myself questioning if I have forgotten them entirely and wishing that I could go back and look for them, luckily, God puts His hand on me and offers His guidance and love by showing me their beautiful faces in pictures like these. That is when I realize that they are not lost to me, and that I can still remember them.

In the second part of this poem I saw and heard someone completely different. When I read it, I felt like the description was of God Himself. By saying," I think I can recognize you who are always the same who pretend to be time but you are not time and who speak in the words but you are not what they say." When I think of God I think of a being that is ultimately divine and cannot be measured in ANY way humanely possible. He is in everything we do, and yet remains the same through out the ages. He is NOT time, and he is NOT words- but something far greater. It is remarkable how our mind works because as I am thinking of my family members, the second part of the poem is of my second half.

I absolutely LOVED this poem. No more needs to be said about it :)

Say Hello to Mr. Fear!

My Fear
Lawrence Raab

He follows us, he keeps track.

Each day his lists are longer.

Here, death, and here,

something like it.

Mr. Fear, we say in our dreams,

what do you have for me tonight?

And he looks through his sack,

his black sack of troubles.

Maybe he smiles when he

finds the right one. Maybe he's sorry.

Tell me, Mr. Fear,

what must I carry

away from your dream.

Make it small, please.

Let it fit in my pocket,

let it fall through

the hole in my pocket.

Fear, let me have

a small brown bat

and a purse of crickets

like the ones I heard

 singing last night

 out there in the stubbly field

before I slept, and met you.

Wow! This poem gave me weird goosebumps the moment that I read it. I cannot describe whether the feeling was good or not, because I am not too sure myself whether the poem was meant to be something good or not!

 I remember, faintly, last year in AP Language when we were required to read a story that had a similar meaning behind it. The meaning was securely held around this idea that either "Mr. Fear, Mr. Doubt, or Mr. Confusion" will take a hold of our lives. The "fear" aspect was especially relate able because of the fact that everyone has fears- for me? It is simple... I fear failure.

While reading this poem I could see the little devil sitting on my shoulder continuously reminding me," You are going to fail, there is no way that you will be able to achieve this or do that." Along with feeling slight anxiety because of that, the poem also reassured the strength that it is OK to go right up to Mr. Fear himself and ask what he is going to do. The strength is finding the ABILITY to actually CONFRONT your fears head on.

The climactic moments really added to the tone of "stress" upon asking Mr. Fear what he shall do tonight, those were the times that I could feel the goosebumps rising because I knew that going up and confronting the fear is usually not the easiest thing to do. In the end, it leaves with a sort of untangled mess because by saying,"like the ones I heard last night out there in the stubbly field before I slept, and met you." it feels so unfinished. I guess that is where us, the readers, come into play because we are supposed to finish what Lawrence Raab started- we have to bid farewell to our long time friend... Mr. Fear.

To Begin Again..

Beginning Again

Franz Wright

"If I could stop talking, completely

cease talking for a year, I might begin

to get well," he muttered.

Off alone again performing

brain surgery on himself

in a small badly lit

room with no mirror.

A room whose floor ceiling and walls

are all mirrors, what a mess

oh my God-

And still

it stands,

the question

not how begin

again, but rather

Why?

So we sit there

together

the mountain

and me, Li Po

said, until only the mountain

remains.

When I first read this poem I was so utterly confused. I thought that I understood the beginning until I read the end, but in that confusion I found the beauty of it. Every single part of the poem was a symbol for something- from the structure, vocabulary, tone, and title. Talking to the class and having to "teach" them gave me an idea... that as much as we can dissect the meaning of the poem I feel like it is more of a generality than we may think, the meaning is simple- it is whatever you would like it to be. The "mountain" may be a burden, strength, or another life to some people. What matters? Is that it means something to YOU. That is where the beauty is hidden but not in the structure, vocabulary, or tone rather in the simplicity of it all.

Franz Wright knew that people were meant to take to the poem in which ever they chose to, and I guess that is why I am beginning to understand the importance of poetry. I can say with confidence that I am beginning again with the idea of poetry.

The Kite Runner.

 I'm very sorry for my lack of "creativity" on the title for this post, but The Kite Runner is in itself something so deep that I am at a creativity loss! (and I try to not have that happen often ;)
 The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini is such a beautiful book! Although, it makes you want to break down into river pouring tears at points, many would say that is where the beauty comes from. Hosseini was able to grasp such reality in a book that many have not seen- especially about modern Afghanistan.
 I had read this particular book back when I was a freshman, but it did not have nearly a close enough impact as when I recently read it. I owe that mostly to "annotating".
 Annotating is helpful when it comes to reactions at certain points, and figuring tough situations out in your head. A lot of things can be resolved through a little bit of writing!

