Some say it is wise for one to listen to classical music, or just instrumental music, while they study or read. It is not so for me. I find that when I listen to classical music or really any music at all, my mind cannot focus on the task at hand. Immediately I am drawn into the emotion of the music. I find my imagination reacting to the nuances and I start to create scenes in my mind that would fit with the musical tone.
Classical music is by far the greatest instigator. When I begin to listen to Claire De Lune I picture a beautiful, lithe girl, wishing to be all she can. I see her at her window looking out on to a lake dreaming of a boy romancing her. Oh how romance often pervades our thoughts. Young girls, like myself, are so sentimental.
Music containing lyrics affects me as well. Only the words have already given me the plot, in my mind all I have to do is act out the scenario. When I listen to “Disaster Button” by Snow Patrol, I imagine the thoughts in a young man’s head, and the scenes moving before his eyes. I hear him reprimanding himself because he is not brave enough to pursue the woman he wants.
Sometimes lyrical music gives us emotions, but allows us to create our own scene. Hearing “Black Tables” by Other Lives, makes me envision a friend hopelessly trying to help a beloved. Perhaps I have not understood the true meaning of this song, but that is one of the beauties of music. Music is intended to be understood in your own way. While the author of the lyrics and the composer of the score may have one type of reaction to, emotion from, or reason behind a song, you may be given an entirely new one.
I once wrote about how music is like a drug. No matter how hard you try you are never invincible to its powers. Music is so very strong. You must do as the notes command you. The only way to escape its incredible force is to press the stop button, place aside your instrument, or leave the concert hall. Music will have its way with you. Be so ever careful with it. Like I have said I cannot go about studying when I have music on, so I don’t study with it.
My imaginations are beautiful to me, a place of momentary escape, but I know I cannot have them running about in my everyday life. It all would be so confusing. However, during parts of my day I turn on my radio, cd, Internet, etc. and I listen to my heart’s content and I picture wonderful scenes and I am taken to new places, put in the bodies of new people, given new thoughts, and for a few moments everyday I give into it.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Quatrain and Diamante
Two poems I wrote...not the best, but it's something I enjoy. :)
A quatrain: a stanza or poem of four lines, usually with alternate rhymes.
A diamante: a poem of seven lines, shaped like a diamond. First and last lines have one word, second and second last have two, third and third last have three, fourth line has four. Usually describes two different subjects.
Melancholy bird
In grey skys
Melancholy words
On grey paper
Esoteric flowers
Confine their bloom
Esoteric powers
Confine their knowledge
Slippery peblles
Evade searching hands
Slippery rebels
Evade searching men
Look and you will see
How very much alike
Nature and thee
Live thy lives
A quatrain: a stanza or poem of four lines, usually with alternate rhymes.
A diamante: a poem of seven lines, shaped like a diamond. First and last lines have one word, second and second last have two, third and third last have three, fourth line has four. Usually describes two different subjects.
Melancholy bird
In grey skys
Melancholy words
On grey paper
Esoteric flowers
Confine their bloom
Esoteric powers
Confine their knowledge
Slippery peblles
Evade searching hands
Slippery rebels
Evade searching men
Look and you will see
How very much alike
Nature and thee
Live thy lives
Sky
Majestic, heavenly
Scintillating, guiding, inspiring
Galaxies, stars, flowers, harvests
Sustaining, reaping nurturing
Warm, powerful
Earth
The Beautiful Bloody Nose
Jumpin' Puddles Smiling Spinning 'round and 'round Holding hands The whole world a blur But you are standing Soaked Completely drenched No rubber boots Running in Want to erupt from a shell Wind in and outdoor smell of your hair I hit as fast as I could With my nose Hopping into puddles Completely drenched Soaked With no boots on And I get nosebleed But I always get up And I get nosebleed But I always get up (Loose English Translation of Icelandic Band Sigur Ros' song Hoppipolla)
Oh to be young again.... Sounds rather silly for a sixteen year old to say that, but think about it. In our culture we are bombarded with the troubles of this world, be it terrorism, false representation, random murder, drugs, sex, robbery, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, genocide, disease, starvation, tsunamis, the list goes on and on. We may not personally experience some of these horrors, but we hear about them.
