Not really having a great deal to do tonight, I thought I would give writing a poem a go. Simply because I’ve started a module at uni that involves the analysis of poems and other literary text in a really detailed way. Having just analysed two observational poems about the world that the speaker sees I thought that I would give it a go by picking the nearest object to me. Just so happened to be my lava lamp, nothing meant to be too deep or meaningful . So, here it is:
Timelessly sealed forms of wax,
Encased in glowing liquid
Ever-shifting shape and form,
Twisting and turning in space,
Then the fall.
Mesmerising endless cycles
Falling through slowness,
Then the rise
And then the fall.
Some do not make it,
Unsure of their grounding they wait, illuminated.
Then the fall,
Ready to rise again.
Something that stuck out for me this last term of University, where I was taking a beginners course in Spanish, was how you said or were asked how old you are.
“yo tengo dieciocho años”
This may not seem to be different or of any interest to anyone else, but I particularly liked it. You see all kinds of posts on websites such as Tumblr, posting what `partner` is in Norwegian and that it translates as something meaningful and how the language is much more emotive and delicate comparatively to English. In the same way, the phrase above literally translates to `I have eighteen years.`
I liked this, simply because from the phrasing it implies ownership of those years; `tengo` the conjugated form of the infinitive verb, Tener: meaning to have. In English we would say `I am eighteen years old` and as we become older, we say it with more despair as if its a quality about us that we regret and have gained nothing from it. I like the Spanish phrase because to me it implies a greater sense of gaining experience from the years of your life much as if you would say `they have knowledge.` If you own something then you can accept it surely?
With another year having just passed it got me thinking and to me this seemed more of a positive outlook. I’m probably looking too much into this, but I think the language that we choose is important. Anyway, this is what interested me today.
I was on my dog walk today and felt like writing a little of a prologue for a story, might add more to it later, so here goes:
Brian watched the light drift sleepily through the gap in his horribly beige curtains from his bed. He battled with his inherent want to tug the curtains sharply into an overlapping position, but decided it required a higher level of effort than he could be bothered to part with. The autumn morning light dimly lit a line across his bedside, highlighting the form of his wife, Sarah, blissfully sleeping without a sound. He had planned to replace the curtains with something more lively when they moved here, maybe blue curtains or a wooden blind, whatever worked. Sarah always knew these things better than him, interior design wasn’t his strong point. Besides, that was 10 years ago now and the material had become tattered and discoloured through age.
“This isn’t going to be a successful or sustainable career Brian and you know I’m right” His father’s un-groomed greying eyebrows had furrowed to combine into one thick menacing line of hair stretching across his creased forehead. “You can’t support a family on…this”, gesticulating with his podgy fingers to Brian’s portfolio of sketches. Beads of sweat trailing down the corners of his father’s receding hairline. His mother had remained silent, staring through glassy eyes out into the garden and rain battering in relentless strokes against the window panes. All creativity had been squeezed out of him at a young age with his father eager to push Brian into a suit and straight into an office job. The sensible thing to do.
Brian skipped the last 4 minutes he was entitled to in bed before his alarm and slipped out of the floral patterned covers. Sarah’s choice of course. Carefully he folded the covers like origami, following each step and fold without thought, just as a well-practiced Folder would, if that’s what they’re called, Brian wasn’t sure, Origami was not something he’d ever looked into. No time for a hobby.