<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:15:31.420-07:00</updated><title type='text'>chriscouto</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-111265331431150522</id><published>2005-04-04T15:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-04T15:21:54.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/128/4568/640/dance1.jpg'&gt;&lt;img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/128/4568/320/dance1.jpg'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Kermess by Pieter Brueghel&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-111265331431150522?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/111265331431150522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=111265331431150522' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111265331431150522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111265331431150522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/04/kermess-by-pieter-brueghel.html' title=''/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-111265309683608453</id><published>2005-04-04T14:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-04T15:18:16.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dance</title><content type='html'>In Breughel's great picture,  The Kermess,&lt;br /&gt;the dancers go round, they go round and&lt;br /&gt;around,  the squeal and the blare and the&lt;br /&gt;tweedle of bagpipes,  a bugle and fiddles&lt;br /&gt;tipping their bellies (round as the thick-&lt;br /&gt;sided glasses whose wash they impound)&lt;br /&gt;their hips and their bellies off balance&lt;br /&gt;to turn them.   Kicking and rolling about&lt;br /&gt;the Fair Grounds,  swinging their butts,  those&lt;br /&gt;shanks must be sound to bear up under such&lt;br /&gt;rollicking measures,  prance as they dance&lt;br /&gt;in Breughel's great picture,  The Kermess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;     This poem by William Carlos Williams imitates and reads like a dance itself.   The poem's structure or lack there of is continuous and fluid like a dance.   There are no stanza's in the poem which resembles dance in that once the music starts the end only arrives once the music has stopped.   There are only two periods in the poem one of which is at the end and the other just past the halfway mark perhaps resembling a rest in the vigorous music.   However the prevalent form of punctuation in the poem,  commas,  are placed in almost every line throughout the poem making the read a constan swirl of words and sounds.   The words used in the poem to describe the dance also adds to the characteristic of the poem itself feeling like a dance.   In every line ther is either a word that describes music,  instruments or a body parts action in relation to the music,  or the sound created.   Words like tipping,  tweedle,  kicking,  and rolling are action words that create an energy in the audience by watching people dance.  &lt;br /&gt;     Pieter Brueghel as per the footnote at the bottom of page 1169 was the "Flemish painter of peasant life; 'kermess': a fair or dance.   William Carlos Williams captures the paintings essence beautifully as his words,  lack of rhyme scheme,  and lack of structure provide an effective image of joyous dancing.   Still the most capturing part of the poem,  personally,  was the part about the floor boards.   Williams imagines these over weight figures on planks of wood really enjoying their dance and music intensely and comes to the conclusion that the planks are not only well crafted but adds them into the dance by saying that they prance as the dancers dance.   Everything is in unison - the dancers,  the music,  the bellies,  and even the boards on which they are dancing on. &lt;br /&gt;     Although the poem seems to have no structure there is evidence of some order as the poem is in the shape of a square and every line's length is very close to the one before it and after it.   Although in the confines of the poem the people dance and play almost wildly there is a line that connot be crossed perhaps referring that this festival ans dancing does not take place at any random day but only on traditional feasts or festivals.   Brueghel was specifically known for his work depicting modest peasant life in villages or farms,  and a kermess is known as a festival or dance held to benefit a church on the town's patron saint's day.   It seems as though there is also an implied imperfect quality to the dance and music being performed.   Words as squeal and blaring are usually not words used to describe music that is being played.   "Bellies off balance" reinforces the notion that this is a peasant festival instead of a proper or formal kingly festival or traditional in which people are drinking and just having a good time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-111265309683608453?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/111265309683608453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=111265309683608453' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111265309683608453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111265309683608453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/04/dance.html' title='The Dance'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-111103088551709366</id><published>2005-03-16T19:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-16T19:41:25.520-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anecdote of the Jar continued</title><content type='html'>In my last blog I wrote about the poem "Anecdote of the Jar" by Wallace Stevens.   I got to a certain point in the poem that I wasn't sure exactly what to say about the poem,  I had nothing.   Today I returned to the same poem and found a few more interesting points that I believe I missed.&lt;br /&gt;       Firslty I believe that Stevens wants to outline that everything has its story.   A jar has a story,  a hat has its own story,  in general everything living or not has a story to be told about where they came from,  where they have been and where they come to rest for the time being.   I also realized that there is only one line that rhymes throughout the poem and this line is placed as close to the middle as possible.   The poem has no set rhyme scheme and is pretty much free verse.   However at the same time there is some structure to the poem as Tennessee is written only in the first and last lines and is the last word in both sentences.   