quotable quotes: alfred lord tennyson

I love Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Rhyming? Rhythm? Beautiful language, numerous aphorisms? I say, to hell with Whitman and his American "poetry". British form for the win.

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

---Break break break

The world was never made;

It will change, but it will not fade.

So let the wind range;

For even and morn

Ever will be

Thro’ eternity.

Nothing was born;

Nothing will die;

All things will change.

---Nothing Will Die

O well for him whose will is strong!

He suffers, but he will not suffer long;

He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong...

---Will

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are---

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

---Ulysses

happy 200th: a guide to Chopin

Oh Frederic Chopin, how I adore thee, despite the fact that you are now officially 200. I don't care what you said about your birthday being March 1st, the church records say February 22nd. Humorous and observant, romantic to the core, full of strange habits - his pieces, some of the most descriptive and lyrical ever written, were never given titles but were always identified by genre and number. His sickly, tuberculosis-threatened exterior could not hide the exuberance and passion that lay within his soul. No other man in history, it could be argued, has devoted himself so fully to anything as Chopin devoted himself to the piano. He brought revolutionary ideas into his pieces, rubato, dissonance, chromatics...yet at the same time they were timeless classics that refined technique and musical character. His innovation led to some of his contemporary's most renowned works, such as Liszt's Transcendental Etudes. He was altogether French and yet wholly Polish. He had a turbulent relationship with George Sand [whom I, though I know little of her, detest] that lasted until the end of his tragically short life.
A Guide to Chopin's Music
Begin with the classics; everyone knows them. Fantasie Impromptu. Revolutionary Etude [Op. 10 no. 12]. The posthumous nocturne in C-sharp minor. The minute waltz. Pieces that have earned themselves names that Chopin did not give.
Move on to more sophisticated fare. Chopin's etudes stand as a landmark in musical history today. He was the first to really make the etude a piece fit to be performed, not merely for technical purposes. He seemed to have an etude to cover everything: black keys, thirds, sixths, octaves, arpeggios...check out the Winter Wind Etude [Op. 25 no. 11] Butterfly Etude [Op. 25 no. 9] Etude Op. 10 no. 4...but by far my favorite is Op. 10 no. 9. It's not difficult, it's not long...in fact it is considered the easiest etude...but its melody is so beautiful. The piece is written in a variant of f-harmonic minor. Absolutely haunting.
Check out Chopin's concertos. He can write as well for the orchestra as he could for the piano. Both are beautiful, but listen to the first movement of his first concerto and second movement of the second concerto.
The word scherzo means "joke". Scherzos before Chopin's time were usually short, flippant children's pieces. Chopin took the traditional scherzo, as he did with everything else, and made it his own. All four scherzi are pretty well known...listen to the middle section of the second one and the first one is essential to your Chopin knowledge.
There's the "Chopin scherzo", then there's the "Chopin ballade." I've played the three hardest of the four, and all are gorgeous pieces. Listen to the first for the rubato and the way he repeats a theme over and over. The second, though well known, is really not necessary; it's a piece for light listening. My ABSOLUTE favorite is the fourth. It's extremely difficult, but I determined, when music major I invited to give me a lesson on a different piece played it, that I would learn it and master it someday. The very opening theme captivated me. I have this theory that Liszt is twice guilty of plagiarizing Chopin's work. Don't get me wrong, I adore the Hungarian almost as much the Frenchman, but compare the main theme of the fourth ballade to the main theme of Liszt's La Leggierezza, Second Concert Etude...I played the two in short succession, and couldn't help noticing the similarities. The other instance is with Liszt's 10th transcendental etude, Allegro Agitato Molto, and Chopin's Op 10 no 9 etude [how dare you Franz, how dare you.]
Try to get in a few of the "Chopin nocturnes" in as well. Op. 27 no. 2 is short and sweet and well known. Squeeze in the first Impromptu if possible, as well as the Barcarolle in F sharp major, and finish it off with the grand first movement of Chopin's 3rd sonata.
One cannot do justice to the great Chopin without really playing his music, experiencing his genius firsthand, but that is the grandeur of music, and all other art; those who cannot make it can nevertheless enjoy it just as thoroughly.

bon anniversaire.

SAT (or OWL?) words

in honor of my dear friends who (falsely) proclaim that Harry Potter is better than Lord of the Rings, I've decided to write a completely fictional short story involving everyone's favorite characters from the former series. Interspersed throughout are good ol' SAT vocabulary words. No copyright infringement intended, my dear JK. This is for purely educational purposes only.

