22.10.08

Currently.

I have fallen in love with this poem.


Thank you, John Donne.



A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning

As virtuous men pass midly away
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No;


So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, no sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.


Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Through greater far, is innocent.


Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doeth remove
Those things which elemented it.


But we, by a love so much refined
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.


Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.


If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.


And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.


Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.



Sorry, kind of long. I just think his imagery and metaphors are so great, and so ridiculously profound. I LOVE JOHN DONNE. Actually, I'm more apt to liking his later poetry-- I'm not too enthralled by the eroticism in his earlier poetry-- but even that is just so... well written. Blast.




So my bed bugs are killing me. I am almost throroughly convinced that I have them-- HOWEVER, I refuse to act upon it (yes, girls, this means not sleeping in my bed/getting rid of them in some fashion) until I have proof. The bug-bites aren't proof enough, you say? Well, I say, they could be any number of bugs, and so I will be skeptical until I have found proof of the bed bugs. I have been studying up on them for the last hour, and I will be taking precautions in dealing with the little buggers. Hopefully I can find one and catch it in a bag-- That is definitely proof enough.



In other news, I aced my Italian final. It feels good-- getting As again. Last year was a huge hit to my self-esteem, but I am slowly rebuilding the confidence in my intellect I once had.


I went to Squaw Peak for the first time ever. It was so beautiful... and FREEZING. Also, it took forEVER to drive up there. And no, there was no macking on this trip. Just some good friends, a roaring dance party and some hot chocolate. Who needs kissing when you've got all that?


3 comments:

Rebeccah Louise said...

oh man! I was totally going to post this exact poem on my blog this week! I LOVE John Donne, and British Lit!
that poem is so beautiful.

kendra said...

Ah squaw peak! I am glad I went.

also, I say follow tiffany's advice about the bed bugs.

obkebe said...

I LOVE THAT POEM!!! It is really great indeed. :)

Sorry about your bed bugs that are bitting. . .hmmmm, maybe just say the saying every night before you go to bed. Sorry though :( boo.

Squaw Peak huh? . . ha! I went up there once to sled down the road with one of those old fashioned sleds, it was awesome.