Poetic Intervention

As I've mentioned here before, I'm no poetry aficionado. But for this week's modernism and post-modernism lit course, I have just read a lot of poetry. Lots of very good poetry. And this following one made me smile.

"What You Should Know to be a Poet" by Gary Snyder

all you can know about animals as persons.
the names of trees and flowers and weeds.
the names of stars and the movements of planets
and the moon.

your own six senses, with a watchful elegant mind.

at least one kind of traditional magic:
divination, astrology, the book of changes, the tarot;

dreams.
the illusory demons and the illusory shining gods;

kiss the ass of the devil and eat shit;
fuck his horny barbed cock,
fuck the hag,
and all the celestial angels
and maidens perfum’d and golden-

& then love the human: wives husbands and friends.

children’s games, comic books, bubble-gum,
the weirdness of television and advertising.

work long, dry hours of dull work swallowed and accepted
and lived with and finally lovd. exhaustion,
hunger, rest.

the wild freedom of the dance, extasy
silent solitary illumination, enstasy

real danger. gambles and the edge of death.

"Two people walking two steps forward, always to the lives they've chosen. Clicks and hums and sirens and the sun." ~

Today I did a lot of walking. From the usual walking around in the university, to the going to the bus stop, to the getting off the bus and making my way over to the dentist and then finally walking over to my house, yes I feel like I did a lot of walking. I'm sure if I were to add it up I actually did comply with the recommended thirty minutes of exercise of the day, or at least half of it. While I was in university and río piedras territory, walking around didn't seem odd because it is a pretty pedestrian area. Whereas when I arrived to Caguas, I felt as if there was something wrong with me for not having a car. I was the only person walking around the sidewalks. It was only when I got out of the dentist and was walking to my house that I was accompanied by a few others, but only because school had let out and students who lived nearby were going home. The majority of the time I was alone walking in the streets, with a million cars moving all around me and therefore making me feel like they were watching me or something. I couldn't help but remember a classmate's comment, when she said that when people find out she's 25 and doesn't have a car they think something is wrong with her. Then I also remembered another comment a friend of mine once said, "I haven't bought a car because I know that if I do, I will end up living in Puerto Rico forever." Both ring true to me, both I can identify with. And as I was walking and feeling weird for something I shouldn't have, I ended up getting mad at my surroundings. I shouldn't have to feel ashamed that I can't afford a car or that I don't want one. Walking is also a primitive but very good exercise. My feet were made to get me from place to place and I shouldn't have to rely on an automobile just because this area isn't equipped for pedestrians. As I reassured myself that by being abnormal I was being normal, I kept on walking.

~Emmy the Great "Two Steps Forward"

"Pensando. Cada día, cada hora. Pensando en tí." ~ *

Yota made her way up the stairs of the apartment complex, breathing in the aroma of burnt pizza and beer from the future frat brothers that lived a couple of floors down. Once inside her own apartment, she began to boil some water for tea. Devendra Banhart's "Santa Maria de Feira" was coming from upstairs. She hummed along the tune as she dumped the tea bag and sat down in front of her laptop. As she finished writing her paper, the marathon of music continued. She recognized some songs while others she had never heard of killed her with curiosity. Whoever lived upstairs had great taste in music, and for once, she didn't mind that she was hearing stuff that wasn't her own. Ricky called to let her know that they were going to meet at Mint later, after ten o'clock. Through the picking out clothes, the shower, the makeup, she heard even more songs that she wanted. Then it stopped. Abruptly. After getting dressed and heading out, instead of walking down the stairs, she made her way up. When she stood in front of the same numbered door (only with an extra floor number) she took out a post it pad and a pen. She wrote something down on a yellow sheet and stuck it to the door, then headed out to meet Ricky. Several minutes later John got back to his apartment, with mail in his hands, and as he was putting in the key to open the door, he found the following message:

"Hey it's your neighbor from downstairs, do you mind making me a copy of your music files? I just love everything you play. Thanks, Yota."

*Based on a facebook status.

