Learning to understand; One year later.

Knock Yourselves Out

My Bridge

Just random posting - I thought I would post a poem I'm reading at a national conference in March.  It was influenced by reading some Hart Crane mixed with Jacques Derrida (deconstructionist literary criticism).

My Bridge

I.

In Light and dark and dreamy-darkness

Fondly forcing fiendish frivol,

Stare at sultry Sunday’s sunset Sipping Starlight-slipping sigh;

Ever in the ether of the endless age of ends

I, endless,

Grasp a gately-golden guardian

Hoping-hot and helpless high.

II.

I envision this bridge, this –

Golden-gate-brooklyn bridge

To span some/this gap – …

I will span some vagrant tragedy;

Talk about its universal-sickness;

Play out a forefront;

Discover-reveal and fight-rebellious

Powers & Principalities that

Destroy such tunnels that we create

Some bridges that fall:

The ones weak-in-the-middle.

I will span this,

But I cannot write this.

No one can write this.

III.

Enter the poet, gallant knave, honest-Iago

Who has the answer-solution to the map

The gap, this –

The bridge.

He, the pupil of the eye of the pupil of the “i”

Will ground his bridge in this, this word.

That word.  That scene.

That gap.

And building on a word – a gap –

He collapses.

No one can write this.

IV.

Let me have a muse – an invocation of fire to

State our play.

My muse, our muse,

For who is the poet but the “I”

And each I with its own eye

Seeing – but not writing

This.  This unspeakable.

But here it is.  My muse.

Here it is, bridging this gap

This something

This nothing that only my mind can range –

Who can grasp each other’s eye? –

Only my eye can see my “I”

And bridge this endlessness –

For there is no end

The bridge is

Simultaneously

Beginning construction from the antipoles.

To have foundation; To be reinforced –

I will not be weak-in-the-middle.

I will not be sagged to sogged-bricks of metaphor

And ideas –

No one can write this.

No one can read this.  Read this for me

My eye.  My “I”.

Who can bridge this gap?

V.

Who can grant me this muse?

But still save me my pity-space

Allow me to draw my curtain on this my scene

In Fair Verona

This gentleman’s nightmare

This rehearsal

This bridge My performance.

Let me invoke the passions with a whisper

Not “whisper” as you hear it but as I hear it

Bold and loud

In my ears

Feel the vibrations?

Read the vibrations!

The words are alive as I write them.

And I try and quell them

But then they are the warrior-band

Bent on examining-revealing this life-form

This simple quest

The “I” is alive

Are not my words?

I am not silent

My pen speaks for me.

No one can write this.

My (“i”) bridge.

No one can write this.

Let me speak it.

Just Rambling (a mini rant)

People at this school suck.

Okay, not everyone, and not really "suck," because I love them all in their own way - and honestly, I've never hated another human being in my entire life - so that's not what I'm talking about.  I could say, "human nature" sucks, but human nature is absurd, and I believe everyone is capable of being inherently good at some level, we're just trained to be idiots.  That's what life is.  Idiots-in-Training.  Unless we can break the cycle.

I just had a friend make a post about how immature everyone at college was - or rather, how self-centered everyone is, especially at this school, when in fact, most public schools have much more successful students (studies show).  She followed these points by stating that if anyone took what she said personally, they would prove her point.

And (drum roll): They took it personally, and most of them made complete asses out of themselves.  It's their own fault - they kept blaming her for the "plank in her eye" but I don't think they realized that through their responding and taking it personally, they were proving that her post was indeed about them, but refusing to acknowledge it.  Or rather, refusing to acknowledge the canoe in their own eye.

I'm tired of ignorance.  I enjoy the English Department so much on campus because of that simple fact - we are all seeking to know, and we all understand to know is to admit "there is still so much I don't know."  That doesn't make us pretentious, and it doesn't make us snobs.  Some of us, myself included, do feel a little higher on the social scale for having the maturity to refrain from stupid and self-righteous banter, and maybe "feeling higher" isn't a good thing - but it's sad when everyone around you reacts to things so immaturely.

There are several who have captured my heart at OC - and I mean, won over my intellectual friendship.  You don't have to be "smart,"  "book-smart," even "intelligent."  But a desire to know, and a willingness to admit that you don't know, make you twice the person, in my opinion, as anyone claiming to know everything about everything and everyone around them.

As Socrates admitted, the one thing we do know, and can know, is that we don't know anything at all.

To those who know me, and to those who had met my mother.  She was a remarkable woman.

She left us December 23, at 6:05 PM, to be with God.

She will rest in peace forever.  One day, we'll all join her.

I've written pages upon pages regarding her passing in my other online journal, http://www.livejournal.com/users/cuervodepaz

I want to tell everyone about her, but I'm tired of writing.  If you want, you can read it all there.  She was a remarkable woman, and I'm glad she was my mother.