Modern Poetry

So, I love poetry.  It's awesome.  I had forgotten how much I love it.  Not having read much of it since I got sucked into the monochromatic, boring, borderline psychotic world of college engineering courses.  Yucky.


Anyway, I'm in Italian 443 - Romantic Era Italian Literature.  It's awesome.  And we're reading some really awesome poetry, and I am absolutely loving it.  It's really sweet.


I've been thinking about modern poetry and how it's not really a major part of our culture anymore.  I mean...how often do you (Rosemary excluded) sit down with a really good book of contemporary poetry?  How many contemporary poets can any of us name besides Shel Silverstein?  It's kind of depressing.


And then I realized....there is poetry all around us.  Yeah, the older form isn't very mainstream anymore.  Now, I know that my English major friends are going to scream and gnash their teeth and stuff, but it's true.  Poetry isn't cool anymore.  We really don't care about it.  Except that we do.


You see, most of the poetry that's being consumed by the masses now comes neatly packaged in the form of music.  In the past, music really was either instrumental, was an opera, or was a Mass/Requiem.  Now, we have words with everything.  And it's kind of cool, especially when someone churns out a really good poem and then adds screaming guitars and the clatter of drums.


Take, for example, Bob Dylan's amazing work, All Along the Watchtower.  Just read the lyrics...they're amazing, and read just like a poem.

“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief
“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”

“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl

Seriously.  If you didn't read that out loud to yourself, go back and read it.  Now!  I'll wait for you.

Okay.  I'm done waiting.  I'm just going to talk again.

Seriously!  These lyrics are very poetic.  The song follows a basic AABB rhyme scheme.  Sure, it's simple.  But it's still pretty.  I like it.  In fact, I love it.

I've actually really fallen in love with a new cover of it.  Yes, Dylan's and Hendrix' versions are amazing, and I would love to hear U2's version.  Dave Matthews' version is...interesting.

Anyway, it's Bear McCreary's version from Battlestar Galactica.  Yes, I am now a Battlestar addict.  It's good!  Shut up.  Don't mock me!  You already know that I'm a nerd!

So, basically, they build the entire second half of the third season finale around this song.  They even worked a bunch of lines from it into the script, inserting snippets throughout the entire episode.  The intro to the song kept playing during the episode.  In fact, the song was a key plot element.  Then, during the final scene, as everything descends into chaos, they play the whole song, complete with lyrics.  It's amazing.

Yeah.  Awesome, Huh?  And I have a theory about how two of the characters could be viewed as the joker and the thief.

I really like song lyrics.  It's really cool when you find a song that has great music and lyrics that blow you away.

And...of course, I can't think of any other amazing song lyrics right now.  It's been a long week.

Anyway, I hope nobody hates me for kind of bashing on contemporary poetry, but it's true!  There are very few people running around quoting contemporary poetry these days, but there are tons who know all of the lyrics to every song ever written.  I think that it's going to be our music lyrics that really define the poetry of our time period.

The Greaaaaaat Leslie! (is dead)

One of my childhood heroes died yesterday.

Tony Curtis was always, in my mind, The Great Leslie, cunning yet honorable stuntman extraordinaire and archnemesis of the diabolical Professor fate.  Adventurer, fencer, driver, and gentleman, Leslie was everything that every boy ever wanted to be.  Plus...he had an AWESOME ride.  I really really really want the Leslie Special.  Sure, the color white would make cleaning the thing a royal PAIN, but it would soo be worth it.  Besides, I intend to be fabulously wealthy, so I can just pay somebody to do it.  Or, I can have my kids do it.  Free labor!

But, seriously, The Great Race was one of my family's favorite movies growing up.  To this day, every time my dad's family gets together, there will be at least one reference to us-my favorite being Uncle Dennis yelling "More Brandy! Throw more brandy!" in his best Prince Hapnick voice at one of our New Year's get-togethers.  Seriously, though...what other movie has cowboys and Indians, suffragettes, car races, rockets, straightjackets, cars with cannons in the front, icebergs, princes, treason, plots, banishment, romance, seduction, the Eiffel Tower getting blown up by the aforementioned car with a cannon in front, and a BIG HUGE GIANT AMAZING PIE FIGHT!



Leslie aka Tony Curtis is the one in white who doesn't really get hit.  You also get to see the car that I want-the white one-and the car with the cannon-the black one.

Yeah.  This is what I grew up on.  Is it any wonder that I'm the way that I am?  It's still my favorite.

Next time I decide to get engaged, I'm having her watch this first.  Both to warn her of who I am and to let me know if she can accept that.


Tony was cool, too.  I mean, sure, he went through a ridiculous number of wives, but whatever.  That's showbiz.  What was cool is that he started out as a poor Jewish kid in the Bronx, and ended up as a movie star.  Sweet.

RIP, Tony.

