Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent By John Milton When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker,…
Yesterday we had a farewell party to send off my dear friends Luciana and Simon, who are the first two people I met in I-house. Summer in I-house seems to be more exciting than semesters; every night people had different things to do. I visited museums, had ice creams, watched movies, watched baseball games (plus…
"Great writing has been a staff to lean on, a mother to consult, a wisdom to pick up stumbling folly, a strength in weakness and a courage to support sick cowardice. And how any negative or despairing approach can pretend to be literature I do not know. It is true that we are weak and…
Das Stunden-Buch (The Book of Hours) (1905) Lösch mir die Augen aus: ich kann dich sehn, wirf mir die Ohren zu: ich kann dich hören, und ohne Füße kann ich zu dir gehen, und ohne Mund noch kann ich dich beschwören. Brich mir die Arme ab, ich fasse dich mit meinem Herzen wie mit einer Hand,…
September has coming closely to its end. Lots of things that happened or associated with this unnecessarily troublesome month seemed to also come to its end. To be honest I didn't find this month quite inspiring. I found myself trapped in a rabbithole that I thought, in the beginning, is quite fun. Now it's no…
This blog post is about lip balms. I really want to write something, the urge to write is like a crazy bee crashing into everything in my head; And then my lips felt dry (they always do), so I decided to put on some lip balm. And then I was like, let me write about…
A perfect poem for any New Year’s Day and for all who count themselves among “the last of the loud.”
THE SECOND SERMON ON THE WARPLAND
This is the urgency: Live!
and have your blooming in the noise of the whirlwind.
Salve salvage in the spin.
Endorse the splendor splashes;
stylize the flawed utility;
prop a malign or failing light–
but know the whirlwind is our commonwealth.
Not the easy man, who rides above them all,
not the jumbo brigand,
not the pet bird of poets, that sweetest sonnet,
shall straddle the whirlwind.
All about are the cold places,
all about are the pushmen and jeopardy, theft–
all about are the stormers and scramblers, but
what must our Season be, which starts from Fear?
Live and go out.
medicate the whirlwind.
cracks into furious flower. Lifts its face
all unashamed. …
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