That line that rhymes in the middle of the poem as mentioned earlier serves as a point of reminder that this is a poem trying to get a point across.   The beginning of the poem seemes to be somewhat loose and random then we get to the middle and it has order only to go back to its original random thought.   Maybe not random but instead struggling.   The jar can only be a symbol of humans and if so there is a defininte struggle between nature and this jar.   Still with that rhyming line in the middle and the line after it, "And tall and a port in air" there seems to be a dependance between nature and manking.    Its as if there's a constant struggle throughout the poem between the two worlds and a dependance that binds the two.   The struggle that exists between nature and humans cannot be won by either.   Nature as proven many times has the ability to be devastating and humans have the ability to cut down trees for wood to heat their homes (years ago).   So who's winning?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-111103088551709366?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/111103088551709366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=111103088551709366' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111103088551709366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111103088551709366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/03/anecdote-of-jar-continued.html' title='Anecdote of the Jar continued'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-111094516656051243</id><published>2005-03-15T19:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-15T19:52:46.563-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anecdote of the Jar</title><content type='html'>I placed a jar in Tennessee&lt;br /&gt;And round it was,  upon a hill.&lt;br /&gt;It made the slovenly wilderness&lt;br /&gt;Surround that hill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Wilderness rose up to it,&lt;br /&gt;And sprawled around,  no longer wild.&lt;br /&gt;The jar was round upon the ground&lt;br /&gt;And tall and of a port in air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took dominion everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;The jar was gray and bare.&lt;br /&gt;It did not give of bird or bush,&lt;br /&gt;Like nothing else in Tennessee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wallace Stevens&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       Due to the lecture on Monday and our tutorial I have found an interest in the poetry of Wallace Stevens and William Carlos Williams.   I find that knowing about the poets life in moderation always creates more curiousity and motivation to surround myself in his/her poems.   A point that was interesting concerning the poems of Wallace Stevens are his subtle yet full titles,  the poem I chose was no exception.   "Anecdote of the Jar" is at first glance a strange title,  one that begs further contemplation as the words anecdote and jar are usually not placed together in a sentence.   An anecdote is mainly a short stroy dealing with a single incident as per Webster's dictionary.   So what do we have so far?  The story of the jar.&lt;br /&gt;          Another characteristic of Wallace Stevens is his undying devotion to finding or discovering beauty in unusual places or uncommon settings.   In the first stanza the poems describes the placement of a round jar on a hill in Tennessee.   Although I'm not sure of the significance of the setting of Tennessee the jar is able to make wilderness "surround that hill."   It's funny how usually we don't notice a common surrounding or respect that surrounding until something is wrong with that environment.   A jar in the middle of the wilderness accentuates the wilderness as this simple "bare and gray" object distort or alter our perception or view of an otherwise regular and typical place.   Perhaps this is the significance of Tennessee,  the fact that Tennessee is as ordinary and plain as any other place.  &lt;br /&gt;       Wilderness is so fragile that by putting a jar on a hill it no longer can be described as wild.   At the moment when wilderness itself is altered slightly or modified by the human hand it is no longer wild as or original as before.   At the same time this jar placed on the ground on a hill would be the focal point of the vision.   This jar takes "dominion" in that respect,  that it owns our eyes and ultimatley our minds as we seek answers or solutions as to what is the purpose of the jar.  &lt;br /&gt;       Personally I fail to see the beauty or meaning of this poem.   I also with no avail, attempted to analyze the poem in terms of literary devices.   But the image presented is intriguing to me and I know I will continue to think about this poem after I finish writing this blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-111094516656051243?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/111094516656051243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=111094516656051243' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111094516656051243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/111094516656051243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/03/anecdote-of-jar.html' title='Anecdote of the Jar'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110758401789010196</id><published>2005-02-04T21:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-04T22:13:37.890-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I saw the title of this poem and read the footnote corresponding to the title and thought it would be interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ts'ai Chi'h&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The petals fall in the fountain,&lt;br /&gt;     the orange-colored rose-leaves,&lt;br /&gt;Their ochre clings to the stone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ezra Pound&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     The footnote that corresponds to the title of this poem reads; Ts'ai Chi'h, or more usually Ts'ap Chih, a Chinese poet (A.D 192-232) who wrote five-character poems.&lt;br /&gt;     The points that interested me about the footnote was how long ago the poet wrote, the fact that the poet was Chinese and the style of his poetry, five character poems.   I don't believe I've ever looked at any type of poetry influenced by a Chinese poet.  