From The Half-Blood Prince: Harry has just overhead a conversation between Snape and Malfoy, where Snape is trying to figure out what his student is up to. Our beloved title character is musing it over at the Burrow during the Christmas holidays.

It had been several days since Harry had snuck away from Slughorn's party; enjoying being away from school, he'd had plenty of time for cogitation. He wasn't ready to tell anyone yet; he was sure Lupin and Mr. Weasley would consider this evidence diaphanous, whereas Harry himself thought the event a presage of worse to come. After all, since when had Malfoy been recalcitrant towards his favorite teacher Snape? He could hear them now, a snarling adolescent voice, another smooth and silky one...
Harry was back under his invisibility cloak, surreptitiously following the two Slytherins as they left Slughorn's Christmas party.
"That was a fatuous act, Draco," drawled Snape. The sound came from the end of the corridor. Harry crept to the last classroom and pressed his ear against the door in time to hear Malfoy ask angrily, "What are you talking about?"
"You know very well what I am talking about," was the harsh reply. "I would've expected you to be more solicitous."
"What? Are you putting the onus on me for what happened to Katie Bell? I had nothing to do with it; she must have some personal enemy or something, all right? I always thought she was a nebbish, anyway...no one would have any problem getting her to do what they want, even carry a poisoned necklace..."
Snape paused before speaking again. "You don't look very well, Draco. I haven't seen you at meals, and I have heard your absence being remarked upon in the common room. Has something happened at home? You look, if I may say it, rather dolorous."
"Thank you," said Malfoy, voice dripping sarcasm. "No, everything at home is just splendid - my father has always dreamed of living in Azkaban."
"I promised your mother I'd look after you. I - "
"So what are you going to do? Enjoin me from ever leaving the common room or classrooms? Walk me to every lesson?" Malfoy uttered a harsh laugh.
"Well, Draco, I think that would be a very apposite measure to take, do you not?"
"Are you kidding me? That'd be an utterly draconian punishment!" screamed Draco.
Harry winced and backed away from the door. He heard footsteps approaching and quickly dashed back down the corridor towards Slughorn's party, hearing a door slam as he made his escape. He quickened his pace; he dared not look back for fear that he would find himself gazing into the cold, black eyes of Severus Snape...but then he felt a hand at his shoulder and he started...
"Harry! Get out of your torpor." It was Ron, shaking him awake.
"Eh?...wuzzgoinon..." Harry blinked as the cheery faces of Lupin and Mr. Weasley came into view, each of them with a hand that grasped a large bottle of butterbeer.
"Well that certainly was a frangible nap you took!" laughed Mr. Weasley. He offered him a swig of butterbeer. "It's a roborant drink; you'll be back to us in no time!" He laughed again.
"Listen, Mr. Weasley, Lupin," began Harry, a note of urgency in his voice now that he was fully awake, "I heard a conversation between Snape and Malfoy right before the holidays..." He explained what he had heard and concluded, "They were definitely colluding! To do what, I don't know, but I'm sure not something good!"
The adults, however, were a lot less excited by the news than Harry had been.
"Harry," said Mr. Weasley gently, "don't you think Snape was just trying to, you know, find out what, if anything, Malfoy was up to?"
Harry felt his frustration rise.
"No, he was definitely up to something! He even said he was responsible for Malfoy and his actions!" Why did Mr. Weasley have to palliate everything that came up about Snape? He turned to Lupin, sure that he would find support there, but to his great surprise he saw Lupin nodding agreement.
"Harry, don't you think you could be prevaricating a bit? I mean, it's completely understandable, given your history with Snape, but if Dumbledore trusts Snape you should as well, don't you agree?"
Harry could not believe it. Had no one heard what he had heard between Snape and Malfoy? Was there anyone left in the Wizarding world with some sense? There had to be someone who would believe him...but who? Perhaps...perhaps Harry could share the experience, not mentioning Snape and Malfoy specifically, and see who would come to his side? Perhaps if he were to expatiate on the matter, get out all his thoughts...even if he didn't find anyone who agreed, he would at least have let out all his emotions so he could sit back and try to see more clearly...that was it. Harry jumped to his feet, upsetting Crookshanks who fell to the floor with an indignant meow. Harry ignored him; instead he raced upstairs, headed toward the attic where all sorts of magical items were stored. He was going to write a blog, and post it on the Wizarding Wide Web, for everyone to see.

