Only shallow breaths reach my lungs, full of uncertainty and tinged with fear. There is no room for the life-sustaining oxygen my brain requires to combat negativity and pursue the continuance of healthy life.
Enveloped in a cloud of static electricity, I cry out, but not another soul hears my pleas. I hear no one, feel no one. But I can see them; I know they exist,
but not for me.
“Invictus” by William Ernest Henley
Due to its brevity, I will reproduce the poem in full:
Out of the night that covers me,Black as the pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may beFor my unconquerable soul..In the fell clutch of circumstanceI have not winced nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeonings of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed..Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the Horror of the shade,And yet the menace of the yearsFinds and shall find me unafraid..It matters not how strait the gate,How charged with punishments the scroll,I am the master of my fate,I am the captain of my soul..
I first noticed this poem scrawled across a wall at my university, and I’m finding that it’s beginning to exert a powerful impact upon my thoughts. But I’ll just let it speak for itself.
Dreary day falls away
And breaks
Into lonely night,
Cold, dark, and quiet.
(I miss you.)
Tired thoughts become
Sickened, frenzied dreams
Racing, as I remember
When last we lay together.
(Do you miss me, too?)
I remember:
Every moment,
Every kiss,
Every touch.
(Do you remember?)
(How could you forget?)
(Why can’t I forget, too?)
I fall apart in silence,
Savoring the moment.
I must piece myself together at dawn
And begin the day anew.
.
[Liz Miller, 2014]
“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”
–Toni Morrison
Chuck Palahniuk phrases the same sentiment rather succinctly: “Write the book you want to read.”
Easier said than done, of course, but there is no reason why we shouldn’t take this advice into account. Let us go forth and create, fellow writers.
I’m including this short post as a way to introduce the new form my blog may take in the upcoming months. As classes have recently begun, I fear that I may have less time to compose thoughtful and comprehensive posts. Therefore, I have elected to post–at least on a weekly basis–small pieces that I find inspiring, significant, or otherwise worth mentioning. This may involve quotes, photos, poems, personal thoughts, or a whole host of items, the point being that I do not neglect this space, as was the case last semester. This blog has come to mean a lot to me, and I do not wish to forego personal writing.
Something about William Blake’s illustrated edition of Edward Young’s Night-Thoughts particularly strikes me. I am not sure whether it’s the childlike innocence about the engravings that perfectly captures the “fleeting time” essence of the poem, or whether it is the hauntingly beautiful reminder that death lurks behind life as the shadow of every living moment.
Here follows one of my favorite illustrations, one that embodies everything I love about this edition:
Blake certainly had an interesting brain in his head, and I lament that not enough people are well acquainted with his talents.
Of course, one cannot forget the brilliant author of Night-Thoughts, Edward Young. After all, he did provide us with that famous aphorism, “Procrastination is the thief of time.”
Courtesy of Project Gutenberg:
Not even Philander had bespoke his shroud;
Nor had he cause; a warning was denied.
How many fall as sudden, not as safe!
As sudden, though for years admonish’d home.
Of human ills the last extreme beware,
Beware, Lorenzo! a slow sudden death.
How dreadful that deliberate surprise!
Be wise to-day; ’tis madness to defer;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Thus on, till wisdom is push’d out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time;
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
If not so frequent, would not this be strange?
That ’tis so frequent, this is stranger still.
Lady Leviathan 