American influence is quite popular and when studying different eras European poetry is often reflected upon.   Conveying a relevant ideas or message in five characters also seems daunting.  I then became interested in what Pound had created in relation to all that I had learned by simply reading the titel of the poem and the corresponding note at the bottom of the page.&lt;br /&gt;     The first line is strong.  I think about and realize that this image is not the first of its type that I have been introduced to.  What I mean is that I have seen this before either in a movie or music video or something.  At the same time because I have experienced this vision before I can modify the way I see it in my mind by altering little things about the picture.  I can change the way the fountain looks or what kind of day it is etc.   Then there's a strange twist to the poem as the "rose-leaves" are orange.   I had never heard of rose leaves, petals are usually what are associated with roses not leaves and orange?  This suddle change of what we are so used to makes such a difference in the poem, it makes this short poem art and creative.  Pound takes an aspect of nature or poetry that I thought was universal and changes it.  It was a change that I thought to be extremely creative and rare and to me this is what poetry is about,  that one word that changes the core of the picture you had in your mind.  &lt;br /&gt;     The last continues the intensity throughout the poem.   What keeps thinking about this poem is the little changes that happen in every line that I would never have expected.   In the second line the shock is the color of the rose leaves and in the last line I see no water in the fountain.  the ochre or color of the the petals stick to the fountain.   Ochre is a pale yellowish color.  As the leaves fall they are orange yet as they stick to the stone of the foutain they become pale yellow.   By the end of this poem the image I had in my head has been completely revamped.   From petals to leaves, from fountain to stone (no water), and from falling to clinging, and from orange to ochre every word is truly significant.  Maybe the orange leaves are staining the stone of the fountain yellowish instead of the leaves themsleves clinging to the stone.  One of my favorite poems!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110758401789010196?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110758401789010196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110758401789010196' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110758401789010196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110758401789010196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/02/i-saw-title-of-this-poem-and-read.html' title=''/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110758075531398913</id><published>2005-02-04T20:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-04T21:19:15.313-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>On The Sea&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It keeps eternal whisperings around&lt;br /&gt;Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell&lt;br /&gt;Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns,  till the spell&lt;br /&gt;Of Hecate leaves them in their old shadowy sound.&lt;br /&gt;Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,&lt;br /&gt;That scarcely will the very smallest shell&lt;br /&gt;Be moved for days from where it sometime fell,&lt;br /&gt;When last the winds of Heaven were unbound.&lt;br /&gt;Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with the uproar rude,&lt;br /&gt;Or fed too much with cloying melody-&lt;br /&gt;Sit ye near some ole Cavern's Mouth and brood,&lt;br /&gt;Until ye start, as if the sea nymphs quired!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;John Keats&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I loved the way the poem opens with eternal whisperings being kept around.  This mysterious introduction implies romanticism immediately.  I also realized that the sea and word eternal have a common parallel.  Countries throughout history change while the sea does not.  As time passes the countries' people and image changes.  Wars force a country to be rebuilt and other countries influence the rebirth of their neighbour countries.  Seas on the other hand remain constant as travellers since the beginning use them as a means of travel.  On these long voyages of discovery, war path, or adventure I can only imagine the array of emotions and conversations that have been held at sea.&lt;br /&gt;     The word "Cavern" that is continuously mentioned throughout the poem, and capitalized adds to this sense of mystery.  Cavern meaning a deep cave.  Hecate which is the Greek goddess associated with witchcraft and the underworld is also brought into the equation.  When I looked up the word swell I found that it meant the heaving of the sea after a storm.   The language in this poem paints a very mysterious picture.  The violent movement of the water after a storm invading these deep caves in the ocean until "the spell of Hecate leaves them in their old shadowy sound".&lt;br /&gt;     After creating this vigorous image a gentle and soft side of the sea is seen.   Even though such rough conditions can take place, a simple, small seashell can remain barely moved from where it was dropped some time ago.  The words "gentle" and "temper" beside each other provide an interesting prardox.  What is a gentle temper? I think Keats described a gentle temper extremely well with his seashell example.   There also seems to be a cycle at work in nature, an understanding almost that there forces are to work hand in hand.   Heaven's "unbound" wind is what pushes this shell to where it falls and the water which moves furiously in and out of this cavern after a storm barley moves this little object as if there's a respect for eachother's elements.&lt;br /&gt;     The poem concludes on an exciting note.  Go hear the "melody" that is created.   Hear the sound until you start thinking anxiously as if "sea nymphs" wrote poetry is the message to be taken in  by his poem, and a beautiful one it is.   The poem commences with high energy and retains it throughout until the very last word.   By the end of the poem one is convinved that experiencing this aspect of nature is a must.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110758075531398913?