Well, could you tell what the words meant from the context? No? Ahhh well luckily we have
words
cogitate - think deeply, ponder, meditate
diaphanous - transparent as to allow light to pass through/vague, unsubstantial
presage - an omen, warning/to warn
recalcitrant - Stubbornly resistant to and defiant of authority or restraint.
surreptitious - done in stealth
fatuous - foolish and unintelligent/illusory and delusive
solicitous - careful, meticulous
onus - burden, responsibility
nebbish - A weak-willed, timid, or ineffectual person.
dolorous - causing or marked by grief or sorrow
enjoin - to prohibit
apposite - very applicable and relevant
draconian - excessively harsh and severe
torpor - a state of lethargy, apathy
frangible - easily broken
roborant - Strengthening; restoring vigor.
collude - to act together, to conspire, to plot
palliate - to make less severe, less serious
prevaricate - to depart from or evade the truth
expatiate - to write/speak about in considerable detail/to wander freely [in expression]

dynamic duos

in honor of valentine's day, a couple of couples for you.

Lucy and Ricky Ricardo

I love Lucy. She is everything I wish I was but am not: spontaneous, wild, charming, whiny, ridiculous...

Andy Clark and Allison Reynolds

Every teen should be able to identify the movie with this scene in an instant. Sure, Bender and Claire get all the attention, but Molly Ringwald couldn't stand Judd Nelson...I find Ally Sheedy and Emilio Estevez a much sweeter coupling.

Arwen Undomiel and Aragorn Elessar

Hailed by Forbes as the the highest-earning on-screen couple. Doesn't take a lot to see why.

Eowyn of Rohan and Faramir of Ithilien

My favorite duo from Lord of the Rings. Everyone forgets about Faramir, and I just don't get why. His story is the most gripping of all.

Josh and Cher Horowitz

The socially responsible hippie and ditzy rich girl? Sounds like some overworked cliché, but Paul Rudd and Alicia Silverstone make it work.

Blane McDonough and Andie Walsh

Sure, sure, we're all supposed to pick Duckie to be with Molly Ringwald...but who can resist the gorgeousness that is Andrew McCarthy? Pretty in Pink isn't a favorite of mine, but he sure is.

Kevin Dolenz and Leslie Hunter

What do you get when you take the halves of two of my favorite pairings and put them together? Andrew McCarthy and Ally Sheedy, of course! Even though St. Elmo's Fire is supposed to be a terrible movie...it's so 80s I can't help but love it. ABC is making a TV series version, with the original director and TOPHER GRACE producing, so I suggest you all get well acquainted with this film.

Journalist Joe Bradley and Princess Ann

Gregory Peck, recognizing the immense talent Audrey Hepburn had, asked to have her name just as big as his, correctly predicting Audrey would win an Oscar for this role. Such a sad, but perfect, ending to this movie.

Miranda Kerr and Orlando Bloom

The most beautiful couple out there. Or maybe they lose to...

James Franco and Agyness Deyn

Relatively new, they win the award for coolest duo.

seize enjoy the day...i'll go back to fantasizing over William Holden.

in desolation

I lay here, still sobbing.
you stand behind me, as if nothing is wrong. you continue talking
about the weather, and what to cook
for breakfast.
the tears fall fast from my eyes.
You leave me, you spare me no thought,
and head upstairs, where you get far enough away
so that the sound of my grief can no longer be heard.
You do not understand it. You do not comprehend what you have done.
You have the audacity to make yourself seem the victim.
Throwing aside all duty to me, all responsibility
you let me mourn alone. And never have I felt so alone.
I have been disowned. I am not important enough - not worth even a second
of your precious time. Time you spend sleeping
or sitting, like the sack of rottenness you are, before the television.
You were not willing to make an effort then, to get the remote
to cover yourself in a blanket
to turn on or off the lights.
You are not willing now.
Things must be done on your terms. For not only are you the maker of my misery
you are a tyrant as well. I can do nothing but suffer under your rule.
That is the law, and the law must be upheld.
It is not a difficult existence for you.
Who has heard of a single man being able to throw off the chains of oppression?
One cannot successfully rebel against power, great and many
but power over one yields as much satisfaction as that over a kingdom.
It takes the anguish of only one to guarantee the delight of many of your kind.
That is why others can continue on. Why no one else sympathizes with my cause
and instead they brand me as unstable or insane
for wanting to think differently. It makes it easy for you, does it not?
It establishes a sense of righteousness in your acts
and even more ground for you to continue.
But there is nothing darker
than a false moral pretext.
One day it will get the better of you
and I hope I'm here to see it
when that day finally comes.

