Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Some Emily Dickinson for a rainy Friday.

Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson

 

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

 

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

 

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

 

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Dews drew quivering and Chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

 

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

 

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity –

Ozymandias

I decided to read one of my favorite poems.

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

 

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."



Kiss With Teeth Teaser

In the forthcoming weeks, I'll be releasing a small collecting of poetry called Kiss With Teeth. 

I have decided to post a teaser- me reading the titular poem.

Kiss With Teeth

A kiss doesn’t have to be
some tender thing
whispered 
through a chink in a wall
in the dead of night.

A kiss doesn’t have to be
something fragile
like a flower
made of glass
and paper.

A kiss doesn’t have to be
a tranquilized animal
laying in its cage
indifferent
as tourists shuffle by

A kiss can be a blur of fur
and claw
and tooth.

Getting Some Breakfast at Tiffany's

Breakfast at Tiffany's is no doubt an iconic piece of fiction. It catapulted Audrey Hepburn into the limelight and made her the subject of posters plastered on the dorm walls of basic bitches everywhere.

Holly Golightly: the patron saint of basic bitches.

Holly Golightly: the patron saint of basic bitches.

However, the 1961 film is apparently pretty different from the Truman Capote novella that I just finished reading. This is of course based on what I read from Wikipedia, as I've never actually seen the movie.

The first thing I realized was that there actually wasn't anybody named Tiffany in the story. Rather, Hepburn plays a wild young socialite named Holly Golightly. The title instead refers to Holly's habit of going to Tiffany's whenever she's feeling down.

Breakfast at Tiffany's is beautifully written. Capote has a way with dialogue, in spite of the fact he doesn't use quotation marks. Holly's manner of speaking is a distinct kind of booshie accent, peppered with strange emphasis and random French. (Apparently, Capote and his circle of friends spoke in a similar way.) It's written in such a way where you can hear exactly how Holly sounds. 

The plot, told from the prospective of Holly's neighbor (a writer and an arguable author-avatar), isn't that exciting. That is, nothing particularly happens. Things are completely driven by the characters (specifically Holly). 

Don't think I didn't like this story just because the plot is loose. The core of the story is about identity and finding a home. The narrator's journey to establish himself as a writer is at the peripheral of the novel while Holly's search for a home of her own is front and center. 

I found Holly's journey especially relate-able because I am at a similar point in my life. That is, I'm trying to make a home for myself and carve out my place in this world. I think anybody in my age bracket (18-29) can identify with this story and will take something away from it.

Just to note: Breakfast at Tiffany's is really short. Like, 100 pages maybe. The version of the book that I own includes three other short stories by Capote, and I have to say that they're remarkable. They're written in a similar way, in that, the narrator isn't the main focus of the story. Rather, the story is always about someone else seen through their eyes. He does such a good job of making you care about this other person while also illustrating some (usually sad) facet of our own lives. 

Great writer.

Definitely check this book out.

Pick it up from Amazon here.

Image curteousy of tvtropes.org