Tonight I had a poetry resurgence. And I think I realized something very important. Tonight, a kind of lucidity of thought came to me, and the poetry spoke to me with such great clarity that I felt a kind of vibrancy in my being. I read Wordsworth, Coleridge, Frost, Dylan Thomas, Kafavis, and Hopkins. I've also incidentally been listening to this Snow Patrol song on repeat, which I highly recommend doing. Reading the poetry with this strange enhanced understanding has been exhilarating.
Reading Wordsworth and Coleridge can do nothing but bring me back to when I went to England in 2009, and brought me back to Russia's far north in 2010. Out of the blue I got a phone call from an old comrade, Bentley, and I was caught up in some interesting feelings. I remembered what it was like to study and learn from the humanities, I remembered the exhilaration of travel, and of raw life experience, and of meaningful human interactions, and most of all I remembered the glimpses of the sublime that Wordsworth and Coleridge tried to share with the rest of us.
Bentley jokingly encouraged me to apply for an MFA in creative writing at BYU. While I knew that practicality deemed such a move impossible, it still seemed to hurt to say no. Probably because it still feels like a remnant of that adventurous life that I thought I was living, one where worldly means didn't seem very important, stability was secondary to idealism, and what was most important was seeking enlightenment and personal progress. Money didn't seem like progress to me at the time, and a forty hour work week in a cubicle taking phone calls seemed like the worst kind of hell. It was the time where studies abroad, literature, poetry, beautiful settings, and language study were the only way to live, and if I settled for anything less in a career, then I'd failed myself.
What I realized tonight is that while those things are not any less beautiful and exciting, I don't have to regret their loss so much and give into paralyzing nostalgia. The feelings can be rekindled and applied to my current existence. I read the poetry, and it revitalized me, even as I lay sprawled on my chair and a half. Even as I'm planning on going to bed soon, getting seven hours of sleep and dragging myself to my customer service job in the morning. Maybe it's okay to keep your loves and high hopes separate from the labor that simply sustains your existence at the basest level. A boring job does not necessitate the cessation of good things. :) So as I read Tintern Abbey and Kubla Khan and other works of art, I felt stronger and more ready to face the existence that I have now, and to make the most of it.
In other news, I should have my grad school applications in soon. Wish me luck.
Reading Wordsworth and Coleridge can do nothing but bring me back to when I went to England in 2009, and brought me back to Russia's far north in 2010. Out of the blue I got a phone call from an old comrade, Bentley, and I was caught up in some interesting feelings. I remembered what it was like to study and learn from the humanities, I remembered the exhilaration of travel, and of raw life experience, and of meaningful human interactions, and most of all I remembered the glimpses of the sublime that Wordsworth and Coleridge tried to share with the rest of us.
Bentley jokingly encouraged me to apply for an MFA in creative writing at BYU. While I knew that practicality deemed such a move impossible, it still seemed to hurt to say no. Probably because it still feels like a remnant of that adventurous life that I thought I was living, one where worldly means didn't seem very important, stability was secondary to idealism, and what was most important was seeking enlightenment and personal progress. Money didn't seem like progress to me at the time, and a forty hour work week in a cubicle taking phone calls seemed like the worst kind of hell. It was the time where studies abroad, literature, poetry, beautiful settings, and language study were the only way to live, and if I settled for anything less in a career, then I'd failed myself.
What I realized tonight is that while those things are not any less beautiful and exciting, I don't have to regret their loss so much and give into paralyzing nostalgia. The feelings can be rekindled and applied to my current existence. I read the poetry, and it revitalized me, even as I lay sprawled on my chair and a half. Even as I'm planning on going to bed soon, getting seven hours of sleep and dragging myself to my customer service job in the morning. Maybe it's okay to keep your loves and high hopes separate from the labor that simply sustains your existence at the basest level. A boring job does not necessitate the cessation of good things. :) So as I read Tintern Abbey and Kubla Khan and other works of art, I felt stronger and more ready to face the existence that I have now, and to make the most of it.
In other news, I should have my grad school applications in soon. Wish me luck.
Точно. Я 100% согласна. Вот и всё.
ReplyDeleteand then you talked to your prosaic friend who managed to throw cold water all up ons your favorite poetry because she has no soul.....
ReplyDeletedon't worry. I still managed to get the blog post written.
DeleteTotally all about finding the magic in every day life... it's there--we just need to tap into it. Loved this post, Matt. :D
ReplyDeleteThanks Morgan. Your blog is exceptional, so a compliment from you is a big deal. :)
DeleteGreat post Matt!
ReplyDeleteI fully believe in keeping with things we love even when we can't invest as much time in them as we'd like to. You have to find balance in life.
ReplyDeleteOur madcap and remote adventures teach us about the wildness and raw beauty of life. Our prosaic daily experiences teach us about constancy, compassion and service. Both beautiful in their different ways... thanks for the essay.
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful, and something I've been thinking about a lot lately. You have such a gift - I'm excited to see what new adventures come in your life.
ReplyDeleteThanks Tally. Your compliment means a lot!
DeleteLeaving Eden for the cold and dreary world is a difficult thing! This was the topic of the first essay I wrote in England. But the beauty of art and poetry is that we can bring glimpses of Eden with us. :) It helps us remember, and that gives us strength. And if it was all we knew, then perhaps we wouldn't value it as we do.
ReplyDelete