Gloryo’s World of Interesting Facts!

This last journal was a poem I made that really represent what I feel… It probably describes me better than any of the other ones I have shared… Here it is: (SORRY ABOUT THE BAD WORD) It just… came with the poem… it was a thing of the moment … and i usually dont edit the poetry I write in moments of anger…

Moments of Inspiration

This poem I wrote about a year ago. Back then I was facing a rough time and well creativity hits me at the most interesting (and often inconvenient) times. (If you don’t believe me ask my family and my boyfriend.) In this case, it was about midnight last year in April and while I was crying I wrote this poem. I think it’s pretty deep, and it sort of scares my friends… but… it was a good and healthy way to let it all go out… I hope you guys think it is good… Here it goes:

A quick pain and it’s all gone

Who would be hurt if a life is withdrawn?

A cut that bleeds

A heart that aches

Is that a way to pay for simple mistakes?

The end is now near;

For sure we all know

The pain that is here

With time will only grow.

Harder and harder,

As the days go by

I’m just so tired

I no longer cry.

The pressure is building

Will I survive?

There has to be someone

That helps me revive.

What happened to the magic light?

The one that made me smile!

The one that kept me sane

And made my life be worthwhile!

Personal Creativity

This is a random poem I came up with a few nights ago. For me, poetry is something that helps me relieve stress and blow off steam. It is my method of letting things out and in some cases, people get surprised at the outcome of my poems.

I wake up and wonder

why my heart hears thunder.

A single drop streams

down my cheek again.

That single tear

represents my fear.

Another tear drops along,

and a river soon flows.

Hate,

sorrow and disappointment.

A sudden flash

of that blinding light.

As I realize,

it was all just a dream.

The New Yorker

The Poem that Can’t Be Written

by Lawrence Raab

is different from the poem

that is not written, or the many

that are never finished—those boats

lost in the fog, adrift

in the windless latitudes,

the charts useless, the water gone.

In the poem that cannot

be written there is no danger,

no ponderous cargo of meaning,

no meaning at all. And this

is its splendor, this is how

it becomes an emblem,

not of failure or loss,

but of the impossible.

So the wind rises. The tattered sails

billow, and the air grows sweeter.

A green island appears.

Everyone is saved.

                I thought out of all the New Yorker poems, this one really stood out for me. The first thing that I found interesting was the title: The poem that can’t be written. It makes me wonder what the poet was thinking about in order to feel that there is a poem that cannot be written. Also, what does he mean by cannot be written? Does he mean he is physically unable to write it or that there is something, for instance the lack of words to express it or some kind of restriction, which is preventing him from expressing himself freely.  After I read the title along with the first stanza I noticed in what way the author was referring to a poem that cannot be written.  The first thing I noticed was that the poem consists of various enjambments, which seem to indicate a thoughtful or meditational tone from the author, and also  there is an extended metaphor of the boat.  

                There is an extended metaphor throughout this poem that compares a poem to a boat. Those poems that are left unfinished are seen as are just “boats/ lost in the fog, adrift.” By this he means that they are lost and that they are not serving a purpose just like a boat floating adrift. They are useless and their meaning and purpose is lost. This type of poems he contrasts with those that simply cannot be written. The poet refers to these with a strong conviction. He says that poems that cannot be written are different since they have no danger. This is because a thing that has not been written does not carry a meaning therefore these poems are free of all meaning and are safer. The poet also points out that this is what makes these type of poems special and what makes them a sign of the impossible instead of a failure or loss.

                The last two stanzas of this poem refer to the lost ship meaning the unfinished poem. The poet had previously said that an unfinished poem was simply a “those boats/ lost in the fog, adrift/ in the windless latitudes,/ the charts useless, the water gone.” Now, after he explains the difference and significance of the poems that cannot be written, he says that “so the wind rises. The tattered sails / billow, and the air grows sweeter. / A green island appears./ Everyone is saved.” By this the poet means to say that after realizing that a poem cannot be written, it is safe again as the words or the idea loses its meaning.  He means to prove that it is better to never start and keep it safe than to start and never finish therefore losing the meaning of the poem.  

                Overall I think this is a pretty good poem. It is probably the best one out of the ones I’ve read in the New Yorker not because of its structure and complexity but because of what it represents to me. I can really understand why the poet would say that it is better not to have an idea than to have it and let it lose its meaning by leaving it unfinished. I really like the approach of the poet in comparing an unfinished idea with a lost boat just floating around. For me, this really represents how an unfinished task or idea left alone serves no purpose just like a boat floating adrift.

