weddings, silent lambs, more poetry

Good morrow, friends!

Pardon...too much metaphysical 17th century poetry will do that to you, I suppose...

Donne's Good Morrow poem, if you're curious. Don't worry, if you're not, it's not that great.

This weekend was a blur of lovely business, so I'll fill you in on the highlights.

Friday, my 17th century class discussed Donne's Holy Sonnets (quite different from his secular love poems) and wonderfully spiritual. We also tossed around the idea of social performances in Travel Writing-- are you different depending on where you are? Work, party, public, private? Why? What social performance do you give? What do other people give? How do you pick up on it?

Saturday-- I was supposed to go on a field trip to Kline Creek Farm for Travel Writing. I'm sure it was lovely-- my peers informed me that there were goats, chickens, and a fourteen year old girl with braces who led the tour. Fascinating.

However, I skipped out on it. For all those living this WIE experience vicariously through me, I apologize. But I had a good reason: a wedding.

Photo cred: Jay Fort.

And it was lovely.  Congratulations, Ashley and Tyler! The wedding was beautiful, the reception a blast-- complete with R2-D2 ice sculpture, a photo-booth, a buffet of absolutely amazing brunch food (waffles and ice-cream!) and pretty people.

wonderfully, delightfully, awful

Later, I watched "Silence of the Lambs." This has nothing to do with WIE, I just thought I'd let you know about this monumental viewing...something I've been wanting to do for awhile, but have just been too terrified. And gosh, was it good. Scary, terrifying, nail-biting? Yes.

But I must say-- I'm rethinking my English major and contemplating joining the FBI academy....

No. Scratch that. Terrible idea-- I practically faint at the sight of blood.

In other news, we went to Dr. Colon's house for Sunday evening dinner. As we were roasting marshmallows, one of them flew off, landed on a girl's skirt, and burst into flames.

It was exhilarating.
She escaped unharmed, however her memories of marshmallows will be forever tainted, I do believe.

In other news: if you want a bit of inspiration to get you through the day, check out this wonderful example of when metaphysical poetry goes wrong:

"...Was there no milder way but the Small Pox,
The very filth’ness of Pandora’s Box?
So many Spots, like næves, our Venus soil?
One Jewel set off with so many a Foil?
Blisters with pride swell’d, which th’row’s flesh did sprout
Like Rose-buds, stuck i’ th’ Lilly-skin about.
Each little Pimple had a Tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit:
Who, Rebel-like, with their own Lord at strife,
Thus made an Insurrection ’gainst his Life.
Or were these Gems sent to adorn his Skin,
The Cab’net of a richer Soul within?"

This poem by eighteen year old John Dryden (who went on to become the first poet laureate of England) reminds me that you have to have a few duds before you reach the gems.

Practice, practice, practice.

Cheers!