poems 2

ok folks we are re-doing this. this time around I am not too fond of it but assignments are assignments...



Hands share a past...depicted

Hands share a past

They used to be a form of signature

Depicted in sides of walls to be discovered centuries later

A prelude connection that all who walk the face of the earth endure

They used to be a form of signature 

Hands are comprehensible renditions of a personal memoir that will never be published

A prelude connection that all who walk the face of the earth endure

They grow thinner with time

Hands are comprehensible renditions of a personal memoir that will never be published

Every trial is represented through a wrinkle

They grow thinner with time

Experiences are engraved into the very contour of the skin

Every trial is represented through a wrinkle

Antiquity that not even eyes could portray

Experiences are engraved into the very contour of the skin

The lines grow and recede much like the oceanic tide

Forever imprinted into the soul

Antiquity that not even eyes could portray 

Like fingerprints, each hand serves as an individual identifier 

The lines grow and recede much like the oceanic tide

They serve as the true exposer of what capabilities are beyond appendages and limbs. 

Like fingerprints, each hand serves as an individual identifier

Depicted in sides of walls to be discovered centuries later

Forever imprinted into the soul

Hands share a past

Poems

I couldn't choose between the two poems, so I am going to post both. Enjoy!


Hands

hands have a story

not one is the same

they start out the same way they end up

fragile

the lines grow and recede

they grow thinner with time

withered

they above all share a past

antiquity that not even eyes could portray

every trial is represented through a wrinkle

a personal memoir that will never be published

forever imprinted into the soul

experiences are engraved into the very contour of the skin

Unspoken Truth

an unspoken truth

thats lies deep within the perpetual abyss 

afflicted in theory

controversial in verisimilitude

but alluring in its simple truth  

it would take a credentialed hacker to decrypt the memorandum

the secret lies in their eyes

they, the ones you once new

share the same frame

an illogical paradox

that was once filled with the best intentions

but is now delicately placed on top of the mantel

collecting dust

and fading through time

its a twisting labyrinth

that lingers in a spot that no one,

especially the guilty

want to acknowledge

it will consume them

no mirror could even render the self-condemnation

A Poetry Handbook By: Mary Oliver

When I think of poetry I think of Robert Frost’s “Swinger of Birches”. I think of how certain lines seem as if they have a rhythm much like Stevie Ray Vaughn’s epic guitar rips. I think of how some poems are meant to speak to people’s souls. I think of how it’s one of the most timeless art forms that serves as a time capsule for past civilizations that we as a society can treasure. 

This article annoyed me because it states that nothing you do is original. “It is created in imitation of what already exists and is already admired. There is, in others words, nothing new about it. To be contemporary is to rise through the stack of the past, like the fire through the mountain. Only a heat so deeply and intelligently born can carry a new idea into the air.” Excuse me but isn’t poetry about personal emotional freedom? This article also suggests that in order to learn one must imitate those before them. I feel like almost every aspect of life is imitation: brands. People buying into a culture that is not their own. So I wonder why one would pressure young people to conform to socialism rather than breaking free. Granted that is hard to do because lets face it people have done amazing things that break the mold so it’s hard to find something original in a  world that has been around for millions of years. Is it good to learn from the past? Have times changed so dramatically that the relation between language and time intervals and poetry itself no longer comparable? 

Art Show Reception Critic Review: Mariani Gallery and Oak Room Gallery UNC

“People at Work” and “The Scavengers”

I strolled in to the Oak Room Gallery as if I was trying to escape the cold air following me up the stairs. I wasn’t intending on staying for long, just a short glimpse into a world that I prayed to God I would never be a part of. I read the synopsis that was conveniently located right next to the door that was both the entrance and the exit. I ventured towards my right and didn’t move for what seemed like half an hour. What was staring at me dead in the face was a broken face of a doll, embedded in junk. I already find dolls extremely creepy, but this almost reminded me of when I went to Pompeii three years ago. You could still see where people where trying to escape, leaving their most prized possessions in the streets not realizing that they would forever be imprinted for centuries to discover in the ash and rubble that lead to their demise. I wondered who through away that doll, why it was broken, and if it was still happy; but maybe most of all if they, the other, were happy. I moved onto the next few photographs getting lost in the vibrant colors that were tainted with dirt and trash, the mounds of garbage that people where sorting through as work, and most of all the children that seem so happy. I wonder if they know that there is more out there than this, and if they do know, would they want to leave? To pity them wouldn’t be doing them justice, they don’t want that. They are like us, they simply want to be loved and to find happiness. 

Leaving that gallery to the next was a blur. I had a ton of thoughts going through my brain. Had I known that this was going to be such a pensive and contemplative night I would have bought a the thinking juice- caffeine. 

