A something in a summer’s day

Featured imageSo, it has been a while since I last posted a blog. I have been crazy busy the last few days – especially since this was already the last week of lectures before summer, and I had to (and still have to) write my final papers. Luckily, I almost finished them! I’m planning on writing a lot of blogs this weekend, but I didn’t wanna wait that long. So, I thought I’d write a short one for now, and just share a poem I really like. 

The weather is really great right now here in the Netherlands, which made me think of a famous poem by Emily Dickinson. I love this poem, it is a beautiful ode to the summer and the wonderful days that come with it. 

A SOMETHING IN A SUMMER'S DAY BY EMILY DICKINSON

A something in a summer's day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer's noon, —
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;

Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.

The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;

Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,

Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;

Or bees, that thought the summer's name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;

Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint, — some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;

Or wind's bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before

The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
A too presumptuous psalm.
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A something in a summer’s day

I wandered lonely as a cloud

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I recently read Jamaica Kincaid’s novel Lucy. I really liked the novel and also the fact that the poem ‘Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth is mentioned in it  -although the character of Lucy in the novel hates the poem-. I love Wordsworth’s work. So, I thought I might as-well share this particular poem. Also, I would recommend Lucy to anyone who likes to read the cosmopolitan, au pair-narrative kind of literature (in short, the novel is about a teenage girl who moves from the West Indies to the United States to work as an au pair).  

The poem is best known as ‘Daffodils’ but it was officially published as ‘I Wandered lonely as a cloud’. Wordsworth altered the poem multiple times -probably reflecting his own life and mind at that time- , this (final) version was published in 1815.

 I wandered lonely as a Cloud
   That floats on high o'er vales and Hills,
 When all at once I saw a crowd,
   A host, of golden Daffodils;
 Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

 Continuous as the stars that shine
   And twinkle on the milky way,
 They stretched in never-ending line
   Along the margin of a bay:
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

 The waves beside them danced; but they
   Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
 A Poet could not but be gay
   In such a jocund company:
 I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
 What wealth the show to me had brought:

 For oft when on my couch I lie
   In vacant or in pensive mood,
 They flash upon that inward eye
   Which is the bliss of solitude,
 And then my heart with pleasure fills,
 And dances with the Daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a cloud

I is an other

Featured imageI was just reading the Complete Works of Arthur Rimbaud. I love his poetry and letters, and I think he was one of the world’s most influental poets. So, I just wanted to share one of my favorite parts of one of his letters. This one is from his letter to Georges Izambard, who was his teacher: 

“And I have realized that I am a poet. It’s not my doing at all. It’s wrong to say: I think. Better to say: I am thought. Pardon the pun.

is an other. So what if a piece of wood discovers it’s a violin, and the hell with those who can’t realize, who quibble over something they know nothing at all about!”

(Charleville, May 13, 1871)

 

I is an other