Poetry Madness Round 1: Countee Cullen

To John Keats, Poet, at Spring Time

I cannot hold my peace, John Keats; 
There never was a spring like this; 
It is an echo, that repeats 
My last year's song and next year's bliss. 
I know, in spite of all men say 
Of Beauty, you have felt her most. 
Yea, even in your grave her way 
Is laid. Poor, troubled, lyric ghost, 
Spring never was so fair and dear 
As Beauty makes her seem this year. 

I cannot hold my peace, John Keats, 
I am as helpless in the toil 
Of Spring as any lamb that bleats 
To feel the solid earth recoil 
Beneath his puny legs. Spring beats 
her tocsin call to those who love her, 
And lo! the dogwood petals cover 
Her breast with drifts of snow, and sleek 
White gulls fly screaming to her, and hover 
About her shoulders, and kiss her cheek, 
While white and purple lilacs muster 
A strength that bears them to a cluster 
Of color and odor; for her sake 
All things that slept are now awake. 

And you and I, shall we lie still, 
John Keats, while Beauty summons us? 
Somehow I feel your sensitive will 
Is pulsing up some tremulous 
Sap road of a maple tree, whose leaves 
Grow music as they grow, since your 
Wild voice is in them, a harp that grieves 
For life that opens death's dark door. 
Though dust, your fingers still can push 
The Vision Splendid to a birth, 
Though now they work as grass in the hush 
Of the night on the broad sweet page of the earth. 

'John Keats is dead,' they say, but I 
Who hear your full insistent cry 
In bud and blossom, leaf and tree, 
Know John Keats still writes poetry. 
And while my head is earthward bowed 
To read new life sprung from your shroud, 
Folks seeing me must think it strange 
That merely spring should so derange 
My mind. They do not know that you, 
John Keats, keep revel with me, too. 

Walk in my Shoes

Today I took a walk. Well, I drove for part of it, since the spots I wanted to go were neither connected by footpath or close enough to walk to from my house. And I brought Zac with me. I know we were supposed to be "alone" for this thing...but we were already doing a Bible study at Starbucks together anyway (plus, he functions as my GPS). So here are my pictures and my reflections.

Only when we are quiet and still
will we capture the moment 
our eyes search for.

We are clumsy and rackety, crunching leaves beneath our feet, snapping twigs we don't care to see. We speak clamorously of things we'd like to find, missing the very things we're meant to look for. Only when we are quiet and still will we capture the moment our eyes search for. In our rambunctious clatter of feet moving swiftly, we forget to stop and stare in awe of the perpetual beauty of the world God created for us.

This outward skin protects the heart.

The bark on the tree is all we can see. It may bear the scars of a lover's pocket knife from years ago, the couple having long since broken off. It may be rough to the touch, having weathered storms too numerous to count. It may have things pinned to it, searching for a valuable loss. But this outward skin protects the heart, a thing apart from the outward influences. This is the part God wants of us. Our skin may bear scars, marks, and labels the world pins on us, but God wants what's underneath all that.

Life goes on, even when you're in the thick
 of it.

 Personally, remembering where I came from can be the most beneficial thing when I look forward into what my future  could hold. I know things now that I was too naive to realize  as a child, even when I played in the midst of them. When I  return to my old stomping grounds, I remember where I came  from and what experiences shaped me into who I am today. I  remember the drama I thought was devastating, and I smile, knowing life goes on, even when you're in the thick of it. 

  

This picture has been here my whole life.
I just needed to zoom out.

The details of life can become overwhelming sometimes, especially when your future is all that's on your mind. Today, I realized that I need to take a step back and just watch God do his thing. I don't need to worry about the little details, because God is a God who cares and who can handle it. The big picture of what he is doing is so far beyond what I can do, all I can do is sit back and look at the vast picture he has painted in front of me. The thing is, this picture has been here my whole life. I just needed to zoom out.

Every person leaves a mark on the world.

