A Light at the End of the Poetry Tunnel

There are only three more weeks left in the semester...that's two weeks of class and then finals. To be honest, I'm ready for the semester to be over. I've never really liked the last few weeks of any semester because it feels like they turn into this slow trudge towards the finish.

I've really been feeling this way about my poetry class. I mean, I liked the class a lot for a while, but once we got into the whole suicidal/homicidal/beastiality/adultery/creepy stuff, the class got kind of old. Yesterday I recieved a breath of fresh air in that class though...it was a light at the end of my poetry tunnel.

I've been thinking a lot about loss lately. Not for any real reason, but just because I'm the type of person that likes to hold onto things, so when I lose something or go through any sort of big change, I tend to internalize it and dwell on it. So because the past year or so has been one that held a lot of change for me (particularly internal change), I've just been looking back and thinking about things and pretty much living in a nostalgic funk for the past month and a half.


So this villanelle really resonated with me:


One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop


The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.


And then I remembered why I like poetry: I can always manage to find myself in a poem, especially when I'm not expecting to.

Hallelujah

Tonight I found myself sitting on my parents' kitchen floor sporadically singing "Hallelujah" to my dog in between polishing off the plate of cookies I'd just made. It was nice to finally catch some alone time...

I'd never really thought that much about the words to that song before. But tonight some of the phrases really stuck out to me. Especially the line, "Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

The word hallelujah (and this is my super basic knowledge of Hebrew speaking here) means "Praise Yah" - or rather, praise GOD. I don't know if it's wrong to think of Leonard Cohen's song as being worshipful, but tonight as I crooned it to Puppy, I did.

So...having that small piece of knowledge in mind changes my thoughts on these lyrics a bit:

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Old Friends and New Places

This is my friend Lauren (who has very good taste...she picked out the necklace I'm wearing). She's six years old, which is the age that I was when I met her mom. Lauren's mom, Nicole, used to be my mumzy's boss. When I would go in to see my mum at work, Miss Nicole would stop her meetings and take me to her office and brush my hair while I played on her computer. Miss Nicole is a big part of some of my favorite childhood memories...she took me to see my first ballet, she gave me several very, very beautiful children's books (all of which I still own), and when she took me to the Renaissance Festival she bought me a gorgeous ring and she let me get my hair braided.

The most important thing Miss Nicole did for me was the way she always treated me like I was the most important person in the world to her. When I first met her, I was a scrawny six year old. She didn't have to take time out of her day to spend time with and talk to me. She didn't have to ask me questions about my life and what was important to me. But she did. She made a six year old girl feel very important. She's one of those people that left a big mark on me. She taught me the value of treating people (especially children) with generosity and kindness.

A few years ago, Miss Nicole adopted Lauren, and now I get the chance to spend time with both of them. This past weekend we went to the American Girl store where I reminisced and relived the magic of my childhood...I was a huge American Girl fan and I had never been to the store before, so I think I might have been just as excited as Lauren (But not as excited as the little girl we saw shaking the locked doors of the store before it opened!). I had one of the regular dolls and a bitty baby, along with some of the clothes and various paraphernalia that went along with them. As much as I liked the toys, I was desperately in love with the books. I read and re-read all of the Felicity and Kirsten books (both of whom they discontinued...).

Anyways, between looking at all the reminders of my childhood and being there with Nicole, I kind of forgot that I'm a grown-up now...or at least as grown-up as you're supposed to be at nineteen. I ran around the store looking at all of the toys and books, and remembering my elementary-school friends, Shelby and Juliane, and how we would play for hours and hours with our American Girl dolls. I've been feeling pretty nostalgic lately, so going to this store with Nicole was just feeding the fire. Then someone asked where my daughter was, and the magic was over.