Sometimes I wish I could be a small child again, the small child that ran around the back yard pretending I was Tarzan (I wanted to be Tarzan because he could fly through the trees). I wish I still jumped around in puddles with no rubber boots. I wish I could find joy and excitement in just the way everything smells on a cold day outside. I wish I could get right back up after getting hurt. As we've grown older we have stopped appreciating small things. Everything has to be big and fancy, full of lights! We find it hard to look at a rain puddle and think what a perfect way to get wet, instead we think, "Where is the easiest way to get around this puddle, so I don't ruin my shoes." As we've grown older we nurse our hurts, we hold onto our grudges. We stopped remembering that while it hurts for the moment, getting up and ridding ourselves of the pain means we get to play more! You can't jump in puddles sitting down crying over your bloody nose. Wipe it off on your sleeve, the water will wash it away!
Oh to be young again.... Sounds rather silly for a sixteen year old to say that, but think about it. In our culture we are bombarded with the troubles of this world, be it terrorism, false representation, random murder, drugs, sex, robbery, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, genocide, disease, starvation, tsunamis, the list goes on and on. We may not personally experience some of these horrors, but we hear about them.
Sometimes I wish I could be a small child again, the small child that ran around the back yard pretending I was Tarzan (I wanted to be Tarzan because he could fly through the trees). I wish I still jumped around in puddles with no rubber boots. I wish I could find joy and excitement in just the way everything smells on a cold day outside. I wish I could get right back up after getting hurt. As we've grown older we have stopped appreciating small things. Everything has to be big and fancy, full of lights! We find it hard to look at a rain puddle and think what a perfect way to get wet, instead we think, "Where is the easiest way to get around this puddle, so I don't ruin my shoes." As we've grown older we nurse our hurts, we hold onto our grudges. We stopped remembering that while it hurts for the moment, getting up and ridding ourselves of the pain means we get to play more! You can't jump in puddles sitting down crying over your bloody nose. Wipe it off on your sleeve, the water will wash it away!
the little room
There will be a house with no walls other than the four enclosing our domain. Within this room, this solitary room, there would be a mattress for sleeping on, a stove for cooking on, and chair for reading in, and a tub for bathing in. It will be cramped, it has to be cramped. I will be allowed one wall to place pictures, articles, ribbons, and the like upon. You will also have a wall. I will not interfere with how you decorate your wall as long as you do not voice any criticizing opinion of my wall. We shall each choose a color for our wall. I shall choose red, it is my favorite. I'm sorry you do not like it. I know you will choose blue, you wear that color often. I detest the color blue. These walls are us, well before we got together that is. The third wall, the one facing the wall with the single door, will be purple. It is our door together. We can carry parts of our individual walls over to it. Things we dearly seek to share with each other. Perhaps you will not like everything I like, for I am sure I will not like everything you like. The wall with no door will have no color, no items on it. It is only an exit. We will share everything, the bed, the stove, the chair, the tub, and that one wall. Perhaps one day you will get bored of sharing everything, perhaps I will. There is always the possibility that you will tire of seeing the things of mine I offer to you, but you do not want. There is a possibility I shall tire as well. If we ever decide we no longer want to share we will have our own walls to turn to. Perhaps we will get lonely there, wanting to share, but still not wanting everything the other person has to offer. Then we could turn to the fourth wall, the exit. You may turn, you are a free person after all. I may turn, I am just as free as you. But there is nothing on that wall, just an exit. What if we miss each other outside this cramped little room? What if we realize purple really is our favorite color? We just didn't realize it before. Because we know not what is outside the fourth wall, we know not whether or not the door will lock itself to us after we exit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