Although I can't quite make out what the markings on the back of the bench mean, this picture makes me think of all the times I've wished I was notable. I wanted to leave a mark, something tangible and meaningful, something that everyone appreciated. There have been so many times that I felt insignificant, like no one saw me or what I was trying to be. It was here that I realized this: every person leaves a mark on the world. Every person is notable in their own way, and while not everyone will see that, those who do will appreciate it on a deeper level.

Shakespeare Was a Genius.

Here's my attempt at a Shakespearean Sonnet. I cannot think of a title fitting my piece, but then again, the titles of Shakespeare's pieces are simply the first lines of each. Iambic pentameter is hard, I'll admit to that.

So swiftly does the heart attach itself

To something knowing little of its make

Not well aware of being placed a-shelf

To opportunity t'is not yet waked

The rope is tight about its strain-ed neck

Deception stays the knot in shak-ed hand

The pirate leaps, and gallops, bounds on deck

Such beaut of treasure tuck'd by orn’ry band

The heart is locked away in seaward chest

A tempest torrent tosses landward miss'd

Aboard the key, jew’l precious lost at best

To fateful night of parting, ‘pon lips kiss'd

Beware of where thine darling heart wears thin

tis easy ‘nough to break, ne’er ‘tend to’ve been.

The Chorus Repeats

Quick note: I read a different version of Antigone because my original copy went missing. The version I have does not have line numbers to reference, and is also translated slightly differently. I will do my best to cite. Here we go:


I am merely an onlooker, my thoughts verbalized for the benefit of the multitude. Oh, the things I have seen, heard, and inwardly felt! Creon, king of Thebes, has buried the fallen hero Eteocles, honorable in death, but has left the body of his brother to rot and fester. And so his actions should be, for Polynices betrayed our precious Thebes. Creon, a strong leader with an "arrogance [that] Transcends the wrath of Zeus" (near the end of Scene 2) has ordered that no living soul is to grant the traitor the honor of burial, lest they lose their own lives to the gallows. Yet, a sentry finds the body buried, and is quick to turn in the culprit. I sided with  Creon, saying "Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth"(last line of Scene 1) Then the identity of the criminal came to light. It was none other than Creon's niece, Antigone, sister to both Polynices and Eteocles. The girl was "like her father Oedipus, both headstrong and deaf to reason" (Scene 2, about a quarter of the way in). She was in folly to have buried her brother in direct disobedience to the law of the land. She deserved her imminent death.

Then I think of sweet, desolate Antigone. The poor girl has been left with only her fiance, Haemon, son of Creon, and her wisp of a sister Ismene, for a family. She honored her abandoned brother with a proper burial that is in fact prescribed by the gods themselves. She holds to a higher law than that of her uncle, "working the will of heaven" (last line of Scene 3) Her sister took her side, but did not stand on trial with her; her lover turned against his father in her defense, and still Creon resolved to kill her for her transgression. Antigone died a more noble death in her suicide than could be afforded by the gallows. Haemon takes his own life to be with his bride, his mother Euridice following suit in sorrow. Creon is left alone in the world, having been too late in his attempts at appeasing the gods in the burial of Polynices. His law has faltered to that of the gods, although he initially meant well.

In the end, the old priest Teiresias' prophecy was not wrong. He has never been wrong, and the reason as to why Creon ever doubted him lies with his reasoning for his hubris. Creon has learned a valuable lesson only tragedy could teach.


 

Simply Complex

"I just don't know what to do Rach," I sputtered through my tears, "I'm literally so scared."

She sat there on my bunk, my head in her lap, her eyes cast downward toward the mattress on the floor. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I heard her take in a shaky breath, as the door was opened, and my camp roommate came in, intending to turn in for the night. Rachel spoke up, and asked if she would wait just a minute, and thankfully, she consented, closing the door behind her as she went.

Rachel turned to me, and through the fog of tears in my own eyes, I saw her large brown eyes glistening, yet they were looking hard at me.

