Nothing going on here

Someone pointed out to me that my Twitter links directly to this beast which hasn’t been updated for a solid twelvemonth, so I’m going to sort that out. I considered various options for how to do this, including paying a ghost-writer to bang out a post for me as well as just deleting the goddamned thing, but actually doing this seems to be a sensible form of procrastination from my dissertation, which for some unfathomable reason has not written itself yet.

First, as usual, here’s a quick explanation as to why I haven’t been writing my blog. To be honest, I haven’t been writing anything. I haven’t been a very happy bunny for the last year or so and I’ve barely been meeting work deadlines, let alone updating a blog that no one bloody reads anyway (if you are reading, though, cheers – my semi-efforts are not in vain). I’m going to try and do more of everything over the next few months, including working, writing, exercise, and student radio, in which I am trained but uninvolved. I’m not setting New Year’s resolutions. When I inevitably break them I’ll grow despondent and stop trying. I’m just going to accept any external engagement or reflection as a success and be done with it.

I considered telling my life story in this post but I don’t really have the energy right now and anyway it’s probably not that interesting for anyone apart from me and my therapist. I suppose I’ll write it all down at some point so if you do want to hear about misogynistic bullying, drug abuse, self-harm and lonely meaningless sex, stay tuned.

But on a lighter note, and considering that no one is going to read this, I thought that today I’d focus on my true love, cheese. I’ve written a poem.

Ode to Cheese

My darling is fair,

Pale gold like sunlight glinting off flaxen hair

Skin creamy like milk

As smooth as purest silk

Her breath at once pungent and sweet,

Her figure tidy and neat.

Behold! How my archaic English degree

Has managed to subtly influence me

Into declaring my love through antiquated, patriarchal stereotypes.

George The Poet

 Hello, internet. It’s been a while. Year 13 was tough but I’ve done my A levels and am off to university in two weeks. (Yes, I know I’m not mature enough. No, I won’t forget to do my own laundry.)

The thing that inspired me to write today – apart from reading a message from one of my favourite childhood writers, Caroline Lawrence, that she sent over a year ago to tell me she’d read some of this blog – was the fact that on 25th October I will be going to see a George The Poet performance in Cambridge. George The Poet is a spoken word artist from North-West London, where I also live. He went to Queen Elizabeth School in Barnet, where my brother goes, and then to the University of Cambridge to study Politics, Psychology and Sociology.

I think he really is one of my literary idols for a few reasons: firstly, because he uses his poetry to convey real ideas and opinions which many artists do completely fail to achieve; secondly, because his use of language and rhythm and dialect is innovative, gritty and engaging, and manages to portray personality and emotion together whilst maintaining an air that is somehow aloof and cold; and finally, because I am completely obsessed with the spoken-word genre. There is something very inspiring to me about being able to perform one’s own writing. It engages in a different, more experiential way than reading does. That’s not to say that I love it more than reading – but watching a spoken-word performance is often just as intense.

As much as I’d love to go into detail about his philosophies and experience growing up (because most articles online imply that it wasn’t easy), I don’t think I really understand him enough for that. To be honest I just wanted to spread the word about him and show off that I’m going to see him perform. Watch this space: I think, if I have the nerve, that I’ll try to have a chat with him, and he’ll probably be too busy but it would be great to ask questions et cetera. Otherwise I’ll just write a review and tell you how spectacular he was in the flesh.

Here’s a pretty good interview that he did with the Observer in February, which explains more than I can about his educational manifesto: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/feb/03/george-the-poet-rappers-power-educate

And here's my favourite of his beat poems. It's about London and I feel that I understand it.

Ithaca

I thought I would write about university open days today as that’s basically all I’ve been doing recently, but that’s boring and seeing as I tortured you with my own writing a few days ago I thought I’d make up for it with someone else’s excellent poetry.

If you know me, then you probably know that I’m a Classics student and am just as obsessed with ancient literature as I am with modern. This poem itself was only written in 1911 by the Greek poet Constantine Cavafy who lived between 1863 and 1933 and spent much of his working life in Alexandria. However, it was inspired by Homer’s epic poem, the Odyssey (if you haven’t read it I really recommend it – it’s fabulously exciting and the Penguin translation isn’t tricky to get through), and the theme of return and voyaging that reoccurs throughout. I love this poem because of the morals it represents: living to enjoy life, living to learn and discover, and defeating one’s inner monsters to become a better person. This is my favourite translation from the original Greek, and it is by one of my most beloved childhood authors, Caroline Lawrence, the genius who taught me that Classics is brilliant through her seventeen hilarious and gripping novels called The Roman Mysteries.