For this journal I wanted to try to analyze a poem we read in 9^th grade by Emily Dickinson. I really like Emily Dickinson’s poetry and I feel that the poem “Hope” somehow relates to me.

The poem goes:

Hope by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

“Hope” by Emily Dickinson personifies the feeling of hope and turns it into a bird. First, the speaker describes hope as a bird by saying it is “the thing with feathers” that rests within the soul. There, it sings wordlessly and without stopping. This song by hope sounds the best “in the Gale,” and it a terrifying storm would be needed in order to “abash the little Bird / That kept so many warm.”  Likewise, the speaker states that she has heard the bird of hope “in the chilliest land– / and on the strangest Sea–”, but never, no matter how extreme the conditions, did it ever ask for a single crumb from her.  By this the speaker is trying to say that she has experiences hope in the smallest difficulties as well as in the largest problems and she has never had to look for it since it is always there. “Hope” takes the form of an iambic trimeter that sometimes goes on to include a fourth stress at the end of the line. For example in “and sings the tune without the words–”, which has a fourth stress. Iambic trimeter is common in Dickinson’s poems, just like she modifies and breaks up the rhythmic flow with long dashes indicating breaks and pauses.  

Dickinson introduces her metaphor in the first two lines by saying that “Hope is the thing with feathers– / that perches in the soul–” and later develops it throughout the poem by telling what the bird does, how it reacts, where it can be found, and what it asks for itself. This is one of her early poems and neither her language nor her themes here are as complicated and explosive as they would become in her more mature work from the mid-1860s.

* I used some sheets and notes given to us by Mrs. Breitenbach but I dont know where she got her info from… it was a long time ago!

This is one of the poems I had posted previously and I remeber Lissy asking me to analyze one of them or to explained it… so I’ll be doing that in this journal entry…  Here is my poem, written around september 2008… please comment on it… or analyze it if you wish… I feel it is one of my deepest works though.. so it might be hard to pinpoint what it talks about…

The day her life ended…

Hush my baby, hush

The dark I see so near

The words just come to mind

And make me scream with fear!

A blackout on my mind,

A question with no answer

So dark and so hidden

the cure for a rare cancer…

The doubt, the worry,

The “wish I only knew…”

Haunts my dreams and my feelings

But who’d ever have a clue?

The years go by,

And this story is now the past

The question still unanswered

Will this forever last?!

The darkness that haunts me

That shadow’s still there

How could I ever solve it,

When I don’t know if I dare!

I want to know

Yet I fear to discover

What the back of my mind

Has taken years to fully cover

The feelings, the sounds

Could this all be a clue?

Images from so many years

That somewhat seem askew.

Was it somehow my fault?

Could it be that I lied?

Whatever the answer is,

Only leads me to hide.

Hide from what’s unknown to me

Hide from what I fear

To be safe and understood

Inside a personal sphere!

 First, try to analyze it and see what you can figure out… when you guys comment, I will let you know the password to the second part which gives my insight (partially) on the poem… ;D

I heard from Mario (blame it on him if its not true) that we could use our creative writing story as a journal entry and since I really liked it, I decided to share it with all of you… hold on to ur seats, and ur laptops and get ready… here it goes:

I hear his footsteps approaching.

He is outside, I can feel him.

It seems the whole world has now gone quiet for a second. In the background, that annoying alarm keeps ringing; signaling the danger that we are about to face. Little do they know it came too late for anyone to react; to fully understand what was truly going on outside.

I remember that first instant when the gunshot was heard, and how none of us took it seriously. A “shot heard around the world” as Ralph Waldo Emerson would put. Then, there was panic. The fire alarmed screamed as if the school was blazing, which in fact was very clever from him. It triggered the mass of people to move from their safe locations and out to the end of their lives. Little did the people know there was a gunman in the building; hiding, aiming and waiting. Then, the shot were heard; one, two, three and it continued. Twelve so far, or maybe more, I have lost count.

