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So Anne, and everybody, don't you think something we read or someone reads to us can really change  the way we feel, potentially change the way we live our lives, and thus have some impact on a collective consciousness?
I think it is possible that this old Shakespeare sonnet may have changed someone's life just a little bit this evening.
Loving an elderly parent, and learning how to, being willing to love intensely even though it means we may have to then, soon, let go.  One of life's most difficult tasks. Sometimes a work of art can articulate a different way of seeing that can offer an insight into something one has previously experienced as impossible.
In this Shakespeare sonnet, the beauty of the sunset's afterglow, is even especially intensely beautiful in the face of imminent dark. Then read that final couplet that suggests a way to be that is not so evident, nor easy to cultivate.

I believe that poetry can change the way we see the world, and the way we relate to and are in it.


Shakespeare  Sonnet #73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,

So Krys made a comment today about the different sounds nature may make and we are completely inept at hearing. It made me think of a short story written by Rhaod Dahl about a man who tries to develop a machine that translates animal noises into audible human sound. He gets some rather interesting results in the process. I was unable to find an online version of the text, but I was able to find a couple video versions of it, some of which are pretty good. 

Some of the quotes in this one seemed highly relevant to me, and I wanted to share them with you all. Thanks!

I removed a number of readings I had initially thought (ha ha) that we could get in this week; although I took them off the syllabus "proper," I include links to them here, in case anyone's interested in exploring further the idea of "silence in music":

Jonathan Foer. Seven Attempted Escapes from Silence (libretto).

Karim Haddad. First Attempted Escape From Silence: Tunnels.

Below is a link to a youtube video where Marc Lamont Hill interviews Angela Davis on her work with prision abolition. Needless to say this is very relevant to our class. Both of them have come to speak on campus for Black History Month (Hill came my sophomore year).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AZ5waLhdV0&feature=relmfu

I tried writing in rhemode for this because despite how I didn’t necessarily agree with Bohm, I do think the way in which he proposes we use language is interesting, both in sound and in the thought behind it. I think there is a significant difference between the two versions, both in length, sound and meaning.

This was my original opening paragraph from my Thoreauvian essay: “I tried to begin this essay several times by describing why I started my walk where I did, but finally came to the realization that I did not actually have a reason. I had been hesitant to begin my Thoreauvian walk and I wasn’t quite sure why. I felt like it should be such an easy thing, to take a walk. However, I couldn’t get myself to begin. I would feel an uncomfortable tightening in my stomach, almost bordering on fear. I felt silly, why would I fear something so simple as walking? As I thought more, I realized what I feared was not the walk itself but having to be “directionless.” I was scared to clear my mind, to expect nothing. I felt the need to control the walk, to ensure that I had something valuable to say at the end of the experience. As I thought about our class discussions revolving around fear and bugs, I realized the only way to let go was to begin, and not think about how or where”

This is my RE- writing:

Initiation was attempted regarding walking,

however realizations occurred that there was no reason, ire-initation.

Re-initation of walking through writing  …

I tried to begin this essay several times by describing why I started my walk where I did, but finally came to the realization that I did not actually have a reason. I had been hesitant to begin my Thoreauvian walk and I wasn’t quite sure why. I felt like it should be such an easy thing, to take a walk. However, I couldn’t get myself to begin. I would feel an uncomfortable tightening in my stomach, almost bordering on fear. I felt silly, why would I fear something so simple as walking? As I thought more, I realized what I feared was not the walk itself but having to be “directionless.” I was scared to clear my mind, to expect nothing. I felt the need to control the walk, to ensure that I had something valuable to say at the end of the experience. As I thought about our class discussions revolving around fear and bugs, I realized the only way to let go was to begin, and not think about how or where. So as I walked out of Haffner after having lunch, I suddenly realized I had never actually been inside the Haffner dorm. I knew I needed to explore the inside of Haffner. It took at least twenty minutes of wandering to realize that I was wandering. Instead of forcing myself to walk, I had somehow managed to be on my walk accidently. Surprisingly, it was easier then I thought to get lost. There ended up being so much to see I created an online album of pictures I took during the walk.

Firstly, I have to say that a lot of things happened this week and this reading is really out of anticipation in many ways.  Our reflections and readings make me think of a lot of questions which I don’t have answers right now.

To check the validity of the accusations Sommer claimed on Rigoberta Menchu, who is the writer of the book that moved me deeply last week, I Googled Rigoberta. Surprisingly, her Nobel Peace Prize was nearly revoked by Nobel Committee due to the David Horowitz’s campaign attacked her using David’s Stoll book. David Stoll carried out an investigation of Menchu’s story and found many evidences that proved that she changed many elements of her life in order to meet publicity needs for some political purpose.

I guess this explains some of confusions I had reading  the book, disconnected timelines, contradicting stories and mixed orientations of narratives and my feelings was cheated partially to fulfill some political causes. I am pretty sure this is not the first case of falsification in the literature history. In the end, the controversies about her testimony and potential of losing the prize were settled because Menchu’s contributions of bringing attention to the genocide happened at Guantemala and to advocate peace. Still, such a drama was not expected when I read such emotional piece.

“I’m still keeping secrets what I think no-one should know. Not even anthropologist or intellectuals, no matter how many books they have, can find our secrets”

It seems like a lot of people chose to use the rheomode to re-write/re-levate their paragraphs. Is this the most natural way for us to write? The easiest? 

Or perhaps (and I think this may be the case) is it the clearest mode to emulate - the directions for this form are the clearest. 

ACHOO!!

That is how my weekend is characterized. As a matter of fact, my whole week has been phlegm-y, but it was taken to a whole new level this past few days. After I discovered on Thursday that I have a severe ear infection, combatting the cold that I caught earlier in the week became much more difficult. Now I have to stifle my sneezes as much as possible and I'm not allowed to blow my nose, as to not put pressure on my ear. But my body would have none of that. I have been sneezing every ten minutes this weekend, being mostly bedridden (or roomridden, if that's even a plausible word) but still exhausted. Therefore, I did not have the chance to properly visit the cloisters this week, but I will talk about the ecology in my room.