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110758075531398913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110758075531398913' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110758075531398913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110758075531398913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/02/on-sea-it-keeps-eternal-whisperings.html' title=''/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110757739696043044</id><published>2005-02-04T19:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-04T20:23:16.960-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:&lt;br /&gt;   Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:&lt;br /&gt;I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;&lt;br /&gt;   It stinks; and I am ready to depart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walter Savage Landor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   I've often wondered how is it that a person finds themselves?  What I've come to conclude is that a person grows up by thinking about issues of pain, love, death etc.  I believe its healthy to ponder such topics in depth and even exchange your ideas with a person close to you. &lt;br /&gt;   Last week I heard a person say that "in pain the soul refines itself".  This phrase has ran through my mind countless times in the past week.  This quote gives sense to why there is pain in life.  So seldom do we reflect on anything when everything is going well.  Like Rosita said about starting life anew, life seems to be brought in to context once again when our world is shaken.  Our foundations are so fragile and life can really "stink" at times.&lt;br /&gt;   The first line of this poem struck me as odd.  Was their nobody in this poets life that was worth strife?  What kind of life can this be in which strife has been avoided? Is it even possible? It seems to have negative tone to it, as soon as life starts to stink departure is the way out.  The poem according to my perspective has been written backwards. When we are ready to depart because "life stinks" is when we need to turn to nature and art as an inspiration to find a new birth.    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110757739696043044?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110757739696043044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110757739696043044' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110757739696043044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110757739696043044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/02/dying-speech-of-old-philosopher-i.html' title=''/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110581099273612809</id><published>2005-01-15T08:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-15T09:43:12.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bon Amors</title><content type='html'>What Should I Say&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What should I say&lt;br /&gt;Since faith is dead,&lt;br /&gt;And truth away&lt;br /&gt;From you is fled?&lt;br /&gt;Should I be led&lt;br /&gt;With doubleness?&lt;br /&gt;Nay, nay, Mistress!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I promised you&lt;br /&gt;And you promised me,&lt;br /&gt;To be as true&lt;br /&gt;As I would be;&lt;br /&gt;But since I see&lt;br /&gt;Your double heart,&lt;br /&gt;Farewell my part!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though for to take&lt;br /&gt;It is not my mind&lt;br /&gt;But to forsake-&lt;br /&gt;I am not blind-&lt;br /&gt;And as I find&lt;br /&gt;So will I trust.&lt;br /&gt;Farewell, unjust!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can ye say nay?&lt;br /&gt;But you said&lt;br /&gt;That I alway&lt;br /&gt;Should be obeyed;&lt;br /&gt;And thus betrayed&lt;br /&gt;Or that I wist-&lt;br /&gt;Farewell, unkist!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     In last weeks lecture we talked about a kind of love or a kind of poetry about love that focued around certain language that portrayed strong feelings.  It was a very different kind of love than Sappho's love poetry that was very intense and passionate.  This poetry that was brought alive by Dante Alighieri and Francesco Petrarca was a patient poetry in which a key emotion that usually surfaced in the poetry was a deep yearning for the loved one.&lt;br /&gt;     Since Thomas Wyatt was mentioned in lecture as one of the first poets who successfullly translated this type of poetry into english I decided to look at one of his poems.  I picked "What ShouldI Say" as my poem because of the title.  I find that in any situation where there is a desire for someone the first question asked in our minds or to our friends is, what should I say? or what should I do? I found the title very appropriate and real even today.&lt;br /&gt;     After reading the first stanza however I found that this poem was not looking for the words to swoop someone of their feet, but quite the opposite.  It seems that this poem is deeling with feelings and ideas of betrayal of faith as is says, "faith is dead."  Two negative questions are asked in the stanza, "and truth away from you is fled?", and "should I be led with doubleness?"  Though their both questions I think because of the way the questions are asked the speaker knows the answer to both but has not yet accepted the answers.  I come to this conclusion also because of the last line of the stanza as it says, "nay, nay mistress."  On the other hand it could be that this faith that has been lost between the two was misunderstood.  The term mistress means an upper class married woman.  A typical characteristic of this type of love poetry can be a false sense of committment and love as the desire is often for a partner already committed.&lt;br /&gt;     In the second stanza this promise is uncovered and the relationship at hand is clearly severed.  The speaker is coming to the realization that its over ans this is something that I haven't seen too often in this love poetry.  Still the strong emotional feelings that are signature to creating this type of poetry are present as this loss leaks into the third stanza.  In this stanza it is confirmed that he still will trust as it comes for what was taken was not his mind.  The speaker in the poem also feels the need to clearly state that he is not blind, erasing the common stigma that love is blind.  I believe this statement as the doubleness of the partner was seen.