Friday, June 20, 2008

"Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews Band

This is the freaking saddest song ever.



Monday, June 16, 2008

from "Thoughts in Solitude" by Thomas Merton

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.


I used this in my high school graduation speech.  I wonder what it said.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

"In My Craft or Sullen Art" by Dylan Thomas

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.


I particularly like this response as well:
This poem raises a subject, which most every poet or writer of any genre has considered: who is bound to read my words, and more importantly, who am I writing them about and for?
The sad truth, which Thomas so aptly captured through a syntax more romantically removed than anything so lovely, is that those whom we often write about, with the luck and affectionate grace to find another and graze with them so fervently, shall never read our works, nor ever appreciate them as much as they were meant to do if ever perused by chance. We ourselves who write of it recognise the inherent otherworldly importance capturing such a transient or permanent fixture it represents within all of the possibilities of feeling. This poem is driven by feeling, using appropriate logic in setting to merely justify its existence, the poet's own profound tone and passion, when he sounds so very devoid of a similar joy himself. Personally, I deeply empathise with this insightful piece.
-Jessica K. Bruhn, also found here