Flying over everything
Today I experienced my second major poem finding success story! This one may be even sweeter than the first, since I've been searching for this poem on and off since I read it once in 9th grade--10 years!-- and the difficulty of my quest was compounded by the fact that it was originally written in Spanish.
But somehow, when I randomly conducted my search tonight (a highly sophisticated method I've developed that is basically typing some general concepts that I'd remembered from the poem into Google) it came right up. Maybe they really are constantly improving the algorithm over there?
Reading it now, I'm pretty impressed that I was so enraptured with this poem at the age of 15 (when I was very naive to romance, as I would remain for a good number of years thereafter.) I suppose it stuck with me so much because it spoke to exactly what I thought I'd want to find in a future ideal beau-- and I have to say, the 15-year-old me was pretty right on the money.
Amor Sin Amor (Love Without Love)
By Luis Llorens Torres
I love you, because in my thousand and one nights of dreams,
I never once dreamed of you.
I looked down paths that traveled from afar,
but it was never you I expected.
Suddenly I've felt you flying through my soul
in quick, lofty flight,
and how beautiful you seem way up there, far
from my always idiot heart!
Love me that way, flying over everything.
And, like the bird on its branches, land in my arms
only to rest,
then fly off again.
Be not like the romantic ones who, in love, set me on fire.
When you climb up my mansion,
enter so lightly, that as you enter
the dog of my heart will not bark.
But somehow, when I randomly conducted my search tonight (a highly sophisticated method I've developed that is basically typing some general concepts that I'd remembered from the poem into Google) it came right up. Maybe they really are constantly improving the algorithm over there?
Reading it now, I'm pretty impressed that I was so enraptured with this poem at the age of 15 (when I was very naive to romance, as I would remain for a good number of years thereafter.) I suppose it stuck with me so much because it spoke to exactly what I thought I'd want to find in a future ideal beau-- and I have to say, the 15-year-old me was pretty right on the money.
Amor Sin Amor (Love Without Love)
By Luis Llorens Torres
I love you, because in my thousand and one nights of dreams,
I never once dreamed of you.
I looked down paths that traveled from afar,
but it was never you I expected.
Suddenly I've felt you flying through my soul
in quick, lofty flight,
and how beautiful you seem way up there, far
from my always idiot heart!
Love me that way, flying over everything.
And, like the bird on its branches, land in my arms
only to rest,
then fly off again.
Be not like the romantic ones who, in love, set me on fire.
When you climb up my mansion,
enter so lightly, that as you enter
the dog of my heart will not bark.
The shallow rivers roar, the deep are still
In honor of Valentine's Day, because I love all you Dear Readers, I thought I'd share one of my favorite poems of all time.
The first time I read this poem was way back in the fall of 2001, when part of it appeared in a literature test I was taking. The test did not cite the poem's author, but the poem was so perfect that it haunted me for months after. Unfortunately, it was very obscure-- even though I'd remembered swaths of the poem verbatim, in those early days of online search engines it was impossible to find on the Internet.
I finally tracked it down during a trip to Harvard in the spring of 2002. I was visiting the campus, and figured that if a work of literature was anywhere, it would be in Harvard's library. I was right, and I can still remember the feeling of quiet victory I experienced while kneeling down over a musty old book in Harvard's stacks when I finally found the poem in print.
It's very romantic, but not in the traditional sense-- I think it speaks most for those of us who don't always wear our hearts on our sleeves, and sometimes find it impossible to express our real feelings at the right time. I think those kinds people are often the most sensitive and romantic of all.
The first time I read this poem was way back in the fall of 2001, when part of it appeared in a literature test I was taking. The test did not cite the poem's author, but the poem was so perfect that it haunted me for months after. Unfortunately, it was very obscure-- even though I'd remembered swaths of the poem verbatim, in those early days of online search engines it was impossible to find on the Internet.
I finally tracked it down during a trip to Harvard in the spring of 2002. I was visiting the campus, and figured that if a work of literature was anywhere, it would be in Harvard's library. I was right, and I can still remember the feeling of quiet victory I experienced while kneeling down over a musty old book in Harvard's stacks when I finally found the poem in print.
It's very romantic, but not in the traditional sense-- I think it speaks most for those of us who don't always wear our hearts on our sleeves, and sometimes find it impossible to express our real feelings at the right time. I think those kinds people are often the most sensitive and romantic of all.
