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Jul. 3rd, 2009

The Pilgrimage

THE PILGRIMAGE
by George Herbert


I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay
                              My expectation.
             A long it was and weary way.
             The gloomy cave of Desperation
I left on th'one, and on the other side
                              The rock of Pride.

And so I came to Phansies medow strow'd
                              With many a flower:
             Fair would I here have made abode,
             But I was quicken'd by my houre.
So to Cares cops I came, and there got through
                              With much ado.

That led me to the wilde of Passion, which
                              Some call the wold;
             A wasted place, but sometimes rich.
             Here I was robb'd of all my gold,
Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd
                              Close to my side.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill,
                              Where lay my hope,
             Where lay my heart; and climbing still,
             When I had gain'd the brow and top,
A lake of brackish waters on the ground
                              Was all I found.

With that abash'd and struck with many a sting
                              Of swarming fears,
             I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King;
             Can both the way and end be tears?
Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd
                              I was deceiv'd:

My hill was further: so I flung away,
                              Yet heard a crie
             Just as I went, None goes that way
             And lives: If that be all, said I,
After so foul a journey death is fair,
                              And but a chair.

Apr. 14th, 2009

(no subject)

Wordsworth wrote a poem titled by my name!


RUTH

Written in Germany. Suggested by an account I had of a wanderer in Somersetshire.

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone
She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;
Herself her own delight;
Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;
And, passing thus the live-long day,
She grew to woman's height.

Read more... )

Dec. 12th, 2008

(no subject)



The night was pure and fresh, and I leant to drink from the cold stream. The stream gushed toward me from the cleansing rock. The stream sang to me and the sound was sweeter than any sound. I was thirsty. Thirst clutched at my throat. Thirst choked me. And the sound of the water was the sound of rushing life. If I could only drink once I would be satisfied.

I fell beside the stream in stupid weakness, my lips almost touching the water, when… there appeared to coil about my foot a snake.  I froze. It was a large, pale, sliding snake in the moonlight. It wound around me, encircling me, poisoning my blood with cold. I wanted to drink, but I couldn’t. I was too weak to fight the snake.

When are you coming to save me?

****

Worry... it gnaws at you like a dog at a bone, until you are all but worried away. I have a new client interested in Spanish classes. Finals are coming up. And Christmas. We bought our first live Christmas tree ever, a little potted one, and out landlady lent us lights to put on it. I borrowed two books from the Hunter library. I find I have made too little use of the library. The books were on Welsh fairy stories. A lot of them have sad endings, especially those that deal more closely with the land of Faerie (almost all of them do.) There are many variations of a tale in which a mortal somehow manages to marry a fairy bride under the condition that he will never strike her, or strike her with iron. Always the mortal husband manages to do so by accident, and the fairy bride disappears from his life forever.

Jul. 20th, 2008

(no subject)



(Y
ou are Elinor Dashwood of Sense & Sensibility! You are practical, circumspect, and discreet. Though you are tremendously sensible and allow your head to rule, you have a deep, emotional side that few people often see.)





Which Jane Austen Character are You? (For Females) Long Quiz!!!
You scored as a Elinor Dashwood
As Marianne's older sister, Elinor lives at the other end of the emotional spectrum. She rarely reveals her intense feelings and is more concerned with being honest and loyal than having what she deserves. Even though her intentions are pure, she sets herself up for loss by constantly placing other people before her own needs. Overall, Elinor is gentle and rational but is just as capable of radical emotions (despite her withholding them) as her sister.
Elinor Dashwood
 
84%
Elizabeth Bennet
 
69%
Jane Bennet
 
63%
Charlotte Lucas
 
50%
Emma Woodhouse
 
47%
Marianne Dashwood
 
44%
Lady Catherine
 
0%


Cut and paste quiz results to display on your site:
<select ... > <option ... >Entire Result</option> <option ... >Result picture only</option> <option ... >Result bar graphs only</option> <option ... >Result text only</option> <option ... >Entire Quiz</option> </select>


Take The Jane Austen heroine Test at HelloQuizzy

</div>
Did not try for any particular results! Well, I guess I am Elinor Dashwood.

Heh. I'm also... Colonel Brandon. Mwaha.

Take The which Jane Austen hero are you Test at HelloQuizzy

</div>

Jul. 18th, 2008

(no subject)

Pretty funny...

