"Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept mystery"

"Darkling I listen

and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful death..." thus continues John Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale". His poems are energetically sweet yet oftentimes carry a mournful tone-- that is, his later poems. From the knowledge I've gathered by googling him incessantly, John's first published poetry book was Endymion, so named after a Greek myth. Endymion begins with the lines:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Ode to a Nightingale is my favorite of his; if ever I were to suggest a poem to a new Keats reader, it would be this one.

"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk..."

then becomes melancholy: "Fade away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows thin and spectre-thin and dies..."

His poetry to me is indispensable. It is so rich that if you read it without analyzing it, you can dip your mind into a rush of loveliness.

But I don't wish to bore-- I just want to show how very beautiful Keats's short life was-- life is indeed mysterious and we should almost luxuriate in out daily breathing. We are alive my friends!

John Keats's love letters to Fanny Brawne actually hold some of my favorite words from him. He writes them like poems, but here we read his ideas in full sentences, and so we might understand how he thought in fuller detail.

In one he writes,"But if you will fully love me, though there may be some fire, 'twill not be more than we can bear when

moistened and bedewed with Pleasures." (1819)

In another (July 8th, 1819) "...write the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where yours have

been. For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a

fairer word than fair. I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days—three such days with you I

could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain."

"Bright Star" (based off of one of his poems "Bright Star! Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art") is a Jane Campion film that came out a couple of years ago detailing a small portion of Keats's life where he meets and falls in love with Fanny Brawne (1800-1865). She apparently had a fierce personality and wore it well, literally. She loved fashion and music, and when she met John, mused about poetry. I posted a real picture of her.

I cannot tell you how sweet it is to listen to the soundtrack from the movie. Ben Wishaw, who plays Keats, reads poetry and some songs are simply recordings of the movie.

John Keats (1795) died in 1821 from Tuberculosis. He had doubts about Fanny's love, and expressed it in (I am quite sure) the last poem he wrote on his deathbed-- though from what we can gather, he loved her and the delicate world around him with a passion such as few can know. A true child of Romanticism.
This video is from youtube! not mine (the photos are not either)! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIEjMSsSPw0

Time for blog!

So I got to thinking about how much I adore blogging... I've been writing my college application essays and such and upon describing blogging, I can't really put into words what exactly it is for me. Its like a world within a world; but it's more. I have almost added a branch to this huge giant happy web.

I got inspiration for an outfit the other day from a blogger I love, Girl and Closet, and I was blissful the entire day... haha. I just loved being able to incorporate what I see on here into what I do out there.

Upon realizing how much I appreciate blogging, I've been trying to think of ways I could engage more. I think I will post much more often, perhaps every three days? I also wanted to start a weekly "woolgathering mondays". I know many bloggers who have a particular day where they post favorite things of the week. My logic is that taking time to blog each monday will stretch my brain capacity, since it seems slow on mondays...

So, my first Woolgathering Monday!! (Also, does anybody know how to enlarge the pictures in a post? Agh, mine are so tiny.)

Oh and thank you to my few readers... :) and to my friend who designed my blog! its Narnia inspired... love

1) Words, words, words....

I love words! My teacher told us to start a "word-wall" of sorts where we collect words we love, any words, verbs, nouns, gerunds, etc.

woolgathering: adjective- indulgence in idle fancies and in daydreaming (gotta wonder how this one originated!)

nautical: adjective- of or pertaining to sailors, ships, or navigation

maud: noun- a gray striped cloak formerly worn by shepherds in Scotland (accidentally stumbled upon this word; in love...)

2) Upcoming Pixar movie, Brave! Its like a dream come true: Pixar's animation, a girl who is adventurous and is good at archery, spirits, old Scotland (!) Unfortunately it comes out in June... but we can enjoy the music on the website until then!

Enjoy the trailer here

3) My friend got the idea to use a book as a sketchpad and she showed me her doodles today. they are incredible! and I love the idea of using the backdrop of printed words. She drew Flinn from "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs". I was actually texting her and went to write Flinn and my phone autocorrected it as Flibbertigibbet, which had me cracking up for a good ten minutes. (sorry the pictures are small!)

the coming rose

Lately my thoughts have been very clear and lines of poetry have been sweeping in quite crisply...

I wanted to post this just to post this, but next post (which will take more time) I will do a blog post on John Keats and perhaps something else to shake things up.

-A.B

thinking of you

oh!

what an impatient disease;

I run round myself in circles

feeling faint, and needing breeze.

you are the coming rose

that grows with summer's infinity

deep and rich soil,

so there my heart goes

you have disturbed me with a serene illness

one which no pride in vanity meets

i have flown ages since and it is our souls to impress.

i seek no withdrawl

i could continue the winding-veins throb--

it is my heart that to yours does call

and no match for me,

I simply sit by the hedge

waiting, and gazing

as I walk the lover's ledge.

faery observation

I saw the fit of a common house fairy, today

she was burdened because she had read

some history of human cruelty.

I offered her some spoonful of honey,

but could not staunch her tears

which bespattered my desk with

a shiny silver trail.

She raised her green embers to my eyes

and then dove back into

the black leather grotto,

her home in the corner of my bookshelf.