period piece: the 50's

as you all probably know, i have a love for all things in the 50's, a time unparalled by any other except the 80s [an era which i will write about later]. my most recent obsession has been the TV show I Love Lucy, a hilarious, witty, brilliant and beautiful series embodying the decade. Hallmark had an I Love Lucy marathon last weekend, and after one episode I was hooked.
From what's apparently the best episode [which I have not yet seen, to my immense frustration] Lucy puts on a disguise when meeting a famous actor, William Holden [more on him below], for fear of being recognized as the woman who got pie all over his face. When Holden lights a cigarette for her, her long, fake, putty nose catches on fire. Hilarity ensues.
Feeling nostalgic, I soon re-visited some of my favorite moments [read: movies] from the time, and was inexorably brought to the gorgeous and talented [not to mention my favorite] actress Audrey Hepburn.
From Funny Face, the only musical I've partially enjoyed [besides Sound of Music, but that's a given]. Isn't she, and Paris, gorgeous?

I dream of this sort of getup...large hat, wayfarer glasses, huge diamond earrings given to me by a mobster...
gorgeous. and another beauty, quite on the opposite end of the spectrum from sweet, innocent Audrey...
Ava Gardner. Fabulous.

The beautiful Grace Kelly.

Now I had always thought Marilyn Monroe overrated...until I actually saw her in a movie, The Misfits. She is absolutely stunning.
Just because she's that stunning I decided on a [gasp] color photo.
Doesn't she look nice?

Now on to the guys.

JAMES DEAN [in a Steinbeck movie, too!] I find James Franco's resemblance to this man most uncanny...


Marlon Brando...the epitome of coolness.


William Holden. Poor Lucy Ricardo, to make a fool of herself in front of this man...


Oh, Gregory Peck [To Kill A Mockingbird]...a personal favorite of mine. He and Holden, incidentally, both starred in films alongside Audrey Hepburn...

Ahhh Rome...

The 50's were also a landmark time in literature. My favorite books were written in this time period...



and let's not forget the brilliant movies set in this decade...[dead poets, anyone?]

mmmm. what I would give to live in this fabulous era...

an unwilling grate

The hearth is lying cold, and the thin whistling emanating from the chimney
plays a haunting, mournful tune.
Even the wind wishes for flames in the fireplace
for nature wants always what is natural.
The wood is piled on, the mass keeps rising
and teeters, unbalanced.
The kindle is placed, packed in carefully, stuffed in to fill the gaping holes -
And now, a wavering light is brought to the fuel
Uncertain - does it go here? Where is the place
most sensitive, most ready to catch?
Careful! The bright flame seems so willing to set alight the hands of its wielder
but not the towering column it was meant for
no matter how it is ushered in -
Jabbing, thrusting, urging the flare forward -
What can one do? All is in place, but the wood will not ignite.

What does it take for you, me, our souls, to spark?
What does man do when, try as one might, the multitudes refuse to be set afire
by the wavering light of progress?
Striking, flashing - the idea catches
for a fleeting moment, where things are most perceptive - and a hopeful ember begins to glow
but just as suddenly
all goes up in smoke
all becomes cold and charred
all is back to what it was, before.

weekend update thursday

i found many parallels between this post and saturday night live's weekend update thursday. it's a time when the public doesn't have the time to tune in; what's being published/broadcasted isn't imaginative but is simply a take on the week's events; it's an excuse to be on tv/online again.


if you haven't seen this movie...you aren't sucking out all the marrow of life, my friend. this is an absolute must-see, especially if you're still young enough to steer yourself towards a new direction in life. life-changing as it gets.


something else that has changed my perspective. when thick and heavy literary reference won't do it, humor will. further incentive for me to build a time machine to travel back into the past.


one tree hill had an episode dedicated entirely to John Hughes. Every time I see one of his movies, it's instant nostalgia for a time during which i wasn't even alive.

someone has GOT to invent a time machine.