"Goodbye! Farewell, you good Leslie you.  I hope you win, I hope you win!"

Zombie Hunting

I've been spending a lot of time at concerts recently, which I think is a very good use of time. I like concerts. They're very therapeutic. Maybe I should start a therapy/stress-relief program based entirely around concert attendance...

I've decided that I would really love to be in a band. I think it would be cool. My favorite band name that I've come up with so far is The Zombie Hunters. Since Vampires have had all awesomeness forcibly sucked out of them by she-who-will-not-be-named, I figure Zombies are the next scariest thing. Zombies are cool.

And besides, I could have all sorts of fun writing satirical songs about zombies. Zombies, of course, representing dumb people...you know who I'm talking about already. The kind of person who is constantly in search of someone else's brains to steal, since they have lost theirs. I feel like there are a lot of them out there.

And, the fame and money and stuff would be cool.

But most of all, I could get away with wearing whatever I want, no matter how ridiculous, and still be thought of as cool. I mean...look at any rock star you know. Bono has his crazy sunglasses. Brandon Flowers has his crazy outfits. Lady Gaga....'nuff said. She's just plain weird.

Being a rock star is almost as much of a fashion get-out-of-jail-free card as being African. Seriously...Africans can get away with anything and look good. I saw some amazing, bizarre things on the immigrants I worked with in Italy, but they always managed to look good. Even whilst wearing said bizarre clothes/color combinations while riding a tiny little Vespa, built for a small, thirteen-year-old Italian kid, up a steep hill. Even then, they can look cool. Curse my white skin that doesn't go with much of anything!

Wow. From concerts to therapy to black people wearing crazy colors. I must be more stressed than I thought.

Horrible!

So....one of my friends introduced me to a new obsession: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. It's amazing.

I like Dr. Horrible. Partially because Neil Patrick Harris does an amazing job with the character, partially because I see so much of myself in him. Yeah.

Dr. Horrible is an aspiring supervillian. Why is he a supervillain? Not because he's a bad guy, but because he wants to conquer the world. Why does he want to conquer the world? Because he wants to fix it. It's broken "to the point where I don't know if I'll upset the status quo if I throw poison in the water main."

Yeah. I often want to take over the world for the same reason. Not so that I can have my way and have riches and stuff, but so that I can fix things. 'Cause things are broken. Isn't it obvious? Like when a school district can't fire an admitted sex offender because the teacher's union rules won't allow it. That's messed up. Or that people who call themselves Christian can say on national television that Christ said something that he totally did not, and in fact said the opposite. (I saw that on the Colbert Report a few weeks ago...it was funny. Colbert ripped her apart.)

And other stuff too. Lots of other stuff. There are a lot of things that make me want to conquer the world. I can't think of many, but they always show up. Useless people generally do it to me. I'm pretty sure that, given the right motivation, useless people can become useful. I don't mean threat of death, I mean more of dangling a really big fat appetizing carrot in from of their noses. Sure, the stick would be waiting in the wings, but if the person's attention is focused on the carrot, they won't notice the stick. Until it hits them.

Yeah. Why do I need to take over the world in order to fix it? Well, because people don't like change. Because fixing things involves trampling on a lot of people's toes. Mostly the powerful and wealthy people's toes. And stupid people's toes. And useless people. They don't like being told that they are useless. They are very happy with their uselessness, as it usually comes with having very little to actually do in life. It's a happily carefree lifestyle, especially if the system protects their uselessness.

Yeah. "That's the plan. Rule the world." "Anarchy-that I run!"

Ramble

That's it, I'm rambling. I can't sleep, so I'll ramble.

Random thoughts:

I've decided that being a figure skater would be cool. Maybe it's just me missing the thrill of performing stuff, but...seriously. Minus the slightly (or sometimes extremely) gay costumes, it's like dancing, but on ice. With cool jumps. And cool music. And knives on your feet that could cut someone's head off. Awesome.

Not that I have anywhere near the dexterity and coordination required to even move on ice.



I've decided that the inhabitants of the Clyde and Crabtree buildings scare me even more than the HFAC'ers. Think about it: what happens when you get a crazy, sociopathic HFACer? Not much. Either they sit in the dark and paint out their feelings, or they put on some dramatic, depressing play, or they write a song about their feelings. Are they really a threat? No.
Think about the Clyders, however. A thousand (give or take) engineers. What happens when you get a sociopathic engineer? Three words: Killer Robot Army.

Also, a lot of the Clyders are just plain funny-looking.


Speaking of Clyders, I have to exclude the girls from the funny-looking part. It's weird, but among the very few women in my classes, there is a disproportionate amount of really attractive ones. Then again, maybe it's just the brain's natural reaction to that much engineering guy energy packed into one classroom-anybody would look good by comparison.