When you set sail for Ithaca
Pray that the journey will be long
Full of adventure, full of discovery.
Don’t be afraid of Scylla and Charybdis.
The sirens and the harpies
And even the Cyclops hold no danger for you.
You won’t find such creatures on your journey
If your thoughts are high and you have a noble motive.
You won’t find such creatures
Unless you erect altars to them in your heart.
Pray that the voyage will be a long one
With many a summer’s evening when,
With such pleasure, such joy,
You enter harbours you have never seen before.
May you visit Phoenician markets and Egyptian ports
To buy pearls, coral, amber, ebony and gems of wisdom.
As you sip heady wines from the west
And inhale sensual perfumes from the east
Always keep Ithaca in mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
Better if the journey lasts for years
So that you are old by the time you drop anchor there,
Wealthy with all that you have learned on the way.
Ithaca will not make you rich.
She gave you your marvellous journey.
She has nothing more to give you.
Without her you would not have set out.
So if you find her poor, it’s not because she fooled you.
You will be so rich with experience
That you will finally understand
What Ithaca really means.

Deteriorata

Having posted one of my favourite poems on this blog, I realised I didn’t really know very much about its background. I opened up a new window and typed in the address of my good friend Wikipedia. And at the bottom of a lovely little history of the poem, which included some nice stories about how it was found in a church and making the top four, there was a solitary little line that simply read, “Many parodies exist.”

How could I resist.

Within seconds I was googling ‘parodies of Desiderata’ and clicking on the first result. “Deteriorata!” it declared. I read. I wept. I laughed. I recommend.

It’s the chorus that really does it for me. If you haven’t already heeded my recommendation and read the poem, it goes like this:


You are a fluke
Of the universe.
You have no right to be here.
And whether you can hear it or not
The universe is laughing behind your back.


In a way, it’s even better than the original, because it’s just so flawlessly human: sarcastic, dry, and morbid. For all my nattering about seeing the beauty in life, laughing at shit is a lot of fun too.

And the bit that goes, “For a good time call 606-4311; ask for "Ken"” is also really funny.

P.S. In case you were wondering, I’ve decided on minimum twice a week, once during the week and once at the weekend. Plus anytime I am inspired in between. Seem reasonable?

Desiderata

Post every two days? Too often? Not often enough? Remotely possible or unrealistic (I see you all there shaking your heads doubtfully . . .)?

Anyways, I promised I would post y'all a little bit of my poetry. You're lucky I was lying because my poetry is atrocious and I don't think I shall let you see any ever. However, I would be delighted to share other people's with you. This one is a particular favourite of mine. It's by Max Ehrmann, written in the late 1800s, and it's sort of a life lesson in how to keep yourself cheerful. (Enter Noa and her blog on how to be cheerful. Violently grabs poem and posts it all over the internet in an annoying and preachy way).


Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
And remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender
Be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
And listen to others,
Even the dull and the ignorant;
They too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
They are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
You may become vain and bitter;
For always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
It is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
For the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
Many persons strive for high ideals;
And everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
It is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
Gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
Be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
No less than the trees and the stars;
You have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
Whatever you conceive Him to be,
And whatever your labours and aspirations,
In the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
It is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


I could basically stop writing this blog now. That poem literally sums it all up. But I shan't, because I've been enjoying writing again. Until next time, my darlings.

Misquotations are the only quotations that are never misquoted ~ Hesketh Pearson

I like my room. It’s big and it’s blue and I have lots of awesome things like a bed and a wardrobe and a bookcase, and wide windows that look out over the garden. Plus, it’s in the attic so I am nice and lonesome and I can dance around to Guns ‘n’ Roses with the music loud and no one can hear. On my walls are old paintings that I’ve done and birthday cards and postcards and prints of Monet, and there are posters of Arsenal and minis and New York and Paris and Happy Bunny. But the best thing about my room, I think, is the quotes. I collect quotes, and I write them on my walls and stick them on my door and I have a book of ones that I find in unexpected places, such as, err, the World Wide Web. The point of them is to inspire me when I’m feeling gloomy, and I thought I’d share a few of them with you now.

