Wake Up!

I just bought the new John Legend and the Roots album "Wake Up!" It is all covers from the sixties and seventies about issues of social and political importance. I'm so glad I went out and bought the album instead of downloading it from itunes. Not only is it cooler to have the actual CD and CD case, but the booklet has cool reflections on what they are trying to do with this album, and how our generation is so apathetic and our musicians (I think they are targeting pop and hip-hop) aren't saying anything about initiating change. They include a quote from Nina Simone, "it's the job of an artist to reflect the times." The album was first thought of after Obama's presidential bid. They've been working away, uncovering old protest soul, and they came up with this album. I think it's a great way to introduce social justice to a new generation that needs to wake up.

Speaking of waking up, I have a really hard time getting out of bed every day. I sleep ten hours a night, and I never feel rested. I go to the doctor tomorrow, so we shall see what happens.

I'm sitting here with wet hair even though I have class in half an hour, which means I need to leave in fifteen minutes, yet I'm blogging. It's warm enough I can just put my hair up or wear a hat for this class and do my hair after class. Today is a day I don't care what I look like. I am wearing jeans and a t-shirt, no make up, and I'm sporting wet hair. I like having these days once in a while. Days where I'm just naturally me. It makes me want to sip tea and journal all afternoon, but instead I have class, a break, class, and then a meeting. Talk about creatively stifling.

I heard this awesome author speak about his book. He talked about how sometimes you have to sacrifice for your writing--even if that means not necessarily giving 100% to school. He went to Central for his MA before getting his MFA. He recommended I consider it, if I can get it paid for because that will buy me two extra years to just write and work on a book. Then, I will get some teaching experience and possibly be able to get into an even more competitive MFA program--where I could then put the finishing touches on a book to publish. I'm considering it.

I've been reading lots of poetry, which is nice. It always makes me more observant of little things. A friend of mine and I e-mail each other poems back and forth, which is always a nice surprise. I love that horses one I posted. The images are amazing. I am looking forward to presenting it to my class on Thursday. I get ten minutes to talk about the technique, lines, sounds, etc... basically I just get to gush over how much I love it.

I don't have much more to say, and I need to go to class, but I would much rather sit here, reflecting. Ugh the life of a student.

A Pretty Poem I'm Presenting in Class this Week

I saw this woman perform this poem at a writing conference. She has horses tattooed on her arm and said she had a vision of her horse that told her to stop drinking, so she listened to it. Amazing, huh? What a beautiful soul.

She Had Some Horses

by Joy Harjo

She had some horses.

She had horses who were bodies of sand.

She had horses who were maps drawn of blood.

She had horses who were skins of ocean water.

She had horses who were the blue air of sky.

She had horses who were fur and teeth.

She had horses who were clay and would break.

She had horses who were splintered red cliff.

She had some horses.

She had horses with eyes of trains.

She had horses with full, brown thighs.

She had horses who laughed too much.

She had horses who threw rocks at glass houses.

She had horses who licked razor blades.

She had some horses.

She had horses who danced in their mothers’ arms.

She had horses who thought they were the sun and their

bodies shone and burned like stars.

She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.

She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet

in stalls of their own making.

She had some horses.

She had horses who liked Creek Stomp Dance songs.

She had horses who cried in their beer.

She had horses who spit at male queens who made them afraid of

themselves.

She had horses who said they weren’t afraid.

She had horses who lied.

She had horses told the truth, who were stripped

bare of their tongues.

She had some horses.

She had horses who called themselves, “horse.”

She had horses who called themselves, “spirit,” and kept

their voices secret and to themselves.

She had horses who had no names.

She had horses who had books of names.

She had some horses.

She had horses who whispered in the dark, who were afraid to speak.

She had horses who screamed out of fear of the silence, who

carried knives to protect themselves from ghosts.

She had horses who waited for destruction.

She had horses who waited for resurrection.

She had some horses.

She had horses who got down on their knees for any savior.

She had horses who thought their high price had saved them.

She had horses who tried to save her, who climbed in her

bed at night and prayed as they raped her.

She had some horses.

She had some horses she loved.

She had some horses she hated.

These were the same horses.

Little Droplets

Things are going well. Just okay most days, but what really excites me is that I have good days--days where I can stop and think, "today was a good day." Poetry has been going okay. The portfolio is in the getting-feedback-stage. I think it's important I keep my creative outlets open.

Last Thursday, I had a great day. There was no particular reason, and it was a rainy day. I left early for everything, when normally I am power-walking, running late. I walked slowly with my pink polka dot umbrella (thanks, Mom). I was reminded how beautiful our campus is. There were little droplets hanging from leaves and flower petals. I listened to jazz music and enjoyed the rain.

The apartment is much homier this year. We have plenty of seating in the living room, and I just bought a great Beatles poster. It's not one of the cliche ones, but instead it's of the four of them dressed up in suits. John and Paul are shaking hands and laughing Plus, Leslie bought some modern looking flowers with feathers in the back ground. We have Buddha sitting on top of my carefully organized book shelf, and a nice dining room table. My friend that claims she can feel people's energy says that both my apartment and I have a new energy. She says I look like a completely different person than I was. I don't know if I believe in reading energies, but she sure is right about me being a totally different person than I was a year ago.

A Poem for the Soul

Note to Slip in Your Pocket, Never Slipped

by Erica Wright

Did your mother ask when you'll bring a wife,
purse her lips until they disappeared?
Did you show her the ceramic bird

then shut it away with the other
birthday gifts? You say you're better
off than most married folks you know,

and I want to toss off,
let's you and me make a go of it.
You can fill your truck bed with hydrangeas.

I'll dig their holes with my hands.
Then again, to be honest, I don't much care
for dirt, so let's scratch the whole thing,

can't we? I never told you about the night
your friend sang to me as I clutched
his infant son in my lap and asked

when's Susan getting back from her sister's.
As if my refusal had anything
to do with him, he shrank and snapped,

you're holding him wrong.
I don't know how to hold anything.
I'm trying to say I've only done one thing right,

and that was leave. I'm trying to say
I can show you how if you'd like.
Step one: let your wings grow back;

ignore the sores they make
on your shoulder blades; welcome
the dun-colored feathers and infection.