It happened just 20 minutes ago, yet it feels as if a lifetime has gone by and I start to reflect on what I have done with my life. Eleven of us are trapped in this unexpected hell. We hide, cry and listen to the echo of his footsteps; closer, closer, stop, boom, and he moves again. We are the lucky ones, and we fear and lament for those who had no time to react. Our friends, siblings, teachers… all gone within minutes with only a few escaping the bullet rain. This, is probably the worst experience I have faced in my short life and fear that it will represent the last memories I have of this world. The sirens are heard at a distance, the police maybe? Some of the students are heard outside, where they are safe, where they are free. They cry, scream, I am guessing they are learning about the casualties. Their brothers, sisters, cousins, teachers and friends. All gone now.

We feel forgotten as we huddle together at the darkest corner of the classroom. No help yet? Our cell phones have rung yet we are afraid to answer them as this might pull Him closer. These four walls are all we have, concrete, paint and each other. This is all we have to survive this moment. This, and our silence. Why silence, you may ask. First, it could bring Him closer to us, leading us all to a certain death. Second, who can think of something meaningful to say? It all sounds like a goodbye; as if death was certain and we are at purgatory paying for all we’ve done in our lives. Crying, praying. The disturbing silence is only broken by the occasional gunshot… or the footsteps of this death omen.

Suddenly, in an expected unison, the cries go silent, the breathing gets faster and the tension in the room builds up incredibly. The handle to the locked room is shaken. Harder. Much harder now. A masked face peeks through the window on the door and sees no one. His dark eyes filled with anger, with a burning fire. He hesitates, and continues his path.

Bang! and thump. A body falls as he enters the classroom next door and shoots a young girl. And the steps continue to move, then stop, then grow louder.

We are certain this is our last minute in the world. Tears streaming down our faces. We grab pieces of paper, jot down our final memories or thoughts, and put them all inside a bag which we hide inside the cupboard.

The door shakes again, harder, too hard, and suddenly a gunshot blows the lock out of place. He enters. The masked man faces us. With an unexpected calmness, he asks us to line up facing the wall. He prepares his gun.

Bang once! Bang Twice! Bang thrice!

and its  all over…

What do you mean I’m sleeping with your mother?!

                For this journal entry I decided to talk about my impressions on the Japanese culture, and mostly focus on the family and relationships discussion we had in class. I find it very interesting how different our culture is to that of the Eastern side of the world. We differ in many aspects, besides the obvious language and physical features, but I never thought families could be so different as well. Actually, what drove me to write this entry in this particular topic was that in many of my classes we seemed to be studying something that deals with the family or the different types relationships. For instance, in Anthropology we are studying the different types of families (nuclear, extended, family of orientation or family of procreation) as well as descent groups. In Spanish, we are analyzing a poem by Claribel Alegría that narrates the infidelity between Penelope and the hero Odysseus. Finally, in this class we are studying this wonderful novel that portrays a family dynamic that is in so many ways different to that of a “typical” family in Costa Rica. I know we cannot define what a typical family means, but I’m using the term as a generalization of the average dynamic of a family in Costa Rica.

                I thought it was interesting how the Japanese see marriage as a way in which they can have children and somehow ease their financial situation. As the article we discussed in class said, “with or without love is not very important” since the main purpose of their marriage is to have children. I find this quite interesting and putting it into perspective with our culture nowadays, it sounds materialist. I feel that back in the time in which the doctor’s wife took place, it made sense to marry in order to have kids. Someone had to be in charge of the family’s business (as can be seen by Umpei studying medicine and taking over his father’s patients, and later on his younger brother.) Today, that is not necessarily the case. Also, I find it fascinating that, as you pointed out in class, the woman is blamed and frowned upon not having male children. This does not apply ONLY to the Japanese culture and can be seen in many others. For example in India, baby girls are often found dead in trash cans or out in the desert since it is the job of the bride’s parents to set up a dowry to give to the husband as a “gift” for marrying her. Many families cannot afford a good dowry and decide that having a girl is more of a burden than a joy. Another great example is China with its one-child only policy. If the family is lucky enough to have a boy, then they will have someone to take care of them when they are old. However if it is a girl, then she is married off and they are left alone to watch over themselves. The issue on marriage only for children is something I find hard to accept because of the culture in which I have grown up. Love is what moves a couple to get married; the lack of it, to get divorced. For me, love is very important when it comes to making an important commitment since children will most likely come from that relationship and it will not feel like I married a stranger just to have someone that’ll take care of me when I get old.

