Virginia Woolf

        Ever since we read a couple chapters of A Room of One's Own, I have not been able to get her words out of my head. I really connected with the honesty she put into her words. Because I felt so strongly about the chapters, I decided to check out the book at the library. I enjoy it even more than the sections we read in class. I think what I like most about her is that most of her writing in the book is her frank commentary about her life. She seems to allude to her feelings about a certain person or place by the way she describes it in the book. As Prof. Reed mentioned in class, the first chapter was hilarious when she compared the two colleges where she was a speaker. At times, she used satirical wit and humor to describe the men at the male-only college who seemed almost nervous of her wisdom as a woman. Woolf has this certain charm about her writing that makes me want to keep reading, yet I can tell that she is a strong, individual women.

       I never thought of myself as a feminist before, not that it's a bad thing. I feel like in our age, if a woman is strong and doesn't like when other people go out of their way to help her, she is pidgeonholed into the term, "feminist." On the flip side of this, if a woman likes the attention she gets when men try to help her all the time and acts dumb or flirts constantly to keep the attention going, other women say she's "against her own kind!" Personally, I don't think I fit into either category. Like Woolf in A Room of One's Own, I am constantly searching for answers to difficult questions, ones that really don't exist. The narrator spent time in the library researching questions like, "Why are women poor?" and "Why are there shelves of books about women written by men and barely any books by women?" I feel like I am constantly looking for answers to tough questions just like her, and both of us are finding that there really is no one answer.
       While I am happy that the feminist movement took off and got women the right to vote and made them equal to men (at least on government paper. . .not that these rights are always enforced), I don't feel like I'm still striving to "fight the man." I think women and men should get paid the same amount for performing the same job, but I'm not going to yell at a man if he opens a door for me because he's "taking away my power." I'm usually a bit of a loner because I like to be alone with my thoughts, so I'm used to doing things myself and for myself. I won't lie and say I don't appreciate being in a relationship and having a boyfriend occasionally pick up the tab at a restaurant or open the car door for me for a date. I don't think he's belittling my ability to pay for food or open a door, I think he's doing it out of love or to show that he cares for me, and I find absolutely nothing wrong with that. All in all, I think it's the thought process behind the action that really counts.

Hunger and Thirst for Justice

        This past weekend, I went on an immersion trip with my college's campus ministry to downtown Erie. We were there Friday until midday Saturday volunteering at various homeless shelters and soup kitchens and engaging with the homeless people that stop into the establishments to get some warmth. While I was there, conversing with many people who have a very difficult life and spend most of their time worrying about where they will sleep or when they will eat again, I had a moment of clarity. I realized that these people needed a voice that could be heard through the masses. I can recall countless times when I have been in Church and the petitions said, "For the homeless, sick, and hungry in our community, we pray to the Lord," and I would respond, "Lord, hear our prayer" without even giving it a second thought. The concept of being homeless used to be so abstract to me, but after hearing testimonies of many who live on the streets just minutes from Mercyhurst College, I can picture the alleyways where they sleep to avoid the wind and the doorsteps where they sit to rest their aching feet. 

        My short experience ignited a fire inside me. I'm itching to learn more about this epidemic, figure out how to fight it, and bring it to people's attention. Just as I begin to think about a way to get the word out about injustices, I remembered that so far, every poet we studied in class has done the very thing I'm aiming to do. Tagore worked to foster humanism during a time of struggle between India and the invading British, Storni used her poetry to increase awareness of the feminism movement, and Neruda, another Latin American political poet, used his status to expand the knowledge of the innocent people harmed by the Spanish Civil War. Just as these events needed a voice to speak out against the injustices, people today are needed to stand up for those who have nowhere to sleep at night. 
       After looking back at the poems by Neruda, I came across, "I'm Explaining a Few Things." I read it again and was struck with the compassion expressed in Neruda's words and his deep involvement with the injustice of a crumbling suburb. Not only did Neruda write about the situation during the Spanish Civil War, he conveyed pain, suffering, hopelessness, and destitution. In lines 51-54, he wrote, "Face to face with you I have seen the blood / of Spain tower like a tide / to drown you in one wave / of pride and knives!" Here, I can feel Neruda's pain and exhaustion with seeing the destruction of a place he once loved. He is trying to gain the public's sympathy for the innocent children and families affected by the war and make them understand that there are real issues in Spain that need to be resolved. This poem was a change of pace from some of his previous poetry, so at the beginning of this poem, Neruda referenced it saying, "You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs? / and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?" He was trying to explain that people write what they know, and recently all he knows is the unfortunate effects of war and anger. 
        Just like Neruda writes about what he knows, I realize too that this is something I must do after my experience with some of Erie's homeless population. I saw their struggles and their poverty. I know that many of them work full time trying to save up to rent a place to stay, but life gets in the way: Children get sick, husbands get fired, cars break down. Many of our nation live from paycheck to paycheck and are one bad day away from being out on the streets. Our campus minister asked our group to reflect on a brief prayer during our time in service, and it goes as follows: Dear Lord, give those who are hungry and thirsty food and drink, and give those who are not hungry or thirsty a hunger and thirst for justice. Amen. I have been awakened to the plight of hundreds of hungry people just minutes away from where I live. I realize that I need to be a voice for those that don't have the strength to help themselves, and a person that hungers and thirsts for their justice.