&lt;br /&gt;     Still this last stanza throws a twist and makes me think that the poem is actually about a married couple whose marriage has gone arye instead of a relationship in which one desires a married woman.. I think this because in the last stanza it seems that a vow is repeated as it was said from one to the other, a type of vow that was said in marriage.  It starts as if to say........can you deny it? after saying "I will be faithful to you" and then betray.  Either way there is a painful emotion to this poem that deals with love and all that it can bring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110581099273612809?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110581099273612809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110581099273612809' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110581099273612809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110581099273612809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/01/bon-amors.html' title='Bon Amors'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110512686169552003</id><published>2005-01-07T10:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-07T11:41:01.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sappho</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I have no complaint&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no complaint &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;prosperity that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;the golden Muses &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;gave me was no &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;delusion: dead, I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;won't be forgotten &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Sappho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I was looking over some poems by Sappho and came across this one.  I read it over a couple times and though its short and straightforward as far as language, structure etc I'm having difficulty fully understanding it.  I was thinking that this poem could possibly have been written at a time when Sappho had asserted her skill in the arts.  What the Muses had given her was no delusion,  the ability to write influential poetry in a significant time and place.   Sappho was able to write in a very unique period in ancient Greece.&lt;br /&gt;     The mentioning of death in the poem also interests me eventhough I'm still not sure what is the deeper meaning behing it.  Most people I assume, would think that in death they would be forgotten.  Sappho on the other hand states that in her death she will be remembered.  Is it possible that Sappho had realized that she would be that kind of artist, the kind that is so unique and moving that in life controversy is stirred and in death art is created?  The poem sounds confident and strong.  Having no complaints seems peaceful and quiet.  In fact a lot of poetry is usually about complaints. &lt;br /&gt;     This poem is so simple and I don't know what its about.  Could it be so simple that it just means literally what it says, or is there something I'm missing? Usually when analyzing I look for literary tools that authors often use to construct a poem such as the rhyme scheme, images etc.  This poem doesn't have any of that.  At the same time I feel like the poem is tryinig to say a lot in the simple lines.  It touches on important subjects like death, rememberance in death, the Muses or faith, and complaints or the nature of humans. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110512686169552003?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110512686169552003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110512686169552003' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110512686169552003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110512686169552003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2005/01/sappho.html' title='Sappho'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110315098270925663</id><published>2004-12-15T13:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-15T14:49:42.710-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aging</title><content type='html'>Lately I've been pondering the concept of aging for some reason.  A couple of days ago I looked at my Granfather and realized something that had never dawned on me before, though very obvious.  I realized that my Grandfather was becoming old, and that realistically I don't have an abundance of time left with him.   That night I went home and found a poem by William Butler Yeats that dealt with the theme of aging and thoughts that come with aging. This following poem is by William Butler Yeats and is on page 1085 in the anthology.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When You Are Old&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are old and grey and full of sleep,&lt;br /&gt;And nodding by the fire, take down this book,&lt;br /&gt;And slowly read, and dream of the soft look&lt;br /&gt;Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many loved your moments of glad grace,&lt;br /&gt;And loved your beauty with love false or true,&lt;br /&gt;But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,&lt;br /&gt;And loved the sorrows of your changing face;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And bending down beside the glowing bars,&lt;br /&gt;Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled&lt;br /&gt;And paced upon the mountains overhead&lt;br /&gt;And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     Age is a delicate a private issue that each individual at some point must face.  For many age is a time when there is a lot of time available to reflect upon past relationships as questions of what could have been are wrestled with.  The poem appears to deal with the reflection of some sort of relationship.  The introduction of grey color imagery at the beginning of the poem immediately sets a tired, somber mood.  There is also constant reference to sleep which add to this mood.  The speaker is worn out and only has the energy to think and reflect.  As the poem goes on the reader also gets the impression that the relationship was somewhat special using reference to eyes which have been related to the soul.&lt;br /&gt;     The word love or loved is also used often in this poem.  It implies a certain intimacy that was shared and remembered, a lot of emotion towards this relationship.  