Jul. 15th, 2008

(no subject)

I'm finished with the American lit course! Doubleyay!!!! I just turned in the final paper through turnitin... at almost the last possible moment before the deadline, as usual. Immediately afterwards I found out one typo and the fact that I was short of one source for the 10 minimum secondary source requirement. But I refuse to worry over this. Tomorrow I go in search of a wedding outfit (it's the first time I'll be going shopping since about a year ago) to wear at Esther's wedding. I have accepted the fact that I'm not going to be losing enough weight to be able to get into the outfit I wore at the last wedding, let alone the one I wore two weddings before that, which is a very pretty vintage dress hanging in my closet muerto de risa. But never mind that.

This morning I had a hair-raising experience (Was it only this morning? It seems so long ago.) Around 6 am this morning, after having gone to bed at 3, I was suddenly woken up from my sleep by a blinding flash of light. My half-opened eyes saw the light flooding my room (or else it seeped through my eyelids), and I heard an incredibly loud BANG that seemed to shake me. I felt sick for a second before consciously thinking "it's a bomb, it's an atomic bomb over the city, no it's the end of the world." But nothing happened, and I couldn't see anything when I looked outside my windows (I closed them). So I went into the living room, saw my dad preparing for work and asked him what that noise had been. He said it had been a bolt of lightning that had fallen some yards away from the house. He was nonchalant. I turned off the light, lit a candle and put it in front of him, then went back to bed and heard the storm travel away before I turned on the air conditioning in my sweltering room.

Jul. 12th, 2008

(no subject)

Whine whine whine whinity whiiiiiiiiiiiine. All. Day. Long. Good grief, was I that way too when I was thirteen? My lovely cousin:








My crazy siblings:






We're all obviously going slightly insane.

Jul. 11th, 2008

(no subject)

My thirteen-year-old cousin María Jesús has loosened up after two weeks in our apartment. Today she waxed ironic. "You don't know how hard it is to be me!" was her cry of impatience. Five women in the household for a long time produces a different chemistry and a tendency to do and say sillier things than usual, such as improvising a dance hall in the living room, translating teeny-bopper songs.

American Prose, 1871-1914, thankfully, ended yesterday. The research project is due by Monday. I started studying for the GRE. Reading C.S. Lewis's Narrative Poems, ("Dymer" and "The Queen of Drum" so far) with much enjoyment.

Jun. 22nd, 2008

(no subject)


This is pretty wacky. Moving with me to Forvik, anyone?

Tiny Shetland island declares independence

By Kate KellandSat Jun 21, 12:19 PM ET

The owner of a tiny island in off Scotland declared its independence from the United Kingdom on Saturday, saying he wanted the territory, population one, to be a crown dependency like the Channel Islands.

In a declaration on his Web site, Stuart Hill, who owns the 2.5 acre island of Forvik in the Shetland Islands in the North Sea, said he no longer recognised the authority of the government or the European Union, and cited a centuries-old royal marriage dowry deal as the basis for his claim.

"Forvik owes no allegiance to any United Kingdom government, central or local, and is not bound by any of its statutes," Hill wrote.

Hill, 65, has lived in the Shetland Islands on the edge of the Atlantic since 2001, when his boat capsized there during an unsuccessful attempted to circumnavigate Britain.

He is Forvik's only resident, and his home is a tent on the storm-battered island. He says on his website that he plans to create Forvik's own currency -- the "gulde" -- print his own stamps and raise his own flag.

"There will be no income tax, VAT (value added tax), council tax, corporation tax, or any of the other taxes instituted by the British government," Hill wrote.

Hill's claim dates back to a 15th century arrangement between the Norwegian King Christian and King James III of Scotland when the Shetland Islands were effectively pawned to King James in lieu of a marriage dowry.

According to Hill's studies of the history of the island, in 1669 King Charles II re-confirmed Shetland's status at the time of the pawning, meaning the islands remained directly answerable to the crown -- represented today by the Queen.

"The monarchs and governments of Scotland, and Great Britain and the United Kingdom have for many years assumed powers over these islands of Shetland to which they were not entitled," he wrote.

"By declaring Forvik a crown dependency I am simply re-establishing the correct legal relationship between this part of Shetland and the crown.

Hill said he had written to the Queen offering his services as "steward" and recognising her as head of state.

"I also invite anyone from any country in the world, who supports these aims, namely to become free of liars, thieves and tyrants in government, to become a citizen of Forvik," he added.

Jun. 13th, 2008

(no subject)




And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”  And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

-Genesis 32: 24-31


The Face of God...

May. 17th, 2008

(no subject)

Saw Prince Caspian yesterday. First reaction: *gasp* WHY???

Apr. 24th, 2008

(no subject)

Oh, the pain of that horrible demon, Procrastination. I have papers to do over Spring break, of course. But I put them off, because I couldn't take it any longer. Which makes it worse, because you're trying to rest but have something Looming Over You, something pending, like an unburied body.