To My Lady E.C. at her Going Out of England
by Sir John Suckling
I must confess, when I did part from you, I could not force an artificial dew Upon my cheeks, Nor with a gilded phrase Express how many hundred several ways My heart was tortur'd, Nor, with arms across, In discontented garbs set forth my loss. Such loud expressions many times do come From lightest hearts; great griefs are always dumb. The shallow rivers roar, the deep are still; Numbers of painted words may show much skill, but little anguish; And a cloudy face is oft put on, to serve both time and place. The blazing wood may to the eye seem great, But 'tis the fire rak'd up that has the heat, And keeps it long. True sorrow's like to wine: That which is good doth never need a sign. My eyes were channels far too small to be Conveyers of such floods of misery. And so pray think; or if you 'd entertain A thought more charitable, suppose some strain Of sad repentance had, not long before, Quite emptied for my sins that wat'ry store. So shall you him oblige that still will be Your servant to his best ability.
To my Twenties
At a dinner party last night, I was having a great conversation over some wine with the hostess' sister, when it came up incidentally that she's-- ahem-- a good five years younger than I. It was a weird moment, because she was so lovely, bright, and mature-- it was one of the first times (of many more to inevitably come) where it really hit home that I can no longer expect to be the baby in every "grown-up" situation.
This is, I know, I know, ridiculous to lament at the ripe old age of 24. But a funny feeling, nonetheless.
For perspective, tonight seemed like a good time to revisit a poem by Kenneth Koch I found a year or so ago:
How lucky that I ran into you
When everything was possible
For my legs and arms, and with hope in my heart
And so happy to see any woman(
O woman! O my twentieth year!
Basking in you, you
Oasis from both growing and decay
Fantastic unheard of nine- or ten-year oasis
A palm tree, hey! And then another
And another (and water!
I'm still very impressed by you. Whither,
Midst falling decades, have you gone? Oh in what lucky fellow,
Unsure of himself, upset, and unemployable
For the moment in any case, do you live now?
From my window I drop a nickel
By mistake. With
You I race down to get it
But I find there on
The street instead, a good friend,
X---- N------, who says to me
Kenneth do you have a minute?
And I say yes! I am in my twenties!
I have plenty of time! In you I marry,
In you I first go to France; I make my best friends
In you, and a few enemies. I
Write a lot and am living all the time
And thinking about living. I loved to frequent you
After my teens and before my thirties.
You three together in a bar
I always preferred you because you were midmost
Most lustrous apparently strongest
Although now that I look back on you
What part have you played?
You never, ever, were stingy.
What you gave me you gave whole
But as for telling
Me how best to use it
You weren't a genius at that.
Twenties, my soul
Is yours for the asking
You know that, if you ever come back.
This is, I know, I know, ridiculous to lament at the ripe old age of 24. But a funny feeling, nonetheless.
For perspective, tonight seemed like a good time to revisit a poem by Kenneth Koch I found a year or so ago:
To My Twenties
How lucky that I ran into you
When everything was possible
For my legs and arms, and with hope in my heart
And so happy to see any woman(
O woman! O my twentieth year!
Basking in you, you
Oasis from both growing and decay
Fantastic unheard of nine- or ten-year oasis
A palm tree, hey! And then another
And another (and water!
I'm still very impressed by you. Whither,
Midst falling decades, have you gone? Oh in what lucky fellow,
Unsure of himself, upset, and unemployable
For the moment in any case, do you live now?
From my window I drop a nickel
By mistake. With
You I race down to get it
But I find there on
The street instead, a good friend,
X---- N------, who says to me
Kenneth do you have a minute?
And I say yes! I am in my twenties!
I have plenty of time! In you I marry,
In you I first go to France; I make my best friends
In you, and a few enemies. I
Write a lot and am living all the time
And thinking about living. I loved to frequent you
After my teens and before my thirties.
You three together in a bar
I always preferred you because you were midmost
Most lustrous apparently strongest
Although now that I look back on you
What part have you played?
You never, ever, were stingy.
What you gave me you gave whole
But as for telling
Me how best to use it
You weren't a genius at that.
Twenties, my soul
Is yours for the asking
You know that, if you ever come back.
Summertime
Summertime makes me particularly prone to nostalgia. I'm pretty sure that I'm not alone in this-- those Country Time Lemonade commercials are basically nothing but nostalgia overload, right?
The nostalgia coupled with the basic laziness of the season makes summer the perfect time for revisiting old favorites-- books, music, perfumes, foods, perspectives. So, here's a poem from one of my most favorite books growing up: Hey World, Here I Am! by Jean Little.
The nostalgia coupled with the basic laziness of the season makes summer the perfect time for revisiting old favorites-- books, music, perfumes, foods, perspectives. So, here's a poem from one of my most favorite books growing up: Hey World, Here I Am! by Jean Little.
Today
Today I will not live up to my potential.
Today I will not relate well to my peer group.
Today I will not contribute in class.
I will not volunteer one thing.
Today I will not strive to do better.
Today I will not achieve or adjust or grow enriched or get involved.
I will not put up my hand even if the teacher is wrong and I can prove it.
Today I might eat the eraser off my pencil.
l'll look at clouds.
l'll be late.
I don't think I'll wash.
I need a rest.