The love seems to be true as the description of her soul uses strong, defined words.  It also says that the love prevailed over time and as her appearance changed.  The third stanza is a heavy stanza as it introduces the notion of death.  Sometimes it becomes too late for us to express our feelings, or too late ot simply talk.  We seem to think we have all the time in the world but in essence we're not even guaranteed tomorrow.  Because of this poem I also realized something else, that everyone takes with them to the stars secrets and/or certain thoughts of the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110315098270925663?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110315098270925663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110315098270925663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110315098270925663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110315098270925663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/12/aging.html' title='Aging'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-110166399010018562</id><published>2004-11-28T08:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-28T09:46:30.100-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Simplicity</title><content type='html'>The Goal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the fire is ignited,&lt;br /&gt;like a predator pouncing,&lt;br /&gt;like a lover excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;with passion and power,&lt;br /&gt;it wiggles and weaves,&lt;br /&gt;along the crisp, white powder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;leather on leather,&lt;br /&gt;invading like a feather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by Chris Couto&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I don't know if this poem qualifies as a simple poem.  When I thought of simple things that provoke emotion, that's what I came up with.   The poem is specifically about a certain player that I like watching on Sunday mornings.  My Sunday mornings are, you could say almost dedicated to watching this player.   Its a simple act that completes and starts my weeks.   If for some reason this routine is altered my day and week sometimes don't feel right. &lt;br /&gt;     People are defined by simple things.  Certain simple gestures define a person, simple gestures content a person,  simple words move a person, and simple behaviour facilitates life.  Even in something as complicated as the business words many times the solutions or ideas are simple.   For example I was once taught that an airline company was saved from bankruptcy by simply removing two olives from every first class dinner plate.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;         &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-110166399010018562?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/110166399010018562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=110166399010018562' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110166399010018562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/110166399010018562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/11/simplicity.html' title='Simplicity'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109984805899442337</id><published>2004-11-07T08:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-07T09:20:58.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Guest Lecturer</title><content type='html'>    I really enjoyed Dr. Sharp's lecture last week.  In Particular what I took away from the lecture was that he attempts to understand the reason for the Iliad,  and the time at which it was written.  It's one thing to simply read it and then criticize it in its favor or not but like he said this literature is what we get our current literature form.  Right away he makes a distinction about battle that i had not recognized,  that there are two types - military, and spiritual.   I had never thought of the search of identity as a spiritual battle.   In fact,  maybe they can even be intertwined,  battle in the name of religion.&lt;br /&gt;    He also asked a question that demanded my thought throughout the whole subway ride home that day,   what would it be like to live in a time where someone else has everything i don't have and can't get (knowledge).   Essentially that was the time of the Iliad.   The poet or story teller was sacred as they held the resposibility of passing knowledge.&lt;br /&gt;      Dr. Sharp brought everything to very simple terms.   He stated that humans will never understand two things,  what could they be I thought? Life and Death.   How true.  We seek to understand and know as much as possible but life and death itself in its purest sense will continue to be mysterious forever.   Both these topics coincidentally are quite popular in literature throughout time.   I also found it creative that he used us today as an aid in understanding the Iliad.   He asked us what qualities arise when something we believe is ours is taken from us.   Single-mindedness!!!! Today is the same,  there are constant little battles amongst us constantly due to our emotions.   Speaking of emotions he also touche on "hubris,"  the quality of excessive pride that is usually responsible for the downfall of the character or state.   Again too much pride, even today can easily cloud decisions and lead to enormous mistakes.   I realize now that the Iliad has meaning not historucally but also today for me.   People then could learn something from the Iliad and I,  today can learn form the Iliad.   I think that thought alone gives me more motivation to read it and will most likely provide for more enjoyment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109984805899442337?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109984805899442337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109984805899442337' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109984805899442337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109984805899442337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/11/guest-lecturer.html' title='Guest Lecturer'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109908994114914346</id><published>2004-10-29T15:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T15:45:41.