Thought I'd stop in and share my current blog, just for anyone who'd like to see the progression of my mind.
http://www.naivephilosophy.tumblr.com/
hello, stranger
mount pleasant, pennsylvania
I'm home.
That makes 12 days now. I needed time before I told you, because I myself wasn't even sure how to handle it, how to explain the feeling.
My last days in Belgium passed by slowly. I'd never felt as if I wanted to go home until the end, until most of my friends were already gone and I felt like it was time to begin the summer. I felt sick with goodbyes, and wanted nothing but the last to finally say hello.
Nonetheless, there were some highlights in my final weeks, such as a trip to Amsterdam with my host family
and give to you my colours bright.
Holocaust Memorial: 2,711 concrete blocks which aim to represent an ordered system that has lost touch with reason, such as was witnessed during the Holocaust. |
The Reichstag |
The Brandenburg Gate |
Checkpoint Charlie: One of the best known crossing points between East and West Berlin |
Humboldt University of Berlin |
midnight's cigarette.
And tomorrow,
our laughter will be the music I long to hear.
Chimay's beat so undefined, our hair interwined,
blonde and brown and natural,
dangling from the wooden heights of
our abandoned train tressle.
We feel our naked feet beneath us
in the cold, moonlit current,
dancing in the milkyway.
My toes, they're laughing, as they play
hide and seek
in these weeds we would never know
as nothing but our beauty.
The cool, damp earth
runs below us,
it's running to the sun.
But we stand still and watch the moon,
how is it that he's smiling?
He'll leave us soon, as will we,
we'll leave,
but we refuse to move.
And then the earth,
she shakes beneath our muddy toes.
A hand he grasps one the other,
our fingers tangle, intertwine.
And then the earth,
she overturns and casts us into the sky.
We are scared,
and we try to hold on,
but we know we can not
as we free-fall in the stars.
The sky, he takes me,
and I lose you.
He takes me home.
only muddy toes and the milkyway.
I never truly began to write with intent to finally make the essay, which explains the lack of correlation between the poetry that I've written here. Instead, I simply wrote to express myself (like always) in a notebook that I constantly carried with me, and this is the collection of some of that poetry, month by month, in my own kind of lyrical essay.
Don't worry if you don't understand; most of the time I don't even know what or how I'm writing. It's the beauty of surrealism and the subconscious of a higher reality.
AUGUST:
and we pause the film and drown with them,
take this picture as the last.
tangled by intent to defy a childhood
ashamed of natural tendency,
drowned in tear-free
strawberry scented spray
from something like a fish.
these bristles bend to free
what is now creation.
braided history, its sunshine
reflects against her sticky sunglasses.
cobblestones, they gleam,
radiate.
here is my skin for you, soleil,
burn it, beauty it.
leave my lonely shoulders
touched.
follow me, let you down
i see my yellowed fingers
embrace
an unlit cigarette.
i will inhale your words,
let them rest in my rusted lungs to then
exhale clouded Tuesday morning skies
who dare cover my sun.
this is the imagery of sin,
hiding behind my bitten, stuttered lip.
JUNE:
barefoot, painting with naked colors stolen from the moon.
we are an empty canvas,
naive
wasting to read poetry scribbled under our skin,
skin not yet immune to her sting,
stinging lil.
and we laugh,
and freedom takes the world
between her fingertips.
breaks the flower's withered stem,
a flower of beginning's end,
yanks it from this warren soil,
and oh! how we are laughing still.
we feel her exhale,
and we exhale,
and the wish and the world is gone
and we are dancing in the wind.
reality,
we will never know.
only muddy toes and the milkyway.
Labels: `
as promised, if you've read.
Passing Stranger by Walt Whitman(Read it aloud to feel it.)
PASSING Stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yoursonly nor left my body mine only,You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you takeof my beard, breast, hands, in return,I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wakeat night alone,I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
Le bois amical de Paul Valéry
Nous avons pensé des choses puresCôte à côte, le long des chemins,Nous nous sommes tenus par les mainsSans dire... parmi les fleurs obscures ;
Nous marchions comme des fiancésSeuls, dans la nuit verte des prairies ;Nous partagions ce fruit de féeriesLa lune amicale aux insensés
Et puis, nous sommes morts sur la mousse,Très loin, tout seuls parmi l’ombre douceDe ce bois intime et murmurant ;
Et là-haut, dans la lumière immense,Nous nous sommes trouvés en pleurantÔ mon cher compagnon de silence !
Chanson d'automne de Paul Verlaine
(One of my favorite French poets.)
Les sanglots longsDes violonsDe l'automneBlessent mon coeurD'une langueurMonotone.
Tout suffocantEt blême, quandSonne l'heure,Je me souviensDes jours anciensEt je pleure
Et je m'en vaisAu vent mauvaisQui m'emporteDeçà, delà,Pareil à laFeuille morte.
perspicacious diversions.
For my French class, I had to compose with a partner an anthology of six poems that we later had to present to our class in an original presentation. My partner and I decided to stage a piece of "theater" for our presentation in which I was an American living in Belgium for a year (no kidding!) who had met a Belgian and fallen in love.