"How long has it been since...you know.." she stammered. I couldn't meet her eyes; I felt so ashamed of myself. Instead of answering her, I began to cry harder. I felt her hand resting on my shoulder, cool against my warm skin. We sat in that moment for what seemed like forever; eventually I calmed down enough that I could breathe normally again. I looked up into Rachel's face. She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears lingering on her cheek. Then she spoke, with a voice I had never heard before. I think she may have even surprised herself, judging by the way her words flowed so much more easily than usual.

"I don't know what to say," she began, "but all that matters right now is that you know that I am here for you, no matter what happens from here on out. I think that we just need to take this one day at a time, because all we can really do now is trust God for the best. We make our choices, we live with the consequences, but God is the only thing that will get us through our own messes."

I was taken aback by her words. This was the girl that always came to me with her problems, though I must admit, it did take some coaxing to get her to speak. She wasn't the type to just dump her problems on people; at least not until they asked. Even then, there was always something she held back. This was the girl that fell mute near strangers, and even around me, her talk consisted of frivolous things, things of no consequence to the value of life. Yet when she spoke that night, she did so with an even voice and a determined tone.

I sat up on my bunk, and she unfolded her legs and let them dangle to the floor. We talked for a few more minutes, and realizing that lights out had long since passed, she said good night and left me on my bunk, entering her adjoining room.

The next day, she wore a smile on her face, as if nothing had happened that night. Anyone who didn't know about our exchange would have thought so. I knew better, and when I looked in her eyes that morning, I saw the question in them.

"Are you okay?"

Personal Statement RD (insert witty title here)

There are few statements that I have chosen to commit to memory. Some have been ingrained into my mind by repetition, others go in one ear and out the other. But the few statements that I choose to hold on to came in the moments that I needed them most. To some people, a simple congratulation is something that leaves their mind as quickly as it entered. To me, being congratulated is an honor in of itself, especially when it comes from the most unlikely of sources.

I remember that night clearly. My team was out on the court, the bleachers were full of spectators from both our team and the opposing team. It was the last home game of the season, my last chance to really prove myself as a valuable part of the volleyball team. I remember sitting on that chair, the pleather surface sticking to my exposed thighs, my kneepads sliding down over my sweaty knees. My water bottle sat at my feet, the water inside untouched. I watched each volley, hoping that Coach would put me in the game, even just for a second, but I knew it was a long-shot. This wasn’t like my band class, where I could just set my flute down and pick up my trombone when I wanted to. I just didn’t have the physical aptitude Coach was looking for. I screamed my head off, cheering for the team I wanted so badly to belong to, when it happened. We lost the second set in the game, leaving us at a stalemate. Coach called me over to her chair. I looked in her hand, and my number was written on her rotation sheet. I was excited, but nervous. I was up to serve first. Out of all three seasons and all the summer camps I had been to, this was the one thing I had never mastered. None of my calculus experience had helped me to formulate how to do it correctly, and the laws of physics seemed to fail when the ball was in my hands. Nevertheless, I didn’t turn her down. This was my chance to prove myself.

Something I had learned long before this moment is that if one thinks about doing something too much, they will eventually talk themselves out of it. It had taken me years to learn how to ride a bike, simply because I was an over-thinker. But I learned to overcome my  overly cautious nature over time. It was in the milliseconds before my hand made contact with the ball that I remembered my bike. I realized that I had worked hard to get to where I was, and that even if this serve bounced back from the middle of the net, nothing could take away the pride I had in the fact that I had made it this far. To my utter shock and disbelief, the smack of my hand on the ball was not followed by a swish and a light thud; rather, it was followed by two loud thuds: the ball on the floor and the player who missed her dive. I had aced my serve. The rest of the game was a blur. I managed to land two more serves before I was subbed out for the next rotation, but I hardly noticed the cheers and whoops anymore. As I sat back down in my chair, Coach looked me in the eye and said one of the statements I will never forget. “Well done, Rache.” 

