Monday, October 25, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
1 Ezra Pound, the iconically elitist High Modernist poet, looks like a douchier version of Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
2 Fire!!, the black literary journal of the Harlem Renaissance that was started by major players in the movement like Wallace Thurman, Zora Neal Hurston, and Langston Hughes, only lasted one issue. Sales were terrible, and the stacks and stacks of unwanted copies were stored in a basement. These copies were all burned in a fire (allegedly).
3 Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning were the Beyonce and Jay-Z of Victorian poets.
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile---her look---her way
Of speaking gently,---for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'---
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee,---and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,---
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
--from Sonnets from the Portuguese, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1850
Hit me like a ray of sun
Burning through my darkest night
You're the only one that I want
Think I'm addicted to your light
I swore I'd never fall again
But this don't even feel like falling
Gravity can't begin to pull me back to the ground again
It's like I've been awakened
Every rule I had you breakin'
It's the risk that I'm taking
I'm never gonna shut you out
Everywhere I'm looking now
I'm surrounded by your embrace
Baby, I can see your halo
You know you're my saving grace
You're everything I need and more
It's written all over your face
Baby, I can feel your halo
I pray it won't fade away
-from "Halo," Beyonce, 2008
Friday, October 8, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Through the melting glass panes she watched the dark torrents silencing the field, her skin prickling with anticipation, her hands were cold, frighteningly cold, and clammy, and she kept watching, the vengeful clouds holding something back, she knew it, she was waiting for it, wanting it, dreading it, she was expecting it, she knew she—
and she gasped, not because of the sound—she was deaf—but because the sudden attack of light almost made her hear it.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Solution: a. Plagiarize. b. Write.
Every day, I will post something written creatively. It will not be poetry. It will be fictional. It may or may not be plagiarized.
I'm starting tomorrow. I will be sure to appreciate all the feedback I can get! Please be critical but not mean.
Also, I'd appreciate any suggestions for a pseudonym.