sivaroobini: (Crowley inner turmoil)

Aargh. My A Levels were finished at the end of last November and I have a break until university starts much later this year. I'd been looking forward to this period SO MUCH last year, and planning what I'd do kept me going.

Now the months stretch ahead of me and I have so many things to do but just can't bring myself to finish them. Would the word ennui be appropriate? There are times when I just walk around the house, unable to motivate myself to finish any of my current projects or start a new one. None of them seem to appeal to me; sometimes they do but I don't feel like doing them anyway. When I'm on the computer, instead of writing or doing anything productive, I spend hours faffing about on Facebook or reading (in some cases, rereading) fanfiction.

Maybe a list will help. Things that are in progress will be italicised, things I've completed will be struck off.

Reading )

Movies/TV )

Music )

Writing/role-play )

Craft Projects )

Miscellaneous )


*stares at list* This is going to end up like that post-O Level list of mine, isn't it? Lakshmi and I wrote up a nice long list and we only did a few things on it. Sigh.
sivaroobini: (Lorien o Arda)

I will be going overseas! From the 3rd to the 9th, I will be in India, and then from the 10th to the 14th, I will be in Bali. So to those people who posted requests at my drabble meme, I will probably be working on those requests while travelling, but in all likelihood will not be able to post them until after I return. My deepest apologies.

Also, I FINALLY finished Dante's Purgatorio last night. God, it was beautiful. The sheer beauty and power of the descriptions and everything just moved me. Sadly, the library does not have Paradiso by the same translator. :( 

This is a bilingual edition; with the English translation by Professor Anthony Esolen on the right-hand page and the original Italian on the left. Although I do not speak/read Italian, well, although I cannot understand it, I actually can pronounce it okay, I think, and so sometimes I would read the Italian out, softly, to myself. And at those times, I wished so badly that I could understan Italian. I can make out a few of the words, where they share common roots with English, but it's rare to understand a whole line, let alone a page or two or poetry.

Even though I couldn't understand it, the Italian sounded so beautiful. The meter and the rhyme scheme - how Dante could stick to alternative rhyming couplets for a poem this length, with such depth of meaning, is beyond me - and the flow of Italian, were all so beautiful that even though, as I said, I cannot understand it fully without help from the English on the facing page, I was moved by the sheer beauty of it anyway.

This is poetry. Even when you cannot understand it, the sheer beauty and power of the words cause you to feel blessed, somehow. And when you can understand it, you can see what the poet describes before you eyes, and you feel what he felt while writing.

And this is why I dislike postmodern poetry, like that of Carol Ann Duffy. We have to do her poems for Literature, and frankly I dislike it. I admit, there is meaning, and it's probably beautiful in its own way. But as someone whose first poems were those from mythology and the classics, and those of Tolkien, I have grown to expect beauty from poetry. Not literal beauty, no; Dante's Inferno, for instance, deals with dark subject matter and there are no flowering glades, for instance, for him to describe. But the way he describes the darkness, and the suffering, and the stories of the lives of those damned souls, is beautiful, and it moves you.

Poetry should illuminate, not confuse. People these days seem to think poetry is supposed to be vague and hard to understand. I think that's silly. To me, poetry is a thing of beauty.
sivaroobini: (Isis)
For Literature in school, we do the novel Fahrenheit 451, and before that I was reading The Canterbury Tales. So during my Literature exam in school, as I was writing about the apathetic society in Fahrenheit 451, I suddenly got the idea for this poem. It plagued me and I had to ignore it to write my essay, so the moment I got home I wrote it. It's entitled Zephyrus, as a tribute to the first page of The Canterbury Tales.

Zephyrus

Zephyrus blew among the trees
Shaking loose rustling leaves
Tenderly kissing the new spring blooms
Of blue, of orange and of brilliant red hues.

Dewdrops sparkled like tiny stars
Amongst the emerald blades of grass
Ripe fruit hung from every tree
Birds sang of flying far and free.

White clouds dotted the boundless blue sky
Streams rushed by in a tinkling cry
The Sun rose and set in his chariot wreathed in fire
Painting the sky in every conceivable colour.

Yet the meadows are empty and the sky now grey
The trees are felled both night and day
The birds are shot, the river is dammed
The forest is become a barren wasteland.

Not a soul is there to walk among the trees
To taste the rain and savour the breeze
To stroll upon grass or to drive upon tar?
Man would choose the latter by far.

Soft spring flowers or a blinding flat screen?
Smoky clubs or distant hills green?
A canopy of leaves or a canopy of silk?
To breathe mountain air or exhaust and its ilk?

The flowers are wilted and the dew is gone
The fallen leaves turn crisp and brown
The sting of acid is in the spring rain
Among the bare trees, Zephyrus howls in vain.


~ Sivaroobini
sivaroobini: (Ineffable)
Hiya!

Actually it's 2.05 pm now and I am again in the Library. My friends Bala and Ravi are next to me. I think I'll write a poem and post it here.



Loneliness.

No one to kiss away your tears
As they soak up the pillow
No one to hug away your fears
Of the walls closing in around you

No one to give you a good warm cuddle
On the couch, while watching TV
No one to help, when you're in a muddle
Over work or household accounts

No one to accompany you to walk the dog
As you pull fruitlessly at the leash
No one to guide you in a fog
As you blunder unseeingly

No one to help you, no one to guide you
No one to strengthen you, no one to comfort you
No one to hug you, no one to kiss you
No one to LOVE you.

That's Loneliness.




So? How is it? I write a lot of poetry and if you guys like it I'll post some more here. I even wrote one about the Library for an essay which Bala is reading now and Ravi is teasing as the next 50 Cent song. <_< 


Now Ravi is mad at me because he was creating a poster to advertise the movie we're screening next Friday and I pointed out that his grammar etc was horrendous and edited it for him.  Sheesh. There isn't much going on besides the election here in Singapore, and politics are BORING. So I will sign off for now.


Sincerely, Siva, the fifth Marauder!
 

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