Monday - a haiku

I'm supposed to write a haiku on my greatest passion, for my challenge by Amy. My passions are fleeting at best, and  I don't know the first thing about writing a haiku, but here goes:

see my mind float in
ephemeral Monday rain;
cup of coffee please?

What can I say, at this moment I feel very passionate about a giant mug of chocolatey, cinnamoney coffee with lots of whipped cream :)

ps. this was hard!

Bookish

How are all you good folks? I am up to here with work, and loving it, which is why I haven't had the time to sit down and write a good post in a while. Yup, it'll be more poetry for the next few days; this is one meme I am intent on completing. Also, send in your photographs for this!

I had a lovely vesak holiday which included lots of beach and boyfriend time, and am now sitting at my desk in this sweltering heat gorging on kurakkan crackers like nobody's business. The anticipation of Friday is preventing me from doing any work, though I never do anything on Friday so I don't know what that's all about.

Anyway, enough chatter. This post was for checking in on my goodreads challenge. I am 2 books ahead I'm told, which strangely only comes to 3% ahead. (I know! Madness). I've come to somewhat of a standstill now, because of work, but I breezed through the last 3 books which were the His Dark Materials trilogy (I still don't get why it's called that). Kids, if you haven't read it already, do yourself a favour and hunt these books down. It's the more exciting, philosophical version of Harry Potter. I first heard mention of them on PP's blog, though they've been around for about a decade (I only made the connection to the Nicole Kidman movie about 3/4 of the way into the first book), and I got my hands on the kindle version, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I blew through the first book in a couple days. It was relentless, exhilarating, so damn creative and really makes you think. The second and third books took a little longer because of, you know, life, but when it ended *spoiler alert* I was almost in tears. Because the books were over, yes, but also the story. It was just so unfair! The deviation from a happy ending, however, made the trilogy all the more poignant. The idea that you can do everything right, everything you're supposed to, and still not get your happy ending is so sad but so realistic. (At this point I compared it harshly with HP where everyone got married and had lots of babies. Come on JK Rowling!) I love how Pullman weaves in his criticism of the church, so subtle and yet effective; the way he makes us see it through the eyes of the children as realisation dawns on them. It's not so much a critique of the church as it is of organised religion in general, and in the case of Mary Malone, Pullman pretty much hits the nail on the head when relating her story. Also, Pullman has a great sense of semicolon placement! I shall say no more, instead just recommend you read it.

The book that I am currently reading is Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard by Kiran Desai. I bought this years ago and recently discovered it in my grandmother's library. How it made the journey from New York to Colombo without my assistance, I'll never know. I'm about halfway through now and here's the thing about Desai's writing: what made Inheritance of Loss so tedious for me was that it was a big book that needed all your focus for its entire duration. The sentences were loong, so long that you had to go back and reread it to completely understand it; not a good thing in such a large book. But HGO is smaller, the story is more jovial and the sentences in themselves are gems. I am quite enjoying my read thus far and look forward to finishing it.

Phantom of the Opera, Thornbirds  and HMS Ulysses is up next..

If you forget me - Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Do not go gentle into that good night - Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
                     Only this and nothing more."

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
                     Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
                     This it is and nothing more."

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--
                     Darkness there and nothing more.

 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
                     Merely this and nothing more.

 

Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
                     'Tis the wind and nothing more.

 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
                     Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 

Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
                     Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
                     With such name as "Nevermore."

 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
                     Then the bird said "Nevermore."

 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
                     Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

 

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
                     Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er
                     She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
                     Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
                     Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
                     Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

"Be that our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
                     Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                     Shall be lifted--nevermore!

This is another of my favourite poems. I just think it is so very clever. Everything from the rhyming scheme to the imagery is ingenious, and even though it is a long poem, you don't really get bored with it because of the way it's formed (almost musical) and the story.  

 

Sonnet 116

I could resist no longer; I have abandoned my music challenge and taken up the poetry one. Though in my case I have tweaked it, or dumbed it down, as it were, to just 30 days of poems. Quite honestly, I don't have the time or energy to sift through and allocate poems appropriately, especially given how bad my memory is. So without further ado...

Sonnet 116- Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

This is one of my favorite sonnets (I am somewhat of a fool when it comes to love poems). It talks about idealistic love; the kind that everyone is looking for, and the lucky few find. The kind of love "that looks on tempests and is never shaken" (that's my favourite line btw). It's love in all its glory, complete and untainted and ever lasting. And the thing is, it exists.

10 things i love - the flower edition

Feeling under the weather today after a mighty bout of projectile vomiting (you're welcome!) yesterday. I'm sitting in a freezing cold office and dreaming of spring flowers. Last year at this time, I had emerged out of my winter den and had taken to walking around suburbia for an hour. Despite the creepy Edward Scissorhands-ish rows of houses, I thrilled to see buds and baby leaves unfurling, daffodils and tulips in rows of colour, cherry blossoms laying down pink carpets for me to walk on.. So despite, or because of, the bad weather and general blue mood, an ode to flowers..

1. How pretty is this? I love the colour scheme and the ribbon and.. it's just so quaint..!

Life, or something like it

It is strange, good-strange, to be so busy that you can't put figurative pen to figurative paper. There are trips I want to plan, posts I want to write, pictures I want to take, but to no avail. Reading takes no time, but processing and creating intelligent output does, and I find I have no time for that. I have given up on my 30 day music challenge, and have been contemplating the poetry challenge for weeks and the 365 project for months but, again, to no avail.

The new job is going along swimmingly, and I am happily puttering around my desk space, settling in. I even have my own cup! My fingers are crossed that one of the new computers allegedly coming in will be assigned to me, allowing me to step into lcd flat screen, windows 7 heaven. Work is interesting and stimulating, which is always good, though afternoons after lunch are usually dedicated to browsing travel and craft blogs for some inspiration.

On the home front we have general reading and lounging and movie watching. Things get a bit tense now and then, when you really feel the effects of living with the parents. One of the horrors of leaving the country for uni is coming home and finding that your parents are just as conservative and controlling as when you were 15. The cherry on the cake is that I am treated the same as when I was 15, but my 15 year old sister enjoys the freedoms of a new brand of 15. Go figure. Them not understanding that I am yes, an adult, and me not knowing quite how to deal with the suffocation has lead to some spectacular fights, but well, life goes on.

The quarter century is gradually approaching, and this year I am determined to do something as opposed to the nothing I have every year. Ideas are being thrown about with The Duckling, and something quaint and whimsical is in the works. Yes, that is the theme. Obviously I am expecting something outrageously thoughtful and original from the boyfriend, which leaves him in a bit of a muddle, considering he just instructed me to "send him a list of not more than 5 options". He's super romantic like that.

I'm loving the rain but not so much the heat. My new location gives me spectacular views of the lightning displays in the evening, which really are something to behold. I am not liking, however, the lack of beach time. The Duckling and I have something in the works, which I shall not disclose yet, for the (very probable) fear that it will not get off the ground. Still, we are having oodles of fun in the planning process, so all is well.

That's all for now from this corner of the blogosphere. Love and sunshine from me.

*Title from some movie.