Yes, I know, it simply screams creativity.
(Here may I add my observation that Belgians, or at least those in my class, are seemingly incapable to think "outside of the box". The majority of them had difficulties grasping the concepts of metaphors, symbols, and allegories- all of which had been introduced to them this year.
For example, as we were reading Edgar Allen Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death", I had noticed that the seven rooms in Prospero's palace were placed from east to west, the easternmost being the blue room (symbolizing birth, the beginning of life) and the westernmost being the black and blood red room (obviously symbolizing death). I remarked that I loved the little detail that the rooms were placed from east to west to emphasize the symbolism since the sun rises in the east (sunrise represents beginning/birth) and sets in the west (sunset represents end/death), and I had simply made the remark in order to give credit to the genius of Mr. Poe (as he is an American). But instead my classmates gave me all the glory, as if I were the one to write it. I didn't write it, I simply analyzed- a simple analyzation that I'm sure most of my classmates in the US would have made right away.
Due to this, I now crave more than ever to be intellectually challenged. I want to surround myself with people who love to learn and with whom I can discuss life, religion, politics, and cultures. I need to surround myself with motivated people- people who want to be, need to be challenged as much as I do. The problem is that my school in Belgium is densely populated with slackers. It's a "technical" school: it was originally created for students who didn't plan to go to college after high school, but now it's more or less for people who want to follow either a very specific option (such as Science or Economics) or a unique option (Athleticism or Cuisine), or it's for those who are having trouble in other schools and want either (a) a smaller school or (b) a school where it's much easier to slack off.
Therefore, there are a lot of students who just don't try- or at least it seems to me that they go to school with their brains shut off. I can see the potential in these students, as they do well when they apply themselves, but they just don't try. They don't want to learn; they're going to school to go to school: to memorize for the test, take the test, and forget. Of course, in the United States there are a lot of students like this as well, but I just usually don't have classes with them. Though now I've been going to school with students of the sort for a year, and the lack of motivation that they bring to the classroom is contagious. As an exchange student, I had put myself at their level. I had told myself it was all right that I scored badly because everyone else had. It was all right that I hadn't done the "homework" because no one else had. It was all right that I hadn't tried because no one else had even wanted to try.
But then I began to truly be able to work in French. I could understand everything (and if not I always had my handy-dandy dictionary); I could write; I could read. And then I realized the absence of motivation in the classroom, and I began to crave it.
Therefore, I can say that when I became fluent in French, I began to miss school in the US. I felt like there was something I was missing- I wanted to, needed to learn more. By learning French, I had always been fed with knowledge- my hunger was constantly satisfied. Though when I began to learn less of French as I had known the language, my apetite- even larger than it was before- could not be appeased.
I began raiding the cupboards, leaving the refridgerator door hanging wide open in search for anything to fill my stomach, empty and constantly rumbling. I bit into literature, gnawing away at it slowly so that each tastebud could learn a new word, a new taste. I read and read, but I needed more. I realized I needed other people with whom I could discuss what I'd read. I wanted a classroom and opinions, hands flying into the air to open other's eyes by sharing what had been seen.
This then leads me to yet another example: for my French class I read Servitude et Grandeur Militaires de Alfred de Vigny, a Romantic writer of the 19th century. In the final recollections of the book, Vigny concludes that soldiers fight and die with little thought of God for they ultimately follow a different "God" which is Honor. He goes on to say that Honor is the virtue of the life of this world, that it is a guiding light which leads one to the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. Always and everywhere it maintains in all its beauty the individual dignity of man: it is manly decency. In the end, he feels that Honor should always possess such power and such beauty, and he hopes that no religion will try to suppress the sentiment.
While reading this, I couldn't help but to think of Al Qaida and other extremist groups and the fact that they have nearly the same beliefs as Vigny. Of course, they don't follow the "religion" of Honor, but instead they abide by Honor in practice of their religion or ideology. Vigny believes that honor is manly decency; therefore he believes himself to be decent as he abides by honor. In the same sense, members of Al Qaida believe they are decent for they also submit themselves to honor. However, the honor of Vigny has not the same meaning as the honor of extremists, and this displays a way in which our society has changed since the 19th century due to racial and religious separations. Vigny hopes that no religion will try to suppress the sentiment of honor, but what he should in fact hope is that no religion should alter the definiton of honor.
Nonetheless, as I read, I wanted more than anything to express these ideas with the class, have a group discussion where we could exchange point of views and opinions. I wanted to be in my school in the US, or at least any school that challenged me.
I've now realized how much I've digressed.. Did you realize this was all in parenthesis? Well with that said I'm getting off this train and hopping onto the right one. Parenthèses terminées! )
So my Belgian friend and I acted out our presentation, for which I had to memorize three poems that I would like to share here (which was my primary objective for writing this post). But I'm going to post them after this or else this is going to be horrifically long... I'd be surprised if there's actually someone still reading this. (Click the smiley face below if you are, just to satiate my curiosity.)
The presentation turned out really great by the way. I'd never realized how much I liked acting, or rather just making everyone laugh.
Exactly what I'm not doing at this point in time,
alors je suis partie!