~Devendra Banhart "Santa Maria de Feira"

"If you go in search of honey, you must expect to encounter bees." ~

Yesterday as I was in one of my classes, with munchies in front of me not being ignored as the professor spoke, discussing this week's book. I'm a big note-taker, and even though at the graduate level I don't really have to write down everything since I won't be tested on it, I find myself unable to control myself. I still write everything down, or at least, a lot. Mostly I just transcribe the most important things concerning the discussion, for future reference. But yesterday I found myself writing outside of my class notebook, which hadn't happened to me in a long time. When I write outside my class notebook, it's because something moved me at a personal level and I don't want it to get mixed up with the academic mumbo-jumbo. Why I am explaining this here I have no clue, I'm guessing it's been a while since I ramble about nonsensical stuff. Anyway, the point is that the professor asked us why we thought the main character goes through such hardship and pain during his transformation. The answer was simple enough and I had heard it before, but for some reason it affected me in a different way yesterday. It goes something along these lines: the best things in life are never easy, one must go through a struggle in order to obtain them. As much of a cliché and/or self-help book it sounds, it is so true. We are used to getting the so-called instant gratification, but it is the very things that we want that we must fight for. And that goes for everything. Whether it be a degree, a job, a special someone-the good stuff is never easy. Which in turn also makes it understandable why when we do finally have it in our lives, when we finally have it in our hands, it is that much more gratifying, making us deliriously happy.

~Thomas Szasz

"You were a child, crawling on your knees toward it. Making momma so proud, but your voice is too loud." ~

There were many baby signs in my life for a couple of weeks, a while back. Invitations to baby showers. Dreams with pregnancies (yes, as in plural dreams, plural pregnancies). Baby depots. You name it. I was pretty sure the world was trying to tell me something. For now, I'm guessing I was wrong. But, because of all the baby stuff, I found myself taking notice of something this past weekend. I was eating dinner pretty early, so the day was still light outside. I looked outside the window and saw a bunch of kids from the neighborhood playing in front of my house. There were around four boys and the two twin girls who live in front of my house. All of them were playing, running around, laughing. Overall, having fun. And me, of course being me, couldn't help but feel sad for this moment as opposed to being happy. I couldn't help thinking about the future that lays in store for then. When you're that age, you think life is so wonderful and you live in a nice comfortable bubble (not all kids I know, but most). Then you grow up and realize life is just not what movies made you believe. And you deal with it by chosing one way or another. They don't know this yet. And I wasn't about to go outside to tell them a depressing speech or open their eyes to reality. I'll let life do that to them. Still, I can't help but feel sorry for these kids, and all the many more that keep on coming to this world.

~MGMT "Kids"

"A moment, a love, a dream, a laugh." ~

How's the weather there?

It's also chilly here

But not of the same kind

The blanket I use doesn't seem to help

Not enough warmth for my taste

Too much rain during the day

All I want to do is sleep

But there are sounds coming from insects

Unknown to your part of the world

They squeak and squirm and annoy

If you were me you'd try and ignore them

But you aren't me.

You are you.

~The Temper Trap "Sweet Disposition"

Para Luis.

Había una vez una pareja media feliz, media infeliz. Se casaron sin el pretexto de una barriga pero aun así tenían sus problemas. Lo único que los mantenía unidos era su pasión. Note que no he dicho amor, sino pasión. Esa pasión que no se disminuye a pesar de los años (y para ellos eran muchos años, estaban juntos desde la high). O quizás tampoco era pasión sino costumbre. Verdaderamente no sé. Lo que sí sé es que ellos, para aumentar la tensión del hogar ya brindado por dos hijas (y una barriga de camino, quizás por fin el varón), trajeron animales a la casa de campo.

Comenzaron con un perro. Para ser exacto, comenzó el marido al traer un pero doverman una tarde. La trompa de la mujer era evidente. La excusa de él era la protección que traería dicho animal para la familia. La trompa continuaba. Luego, vinieron los animales comprados para ser criados y luego comidos. Unos conejos, pal de gallinas, tres gansos. Espera. Los gansos no eran para comer. De nuevo me disculpo por mi inhabilidad de ser preciso, es difícil narrar cosas conocidas por tercer oído. Los conejos y gallinas eran para comer. Los gansos eran para...No tengo la menor idea para que eran los gansos. No escuché esa parte, mi mente con déficit de atención crónica se puso a pensar en el acto de matar los conejos y cuan rico saben guisados, asi
que no tengo esa información.

Lo que sí se es que todos murieron. Los animales digo, no la familia. Esos todavía andan por ahí, sólo que en la ciudad en vez del campo. Los animales murieron, unos para ser comidos, otros por venganza de los vecinos, pero lo triste es que todos murieron. Y la trompa desapareció.