I stood and pondered the books newly despised

and I could still hear her weeping, as the wind

creaked and crept through the twilit library,

I looked up at the shelves.

A Tale of Woe here,

and there a story of meaningless war

and invasions upon the minds and bodies,

boughs and trunks,

tusks and skin,

meat and bones,

of beings long forgotten.

A thought came;

I shuffled aside a crinkled page and

found her sitting in a corner, green skin pale.

And as I offered my hand and she took it,

I validated her surmise

and made my promise to arise.

humans: two

ehh..... i mean its ok-- its around 12 at night (or morning) now so it might be horrible i dont know, its in a fit of random creative vibes.

such a lie would make me think

you did not care

to sit under my boughs

and feel my leaves fall and swirl

round your feet;

did not care to sit under the stars

I did support with my fingers.

Such a stare would

make me shudder and

crack my bark, sharp and loud

oh, i would not dare.

such is your own,

and it makes my winter's wind

tail tuck, turn and stumble to the floor

it is nothing compared to the harsh

gaze-- you,

you've winded me.

my summer's wind reels in your presence

it drowns in its dew out of shock of your

heavy, weighting palm,

like water poured from a bucket.

and my spring and autumn

are simply no match:

they are still yet babes

and you would shuffle over them like mud

scraped off hands.

would you feel cleaner then?

if you did pluck me off the ground

in hurried fits of madness

and cruelty.

but i am not a flower:

i am a tree,

and you may not

pluck me.

"You are all together a human being, Jane"

Jane Eyre (the new version) has become one of my favorite movies. Although not all together a translation of the novel, the movie does the character of Jane Eyre justice. It is such a tale of sweeping intensity; we are hard pressed to find a more beautiful story.

I took about 100 screen shots only to find out later that my computer messed all the images up... unfortunately. Google images instead...

photo 1: http://www.filmofilia.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Mia-Wasikowska-as-Jane-Eyre.jpg

photo 2: http://cdn.fd.uproxx.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Jane-Eyre-Vince-Vaughn.jpg

my current

Perspective of a siren

I want you in my river

the river

that would swirl around your neck

your jaws

your nose

over your eyes

mingling with your hair

and when you open your eyes

under my blue current

you'll see me

and the eyes of your world, and mine

and the world will blink back at you

and you'll either become breathless

or you'll become water.

But based upon my poem, this is how I'm starting to feel about many things. and I feel like if those people/things/endeavors aren't authentic, they will become breathless and non-living to me, or they can become water and be apart of my current. All at the same time being something very beautiful and enthralling to watch unfurl on life's path.

Maybe the sirens were helping to facilitate a metaphor coming alive- perhaps they facilitated a blending of two worlds.

photo: http://www.wilsonsalmanac.com/images/hylas_&_nymphs_by_waterhouse.jpg

Branches and wands

today, took pictures of my friend, Aryion. I was shocked my camera behaved today, many pictures came out very lush looking. Digging the B&W-ing on photoshop! : )

Will post some more later

Folksister unveiled...

For my few readers,

check out my sister's blog! Her ability to spot authentic lyrics/singer-songwriters baffles me... Going to be a great collection soon!

Folksister

Yee Turnip.

Here is a snippet of a children's book i hope to continue... i hope it is original, candid, and well written enough to supply the type of imagination I coveted as a kid!

tell me what you think!

They say that the first Radish Letter was written deep within the dirt catacombs under the Anchovy Mountains. The Radish Letter was a manuscript of a detailed account of one of the most trilling legends ever recorded! This is the story of how this manuscript and its own adventure came to define the entire Root civilization!

After the Letter was completed, its author, a fine looking but older Radish, emerged from the dirt catacombs that made up the Root Empire. He emerged, manuscript in hand, ready to bring it to the Owlrey Publishing House, nestled on top of one of the highest peaks of the mountain range. How he had the courage to leave the warm dirt tunnels that were his home and venture out into the wild with nothing but a single scroll and a small ruck-sack with little provisions is quite confounding! What’s more, he was on his way to commit a crime! He was about to try to publish a Radish Letter!

You see, the author worked for a secret society that secretly recorded ancient legends that had been passed down for centuries in the little Root Empire villages under the Anchovy Mountains. It was illegal for anyone else but the old sages that worked in this society to record these legends- anyone who committed this crime was to be thrown out of the catacombs… and who knows what creatures picked up the criminals out there!

It would have been an astounding and justly rebellious feat had this old radish completed his mission. He felt, in his radish heart of hearts that legends and folklore were meant to be read and enjoyed and written by every citizen in his land! That way, they would never be erased out of memory, but rather creatively changed and strengthened by many a radish!

Alas, this radish author was carried off by a hawk not two seconds after he stepped foot out into the sweet Autumn daylight. It was his hope that his manuscript, which he had dropped on purpose, would roll into the hands of another brazen soul, one who would bring it to the Owlrey Publishing House and who would, with enough courage, ensure that every citizen had equal rights and access to the written world.

The author had time enough to see the manuscript roll into unlikely hands- the most unlikely, in fact. The manuscript rolled into the hands of a Turnip named Regee Omnilius.

its going to be a short one but this is hopefully chapter two.

* i hate having to say this (because not too many people will even chance upon this) but for any rapscallion who would, please don't take my work; it is copyright me.