AHHH home again. I live in this Gallery space, hell the building in general. Guggenheim building located central campus of UNC and is home to all the art students. I call it my Anne Frank Annex. It has a certain smell about it, something I can’t describe. Anyway I walked through the back door, went up the flight of stairs and followed my feet through the entrance way of the Mariani Gallery. All Wooden walls and extreme lighting put a beautiful display of drawings, lithographs, and wood prints of people working. Primarily these works of art where done in the Great Depression and gave the viewer an inside look to the daily life not glorified by Hollywood. There were two pieces that struck my soul in a way that I cannot describe. The first one was William Schwartz’s “Miner”. Cubistic much like Picasso I got lost in the subtle details. There was a dense sadness in this man’s eyes. There is no doubt that this man is a coal miner, a traditionalist, and a victim of labor. I wanted to be in the drawing with him, playing with his mustache so that way instead of a remorseful glance a smile would cross his face. The next drawing that I fell in love with was David Fredenthal’s “Peddler”. A gestural drawing of a woman that is cheerful that almost serves as a metaphor for integrity and confidence seems to be a model for those who are looking for a sign that life will get better. I wanted to embody her eyes, her spirit, and her wrinkles. 

Nessa Rapoport: The Woman Who Lost Her Names

Surprisingly I can relate to this story. If one was to categorize me a specific religious affiliation I would be considered Jewish. All of the traditions, name socializations, and even the way of life in New York I can relate to because I have first hand experience with it. Trust me it’s no  easy task to be a jew...especially if you have relatives that are orthodox in the homeland. I loved this story especially because of the ending. It came full circle: it kind of had a miserable o poor me start, then a happy fra lala I found love and love found me bit, and then boom misery strikes with the relationship between a name to rape. I also respected and truly relish in that even though the main focus of the story had to due with Judaism, Nessa Rapoport also included sections of Islam and Christianity, which again made the story come full circle in the sense that all of humanity is connected in some way or another. What I thought was ironic in this story was the symbolism behind names. On the fourth page of this short story, the two main characters meet and discuss the young mans name. You come to find out that it’s sort of an alias name because he is a poet and his publisher changed it for him. She being the traditionalist...or so one thinks at first... tells him that he cant change his name because that is who he is. He responds with that it is just a name, the soul underneath is the same in better and worse. Fast forward through their blissful life to the last page where they are discussing names for their daughter. She chooses a biblical (Christian) name that she found while he was away at war. Now the tables turn because he now becomes the traditionalist going on and on about the Jewish way and how the child should be names after her mother. Out of rage the woman rips out the page from the bible and quotes it and as soon as she is done her husbands associates the text to rape. Boom. end of story.  I don’t know why but that totally blew my mind. I think that she saw the text from the bible to be a positive love at first sight reference, much like one she described for having with her husband, and he I believe saw the masculine not taking no for an answer response. I think that this goes hand in hand with equality or lack there of in the sexes when it comes to marriage and even how they can sometimes morph into something one doesn’t expect. Hell there is another argument in itself in this story: Expectations. Again there is a ton of underlying expectations put on these characters in this story. I really don’t want to go into them but I will list off a few.

1. Family obligation
2. Religious sanctions
3. Cultural standards set on women in different places in the world

Homeland: Short Stories Barbra Kingsolver- Covered Bridges

This was by far the biggest roller coaster of emotions that could ever be filled in just 21 pages. I swear I never thought that a short story, or any written story for that matter could give a person whip lash but good god this story did just that. Granted the story was very relatable and also bringing to light a social issue that many couples go through all the time, however I don’t like how the author made the wife Lena look like a total flake, an emotional time bomb ready to explode, as well as a stereo-typical middle aged broad that couldn’t make up her damn mind. The story deals with people, their peers, divorcing and having babies- often in this story referred to as the only two options available it seems like to the normal world. Then after a near death experience the air is cleared and the couple reaches a decision. To me that is very clique: to have a near death experience and suddenly all the world is right again and you realize what you have blah blah blah. That was the message behind the story I thought; don’t take the good in your life for granted. I’m sorry Barbra Kingsolver you would have gotten the same message across in a less dramatic way. Something that I was impressed with was that this story was written from the husband’s perspective. Hardly ever do people hear about the man’s perspective...partially because most men will give into their women’s taste and presumptions; well that is if we as females are even willing to give the chance, and also because men don’t speak openly about certain issues because they know that they are either going to loose the argument or they are just trying to avoid the argument all together. pussies. Anyway that how the husband in this story sounded- completely infatuated with his wife, she literally was his world. It was insane to me to read about a man’s reaction to such touchy subjects and to allow the reader to feel his vulnerability. 

Albert Einstein: Letter to Jaques Hadamard

This letter, or how I am choosing to take it is discussing productive thought and the several theories that are broken down to explain it. Einstein himself breaks it down into five clearly different elements to make the whole. Concept A and concept E are the two that struck the most interest to my viewing. Concept A debates about physical entities being voluntarily reproduced and combined vs the connection between those and relevant thoughts, which deals indirectly with emotions.  Concept E talks full consciousness and and the connection with the narrowness of the consciousness as a whole. Personally I think it would have been beneficial to know what the previous letter to Einstein was, the question, and the motive of the study so that the viewer could fully grasp the intent of this letter.