least favorite and favorite seasons

Walking outside on a summer's day

Makes it very easy to lose your way.

The flowers and trees can be beauty

And the scent in the air is usually fruity.

As for me, I prefer fall

The colorful leaves are worth it all.

The smell in the air is full of sun,

It really is the best in the long run.

Many poets seem to enjoy writing about art that they have seen. Just recently, we have read "On Seeing the Elgin Marbles" and "Ode on a Grecian Urn." This, I can completely understand. Art should make you have some sort of reaction, be it good or bad. When it doesn't, there is a sense of emptiness and disappointment. As an art lover and an art therapy major, I have spent a lot of time in museums and galleries and other art-admiring places. I can share with the poets the feeling of wonder they get when looking at art. Creating art is both completely similar and completely different from writing poetry. Both artists and poets are pouring their skills and emotions into something with the hope of instilling a reaction in people. Both are taking a risk, so I think there's a kind of mutual respect that occurs between a poet and an artist. They recognize the talent that goes into creating these works of art and literature, and respect that. That is probably why we see so many English majors go on to be art directors in film, or pursue different creative outlets than writing. They're all connected, and they are all beautiful in their own way.

Death of a Salesman

When I first read Death of a Salesman, I really did not like it. We read it along with a lot of very similar stories, about people being dissatisfied with their lives that were perfectly fine, and making way too big a deal about things that don't actually matter. While it is nice to believe that you were meant for something more, at the same time, I believe you just have to suck it up and deal with what life has given you for the time being. In order to make it, you should do what you can, and work on bettering yourself in your free time. You shouldn't throw a tantrum and tear down everyone around you. That is kind of what Willy did. He didn't realize what he thought was his full potential in life, so he took it out on his family, causing them stress and basically ruining one of his son's life. Because Willy had built him up for so long, Biff always felt like he was meant for something more, and was dissatisfied with every office job he tried out. Instead of realizing his dream to become a football player, he became forever a farmhand. Even though it was what he wanted to do, Will shamed his son about it constantly. Willy also hurt his wife. He had an affair and bought this woman stockings, when his own wife had to darn hers. Who knows how much money he spent keeping his affair alive when he should have been spending it on keeping his family intact. All in all, Willy was terribly selfish and pushed his own values on his family so much that he ended up tearing them apart.

I've never understood why people like sonnets. Okay, well, I do. It's a traditional, structured form of poetry. It can be hard to learn and even harder to master, especially with that whole iambic pentameter business. I can't really get into all of the structure, whether it's the Italian or English sonnets. Whether it is 4-4-4-2 or 8-6, it doesn't really matter.To me, sonnets just seem very archaic. I've never been a huge fan of poetry to begin with (though I've grown to respect it, so I'm not entirely invested in the boring, old, dead white guys writing with impeccable rhyme and rhythm. I do, however, enjoy it when sonnets bend the rules. Sonnets also tend to have a very similar subject. In my experience, they tend to be slightly too wordy and about love, or the loss of love, or just complaining about something in general. I much prefer less structured, more modern poetry. Sonnets also remind me a lot of Shakespeare, and I'm not a huge Shakespeare fan either. So basically I'm just a whiny college student that finds older literature generally boring. I fully admit that.

On Emily

I suppose I can understand why a lot of people don't like Emily Dickinson. Admittedly, she's pretty darn odd. Whenever I think of her, I picture her as this tiny woman sitting up in her attic, furiously scribbling away in those leather-bound books of hers, pausing only to draw the long dashes that baffle and irritate so many critics. When I picture her, I can imagine her need to write, and how her only real friends are her pen and paper. I see the stacks of boxes overflowing with her books, some still being filled, some wrapped up tightly so that no one will ever read them.

If I were Emily and I could somehow see that someone had published all of my most personal thoughts, I would probably be pretty mad. It's like publishing someone's diary, it's an invasion of privacy and probably an embarrassment. From the way that her poems were written and organized, she never thought anyone would read them. They were for herself and only herself. At the same time, I really enjoy reading them. Dickinson possesses a very raw way with words, and that's probably because she never thought anyone would read anything. That's exactly why I think it's ridiculous for people to criticize her with the reason that her poetry doesn't make sense. I know when I write in my diary, or just little things on my computer, I don't expect anyone to read them, so I don't really worry about what they look like. Most of my notes make sense to me, so they don't need to make sense to other people. Even though she has her critics, people obviously love her poetry. People feel a connection to her through her poetry, which is funny, because she didn't really make connections with people when she was alive and actually writing. It's yet another instance of a writer becoming more popular and respected after their death.

A&P

I really enjoyed the story that was A&P. To me, it seemed extremely realistic. We have the boy working a mundane job, thinking that he's better than everyone. We have the trio of girls, with one the leader, who are making a statement whether they mean to or not. I really enjoyed Sammy as a character. Yes, he was objectifying the girls, but I don't feel like that completely discredited his character. He attempted to impress the girls by quitting his job after his manager humiliated them, but they had already left and therefor did not see what he did for them. When reading the story, I was expecting them to see and thank him for what they did. That did not happen, and I feel like it made the story a lot more relatable.