"gather ye rosebuds while ye may"

The rosebud hangs from broken stem
its color deep as bloodred gem,
withered, crumbled, petals dry
alone beneath a dreary sky.
Trapped within the hard stone walls,
as yet another petal falls
her leaves yearn for a touch of sun
but hope is gone, her days are done.
No longer do they tend to her
and now the Vine, the Weeds, and Burr,
unstoppable, roam far and free.
Yet naught can be done, for none do see
her many struggles, pains and woes.
She's fallen at last into Death's throes.
For even with roots so strong and sound
she could not last on frozen ground.
And though she had been the greatest of seeds
the world had ignored the poor rose's needs,
simple things: the water of love
and recognition from sunlight above.
Now she is conquered, the battle is lost,
now comes the time of the cold winter frost.
Hard and bitter, those red rosebud's tears
are all that remain of ten long years
of valiant effort to simply survive
but nothing was left to keep her alive.

the road goes ever on and on...

hello world.

up until now, i have been lost at sea.
i was yet another sailor who had found himself alone, without a trace of the ship i had come on or those that had accompanied me thus far. like countless others had done before me, i journeyed on, searching for that which i knew not needed looking for...

after a tumultuous few weeks of fording the waters of everyday life, I came across an island, barring my way. it was small in area, about the size of a house, but it was massive in girth, shouldering the skies and, to my eyes, pushed and stretched at the thin layer of clouds overhead that served as its blanket.

"truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold..."

did the island just speak? maybe i was going crazy. perhaps i had imagined it. but no, something had definitely spoken. i went on.

a few paces later and i came across a mound. it was not like those mounds you see in the sand, leftover residue from some child's attempt to create an architectural wonder, hours of work and days of dreaming, washed away in an effortless sweep of the waves, the ocean's careless, lazy yawn...for this was a rocky island, and this mound resembled nothing more than a rectangular pile of stones. for the first time since coming upon the shore, i felt another presence...i knew that he who lay beneath those stones was a kindred spirit, a being with whom i was one in loneliness. i tarried by him, held there by grief from losing what could have been a true friend and great man, one who i could truly call

"O captain, my captain!"

i was pushed along, gently, by the knowledge that the captain would want his death, like his life, to be celebrated in quiet...


i made my way along. i soon came upon a cave, hidden in a grove of trees. a hole let in a few weak rays of sunlight. down on the floor of the cave laid the remains of a fire, as well as a crumpled box of raisins, a lamp-stand in the figure of a man, and a valuable looking pipe. something about this place was familiar...

as i sat there, wondering...recalling memories...i heard yet another voice...

"chaos screaming, chaos dreaming..."

"...and then i saw the congo, creeping through the black..."

"I wanted to live deep...and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived."

and then it came to me.

"I hereby reconvene the Dead Poets Society."

could this be the very cave? yes, it had to be...that pipe...the lamp, really the god of the cave...lines of poetry, whispered more than 50 years ago, by some acoustic or magical property still echoing within...

and then i knew.

it was my soul that was travelling, venturing out there...once lost, but now well on its way to being found...but how had this adventure begun only a little while ago? it seemed only minutes since i had awoken to find myself in this vast expanse of ocean...

perhaps because my spirit had never truly awoken before. it had always been there, lying dormant in its vessel, bound to sail for a certain port forever, back and forth, over and over on the same voyage...the shipwreck, then, had not been a tragedy but an emancipation of my thinking. in the physical life i had only been this way for a few days. yes, then, the mound i had discovered and had felt so close to covered the great J.D. Salinger, reclusive in death as he ever was in life...the cave, where minds were loosed and feelings unwound, where Dead Poets came back to life...the whispering of the island was not a result of insanity...it was the true me, only heard when all other voices were not there to drown it out...



as beautiful as the island was, i knew the time had come for parting. i had gone and discovered, pursued and conquered...i had been released from invisible bonds, which, like most things in life, are most powerful when unseen...i was deeply grieved to leave this island, with its familiar places and ideas, but there was an entire ocean to discover. and so it must be. the time to bid something goodbye comes when we hold it most dear.

and so i leave here...onto my next stage. creating. the current led me here. here i hope to continue my journey. at times i may stray from the path or be forced to backtrack, but my imagination will go on, i will gather the rosebuds while i may...i will, above all, seize the day.

but, before going, a parting message. i bent over the only stretch of sand on the island and scribbled...



the road goes ever on.



[quotes from: Todd Anderson in Dead Poet's Society; O Captain my Captain, Walt Whitman; Poetrusic, Charlie "Nuwanda" Dalton; The Congo, Vachel Lindsay; Walden, Henry David Thoreau; The Road Goes Ever On, the Lord of the Rings]