I'm also suffering from a terrible hunger, due to an evil diet. I haven't been able to sleep nights, tossing and turning from grumbling hunger. Starvation mode must have kicked  in, and I was pretty bad today, so I've decided to make some changes to it to reduce the evilness.

Went to the Museum of Natural History today, for the first time, with my two sisters. Saw dinosaurs, but there were too many children all over the place, I almost stepped on one once (a child not a dinosaur, crawling from under an exhibit).

My Marginal Poems below!

(I wrote these on the margins of my notebook, during my Milton class.)

Mar. 18th, 2008

(no subject)

I want to follow the white stag but I can't seem to get a glimpse of it. I've been reading my journal entries today (my real journal, on paper), all the way back from last December and they all sound extremely depressed. Maybe I'll write some of them in here. My poetic fits are back. They went away for months, and I couldn't write a line, but for a month or so I've been able to again. Not any good stuff, but still it's a comfort, it makes me feel better sometimes.

I looked up St. Patrick's Breastplate because I heard it quoted somewhere, and I really like it. I've taken to memorizing it:


Feb. 13th, 2008

(no subject)

They exist! From Yahoo News:

Ghost-like white stag spotted

Tue Feb 12, 1:09 PM ET

A mythical and ghostly creature has appeared in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands -- and has been caught on camera.

The rare white stag, from the red deer species, is believed to be among just a tiny handful living in Britain, according to a conservation group.

The John Muir Trust is now keeping the stag's location secret for fear of poachers.

"To see him amongst the other stags was truly thrilling because he does look like a ghost: you do a double-take," Trust Partnership Manager Fran Lockhart, who filmed the stag, told Reuters.

White stags are seen as a magical and powerful force in many mythologies.

The animal's ghostly glow comes from a recessive gene which causes leucism, a condition which reduces the normal brown coloring in hair and skin. They are not albinos, which have red eyes due to lack of pigment.

In Celtic traditions, white stags represent messengers from the afterlife. Arthurian legend has it that the creature can never be caught -- King Arthur's pursuit of the animal represents mankind's spiritual quest.

It is also said that for those who set eyes on the animal, a momentous moment is near.

"They say their appearance is meant to herald some profound change in life for those who encounter them -- but I am still waiting," said Lockhart.

Her dog, though, stood transfixed for 45 minutes watching the white stag, instead of his usual scampering around.

Lockhart believes the Scottish Highlands' white stag is between 6 and 7 years old. She said he is maturing well, with a good set of antlers.

The last official recording of a white red stag in Britain, not to be confused with the more common white fallow deer, was last October when the body of one was found decapitated on the moors between Devon and Cornwall.

(Reporting by Georgina Cooper)

Feb. 6th, 2008

(no subject)

I had a very curious though unfunny dream last night. I was back in my old house, back in Mairena, Sevilla. My family and I were expecting a large party of guests from far away. I was looking down on the street from the shuttered kitchen window (as I used to do often, leaning on the counter) and I saw there had been an accident outside right in front of the house. A huge truck had run over someone. A strange smell struck me, an odor one smells near the site of an accident, a sharp, repulsive smell which puts me in mind of blood, rotting meat, hot sanded roads. As it turned out, the person that had been run over was C, from my fellowship group, and she was dead. It was all very horrible and confused. A young person full of talent, beauty and promise had been killed near my front door. Not only was she dead, but apparently it had been a horrible carnage. Furthermore, it was somehow my fault for not being there to indicate to her the gigantic truck that was driving down the road, or perhaps for having invited her at all.

Then friends and relatives started flooding in, descending from cars, shocked at the terrible accident. Gradually, the blame became focused on the inhabitants of my house, represented by me. I came out of the front door and everyone came clamouring towards me, the atmosphere heated and confused. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a former neighbor of mine, J (the popular neighborhood kid at one time and who had once been an admirer of mine), came bounding up the steps in vengeful ire, holding a gun which he pointed at me, shouting angrily and somewhat hysterically at the same time. My sorrow plumbed me down and I stayed where I was, and actually calmly approached the young man, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, sympathetic tears streaming down my face. He was moved and cried as well, and there we stood, at the top of the front steps, weeping silently together.
 
Interpretation, anyone?

