Rachel’s Thoughts: To Helen (Poe)

Prose adaptation/modification/completelydifferentversionof  Edgar Allan Poe’s To Helen.

Helen, you look like a boat. Now don’t get me wrong; you’re pretty, and practical, too, like one of those log canoes the Indians used to paddle around in. But the kind of boat you remind me of is less the Nicean bark and a little more at home in the swamps of Florida.

Ever since you chalked your hair purple, your skin has seemed even more sickly pale, like mold. You’ve put on airs; you’re thinking Greece, or maybe Rome, but you’re more like London…in the middle of the plague.

You’re always posing–no, literally, posing, trying to look like Shakespeare and Arabian Nights. Even now you’re parading back and forth in front of the window. That flashlight in your hand: what are you doing with it, one if by land, two if by sea? Austen was wrong; your figure does not appear to best advantage while walking. Remember, love, you’re built like an aircraft carrier.

Perhaps I should be glad, my dear, that you don’t speak English, in light of what I’ve said. After all, you can’t help your looks, and I might wound your poor little psyche. But if I can offer some advice, my Arabian battleship, perhaps you should eat a little less?

Rachel’s Thoughts: Ode

Due to various assorted confusing misunderstandings and hectic end-of-senior-year stuff, I had to write two final stanzas for this Ode. Odes are supposed to be five verses, each with fourteen lines. This one is six verses, but the sixth one can be used in place of the fifth one (hence some repetition). 🙂

To the Sea:

This is not my image: courtesy of the Internet.

O deepest Sea, beneath thy stormy eye

Lies all the wealth the bounteous earth commands;

Above thy foam the flocking seabirds fly.

Your gleaming spray is tossed by playful hands,

And pearls encrust thy skeleton sublime;

Continue reading

Rachel’s Thoughts: A Poem To God

O Lord, your name forever stands engraved

Upon my heart; your mercy flawless craved

And sought with open arms to me receive;

I knelt before your throne and first believed.

Through many trials and temptations sore

I came, recalling oft the load you bore

That lightened was by grace and Father’s love;

By symbols formed: the cross, the fish, the dove.

Too trite, I feel, this poem my be for you,

Yet words are small and flow, I find, too few

For me to say the feelings in my heart,

Pierced as it is by your celestial dart.

Lord, I am not perfect, nor all white,

But for me came your son to conquer night,

His victory to me impart and free

My captive chains that once imprisoned me.

I live now free, a slave with liberty,

A life endowed with Christ’s own purity

And if I ever hope to pass those gates,

I will beseech the Lord who for me waits.

So may I close with words from time immortal

Who written were for men at death’s dark portal,

And giving them the credit for my boast

Forever praising Father, Son and Ghost.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow from high

Praise Him all creatures, drying tearful eye,

For he has come to take away all pain

Till Heav’n at last shall come to us again.

Rachel’s Thoughts: Sonnet: On Love

For my Lit class.

Though some say love is just a game for two,

Perhaps a star-struck moment, shared, then gone,

I strongly think these passions are not few;

Yet maiden hearts are never eas’ly won.

For many women fair have stood and mocked

Their lovers’ plight, and scorned the proffered hearts

Until their knights can free from dungeon locked

Their captive souls; then none can stop love’s darts.

Believest thou in love at earlie’st sight,

Or need he pass again? Throw not away

His love, lest thou be in some dreadful plight

Alone. Best love and live another day;

For I myself have love´d great (but lost);

True love is best, no matter what the cost.

Rachel’s Thoughts: The Glory of Shakespeare

I am hooked on Shakespeare. Not as much as I am on Edmund Spenser, but considerably more than Sidney.

“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny nonny.”

Rachel’s Thoughts: Brit Lit Assignment: Part 2

In addition to the sonnet in my last post, I’m memorizing Jaques’ speech from As You Like It:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Rachel’s Thoughts: Brit Lit Assignment, Part 1

Our British Literature teacher has given us a variety of Shakespeare to memorize (quiz a week from today), and this is the sonnet I’ve chosen to memorize: Sonnet 116

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. “