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Caedmon's Hymn</title><content type='html'>Now we must praise     &lt;em&gt;heaven&lt;/em&gt;-kingdom's &lt;em&gt;Guardian&lt;/em&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;the Measurer's &lt;em&gt;might&lt;/em&gt;     and his mind-plans,&lt;br /&gt;the work of the Glory-Father,     when he of wonders of every one,&lt;br /&gt;eternal &lt;em&gt;Lord,&lt;/em&gt;     the beginning established.&lt;br /&gt;He first   &lt;em&gt;created&lt;/em&gt;     for men's sons&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;heaven &lt;/em&gt;as a roof,     holy &lt;em&gt;creator&lt;/em&gt;;&lt;br /&gt;then middle-&lt;em&gt;earth&lt;/em&gt;     mankind's &lt;em&gt;Guardian&lt;/em&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;eternal &lt;em&gt;Lord&lt;/em&gt;,     afterwards made-&lt;br /&gt;for men&lt;em&gt; earth&lt;/em&gt;,     Master &lt;em&gt;almighty.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I found this poem via a classmates blog and became interested in for numerous reason.    It was originally a hymn that was created around the year 680.    I was fascinated by how old this poem is.    Though many can state that the Odyssey and the Iliad are probably amongst the oldest forms of poetry,  what makes this special is that it wasn't a story that was passed on from generation to generation in a culture.   These lyrics were recited originally with a poetic charge in mind.&lt;br /&gt;     I also found it amusing how there wasn't a significant rhyme scheme that could be calculated,  unlike so many poems i often study.   The words rhyme scheme always come up in analyzing a poem.   Still the best part about this was that even with no rhyme scheme the hymn manages to create a rhythmn and flow.    Many words are repeated,  notice all the words in italics.   I believe this is partly what accounts for the continuous flow of the hymn.   The fact that Caedmon also uses som many different words to describe the Supreme Being is interesting.    The aboriginal people like Caedmon also use many words to describe snow,  something which is very important and respected amongst their culture.    Caedmon uses,  in every line,  new symbolic words such as Guardian,  Master,  Measurer,  Father etc.  &lt;br /&gt;    As i went on to read the text in the book below the poem i also found it interesting that the hymn is split into half line that are connected bby alliteration.   Can you believe it alliteration existed in the year 680!!!!!   Anyhow i was wondering if anyone had any idea why the hymn would be split into these half lines?    My best guess for this is that possibly,  since it was a hymn splittib the lines made for a more effective presentation musically.   The hymn also contains,  especially near the beginning,  certain words that really imply urgeny and a great deal of commmitment.    Words such as "might,"  and "now we &lt;em&gt;must&lt;/em&gt;" are strong words that seem to invoke an attitiude upon which reminds the congregation not to forget the dedication expected and the power of the "Master almight."   &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109908994114914346?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109908994114914346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109908994114914346' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109908994114914346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109908994114914346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/10/caedmons-hymn_29.html' title='Caedmon&apos;s Hymn'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109901683239104429</id><published>2004-10-28T16:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-28T19:27:12.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Caedmon's Hymn</title><content type='html'>k&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109901683239104429?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109901683239104429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109901683239104429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109901683239104429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109901683239104429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/10/caedmons-hymn.html' title='Caedmon&apos;s Hymn'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109900574079869635</id><published>2004-10-28T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-28T16:22:20.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cae</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109900574079869635?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109900574079869635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109900574079869635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109900574079869635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109900574079869635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/10/cae.html' title='Cae'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109717163227593824</id><published>2004-10-07T09:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-07T10:53:52.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I must forget.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Must What?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I MUST forget you,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But I should not&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I MUST forget you,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But I know I cannot&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I must forget you?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;no.  no time.   &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I must climb, I must love, I must fall,  sail,  fight,  live&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and live again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       What is good poetry and what is bad poetry?   Forget all that technical stuff about what makes this or that good or not.   For me if i like it - it's good,  and if i don't like it it's bad (only to me of course).   But there are some poems that are just overall bad.   To tell you the truth i don't really care about classifying poems as either good or bad,  it reminds me of other subjects such as philosophy, or math - is this philosophers argument vaild?  Classifying poems,  in my opinion will only damage the genre of poetry.    Don't classify it - read it,  write it,  enjoy it!!!&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;       Now i'm starting to get angry.....why do we now-a-days have to calssify everything?   