Transcendental --> poem

Ars Poetica 1926

As a poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown-

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds

***
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind –

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs

***

A poem should be equal to:
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the see-

A poem should not be mean
But be.

transcendentalist prt 2

The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her secret, and lose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the mountains, reflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.

Transcendentalists! 1840-1855 prt 1

Chapter I NATURE
To go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.

Reflection:




























When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most poetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.
http://oregonstate.edu/instruct/phl302/texts/emerson/nature-emerson-a.html#Introduction



Reflection: Through the usage of the land

Creative Writing

Creative Writing
Chapter One
“Ssssshhhh! Come on lets go.” You first, now you… be quiet before they hear us.” Bam! “Hey who there?”, the border guard questions as he hears multiple sounds all at one time. The bright line steers directly towards us, Marco yells for us to take off, later discovering that this was his tacit to make sure we were safe because he knew how quick he was able to run.
“Jose’ run, we gotta make it.” I yelled. “Si’?” I could feel his wariness that we were not going to make it cross the boarder, but I continued to push him and after 20 minutes of running and panting, there was a sign that increased our chances of living and motivated us to keep going towards the place that was known as the ”Freedom Land”.
See,my father was the only parent that I have ever known due to the factor that my mother was a mule and quickly ended her career after one bad swallow, and since my father was captured in Columbia, my two brothers, Marco 17, Jose 9, and I 14, have been trying to make our lives a lot easier then what they actually have been. Back in December the general visited our home in Cuba because our neighbors seemed to be a little jealous that my brother and uncle claimed different households and that allowed for us to be provide with a bundle of more goods from the government, and once they discovered that this was the truth my uncle was sentenced to 12 years and Marco was suppose to receive 9 years due to him only being under the influence of an adult. Marco Jose and I managed to escape, but later leaving Jose and me to fend for ourselves in the huge city.
After walking in the cold, dark, dreary night, Jose and I managed to find Marco. ”Are ya’ll K?” “Si.” Jose exclaims, with me following right after in great excitement, “Hermano, te amo.” Now that we are all back together, we combined the money that our “Tia” sent us from New York to try and get a cab to the nearest hotel in Laredo, Texas. Once the cab driver stop, we hopped in to try and not look so suspicious for there was streets filled of gigantic men that appeared to be mean and beat on their wives if they were lucky enough to have one. After riding around I realized that the man driving had his hair slicked down, and had used the similar gel that my papi used back home which complemented his perfume that usually was sent from his boss in Columbia. Then, as the fragrance swift pass my open nostril, the middle age chico began to speak, and we all looked at each other in the back seat not paying attention to anything he was saying only the tone of his voice which was similar to my father’s, leading me to believe that it was him. With disappointment He turned around and didn’t have the great smooth features that my papi lived with throughout his life. His face seemed a little tarnished, along with what seemed to be battle scars. After we gathered the change we had left to pay the well mannered man, we grab the few things we had left, including 2 shirts and one pair of underwear for each person.
Not caring about material things we begged and pleaded for money on the streets and ended up with two days in a hotel room, because the women at the front desk along with the cleaners happened to be immigrants that were from the same area as my brothers and me.
As we entered the room there was a tall, slender dark shadow that was later over powered with a human consisting of a skinned head, body markings as though he was from one of the tribes that we had passed earlier, except he was lighter than usual which was unexpected due to the fact that all the other workers were a darker brown or either our color.
Thinking that he was going to ask us question, Marco whispered that we should look forward and pretended to be just having a normal conversation, then we realized he was in daze which only involved him and the numbers that seemed to be overflowing the paper as continued on down the everlasting hallway. Entering the cool, freshly cleaned room, Jose began to jump on the bed reminding me of the story that papi always told us, “No mo’ ManKEYS Jumpin’ on te BED”. Marco quickly calmed him down and gave us the plans for the next couple of days.
As the day went on we played hand games, Marco later leaving us to look for work. He didn’t return for what seemed like days. He was hired as a yard worker in neighboring hotel that was going to allowed us to sleep there and take out the expense in his check. Although we were excited about the designated beds that were filled with the fluffiness that dad use to bring back from his trips, oh how I missed my papi, but the beds were a little uncomfortable due to the ragged cloth.
Days went by then months, which was later followed by years, now Jose is 14, Marco 22, I’m 19. Sadly we haven’t heard from Tia who was suppose to send for us, and I’ve missed all the festivities that we use to enjoy back home on Domingo, but living here has been a lot easier besides the lighter complexion people that seemed to always stare at us whenever we walk into an area, as though we are not suppose to be there for some odd reason.
After all this time we have seem to have found this family that we greatly trust because of the quick bond that has happen, also they have been there through the thick and thin. They remind me of when my grannie was living and she would say “Si swen prethi ”; yes you can.