This one’s my favourite. It’s painted in white on a big navy blue card and framed with photos of roses and candles, and it goes like this:

“My candle burns bright at both ends,
It will not last the night,
But ah! my foes, and oh! my friends
It gives a lovely light.”

It’s written in the back of most of the Roald Dahl books as it just happened to be his motto, but it’s actually by Edna St. Vincent Millay, it’s called First Fig, and it’s from her book A Few Figs from Thistles. What is so brilliant about this quote is that it captures everything we should all be aspiring to: making the absolute best of what we can, even though it may seem futile at the time. I think the metaphor is clever although slightly cliché, you know, the whole candle equals life idea, but it sort of works here, and to top it all off, it rhymes. Perfect.

The newest one is above my door on the inside, written in permanent marker because I was feeling particularly rebellious. Who’s seen Dead Poets Society? (If you haven’t, I severely recommend. It’s one of those films that change your perception of everything). There are plenty of inspirational quotes in this film, not least of which is “carpe diem”; but my all time favourite that I first heard from watching it is by Walt Whitman:

“I sound my barbaric YAWP over the rooftops of the world.”

For those of you who have seen this movie, you’ll know that the scene itself is pretty inspirational. Keating is shouting at Todd, who stands in front of the whole class, terrified of making a fool of himself, or of failing; and Keating pushes and pushes, and eventually Todd Anderson is hollering out great lines of poetry that express something he doesn’t quite understand. This quote is the kind that stirs up the souls of people who were once too afraid to speak for themselves. Next time you’re feeling nervous, try yawping. You might find it works.

Another good movie one is:

“All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you.”

Gandalf says it in The Fellowship of the Ring, after being told by Frodo that he wishes the Ring hadn’t come to him. What he’s really saying is, “Don’t regret things. Don’t worry about what you can’t control. Just stroll along and make the best of everything thrown at you”. And it’s inspirational because it’s so whole-heartedly true; sometimes you just have to sit back and let events carry you along, and not try to influence everything, because you’ll just exhaust yourself with worrying.

So, one by a world-famous poet and two from blockbuster films . . . Paris Hilton is next on the list, and I refuse to be ashamed of quoting her by stating that actually, this one’s quite brilliant (not nearly as funny as her replying “Gordon Ramsey” when asked who the British Prime Minister was in 2009, but whatever). It’s written in A4 size bubble-writing across my back wall, and each letter is patterned with cheerful-looking things like flowers, glasses of champagne, bubbles, cupcakes, strawberries, books, splotches of paint and butterflies. Each is hand-drawn and hand-coloured, and in fact I could probably have handed in every piece of homework throughout Year 9 if I hadn’t spent the best part of that year drawing this. It goes:

“Life’s too short to blend in.”

Pretty simple, I hear you say. (Trust me, it took about six months). But doesn’t it just express everything that we want in life? Unless, of course, you’re happier just fitting in, which is fine too. But I don’t want to be beige, I want to be scarlet and gold and turquoise and lime green, and I don’t want to waste my life in the background when I can fling myself into the whirlpool and let it spit me out into whatever crazy situation it may choose. I want to walk on the moon and deep-sea-dive, and wear home-made neon dresses just so that people stare in the street (one name for this is attention seeking, but I prefer to think of it as not hiding). The point is that I want to do things. I refuse to allow my life to slip through my fingers and look back at the age of sixty thinking, “Damn. I never went skydiving”.

One last quote, to finish off. I really could go on to infinity (and beyond), but I won’t as I suspect you’re getting bored, if you haven’t stopped reading already. It’s written on bright yellow paper and blu-tacked to my door, and it was written by a fifteen-year-old girl who lived in an attic with seven other people for two years of her short life, after which she was murdered. It reads:

“Think of all the beauty still around you and be happy.”

If Anne Frank could look on the bright side of life, then so can we. Even when living so close to death, she saw the good, and for that reason she is one of my all-time heroines. Know the danger, but smile in its face. If you haven’t read her diary, go read it now. It is funny and interesting and heart-warming and heart-breaking.

I want to keep going. Really I do. But I have a feeling that this is already too long, so I’ll call it quits. I hope you feel as inspired by these quotes as I do when I look around my bedroom. There may be a “Quotes Part II” on the way. Stay tuned.