 When yoou first meet Hassan, you cannot help but fall in love with his character. It is BECAUSE he is different that he is such a relatable person, what is so unrelatable is something that few people actually possess... Unfailing Love. That unfailing love is where all of his other characteristics come from. He is faithful, courageous, happy, and loyal because of the love he has in his heart.
 Anyone can relate to a time where someone has been hurt that they love, and all they want to do is be there to ultimately help them through the pain. Hassan would rather take on his own pain, then give away a prized possesion he holds to be his dear friend Amirs.
 While reading the book I continuously wrote "for you a thousand times over" on the pages that I felt like I was going to break down into subtle streams of tears. It seemed that everything that happened to Hassan was unfair, but yet through his suffering - Amir is able to learn. Amir states," Hassan was true to his nature; He was incapable of hurting anyone. A few grunts, a couple of pushes, and out came Hassan. Out he came smiling.".

 Amir was envious of all the Hassan had, but isn't that where the true irony lies? In actuality... Hassan did not have much at all. In the little that he had, though, Amir found envy in it. Hassan had the devotion and love of a Father, he had happiness in what he was given, and he meant every single word he said. What Amir didnt like about that was that he also was able to believe those whom he most likely should not.

What is remarkable about this book is it is changing from page to page. Near the end you feel a sense of relief and forgiveness as Amir explains how he is running- again. This time he is running for a purpose and helping a living soul! The character is able to transform through the friendship of a devoted "Shi-a".

 "In the end, I ran."

A look into The Great Gatsby.

 F. Scott Fitzgerald took on the role of becoming one of the most renowned authors in American History. Along with Gertrude Stein, and Ernest Hemingwayf the "Lost Generation" changed literature. In the tale of The Great Gatsby the main character, Nick, was from Minnesota but moved to New York to work in a bond business. He claims in the beginning of the book that the man known as "Gatsby" was a representative of everything that he would not want to be, but that his overwhelming personality was "gorgeous".
 Nick Carraway had the characteristics of someone you would not usually meet during that time period. In the 20's many were trying to "get ahead" and would do anything to do so, that was exactly who gatsby was which makes his character -somewhat- relatable for the time period. Witth Nick; although, he was able to look at the arising situation between Gatsby and a co-workers wife Daisy with the inteligence that the consequences of his actions would be far worse then he could imagine.
 Gatsby was mysterious, and the mysteriousn-ness made him quite irresistable."He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in your life.", Nick stated.
 This book a lot like the Heart of Darkness was a very good eye into what exactly it was like to live during that time. Many men in the 20's existed much like Gatsby, they tried to become "great" even if great got you in a mess of trouble. What I love about the book was the end of it, not because I was finished (haha) but because Nick reflects on Gatsbys life in a way so beautiful that it made Gatsbys death not be made in vain. He reflected that Gatsby and his eternal love for Daisy is such that everyone should get to know in their lifetime and that we all need to gaze upon something like the green light and beat hard so that we may stretch our arms out... even further then Gatsby stretched his.

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And one fine morning--So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Welcome to the Heart of Darkness.

 At first, to be honest, the idea of "blogging" my thoughts about the book seemed quite strange. Now as I have FINALLY begun to type out of my ideas I do believe that this will be an interesting experience!

 The Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad seemed to have a double effect on me. During the middle of the beginning of the passage I was very confused at what exactly was happening. As time went on and I was able to get further in the book I began to realize who Marlow REALLY was. Through the vivid imagery, such as; "along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist" and intense detail- slowly, I became emersed in what Marlow was seeing as he swept through the rivers of Africa.
 He spoke mostly about the culture, or as I should say- the people who lived along the congo. He would speak in such detail as to what they were doing as if it was a foreign nature he had never seen before.
"They walked erect and slow, balancing small baskets full of earth on their heads, and the clink kept time with their footsteps. Black rags wound were around their loins, and the short ends behind waggled to and fro like tails. I could see every rib."
 The excessive detail was a huge factor in that it was obvious that Joseph Conrad did more than just see into what he thought "could be" how it would look to gaze upon strangers in a distant land- but that he actually WENT through it.
 What I loved about the book would have to be that it differentiates in a multitude of ways from other literature. In the Heart of  Darkness- Conrad adds imagery and detail but not anything that could be unrealistic. The book seemed quite dry at points, but Conrads point was to set out a point and use his own experience to shape a story. With Conrad it is a clear that he knows what he is talking about, he is not trying to entertain with knowledge he has never truly seen for himself. He is grasping the idea of literature in it's most simple and wonderful form.
 What I disliked about the book was the "dryness" quality. Although it had beautiful imagery, and explicit details it still seemed to become- in all likeness and purpose- boring.
It lacked the enthusiasm many seem to see in a good amount of books. It seemed to not have a distinct part of where the book was supposed to climaz either, it had a good way of pointing where it was going throughout the story but I never felt like it had the climatic factor in it.
 The Heart of Darkness taught me how to read in detail, and how to read a very old style of writing. It gave me a good look into what exactly imperialism looked like, and how people were highly misunderstood. Overall? I am surprised to say I was happy that I read it!