Why can't our society live freely to just simply enjoy and live.   Instead we waste years trying to group things so that we uniformily believe in common theories.    I think this it what leads to a lack of creativity in todays world.   I think of all the great musicians and artists that have come and gone in the past,  and i wonder will any come out of our generation?  The scary thing is i don't think so - people become scared of creating "BAD" work.   They cannot express themselves due to this fear and eventually forget how to think for themselves.  &lt;br /&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;       Many times this classifiying business just gets overturned anyways.   In one of my other classes we looked at how Marx was dismissed for many of his ideas about capitalism,  now he's considered one of the most relevant economic thinkers that lived.   Truthfully, what do we really  know?  &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109717163227593824?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109717163227593824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109717163227593824' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109717163227593824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109717163227593824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/10/i-must-forget.html' title='I must forget.....'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109657204660976554</id><published>2004-09-30T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-30T12:20:46.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Impossible!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;       I believe its impossible to HATE poetry, in all that it is.   Poetry has many sides to it....reading it, perceiving it, writing it, feeling it and many others.   I don't enjoy writing poetry mainly because i find i have great difficulty expressing myself creatively through words.   At the same time i love analyzing and reading poems.   I find something mysterious and intriguing about not knowing exactly what somebody meant and felt as they put specific words together while in thought or reflection of an emotion.     I believe that poetry tries to explain and educate much like philosophy math, or science, just in a different way.   Poetry uses the mind and experiences to question this life instead of formulas and theories.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       Poetry is art and art is all around us everyday.   We are art, a soccer game is art, a relationship is art,  music is art, a tree transforming its identity in autumn is art.   People have to like some kind of art.   I would define art as something that provokes some sort of emotion,  so unless you've walked every day of your life without feeling something you are taking part in critiquing art.  &lt;br /&gt;       WORDS..........something i'm amazed with.    Words have such power.   Sometimes i wonder if we are who we are because of words instead of experiences.   After all we might of been convinced, encouraged or driven to these experiences through the use of words.   Personally i've had the experience of really loving the lyrics of a song,  or loving a line or phrase of a movie and i figure that's poetry.   I guess what i'm trying to say is that you don't have to love writing or analyzing poetry to love poetry,   if a song reminds you of an occasion or a character in a movie makes you wish you were in the movie poetry is at work as a combination of words has caught you......and you didn't even know!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109657204660976554?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109657204660976554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109657204660976554' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109657204660976554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109657204660976554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/09/impossible.html' title='Impossible!!!!'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109595807653841003</id><published>2004-09-23T09:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-23T09:47:56.540-07:00</updated><title type='text'>here we go.....</title><content type='html'>well i'm still trying to get a feel for this blogging.  I almost feel like the more i play around with it the more confused i get.  However, i'm sure i'll get used to it and the fact that i keep learning little things on these sites is exciting.   I've gotten a chance to see some other poeple's blog, and there are some really interesting pages out there....i find myself getting hooked on blogs!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109595807653841003?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109595807653841003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109595807653841003' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109595807653841003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109595807653841003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/09/here-we-go.html' title='here we go.....'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355198.post-109536446216527905</id><published>2004-09-16T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-23T09:44:08.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>new wave in learning!!!</title><content type='html'>I must say, I'm really excited about this new technique. I feel it will give me an oppertunity to be much more honest and open about how i fell about the pieces we will be studying. Unlike any other class so far in this class i will be able to express MY thoughts and simply and esclusively the thoughts of others before me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8355198-109536446216527905?l=chriscouto.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/feeds/109536446216527905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8355198&amp;postID=109536446216527905' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109536446216527905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8355198/posts/default/109536446216527905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chriscouto.blogspot.com/2004/09/new-wave-in-learning.html' title='new wave in learning!!!'/><author><name>chriscouto</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01582392088837635789</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