Rubén Darío

Darío. The first poet we read in class. 
        When I read about his life as a Spanish poet and political figure for Spain and Latin America, I was instantly drawn to his powerful passion for love: his love for his country, his people, and the words. I could tell he had traveled around the world as it was prevalent in his work. He infused European elements into his poetry like the Venus de Milo and the Greek mythological tale where Zeus, in the form of a swan, raped Leda, a water nymph.

This is the image Google cooked up when I typed in "Leda and the Swan." Poem:beautiful. This:creepy.

        The most remarkable thing about him for me is his fascination with swans. In almost every

poem in our text, Darío used the swan as a motif for questions, love, and power. Like in the poem, "I Seek a Form," Darío seemed to be wrestling with a case of writer's block. He compared his search for words to describe his innermost thoughts to a "bud of thought that wants to be a rose."

I felt that Darío's poem, by dancing around the exact form and using metaphors, conveyed exactly what he was trying to say. His thoughts were so fluent and continuous like "the melodious introduction that flows from the flute," that it was too hard for him to confine into words. At 

the end of the poem, holding true to his character, Darío mentioned how the neck of the swan seemed to be questioning him. Perhaps he felt the swan was questioning not only his lack of 

words, but also his whole existence?

        Like Darío, I can't always confine my imaginative and ever-shifting thoughts into structured sentences, but I'll try to explain here how I feel. I think that it is important and therapeutic to let your mind wander at least once every hour. In fact, I do it at last once every few minutes. I find myself listening to my friend talk, extracting one thought from their conversation, and continuing it until I have exhausted every single possibility out of it. Not only does this lead to some explaining when my friend asks why I haven't paid attention to them, but it also gives me interesting ideas and creative new scenarios that I can think about in my mind. 

        As you may notice, I love to think and I believe it's one of my most redeeming qualities. My mind never stops working, and while not all ideas are winners, I enjoy brainstorming experimental infomercial products on my way to the gym or new hybrid words to explain my current emotions (excired). There are times when too much thinking isn't so good. When I have a particularly grueling day, I wonder if it even matters or if I'm really making an impact on this earth. Sometimes I feel like Darío, where I question my existence. I think the swan in that poem acts as a mirror that reflects our souls and our true emotions. Like Darío wrestled with his incompetence with spitting out his thoughts, I struggle to block out my deep thoughts. It is then that I think the only way I can make a difference is if I keep doing things and stay busy all the time. So I join clubs, offer to help people with their problems, and volunteer to do service whenever I find the opportunity. I avoid having free time because I know I'll just start thinking and psych myself out. Once I have run out of things to do and find myself alone with my thoughts, I have to remind myself of all of my good features. I can juggle, make a mean omelette, use right-handed scissors even thought I am a lefty, and love my family and friends completely and incessantly. Once I walk myself through this routine, which honestly occurs about once a month, I begin the cycle all over again. 

        Darío taught my a valuable thing through his poetry: he showed me that is okay...no, necessary to question ideas and try to explain how you feel. In his poetry, I see the beauty of his human nature that questions his ideas and tries to paint a picture of himself with his words. Hopefully, through this blog I will be able to paint a picture of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions of the day.