                Another aspect I want to cover is the sleeping in separate sections of the house. When I first read that in the book I found myself angry at the lack of privacy one gets in the Japanese culture. I was appalled when I read (or head at first) that it is common for a father to bathe with his children even if they are 16+ girls! I find that awkward. I cannot find myself undressing before a man (even if he is my father) and bathing as I was alone. I find it quite interesting how other cultures (including my own) have created taboos on aspects that after further contemplation seen completely natural things to do. For instance, I do not believe that the father in a Japanese family will try to “do” anything with his daughters. So bathing with someone from your own family, someone as close as your father, seems natural and normal. However, if a father did that in a Latino family (I’m using my culture since it is my most direct experience and the one I have the best knowledge of), he would most likely be sent to jail. Why is that? Because our culture has determined that showing our naked bodies, and showering with a man (even if he is a close relative, like a father or brother) is wrong. Going back to the sleeping in separate rooms, I find it interesting how Kae describes making love to her husband but having to return to her room to sleep, meaning her mother in law could hear every time she came in late at nights. In our culture, sex (and how many times it happens) is not something we want our family to know. For instance, it would be out of place (at least in among Latino families) for a woman to tell her mother that she had sex 4 times that week. It is something that should be kept private, yet in the Japanese culture, the mother in law will always know.

                This journal is based mostly on my opinion of the discussion we had in class and mainly it analyzes the differences between our culture and that portrayed in the doctor’s wife. I intended to gather my thoughts and reflect more on certain aspects in which I feel that one’s culture can be really influential in how one lives his/her life. These aspects, when they are shown in detail, can shock people from other cultures and make one reflect on how different one can be from another.

This is a set of  4 poems that I wrote, and I would like to share with all of you. Writing poetry is a fun way to express your feelings and to get rid of thoughts that keep coming to your head. My poetry particularly sounds very girl, and sometimes it sounds too deep. Out of these poems, only the first one has been dedicated to someone… the rest are mostly for fun… and to relax. I though that presenting my own poetry as a journal could be a good idea, and perhaps one day we could analyse one in class =0) Enjoy!

4ever

Forever and ever

So simple to say

Though I trust you completely

All I can do is pray.

Pray for a moment of happiness

An afternoon of joy

In which we don’t have to worry,

Just me and my boy

The forces around us

Won’t give us a way

But we both know that life

Will grant us a day.

Through suns and moons

This feeling will stay

For I know that I love you,

And I will every day!!!

        Gone            

What to do when you’re gone?

Who to call when I’m alone?

Always there, if I need

With time this sure has grown.

A place in my heart

You have earned for sure

For all the time together

And the things we did endure

Is this a new beginning?

Or just the expected end?

We both knew this would happen;

Wish our time could extend.

The day turns to night

And the days quickly go by,

Is the time really coming?

To just tell you good-bye.

My mind understands

Your reasons to go

But my heart is worried

Of what the future will show.

Unknown

A simple look, a quiet nod

I know just how you feel

The time has come to let me go

Can you believe it’s real?

You hug me tight, you wish to speak

But words just won’t come out

A long embrace and then I’m cold

I cannot dare to shout.

The perfect world where I have lived

No longer stands alone.

The one who made it all so real

Has now become unknown

Together forever

We used to always say

Through good times and bad times

Even If I’m away

Time has moved on,

Though feelings still remain

This is what makes it harder

And causes all that pain.

So happy I had you,

So sad you’re far away.

I wish I had a way to tell you

How you always

Make my day…

The day her life ended…

Hush my baby, hush

The dark I see so near

The words just come to mind

An make me scream with fear!

A blackout on my mind,

A question with no answer

So dark and so hidden

As the cure for a rare cancer…

The doubt, the worry,

The “wish I only knew…”

Haunts my dreams and my feelings

But who’d ever have a clue?

The years go by,

And this story is now the past

The question still unanswered

Will this forever last?!

The darkness that haunts me

That shadow’s still there

How could I ever solve it,

When I don’t know if I dare!

I want to know

Yet I fear to discover

What the back of my mind

Has taken years to fully cover

The feelings, the sounds

Could this all be a clue?

Images from so many years

That somewhat seem askew.

Was it somehow my fault?

Could it be that I lied?

Whatever the answer is,

Only leads me to hide.

Hide from what’s unknown to me

Hide from what I fear

To be safe and understood

Inside a personal sphere!