Thursday, April 29, 2010

I seriously cried while I was writing my analysis of this poem in my 17-page paper on W.B. Yeats WHICH I JUST FINISHED YEEEEE

This is my favorite poem. I want someone to read it at my funeral, for serious. It's so beautiful and hopeful and magical and gahh. everything good.




 
"Lapis Lazuli"

I have heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow,
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out,
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie beaten flat.

All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

On their own feet they came, or on shipboard,
Camel-back, horseback, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.

Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.

Every discolouration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Gah! My life will be so different in about a month! It's scary.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

I usually check out PostSecret every Sunday morning as a habit I developed in high school. I used to be really into it back then, but now I find it terribly corny and/or pointless. Yet, like the Dirty (ugh), I keep up with it now and then out of boredom and slight curiosity. I should stop looking at these pieces of shit websites. The Dirty, for obvious reasons, should not exist. But the more I look at PostSecret, the more I realize what crap it is. This week there are four anti-choice secrets in a row, and an email message calling the site out on its biased, misogynist bullshit. Despite the email message, however, there isn't one secret to balance out the obvious bias and ideology that's going on here. FUCK THAT.