So simple a statement, but it was that statement that made the hellacious season I had gone through that year, even beyond volleyball, worth it. I had been trying for so long to please my coach, and I finally did, and I was proud of myself. I felt like I belonged. I had fought so hard  for something that I wanted. When I think about my future, I know that I won’t necessarily be good at absolutely everything, but I am willing to fight for what I want in this world. I am willing to do my best in everything I do, whether it is my strong suit or not. 

Personality Tests and Affirmation Solicitations

Here's my score from the Myers-Briggs test: ISFJ

• Introvert 78%
• Sensing 50%
• Feeling 75%
• Judging 33%

In case you're wondering which Harry Potter character my results align with, apparently I'm Neville Longbottom. Not my ideal, but the description definitely fits.

Accurate Descriptions of Me:

"Like most Is, ISFJs have a few, close friends. They are extremely loyal to these, and are ready to provide emotional and practical support at a moment's notice. (However, like most Fs they hate confrontation; if you get into a fight, don't expect them to jump in after you. You can count on them, however,  to run and get the nearest authority figure.) Unlike with EPs, the older the friendship is, the more an ISFJ will value it. One ISFJ trait that is easily misunderstood by those who haven't known them long is that they are often unable to either hide or articulate any distress they may be feeling. For instance, an ISFJ child may be reproved for "sulking," the actual cause of which is a combination of physical illness plus misguided "good manners." An adult ISFJ may drive a (later ashamed) friend or SO[significant other] into a fit of temper over the ISFJ's unexplained moodiness, only afterwards to explain about a death in the family they "didn't want to burden anyone with." Those close to ISFJs should learn to watch for the warning signs in these situations and take the initiative themselves to uncover the problem."

I think that this accurately describes me and my inner workings with people. I can identify with what was said quite easily, which surprised me, in all honesty.

"While their work ethic is high on the ISFJ priority list, their families are the centers of their lives. ISFJs are extremely warm and demonstrative within the family circle--and often possessive of their loved ones, as well. When these include Es who want to socialize with the rest of the world, or self-contained ITs, the ISFJ must learn to adjust to these behaviors and not interpret them as rejection. Being SJs, they place a strong emphasis on conventional behavior (although, unlike STJs, they are usually as concerned with being "nice" as with strict propriety); if any of their nearest and dearest depart from the straight-and-narrow, it causes the ISFJ major embarrassment: the closer the relationship and the more public the act, the more intense the embarrassment (a fact which many of their teenage children take gleeful advantage of). Over time, however, ISFJs usually mellow, and learn to regard the culprits as harmless eccentrics :-). Needless to say, ISFJs take infinite trouble over meals, gifts, celebrations, etc., for their loved ones--although strong Js may tend to focus more on what the recipient should want rather than what they do want."

This also accurately describes me. I have been told numerous times that my "work ethic" is great, and I find the part about how family is everything to be completely true. The part about getting embarrassed easily is true too, though I don't always tell the truth about that when people ask me if I get embarrassed by certain things. The last sentence that talks about taking trouble for their loved ones is true too: many a time I have gotten someone something as a gift that was something I thought they should want, rather than what they actually wanted.


Affirmation Solicitations:

I'm not going to post who gave me this one, but a few of you might be able to guess anyway.

5 Words:
Musical
Willing to adapt to a situation (couldn't find the right word)
Trustworthy
Caring (including tough love when necessary!)
Persistent, even in frustrating situations

Paragraph: (they wrote it knowing I'd read it, so it's addressed to me)

"See above--apply to band." For your application, think over all the situations you've dealt with in band-- class size and its challenges over the years, trombone, boys, siblings, timing-- and you're still doing well and have continually improved. It took the above traits to get there!

I know that this was not the most conventional response I could have gotten, but it really means a lot to me. So...yeah...here it is. :)