I finished Catch-22. I love the ending, especially the chapter titled "The Eternal City" which, for the benefit of you ignorant fools, is Rome's nickname. It's a good chapter. It's a good book. Maybe I'll read the sequel again...

That's it. Ramble = over.

Re-starting a blog

Well, it's been quite a while since I supposedly started this blog. I think I'm going to try it again. I need a place to just rant and rave and generally make cynical comments about life.

Cynicism: It's hard not to be cynical about a great many things. Take, for example, love. One day someone says they love you, and the next they're dating someone for whom they swore up and down that they never had feelings for. Go figure.

But, hey, it's good to get a healthy dose of reality now and then. I basically spent the last year of my life living in a world of illusions. It wasn't all wasted though: I learned not to date crazy people. Definitely a good lesson. If they're unstable and depressed, that's a sign that it's time to pull the plug.


Back on the subject of cynicism, I've been re-reading my favorite book of all time, Catch-22. It's actually the book from which I got the name of this blog and my profile name. It's really a...different is the word, I guess...kind of book. First of all, it's not written in chronological order. The timeline unfolds along with the plot, which makes things really interesting, as for once, the characters know more than the reader. There are a lot of events that are mentioned early in the book that you don't find out about until later. The biggest part of these is the death of Snowden, a young enlisted soldier.

The book takes place during World War 2, on the Italian island of Pianosa. It follows John Yossarian, a man who is so sane that he is crazy. At least, that's what everyone else thinks: they all call him crazy, but in reality, he is one of the few who sees things how they are. People call him crazy and paranoid because he thinks people are trying to kill him, which is true: every time he goes on a bombing run, there are hundreds of people shooting at him. He's kind of my hero, because he cuts through all of the crap that surrounds him and sees things as they really are. Even though many would consider him immoral because of some of his actions, such as his lack of patriotism and his constant drinking and debauchery. However, when one looks deeper, he really is just trying to cope with the insanity that surrounds him. When push comes to shove, he's an extremely moral person, especially with regards to the sanctity of life. For example, when his friend Dobbs approaches him with a plot to kill their commander, Yossarian acknowledges that the commander is trying to kill him, but refuses to murder him because, as he reasons, Col. Cathcart has as much of a right to live as Yossarian himself does. Just because he is a threat to Yossarian's life doesn't mean that Yossarian feels justified in killing him. He'll hope and pray that he breaks his neck falling down the stairs, but he won't be the one to push him. It's rather Christlike, in a way.

Anyway, the title of this blog comes from a question that Yossarian asks a fellow officer early in the book: "Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?" Snowden was a young gunner on one of Yossarian's missions. On the mission in question, to Avignon, Snowden was fatally wounded by a piece of flak. Yossarian attempted to help him, and did all he could, only to discover that the wound that Snowden had received was much worse than he thought, because it was ironically hidden from sight by his flak jacket. Snowden's death breaks Yossarian, for it forces him to confront the reality of death: Snowden did not simply disappear when his plane was shot down, he died in Yossarian's arms, slowly, agonizingly fading into nothingness. This breaks Yossarian's nerve completely, and creates in him an obsession with saving his own life. It really begins his awakening to the realities of the war and insanity that surround him.

His question, "Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?", becomes a plea for sanity. It really is a profound question: what happened to all of the young, nameless, unknown people who sacrificed themselves for their countries, for anything, in the past? Who remembers the names of the countless millions who died in battle? This is also reflected in the plight of the dead man in Yossarian's tent: because of an administrative fluke, a new pilot was killed before he was officially in Yossarian's squadron, so no one knows what to do with his belongings. He doesn't really exist, because there is no administrative record of him. No one even knows his name. He has simply disappeared into the fog of war, and it is likely that no one he knew before will ever know what happened to him.

What happened to Snowden? What happens to the little man who is oppressed by the big man, the person who cannot defend himself while his "leaders" make decisions that will ultimately decide his fate?

This book ridicules everything absurd about life. It presents situations that seem so incredibly absurd, until one realizes that we encounter similar situations every day. The only way to overcome the absurdities, to escape the grasp of the all-powerful Catch-22, is to realize that they don't exist. There is no such thing as an unwinnable situation. You really are only bound by the truths you acknowledge. This fits very well into the gospel, for, as Paul taught, you are not bound by a law that you do not know. Once you accept a law, you are bound by it, even if it isn't really a true law of God. I can't really explain all of this well-it's a complex idea that has been running around in my head for a long time. It envelopes the idea of covenants, of laws, of progression, of repentance, of atonement.

Yeah. I really can't explain it well.

Whatever. I love this book. I hate the absurdities of life, and I hope to be able to see through all of the BS that surrounds us and see things as they are. After all, intelligence is "a knowledge of things as they are, as they have been, and as they will be." I want to be intelligent, unlike the squadron "intelligence" officer who is unable to respond to Yossarian's simple query-what about the little guy?