So Clarke liked my Lear essay - I essentially described him as an existential hero in Camus' estimation. We had a really excellent conversation, and now I'm onto my next play: Hamlet. Going to have a lot of fun with it.
Things are starting to speed up. We're over a quarter done with our time here, and I barely feel like I've started. But the poems keep rolling off the pen. Met some wonderful people so far as well, been going to Poetry Soc. And I'll be making a few humble submissions to "The Folio" which is an Oxford poetry journal.
Have a good week, all.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Well, it's been a productive week here, despite some challenges: I wrote 9 poems for John Ballam, which I need to type into the computer-machine and edit by Monday. Also, I'm working my way through "King Lear" at the moment for Shakespeare. I'm hoping I think up an essay topic soon.
The challenges were mostly of a physical nature. I've been quite ill all week, functioning with the help of dayquil and a lot of tea. My respiratory tract is all messed up, I think I have a sinus infection, and to top it all off, I woke up this morning with conjuctivitis. Pink-eye. So I'm finding out where the closest clinic is. I suppose it wouldn't have been a trip to England without some sort of brush with the NHS.
Today I go to sing a concert, though I'm not really sure for whom or why. I've gotten emails from some dude who's recruiting singers for today event. There's only 16 of us, and we're doing a bunch of stuff I've never heard of before (though it is VERY British). Stanford's Magnificat for double choir and his "Eight Partsongs", "Songs in Honor of Queen Victoria" by Stanford, Stainer, and Parry, and Parry's "Songs of Farewell". We rehearse for two hours this morning, three hours this afternoon, and perform tonight. We're about to find out just how well I sight-read. Wish me luck, I'm a little concerned about my ability to sing while I'm this sick. But whatever. "The spirit is willing..." and all that garbage.
More poetry to come when I finally get this week's crop typed in. I haven't been taking many photos, mostly because I prefer night photography and the town itself has amazingly poor lighting for such an enterprise. But I'll see what I can do.
Enjoy the weekend. Cheers.
The challenges were mostly of a physical nature. I've been quite ill all week, functioning with the help of dayquil and a lot of tea. My respiratory tract is all messed up, I think I have a sinus infection, and to top it all off, I woke up this morning with conjuctivitis. Pink-eye. So I'm finding out where the closest clinic is. I suppose it wouldn't have been a trip to England without some sort of brush with the NHS.
Today I go to sing a concert, though I'm not really sure for whom or why. I've gotten emails from some dude who's recruiting singers for today event. There's only 16 of us, and we're doing a bunch of stuff I've never heard of before (though it is VERY British). Stanford's Magnificat for double choir and his "Eight Partsongs", "Songs in Honor of Queen Victoria" by Stanford, Stainer, and Parry, and Parry's "Songs of Farewell". We rehearse for two hours this morning, three hours this afternoon, and perform tonight. We're about to find out just how well I sight-read. Wish me luck, I'm a little concerned about my ability to sing while I'm this sick. But whatever. "The spirit is willing..." and all that garbage.
More poetry to come when I finally get this week's crop typed in. I haven't been taking many photos, mostly because I prefer night photography and the town itself has amazingly poor lighting for such an enterprise. But I'll see what I can do.
Enjoy the weekend. Cheers.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
A Painted House
He still wear the paint on his nails
the little bits in cracks and curves
wanting to be up on the ladder
with work that the boards of him drink in
work that coats a hundred-year house with love
something more human coating the worn boards
quieting the soul of the owner with ample rest.
Scraping at the worn chips and crocodile skin of the old paint
and hearing the throaty ripping
followed by the ring of the blade as it tears away the puckered latex
and he lays on the new
the new coat
or is it a new life?
Yet every conversation leads back to that old office
that old place where you painted the boards that shored up younger souls
and when you were found guilty of treason
to a law not worth living, Thaddeus, you flew
and now build a new home.
I worked in that building. Gave little bits of me
that the wood still wears
and hope that somehow
the love placed there
still shines, ever so lightly
in the cracks and curves
of your new future
He still wear the paint on his nails
the little bits in cracks and curves
wanting to be up on the ladder
with work that the boards of him drink in
work that coats a hundred-year house with love
something more human coating the worn boards
quieting the soul of the owner with ample rest.
Scraping at the worn chips and crocodile skin of the old paint
and hearing the throaty ripping
followed by the ring of the blade as it tears away the puckered latex
and he lays on the new
the new coat
or is it a new life?
Yet every conversation leads back to that old office
that old place where you painted the boards that shored up younger souls
and when you were found guilty of treason
to a law not worth living, Thaddeus, you flew
and now build a new home.
I worked in that building. Gave little bits of me
that the wood still wears
and hope that somehow
the love placed there
still shines, ever so lightly
in the cracks and curves
of your new future
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Smash Palace
where you can break anything
take the shingles off the roof
put a foot through a window,
shatter the pane.
Take a door by the lintel,
tear out the frame
break and break and break
until the knuckles open into a lattice
that gleams
and the fingers
toes chest lungs and breathing body
are a
Smash Palace.
