No words to describe it.

I know this blog is a little late coming, but when Dr. Season asked me to get up in front of the class and explain my hearing situation he asked me a question that I had no way of explaining. He asked me what it was like not hearing. My answer was was to explain the ways I could hear now, my going to the movies and talking on the phone for the first time in 7 years. But that questioned pondered in my mind over the last week when I traveled home. And then I remembered I wrote about it once and haven't looked at it since, so I began my quest to find it in my boxes and sure enough I did.
 Silence
(Written when I was 16)
Everything around me is so quiet
Like the world is asleep...
Or simply whispering a secret
Behind my back,
Yet, I'm watching things
With my own eyes as they happen
And everything is so alive
And full of energy
I want to scream and shout
At everything to just STOP
I can see it all,
The lips movings f talking people
The instruments strumming of playing bands
The movie screen flashing ...
But what I want is to hear it
I don't want this horrible silence
That suerounds me all the time to continue
I want it to just go away
And never come my direction again
I can't explain the Exact feeling
Of total silence
But it feels like you're an outsider
Or you just don't belong with the rest
And you're always feeling like...
I want to scream at everything to just STOP
I can't see it all...
But what I want is to hear it
I'd give anything to hear it all
Even if it's just for an hour
Or even an entire day...
It'd be worth it to hear the world
After so long of the world's silence
You'd think I'd be used to it by now
And I wouldn't care anymore
But I'm always going to be thinking
...I wish I could just hear the world...


For whatever reason it's Saturday morning and I decided to read a few of Stevens poems and I ran across the poem titled "Thunder by the Musician"
A greatly enjoyed this poem because although I couldn't hear the music going on in my head I could visualize it.

Thunder became men
Ten thousand, men hewn and tumbling
Mobs of ten thousand clashing together
This way and that

Whether it was intentional by Stevens or not I vizualized a drum player pounding his drum sticks against the drums and clashing the cymbals loudly creating the beat described by a thousand men heming and tumbling.

Poetry like music... Try again!

The last few days of class have been an ongoing discussion about poetry sounding like music if you pay very close attention... And that may be true for the majority of those who read poetry... Like I mentioned... I love writing poetry but hate reading it and I think I now know why! When you think about poetry in relation to music you look at the sounds and you imagine the sounds of certain instruments against the sound of the lines flowing together. Now yes I understand that's very possible and I just explained myself very well (haha) but what about for someone who has only been able to hear specific sounds to musical instruments for say a year like me... I've always had to interpret poetry solely on meaning, definition and purpose. Not sounds and flow and fluency.., so the idea of poetry as music is rather foreign to me. I always feel now (even with the ability to hear music for one year) that a poem has to be analyzed by meaning not enjoyed for sounds. Perhaps I should try reading some poetry while listening to music to see the comparison... I can't even imagine the difficulty I am having now being able to hear that someone COMPLETELY deaf might experience!

Unpacked volcanos

The children who were once faster than they are now will return at some point, and when they do the chilled weather of Autum will arrive, coldness it is indeed. Such coldness will freeze many things including the lovely grapes upon the trees and vines. Such coldness that gives you goosebumps, shivering coldness! They, who were once children but now are now will always return for something left behind, something that will always remain upon that hill. The children used to whisper and tell of stories of such a mansion at the top of the hill. Stories of ghosts and the "what ifs" of what might become of the mansion in years to come. And of its inhabitants! When the Autum is there and the weather is cold, the children will return to the hill, the hill with a mansion upon it, always returning for something! They will always remember the mansion on the hill and the chilled Autum weather, they will always remember the old man who sends them postcards from the mansion on the volcano.

Love to write it, "dislike" to read it

I thought I'd start myself off with admitting that I am in fact a bit nervous for this course! I love to write poetry myself, in fact I have a stack of papers I've been meaning to put into a nice binder for about a year now since I putting my writing aside. But the truth is that I cannot stand reading poetry and having to analyis it. I feel it's to much pressure to really think about what the poetry means. You get graded or evaluated based on your answer which poetry (anyones poetry) can mean anything to any different person, so it is rather difficult for me to show enthusiasm for thinking and "brainstorming" about someone elses writing. But I am hoping to be proven wrong about Stevens writing and style of poems. I have only read the first 20 to 30 pages of his collection thus far. Without critically thinking, I enjoy his writing and the mystery to him. I did notice that he had a common theme going on between poems but could not put my finger on it specifically until we talked more about it in class on Friday. So after admitting my truth and fear of a poetry class, I'm setting aside my feelings and hoping for the best! Bring it on Stevens!