annogus

Oh hey. I'm Anna, a working girl in Grand Rapids, Michigan, blogging about nostalgia, creativity, and societal woes. My vices include soda, nail-biting, and sarcasm.
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Posts tagged "poetry"

“You shall love whether you like it or not. Emotions, they come and go like clouds. Love is not only a feeling; you shall love. To love is to run the risk of failure, the risk of betrayal. You fear your love has died; perhaps it is waiting to be transformed into something higher. Awaken the divine presence which sleeps in each man, each woman. Know each other in that love that never changes.” - To The Wonder (2013)

I can tell from that left-middle frame alone that this film is going to destroy me. 

My love for Malick’s films is increasing by the day. I’m glad he’s releasing them more frequently. (And also a little concerned. He releases six films in 40 years, and now he’s got three in post-production. What is going on?)

His films aren’t for everyone. To some they feel heavy handed or emotionally manipulative, and I get that, but they’re just amazing pieces of poetry to me. 

Roger Ebert wrote the following about Tree of Life, and it’s become one of my favorite quotes.

Many films diminish us. They cheapen us, masturbate our senses, hammer us with shabby thrills, diminish the value of life. Some few films evoke the wonderment of life’s experience, and those I consider a form of prayer. Not prayer “to” anyone or anything, but prayer “about” everyone and everything. I believe prayer that makes requests is pointless. What will be, will be. But I value the kind of prayer when you stand at the edge of the sea, or beneath a tree, or smell a flower, or love someone, or do a good thing. Those prayers validate existence and snatch it away from meaningless routine.”

In other Malicky things, I watched Badlands this weekend for the first time. Holy Moonrise Kingdom, Batman. Homage much? It’s almost too exact for me to even call it an ode. Check it out.

One of those times when you know a song, but you finally listen to the words. Love this. 

Baby, when I first saw you,
I knew you held the keys to my heart,
and in the setting sun we flew away
to a broken kind of paradise
where time would stand still.
You are the black sky
always running from the sun.

Paralyzed, I dug a well deep inside.
I kissed the tide, 
you held the moon
and carried the stars
like life was a memory
and death just a possibility.
You are the black sky
always running from the sun.
You’re always running from the sun.

You owe reality nothing and the truth about your feelings everything.

Richard Hugo.

One of my favorite quotes on writing, specifically poetry. It comes from an essay called Writing Off the Subject. The thing is chock full of great advice for writing and poetry newbs (like myself). I highly recommend clicking that link.

Miles Davis + John Coltrane - ‘Round Midnight

In Kalamazoo for the night. My Grandmother fell and broke her hip last night and thus had surgery this afternoon. Seems to be doing well.

I am attempting to write an “ars poetica” for tomorrow. AKA a poem about poetry.

The dog has stolen my bed, probably for the better until I get this writing done. But I’m still making this face at her.

I’m in my folks’ new house. In their office/guest room/room-where-we-put-everything-we-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-yet, in the most comfortable chair we own, listening to Chet and Miles and John, with my 17 year old self hangin’ out in a photo frame behind me.

Last week when I wrote about not writing, I had some great, encouraging responses, aka helpful ass-kickings from people saying, “get to work!” Just so you know, I finally did. I wrote a poem that I really liked and was surprised by in the best of ways, and I also life-processed my little heart out. On eleven college-ruled 8.5x10 pages to be exact.

Alright enough fake procrastination writing. Back to the verse.

oh, and, just for fun, have a little Ringo to complete your evening.

(photo via Le Quaintrelle)
I need to either sit down at my desk or shut myself in my room the entire evening tomorrow.
I have to write three image poems for my creative writing class on Thursday.
and I need to write the pages and pages of life-processing that needs to happen on paper. Honestly, I’ve been putting this off because I’m terrified. I’ve limped along for a couple weeks now and I’m scared of revisiting the original hurt. It’s easier not to.
So instead I watch SVU, refresh facebook over and over, and go to sleep.

(photo via Le Quaintrelle)

I need to either sit down at my desk or shut myself in my room the entire evening tomorrow.

I have to write three image poems for my creative writing class on Thursday.

and I need to write the pages and pages of life-processing that needs to happen on paper. Honestly, I’ve been putting this off because I’m terrified. I’ve limped along for a couple weeks now and I’m scared of revisiting the original hurt. It’s easier not to.

So instead I watch SVU, refresh facebook over and over, and go to sleep.

After Years by Ted Kooser

Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer’s retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.

[was given this poem in my creative writing class. really like it. I have to write three similar image poems for next week.]

I heard this track in a video from The A.V. Club today. Titus Andronicus sampled it before performing Birdhouse in Your Soul.

I love hearing poets read their own words.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too clever,
I only let him out at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little in there,
I haven’t quite let him die
and we sleep together like that
with our secret pact
and it’s nice enough to make a man weep,
but I don’t weep,
do you?