Native American Life

Aztec Poems
The earth shakes: the Mexica [Aztec] begins his song:
He makes the Eagles and Ocelots dance with him!Come to see the Huexotzinca:
On the dais of the Eagle he shouts out,Loudly cries the Mexica.
The battlefield is the place: where one toasts the divine liquor in war,where are stained red the divine eagles,where the tigers howl,where all kinds of precious stones rain from ornaments,where wave headdresses rich with fine plumes,where princes are smashed to bits.
There is nothing like death in war,nothing like the flowery death so precious to Him who gives life:far off I see it: my heart yearns for it!
And they called it Teotihulcan because it was the place where the lords were buried.Thus they said:
'When we die,truly we die not,because we will live, we will rise,we will continue living, we will awaken. This will make us happy.'
Thus the dead one was directed,when he died:
'Awaken, already the sky is rosy,already dawn has come,already sing the flame-coloured guans,the fire-coloured swallows,already the butterflies fly.'
Thus the old ones said that who has died has become a god,they said: 'He has been made a god there,meaning 'He has died.'
Even jade is shattered,Even gold is crushed,Even quetzal plume are torn . . .One does not live forever on this earth:We endure only for an instant!
Will flowers be carried to the Kingdom of Death:Is it true that we are going, we are going? Where are we going, ay, where are we going?Will we be dead there or will we live yet?Does one exist again?
Perhaps we will live a second time?Thy heart knows:Just once do we live!.Like a quetzal plume, a fragrant flower, friendship sparkles:like heron plumes, it weaves itself into finery.
Our song is a bird calling out like a jingle:how beautiful you make it sound!Here, among flowers that enclose us,among flowery boughs you are singing.

Reflections: Interperting this literature is difficult if not carefully read and deciphered. Through my first reading I thought the author was just telling about the life after death, then once read again I realized that the death is apart of their cultural and is worshipped in their culture.

Dear Diary,

After reading this poem, I realize what it means now to die in my culture. Before I thought that once you died you laid in the ground and degrated, but after reading one of my own's poem I am aware that once you descend from the physical world you are later living again by being called to join the other gods and become one yourself. Until my reading of this poem I never felt so connected to the ones that have passed in my tribes, and now I am able to tell the ones in my family to not shed tears of sorrow but tears of joy, because our tribal warriors have left here to be a better warrior that looks upon us.

Anne Bradstreet

".....What could now sustain them but the Spirit of God and His grace? May not and ought not the children of these fathers rightly say: "Our fathers were Englishmen which came over this great ocean, and were ready to perish in this wilderness; but they cried unto the Lord, and He heard their voice and looked on their adversity," etc. "Let them therefore praise the Lord, because He is good: and His mercies endure forever." "Yea, let them which have been redeemed of the Lord, show how He hath delivered them from the hand of the oppressor. When they wandered in the desert wilderness out of the way, and found no city to dwell in, both hungry and thirsty, their soul was overwhelmed in them. Let them confess before the Lord His loving kindness and His wonderful works before the sons of men.....
http://spider.georgetowncollege.edu/english/coke/bradford.htm


Reflection: During the reading I discovered the effect that a new land can have on you especially after being in situations that caused you great harm mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Dear Diary,
To know that we are finally here and everything is ok, I can shout HALLELUJAH!! Praise God!!!!We as a family, Including everyone on the ship is excited about starting our new life here as the first.....{I gotta go,I see others that are not like us.....write tomorrow}

Upon Some Distemper of Body

In anguish of my heart replete with woes, And wasting pains, which best my body knows, In tossing slumbers on my wakeful bed, Bedrenched with tears that flowed from mournful head, Till nature had exhausted all her store, Then eyes lay dry, disabled to weep more; And looking up unto his throne on high, Who sendeth help to those in misery; He chased away those clouds and let me see My anchor cast i' th' vale with safety. He eased my soul of woe, my flesh of pain, and brought me to the shore from troubled main Reflections: The author's body is not in its normal form, which is a distraction from the world. Dear Diary, My body this morning is not like all the other morning, and this very much difficult to cope with.Every since we came to the new land my is body is flowing in a different direction. I hope that this will change soon due to the adventures I am ready to explore.

Huswifery Edward Taylor

Huswifery by Edward Taylor

Make me, O Lord, thy Spinning Wheele compleat; Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee. Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate, And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee. My Conversation make to be thy Reele, And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele. Make me thy Loome then, knit therein this Twine: And make thy Holy Spirit, Lord, winde quills: Then weave the Web thyselfe. The yarn is fine. Thine Ordinances make my Fulling Mills. Then dy the same in Heavenly Colours Choice, All pinkt with Varnish't Flowers of Paradise. Then cloath therewith mine Understanding, Will, Affections, Judgment, Conscience, Memory; My Words and Actions, that their shine may fill My wayes with glory and thee glorify. Then mine apparell shall display before yee That I am Cloathd in Holy robes for glory.

Reflections:
This is a poem that causes critical thinking, especially threw the symbolism that the author uses, such as the relationship between this man at a spinning wheel and completing his cloth to him wanting GOD in his life and wanting to become a change man.

Dear Diary,

I am aware that my dearest friend is seeking a closer connection with God and I need to be there to help, but there is one problem; I don't know where to start because only you as a person is able to identify where you stand with GOD....So I think I got it. I am going to tell him that he has to decide what he wants from GOD and that it shall come to pass with his belief in faith. Thanks....

Edward Taylor

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