Songs for the Open Road

Walt Whitman, Songs for the Open Road~

"Afoot and light hearted, I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good fortune--I myself am good fortune;

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Strong and content, I travel the open road....

From this hour, freedom!

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,

Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute,

Listening to others, and considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating....

The Soul travels;

The body does not travel as much as the soul;

The body has just as great a work as the soul and parts way at last for the journeys of 

the soul..."

This is a few lines out of one of the best poems I have ever read. The complete poem is very long but well worth the read. I find it inspiring. I have dreams of traveling for my work, to go to new places and see new things. This poem starts out so simply and beautifully, "afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road" and right now, in my life, that is where I am. I am just beginning my journey on this "Long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose". 

And "From this hour, freedom!...Going where I list...Listening to others, and considering well what they say..." I will go, I will set out, but I will listen to others. There is so much I still do not know, There is so much still for me to learn, about myself, about the world. This is a great poem to read and take to heart, to follow and heed, there is a great deal of wisdom in these words. 

The process, and the steps we take in life are often the same. We each have our own "Open Road" that we travel. The sights we see along the way, the people we meet, and the person we become during our journey, are unique to each of us as individuals. We all have our goals, our dreams, and we all search for somebody to share our journey with,
"...I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me youreslf? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?"

Life is our open road, our journey begins often the way it does in this poem. And our journey continues, much the way it does in this poem. What we do along the way, and the footprints we leave for others to follow, and the condition we leave our path when we're done, is entirely up to us.

I Died for Beauty

I died for beauty--but was scarce

Adjusted in the Tomb

When the One who died for Truth was lain

In an adjoining room--

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?

"For beauty", I replied--

"An I-- For Truth-- Themself are One--

We Brethren, are", He said--

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night--

We talked between the Rooms--

Until the Moss had reached our lips--

And covered up-- our names--

~Emily Dickinson~ 

I think that this poem is very dark and beautiful, from the theme and language to the mood. I find it fascinating how something as sad, sometimes, as a gravestone can be turned into something beautiful. "He questioned softly 'why I failed'?" "'For beauty', I replied--" "'An I-- For Truth'..." They are two young people in their graves, talking to one another about how they died. The girl was barely used to her tomb when, presumably a soldier of some sort "One who died for Truth", was lain to rest beside her. It is sad and beautiful at the same time.

I stumbled across this poem and fell in love with its simplicity but complexity at the same time. Some poems that say so much more than what is written, the best ones do. And they leave you thinking, mulling over what you read, again and again. Poems like this one stick with me. 

"I Hung On Like Death"

 

~My Papa's Waltz~

Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath 

Could make a small boy dizzy;

But I hung on like death:

Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans

Slid from the kitchen shelf;

My mother's countenance

Could not unfrown itself.

                                                                       The hand that held my wrist 

                                                                       Was battered on one knuckle;

                                                                     At every step you missed 

                                                                      My right ear scraped a buckle.

                                                                    You beat time on my head

                                                                       With a palm caked hard by dirt,

                                                                     Then waltzed me off to bed

                                                                       Still clinging to your shirt.

  

It has been a little while since I read this poem, but it has stuck with me. The more I read it and think about it, the more I can relate it to life. 

Life whirls us around like the little boy, it is all we can do sometimes to hold on. I know it is a bit of a stretch, but think about it. The young age of 19-20's is a transition age for most young adults. Just getting out on our own, going to school and looking for a career to pursue, it almost seems as though Life is an aggressive drunk, tossing us around to and fro, dancing with us like limp puppets. 

"My mother's countenance could not unfrown itself" I picture our mother's watching as we go through this phase in our lives as we learn and find the strength to carry on. There is little to nothing she can do for us, she cannot take the burden from our shoulders. Life will beat us down at every turn, we must do what we can to hold on.

Life is a crazy dance and we are the unwilling partner who must keep step or fall down.

                                                                                                         

Dreams and Love, and Dreams of Love

On reading the Great Gatsby, I have learned a great deal about love and dreams. Jay Gatsby was in love with Daisy, he looked at her and he saw perfection. 

He did not look deep enough to learn about her flaws, he did not want to see them. This makes me question whether he "truly" loved her. He was so young when they met, and they hadn't spent much time together before life sent them separate ways, down different paths. During their time apart, Gatsby always remembered Daisy. He worked hard to giver her everything she wanted so they could be together.

Daisy on the other hand, entertained the idea of having a handsome, young soldier writing to her and thinking about the "romance" of her situation until the day Tom sauntered into her life. She still remembered Gatsby but he was a fantasy by this time. She was shallow, and Tom had money and was good looking in his own way. She married him despite her uncertainty in the beginning. She did not love him. 

Jay Gatsby was young and in love, he cared enough about Daisy to work for five years amassing wealth and riches so that he could be what he thought Daisy deserved. All the while he was away, he thought about Daisy, building on this picture he has of her in his head. Until the memories, and the picture of Daisy he has in his head no longer match up with the real Daisy. 

        Jay Gatsby fell in love, and remained in love, with a dream.

Morning at the Window By T.S. Eliot

I just read Morning at the Window and I really love how full of imagery this short poem was. I live out in the country, so foggy mornings are fairly common in the fall and early spring. I have experienced several foggy mornings in the city before we moved as well, and I really love how Eliot described it from the viewpoint of the window. 

"They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,

And along the trampled edges of the street

I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids 

Sprouting despondantly at area gates.

The brown faces of fog toss up at me

Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,

And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts

An aimless smile that hovers in the air

And vanishes along the level of the roofs."

I think it is interesting how the "window" describes everything it sees. This poem is very beautiful and it is easy for the reader to picture the sights in their mind as they read. My favorite line from this poem is "I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids", I feel like that alone gives the entire poem a very dreary and sort of "rainy-day" mood. 

Tom and Huck

Spring is coming, and everything is starting to change and wake up after winter the way it always does. The winds are warming up and soon leaves and flowers will start to bud on all the trees. I don't often have the time to just stop and catch my breath and enjoy all the changes and the beauty outside, but today I did. When I was doing this I noticed how little I think of the fact that it was exactly one year since I had stood on my steps looking out in anticipation of spring. And in that one short year me and my family have changed so much. My brothers especially.
Asher, my second youngest brother is reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer now and he loves it. He came to me the other day and brought to my attention the similarities between him and my youngest brother, and Tom and Huck. I realized how well written those characters were and how they were perfect examples of young boys and their inclinations toward mischief and adventure. I thought it was fascinating how he drew that connection and I started to think about how authors will model their characters to be someone the reader can identify with. Mark Twain did this very well and my brother thought so as well. I thought that this was interesting to think about and thought that the timing was pretty good seeing as how we had The Adventures of Huck Finn in one of our Pods.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

I have just done some of the homework on Robert Frost's poems, specifically "Nothing Gold Can Stay." I love this poem, it has always been a favorite of mine. The meaning behind it is so beautiful and melancholy. "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay." This poem has come to mean so many things to me throughout the years, the first time I read it I was probably 11 years old. The poem really stuck with me all these years, but the thing I love about literature is how much it "changes", or rather the way we interpret it changes, as we grow and mature through the years. When I was young I actually thought the poem sounded hopeful, now I have a hard time getting past "Nothing gold can stay". But it makes me appreciate the beauty of the "gold" while I can.

This is a picture of Rocky, our faithful, old puppy, he left us today on the anniversary he came to live with us. He was a good boy and kept his family safe for seven years. I thought of this poem when we said goodbye.

hello

Hello at last everybody! I have finally gotten around to posting. It has been a stressful few months for me and my family, but things are looking up at last and spring is finally on its way!