Make something new of it.
Place pieces in
inconsistent places.
Put the door into the windowframe
hinges erased.
Make foot
prints
in the dust
covering a floor
composed of a wrinkled glass sheet.
Here, where shingles complete countertops
and bedboards make basementfloors
here
begin building
a new heart.
where you can break anything
take the shingles off the roof
put a foot through a window,
shatter the pane.
Take a door by the lintel,
tear out the frame
break and break and break
until the knuckles open into a lattice
that gleams
and the fingers
toes chest lungs and breathing body
are a
Smash Palace.
Make something new of it.
Place pieces in
inconsistent places.
Put the door into the windowframe
hinges erased.
Make foot
prints
in the dust
covering a floor
composed of a wrinkled glass sheet.
Here, where shingles complete countertops
and bedboards make basementfloors
here
begin building
a new heart.
So sorry for taking forever with this post, but things have been a little hectic here, what with all the parties, and the essays coming in, and the whole cultural adjustment thing.
This past week is what Oxford students call "Freshers Week", which is exactly what it sounds like. The JCR (Junior Common Room) leadership, sort of a student council-esque group, put on events all week long to help freshers get to know each other, the older students, and generally have a good time. There is some sort of themed party in the bar every night, and discounted nightclub tickets were sold to allow students to go out on the town. Needless to say, this is slightly different from GAC. I do believe the Ohle administration would shit itself at the idea of a bunch of 18-year-olds being not only encouraged but practically required to drink copious amounts of alcohol on a nightly basis. But this is not Gustavus. This is Oxford.
The truly beautiful thing about the afore-mentioned bar is that the English government subsidizes all of the alcohol and food we consume. The British taxpayer buys approximately half of every pint and drink, and I eat lunch for around £1.85 every day. That's about $3.50. Dinner is £3.43, and involves a grand nightly affair in which we are all seated in the Hall here at Catz and served a three-course meal. This meal is aptly referred to as "Hall". For those on the run, "Scaff" is served starting at 6 PM, and is more along the lines of a regular cafeteria-style dinner. Everything served is delicious: last night we had a curry soup for the first course, curried beef over rice with roasted vegetables for the second, and a chocolate mousse for dessert. Not bad.
All in all, the adjustment has gone very well and I never want to leave. With just seven short weeks to go, however, I am diving in as much as possible. I've written my first essay and have another to write today, in addition to singing with a choir of my choosing later today. I need to decide, and quickly. Lincoln, Keble, or Pembroke. Problem being Pembroke hasn't actually told me whether or not I've gotten in at this point. It'll all work out, I'm sure.
With all that said, I'm off. Need to get started on that essay. Ta.
This past week is what Oxford students call "Freshers Week", which is exactly what it sounds like. The JCR (Junior Common Room) leadership, sort of a student council-esque group, put on events all week long to help freshers get to know each other, the older students, and generally have a good time. There is some sort of themed party in the bar every night, and discounted nightclub tickets were sold to allow students to go out on the town. Needless to say, this is slightly different from GAC. I do believe the Ohle administration would shit itself at the idea of a bunch of 18-year-olds being not only encouraged but practically required to drink copious amounts of alcohol on a nightly basis. But this is not Gustavus. This is Oxford.
The truly beautiful thing about the afore-mentioned bar is that the English government subsidizes all of the alcohol and food we consume. The British taxpayer buys approximately half of every pint and drink, and I eat lunch for around £1.85 every day. That's about $3.50. Dinner is £3.43, and involves a grand nightly affair in which we are all seated in the Hall here at Catz and served a three-course meal. This meal is aptly referred to as "Hall". For those on the run, "Scaff" is served starting at 6 PM, and is more along the lines of a regular cafeteria-style dinner. Everything served is delicious: last night we had a curry soup for the first course, curried beef over rice with roasted vegetables for the second, and a chocolate mousse for dessert. Not bad.
All in all, the adjustment has gone very well and I never want to leave. With just seven short weeks to go, however, I am diving in as much as possible. I've written my first essay and have another to write today, in addition to singing with a choir of my choosing later today. I need to decide, and quickly. Lincoln, Keble, or Pembroke. Problem being Pembroke hasn't actually told me whether or not I've gotten in at this point. It'll all work out, I'm sure.
With all that said, I'm off. Need to get started on that essay. Ta.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
So I made it safely. I will put up a long post with pictures when I am not restriced to expensive hotel internet.
All I can say is that tea at the Poetry Cafe is as good as ever, and The Crown still serves up the best beer I've had in all the world. I do miss the Joyce Crew, but I am getting over it. Finding a new crew. It's a small world after all.
More to come, rest assured.
Cheers.
All I can say is that tea at the Poetry Cafe is as good as ever, and The Crown still serves up the best beer I've had in all the world. I do miss the Joyce Crew, but I am getting over it. Finding a new crew. It's a small world after all.
More to come, rest assured.
Cheers.
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