Jan. 22nd, 2008

(no subject)

It's late and I've just finished preparing a presentation for my Fairy Tale class tomorrow, and will have to start studying right after the class for the final exam on the day after. After the final I have one day of rest and recreation before starting the Spring semester. I have had a twitch in my eye for a couple of days now. I am thinking of retiring. A nice little cottage in the country, and rest from city life.... A student's life is a dog's life because you can't even rest on weekends. In your "free time" you are either studying, or guilty because you should be studying. Never mind my grousing, ye who read this. Unless of course it will move ye to get me a house in the country and a nice retirement pension.

Jan. 12th, 2008

(no subject)

Hallo, I'm back. Grades for the horrible fall semester were less than excellent but not catastrophic. I'm taking a German Fairy Tales during this break, and trying to regain my sanity by reading as many books as possible, but I feel so unsettled I don't know what to read anymore. So far I've read That Hideous Strength and The Horse and His Boy  by C.S. Lewis, and have started on his Experiment in Criticism. Read Dickens' A Christmas Carol on Christmas day, most of Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross, George MacDonald's The Princess and Curdie, started on Terry Pratchett's Time Thief but dropped it, started  Charlotte Bronte's Villette and dropped it, picked up Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur again and dropped it, started Spencer's Faerie Queene and stopped, almost finished with Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South, started The Screwtape Letters and dropped it, started Shakespeare's The Tempest and dropped it, read a surfeit of Grimms' Brothers fairy tales and world folk tales, took up Lewis' The Last Battle again today.

I turned 23 a couple of weeks ago.

And the long, long shadows at two o' clock in the afternoon are so depressing. Dusk descends around five, dark and drear, and night swallows up the evening suddenly. Lately I've been longing for mountains and a sky full of stars, but then I very often do. And these yearnings are slightly appeased (or perhaps whetted) by seeing the black branches of the trees in my street reach out past the cable-encrusted telephone poles to scratch the thin white crescent moon. And I often do catch sight of Orion on my way home.

Dec. 9th, 2007

(no subject)

My Experimental Memoir # 2.

Once, facing the possibility of imminent death

 

(no subject)

The Prince Caspian movie trailer. I have strong misgivings about this one. First of all, as soon as they cast Caspian I felt it was a mistake to cast an older actor for the role. This guy looks 18 or 20  minimum, a young man in place of the boy Caspian of the book (I had imagined him to be 13 or 14, and I think he was meant to be even younger). It changes the chemistry of the story. In the book, Caspian is a young boy who is still building strength of character and is shy of a confrontation with his uncle and who is qualified to rule because of his humility; he feels he is not prepared to rule, much less lead a revolution against the king. He sees his own inadequacy and is not corrupted by a lust for power as his uncle and his uncle's lords are. Instead of this, I'm seeing too many action shots of Caspian and stills of him in weird martial poses, plus a scene of confrontation with Miraz in the trailer which is completely out of character. If Caspian is such a strapping, confident-looking young man as the movie seems to depict him, why would he admit himself to be in such desperate need for help from the four High Kings of old? They're going to have to explain that well in the movie. And the appearance of the White Witch... not at all in character with Caspian to let Nikabrik and the hag summon her.

Another thing, I think the phrase "You may find Narnia a more savage place than you remember," gives the wrong impression. It seems to imply that the Telmarine regime is brutal and "savage" compared to that of the old kings. In fact, the Telmarines are more civilized and refined, and in their civilization lies the corruption. Where are Bacchus and his Maenads? They and the grape vines follow Aslan and destroy the bridges and the schools, and set free all who are in bondage. In fact the Narnians before and after the Telmarines live in an idyllic and rather anarchic society, much wilder and perhaps more "savage" than that of the Telmarines.

At least, I'm glad they kept the river god, freed of his chains. But alas, no sign of Reepicheep. The Island of Cair Paravel is gorgeous, and the trees coming to life is a good scene (though it's supposed to be night-time.)

Nov. 28th, 2007

(no subject)

This is like the semester from hell. Or perhaps not, I've seen worse, which shows suffering of the mind and heart is worse than suffering of the body. Recently, general bodily and mental exhaustion, intense pain (ear infection) in the morning when the ibuprofen has worn off. Numb ache and unceasing tiredness that makes it hard even to read. I may often procrastinate, but this is not it. This is just numbness. Homework that used to get done in the evening now just doesn't get done at all and I go to sleep instead, but sleep isn't cutting it either. Neither is coffee or copious amounts of tea. Just some days ago I drank a strong cup of coffee one afternoon with the intent to sit down and do some work but instead I directly passed out on my bed. On the positive side, I'm not really depressed, which is always a plus! I soon hope to post the extremely excruciating essay I'm working on for my Gothic class, on the Burke's conception of the sublime applied to Jane Eyre, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and Frankenstein.

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