All entries for June 2006
June 15, 2006
Two down…a life–time to follow…
Does time speed up as one grows older? Kris was trying to explain the physics behind the possibility of time travel: basically (and I'm sure there's a lot more to it than this) if we manage somehow to travel faster than the speed of light, we will begin doing backwards in time. Blows my mind.
Apparently, the faster we move, physically, the more time slows down – does this mean that time's going by so fast because I'm too stationary? Maybe I should try doing more? Yes. Do more. But what? Writing – DUH! And music too. Write faster, read faster, sing faster (higher?) and you'll have more time? I'm sure one of you Warwick physicists out there my want to correct me, I'm just using this as some extended metaphor for my sudden motivation to write write write sing sing sing and do as much of it as possible in the time that I have to myself this summer!
This year's been manic in many ways. I'm not sure I even want to try and sum it up, I feel like I've already moved into the next phase of things. Grounded as a feather swept away in a fresh breeze. I'm sure there's a lot more in store. This summer is panning out to be interesting – Europe (if Vahid gets his visa), Ireland, London film festival and then wherever the wind blows me, maybe even new york. Watch this space.
June 08, 2006
Soft. Ajar and inviting: split me.
So I do, peeling back the bruised skin, slightly wrinkled like a wisened face, to reveal a colony of seeds. Two perfectly equal halves. I brush the entrails of one with my tongue, the tip exploring populations of tiny pods, like a hand emersed in a bag of kernels. They ripple beneath taste–buds, greeting them with the pleasure of reunited lovers.
Eagre teeth sink slowly into the mustard hyde and crunch the stiff seeds, cracking so many shells and severing fibre sinews.
I eat one half at a time.
One of them is held in the pergatory of my plam, resisting the temptation to squeeze and spill the entrails over the lip of the halved skin. The half in my mouth is sugared kalamari, a bag of magic beans, a Romantic's heart, all swilled around and inbetween each tooth. What carniverous pleasure. I cannot wait to eat the vulnerable Other.
I found this in my notebook. It's not great, definately needs redrafting but I thought I'd post it all the same...
sunlight fades and night
crawls into bed
beneath the covers
wraps a gloved hand a–
round my pupil
and darkness dissolves
into that non–space between
sleep and trying
too hard to
in which I toss
of elves who have discovered a new
these irritated limbs
for twisting thoughts
– a flutter –
butterfly beside my ear
each frantic wing–beat
I see the spider's web that's latched you on
I’ll ease into your fragile frame
set you free
(or is it he?)
and heavy whisps of thought
push through my ears
slide along my hair
and out into the air;
I spin my mind throughout the room, around
releasing slaves of memory
who’s chains I wove with this same
upon each strand,
a single tear is thread.
a salty river flows
glazing webs that grow
throughout the room
as if they wear
the morning's dew—
turned these self–indulgencies
into a natural work of art
June 04, 2006
Three days 'til my Poery and Society exam and I have begun to wish I'd taken an interest in it earlier. Due to various reasons, mostly my attitude towards the course, I haven't worked as hard as I could have this year and now that I am beginning to read the poets of the Romantic and Victorian eras in more depth, I am finding myself enjoying them more and more.
What I really wanted to blog now, is my discovery of Middle Eastern influences in Poetry of this period. Two examples:
Shelley's The Revolt of Islam, a poem in twelve cantos. The revolutionary radicalism in this poem was too much for Shelley's publishers and he was forced to revise it considerably and publish it under another title.
Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustam. Rustam is the epic hero of one of the greatest works in Persian literature, The Shahname and Sohrab was his son. I haven't had the chance to read the poem thoroughly, but it may be Arnold's version of one of The Shahname's many stories concerning Rustam and Sohrab's lives.