We've all done things to try and impress someone, be it a potential beau, a teacher, or a boss, and more often than not, it falls flat. We lose that oftentimes in stories, because the writers want everything to be tied up with a bow. The readers want that too. The slight sense of dissatisfaction with the ending is what sets A&P apart from many other stories involving teenagers. Sammy doesn't get his heroic ending and the appreciation of three pretty girls. We don't get to see Sammy's parents and their reaction to him quitting his job. We don't get to see how the girls react to the situation after leaving the store. Because it is a short story, we only get the little slice of life. While it leaves questions unanswered, it also works well when you consider the subject. Teenagers are pretty much always trying new things and experimenting with their behavior. They never know how it's going to work, and now neither do we, the readers. A&P captured that unsure, testing feeling that we experience as adolescents. For some, they may have forgotten what it's like to be a teenager and unsure of pretty much your every move. For others, it's not so far away, and we can envision our friends or even ourselves in this position.

I Wandered Lonely (Not Really) At Raquette Lake

When rereading Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," I was suddenly reminded of my time at Raquette Lake, New York. In February of my senior year of high school, my Ecology class took a trip to Raquette Lake up north. I was a little nervous, because I'm not really one for nature. Also, none of my close friends were going on that trip, they had all gone in the fall instead. I was with people I kind of knew, but not really, and had never spent time with outside of class. But I ended up becoming extremely close with the ten other girls on the trip, and to this day we still chat about our time on the trip, and wish we could go back. It was also the middle of winter, and we were expected to trot around the woods, cross-country ski across the frozen lake, and learn survival skills. I had no previous experience in any of these fields. But the part that reminded me in particular of Wordsworth's poem was when my teacher told us to bundle up, and took us all out into the woods in the middle of the night. It was a partly cloudy night, and because there were almost no lights around this lake, we could see the stars. I'd never seen so many stars in my life. My teacher told us to find our own little spot in this huge field and just lay down. I didn't expect what I experienced. Everyone was silent. We just looked up at the sky, listened to the wind, and got lost in our own thoughts. I had never felt so peaceful and tranquil in my entire life. I had time to reflect and appreciate the world around me, without any distractions. The way the moon and stars were framed by the clouds reminds me of exactly what Wordsworth experienced with the flowers. When I close my eyes at night, I can still picture the way the sky looked that night. I really want the chance to do it again if I can, and experience the bond I made both with nature and the people on the trip.

Writing Haikus

A Series of Haikus

When you see the hills

You never know what you'll find

Maybe elephants

Unfaithful husbands

A trip taken far away

We've read this before

Lanterns are dancing

So are the children at night

Beautiful colors

Tangy scents of lime

They cannot cover up death

Maybe roses can

What can it be like

To never know how it feels

to wander aimless

Sometimes you can see

Other times you might be blind

Either way, life sucks

Eight in the morning

The snow pushes us to class

Pretty, yet freezing

Bartleby dictates

But I would prefer not to

It never matters

On Gender and Clothing

I related quite a bit to the message in "Exchanging Hats." I, for one, have thought for a long time about the ridiculousness of having clothing be gendered. It's literally cloth that you wear on you body. There is nothing about it that should be "for boys" or "for girls." If girls can wear pants and that's totally socially acceptable, then why can't boys wear skirts, dresses, or high heels? This is rooted in the patriarchal idea that femininity is bad unless you are a female, at which point it is required. This humor is also reliant on the assumption that there are only two genders, which is problematic in itself. 
I never found it funny when characters in television shows and movies wore clothing that was "supposed" to be for the opposite gender. It's an out-of-date, lazy joke that takes no comedic effort to make. More and more people are also not finding it funny as they too become aware of the damaging effects it can have on people, especially children. Schoolchildren have been ridiculed by both other kids and staff for carrying lunch boxes that are "supposed" to be for the opposite gender. No child should have to feel ashamed of what they enjoy. 
I completely relate to the "unfunny uncle" that Bishop mentions in her poem. From what it sounds like, the speaker of the poem cannot voice her opinions toward her aunts and uncles that are acting ridiculous.  I know exactly what it's like to have to deal with family members making offensive jokes, and not really being able to say anything. I have had to sit through family gatherings with gritted teeth because I can't call them out, because they're my family. So, like the speaker of the poem, I write about it.
Change is happening, though. Like what Bishop states in the last stanza of the poem, there is slow change. People are becoming aware of and challenging the traditional gender roles that still plague our society. It's definitely nice to see a little bit of change, and I think Bishop would agree.

Déjà Vu

As I perused the list of reading for Tuesday's class, I had a strong sense that I had seen something before. It turned out to be a few things. My high school Lit teacher had prepared me well, it seemed- four out of the seven poems on the list had been read by my class in high school. I particularly remembered reading Brooks' "We Real Cool." I had been the one selected to read it out loud to the class, and then after we listened to a recording of different people reading it. The class also talked for a long time about the meaning behind it. We also covered Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," Whitman's "I Celebrate Myself, and Sing Myself," and Dickinson's "Because I Could Not Stop For Death." As I read, I silently thanked Mrs. Brown for covering such thoughtful and useful poems during the poetry section of class. 
I remember having a hard time understanding Whitman's poem the first time I read it. However, this time, it came much more easily (at least, I hope). I connected with Whitman over the absolute love he feels for the very essence of life around him. While reading, I imagined Whitman himself doing this while reciting:

While it was a very entertaining image,it's amazing that he has a sense of the connection with everything around him. He writes of the atoms that make up every one of us, and makes us the same as not only each other, but also as the squirrel we see in our yards, the coffee pot that makes our morning brew, and the grass we walk on. Not only does he sense it, he revels in it. It made me appreciate the poem more by being able to read it again after months had passed. Whitman truly possessed a love and understanding of everything around him.