Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines

Today was the last day of my World Literature class. We ended by looking at the poetry of Pablo Neruda. I haven't exactly enjoyed this class, but today I found a poet whose work I'm very likely going to read this summer. It is beautiful. He writes everything from love poems to odes to everyday objects like tomatoes. One poem we read was Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines. It's quite sad, but hauntingly beautiful at the same time. It brought a lump to my throat. I'm posting it here so you can see what I mean. Just sit back and take in the words




Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Is This Real Life?

This past week, I scheduled my classes for next year. My advisor was happy with my progress because I'm right on track to graduate on time. It was when he said that that I had one of those "I can't believe I'm growing up" moments. I'm right on track to graduate. From college! Am I really going to be a junior next year? It seems like just two days ago I was a scared freshman at Kent State. Now here I am, 20 years old and signing up for a class called Traditional and Modern Grammars. I'm researching literary journals where I could submit my writing to hopefully be published. It's quite odd to think about sometimes.

There are other things that make me realize I'm getting older. Four of my friends are getting married this summer. I couldn't be happier for them, but it's so strange to think I'm at that age now where people I know personally are taking that step. One of my good friends just released her first book. Her first book! I'm so proud of her. And yes, I'm going to shamelessly plug it. It's called Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter by Sarahbeth Caplin. You can buy it on Amazon!

While these things make me feel like I'm getting older, there's still a part of me that feels perpetually 12 years old. The first night I was home for Easter break, my sisters and I built a fort in our living room. I still like to watch cartoons (Looney Tunes and Tom and Jerry are my favorite). It's not unlikely for me to read a Garfield comic book before bed. Or Calvin and Hobbes. And some days, all I want to do is sit on my couch with a blanket and watch Hey Arnold.

I honestly think I'll still have that side of me even when I'm seventy. And I would encourage you, or whoever is reading this, to not forget that part of yourself. Hold onto that childlike excitement. That carefree spirit. You never know how important it could be in your life.

The Great Bike Adventure

I have my bike on campus. Now, if there's one thing that's an issue at Mount Vernon, it's that people's bikes get stolen a lot. If you don't have a lock on it, chances are it's going to get taken sooner or later. I keep mine locked most of the time, but on Wednesday, I was running late to class and forgot the keys to my lock in my room. I biked to class and parked outside of the building. When I came back out after class, it was gone. Before this happened, someone had been taking my bike and putting it different places on campus. Why, I have no idea. So when I saw that it was gone, my first instinct was that I would find it somewhere again. But I didn't. I searched everywhere and couldn't find it. I stalked back to my apartment, ticked off.

About an hour later, some of my apartment mates came back from the store and told me they saw a guy on campus riding my bike. They followed him and asked him where he got it (of course he said he didn't know). This was when I went into stealth mode. I was determined to get my bike back. After finding out his location from my associate (aka my roommate looked up where he lived in the campus directory), I began my mission.

I walked up to his apartment complex and started scanning the perimeter. There were only two people outside, and they were walking away from the complex. There would be no witnesses to my act. Then, I spotted it. He had hid it behind the bushes next to his apartment. I casually walked up, grabbed my bike, and rode like the wind back to my apartment. No one was the wiser. The first thing I did when I got back was lock it up.

So, to my fellow Mount Vernon mates, if you have a bike, LOCK IT UP!

Ways of Worship

Yesterday during my English Lit class, my professor (who is brilliant!) brought up a very interesting question. We go to church and we sing and worship during the songs, but do we worship during the sermon? As I thought about this, I began thinking about how I react during a sermon. I listen, open my Bible to what is being talked about, underline things that strike me, write down notes. I think a lot of us do that. Is that worship?

There have been times where the message has really moved or impacted me to a point where I feel it. I know that God put that message in front of me at a time when I needed to hear it most. I give thanks and praise to God for moving me and giving me words of wisdom. So, I guess that's a form of worship as well.

I'm not saying you have to go to church and worship the entire time. We all react to things differently. Something that strikes a chord with me might not move you in the same way. Everyone has a different view, but we're all capable of praising God. That's how He created us to be. Give Him all the glory.

I Want Your Thoughts!

Hello there! As some of you know, I'm taking a poetry class this semester and I've really been working on my writing. Recently I submitted two of my poems to Poetry Magazine in the hopes of getting them published, so we'll see how that goes! I've been thinking about putting up one of my poems on my blog to see what you guys think. I would love to have some feedback and see what you guys think. So be on the lookout for that in the near future! I realize this post is really short, so here's a pretty picture I took for you to stare at!

Poetry Day!

Yeah, I know. I forgot to post a poem last week. But I remembered this time and that's what counts. So, today's poem is Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon. It's quite lovely in my opinion. It has such a tranquil and relaxed tone to it. I like how she describes evening without using words that we normally associate with it, like night, stars, and moon. My favorite line of the poem is the last one. It's just the perfect way to end it. Ok, enough of me. Read it for yourself!

Let Evening Come
BY JANE KENYON
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

When Concrete Attacks and Bad Poetry

I have never fallen while running before. Until today. Everything was going smoothly. My teammates Becca and Ashley and I went for a run after we got out of class. We decided to do the 2 mile loop so we could be done before it started getting dark. So off we went. Becca and Ashley zoomed ahead and I fell behind. I decided to cut through the high school parking lot so I could get back to campus faster and possibly beat them back. Yes, I know it wasn't a race, but my competitive side came out. I got to the front of campus and was feeling really good, so I picked up the pace. I passed one of my classmates and was just about to hit the hill that goes to my apartment complex, when I completely biffed it. Here's what happened:

Me: Yeah I'm almost there! This is a good run!

(trips over a crack in the concrete)

Me: Whoa!

(Kathleen stumbles forward, getting closer to the ground each time. She hits the ground and slides on her stomach while making incoherent noises of pain and falling. Sprawled out on the sidewalk, feet up in the air and dazed, she slowly looks around and assesses what just took place. Meanwhile, her classmate has witnessed the entire ordeal and runs over to see if she's ok)

After picking myself up and hobbling to the PSU, I went to the trainer who patched me up. Nothing serious, just banged up and scratched. Scraped up my hands and my knee, got a big and rather gross looking scrape on my elbow, and my hip is all scraped up. I'm going to have an awesome bruise and will be sore for a bit. Here's a little photo for ya.





Don't worry, I'll be good as new in no time!

Now, today in my poetry class my professor wrote a bunch of random words on the board and told us to take one or two of these words and write the worst poem we could come up with. Two of these words happened to be walrus and acorns, which I used for mine. After a few of you asked me to post it, I have decided to let you read it. I think it's pretty funny. And awfully written. So here it is.

Don't Throw Acorns at the Walrus

Harbor
Water
Death.

Walrus
Acorn
Death!

Railing
Breaking
DEATH.

Water
Walrus
Death.

There ya go, kids.