Apologies to Harvard

Poetry spammage soon. Watch out. Not mine though.

Excerpt from John Updike’s 1973 Phi Beta Kappa poem:

APOLOGIES TO HARVARD

We took the world as given. Cigarettes
Were twenty-several cents a pack, and gas
as much per gallon. Sex came wrapped in rubber
And veiled in supernatural scruples—call
Them chivalry. A certain breathlessness
Was felt; perhaps the Bomb, which after all
Mushroomed us as we entered puberty,
Waking us from the newspaper-nightmare
Our childhoods had napped through, was realer then;
Our lives, at least, were not assumed to be
Our right; we lived, by shifts, on sufferance.
The world contained policemen, true; and these
Should be avoided; governments were bunk,
But well-intentioned; blacks were beautiful
But seldom seen; the poor were with ye always.
We thought one war as moral as the next,
Believed that life was tragic and absurd,
And were absurdly cheerful on that basis.
We loved John Donne and Hopkins, Yeats and Pound,
Medieval history was rather swank,
Psychology was in the mind; abstract
Things grabbed us where we lived; the only life
Worth living was the private life, and—last,
Worst scandal in this characterization—
We did not know we were a generation.


I stumbled upon a couple of lines from the above excerpt in the book “The Class” by Erich Segal.

The last line is just.. inspiring.

Forcing Words

“Observe the wonders as they occur around you. Don’t claim them. Feel the artistry moving through and be silent.”

- Rumi

As a writer, and a student, I know there is no point in life that I can reach and say “This is it. This is how writing should be”. For me, writing changes everyday.  I can never pin point a particular form and absolutely believe that this is my form. However, one thing that has remained a constant necessity is that writing shouldn’t sound, well, forced.

I literally squirm when I have to listen people create images with words that are just not plausible, that the words are literally being forced to play a strange and awkward role, that need to be released from their misery. Words, they are like pieces of a puzzle, you can’t jam them into a space that’s not right and expect them to sit nice and pretty just because you feel smarter creating a pseudo psychotic image.

Writing is living, breathing, alive. A word is like a person, that has to have the right to choose its place in a piece. Maybe the mark of a true writer lies in not just knowing how to write, but how to let the words write themselves.

My words of wisdom I choose to dispense with a horrible mug-pot test looming before me. What excellent timing.

Writing

I can write. I know I can. Sometimes its the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes the blank white screen is most intimidating. But when the words come, I know they are the right ones.

I trust the words that flow out, simply because there’s a reason why one was formed and another drifted off to be used later. I rarely edit what I write (not a good thing all the time) because then it isn’t me anymore, it isn’t me sitting in the same space as those words. We need to be on the same page literally, the words need to have the same importance as me creating them. Otherwise I kill their tiny little squiggly lives, like mosquitoes being squished.

I write for me, and I watch her write for adulation. Who gets it, then? He, who is forming all those ideas in her head? What is the difference between them. I can’t see it. Hypocrite I want to shout, but she wont hear me. Won’t listen. It’s only the sound of one voice that will spur her on.

So, my words and I, we will sit and wait.

And no, I do not have MPD.

Reading List and Eliot

So much to read!  Mythologies, The Second Sex and now I stumbled across Laura Mulvey’s essay“Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”

Also, totally tripping on T.S Eliot.

“For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?”

- The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock

Zip.

It’s amazing how judgemental I’ve become lately. That may sound a little smug, but really, it is the truth. Sometimes it feels like I’m pushing againt a stone wall, thats set in it’s ways. A wall I have to scale eventually, and I want to be close to doing that.

College is college. I may have become bitchier, but restraint is a quality I’ve learnt to appreciate a heck of a lot. Glaring holes in the tapestry, the thread is wearing away and maybe I feel like tugging at a loose end just to watch the whole thing unravel, but that will happen on its own if I wait long enough. We all love watching people get put in their places, but I know it will be my turn soon. There are so many chances to slip up, to let go of something thats been in my reach all this while, and now suddenly that need to retain that sense of being me in this class of immensely talented individuals is overwhelming, even if its only in my head.

Often, judgement feels like the only thing thats mine anymore. That the words in my head are in their safest place, where nobody can get at them but me. I guess that’s why there hasn’t been much blogging lately.

Self, always remember at the end of the day, I am still that girl who prefers to sit in the far left corner of the room, but censorship will get me nowhere.

And I will try to fix you.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse

- Fix You (Coldplay)

This song always puts things in perespective for me. Always. It has this power of sitting me down, face-to-face and saying look, shit happens. Chris Martin may have written this song for Gwenyth Paltrow after her father died, but everytime I listen to this song, it hits a raw nerve somewhere.

“Stuck in reverse” is a phenomenon I am slowly getting used to. It’s something I love at times, and I detest it at other moments. When I crave a whirlwind, a gentle steady breeze is a bit of a let down but as I get older, I realise I’d rather have the breeze. In all the blur of activity, listening to this song is a translucency process.

I become easier to read for myself.

So if there’s anyone fixing me right now, Chris Martin, it’s me.

Broke on Books

I have spent way too much money this month on books but what the heck. Just bought “The Second Sex” by Simone de Beauvoir that I have been itching to read for sometime. Also picked up two books at the Strand Book Sale : “Nine by Nine” by Daman Singh and “Endless Love’‘ by Scott Spencer.

“Nine by Nine” was quite unexpected, I must admit. I, as usual, cannot decide if I liked it or didn’t. I didn’t seem to get where the story was going, and if it eventually did reach somewhere, well I think I missed the stop. It left me irritated, as I couldn’t figure out what any of the characters were like in the end.

I also read Eric Segal’s “The Class”, and it made me want to go to Harvard. Again, didn’t like the ending too much. I am too much of a romantic I guess!

Off to watch Harry Potter tonight, but I feel strangely disloyal to the Hogwarts clan. Blame it on Twilight. And oh, I am apparently addicted to glossy magazines. Bad for my budget. Very bad.

If this were Facebook..

..this would say :

Geetanjali Chitnis is back from her blogging hiatus.

Let me say that a) the hiatus was totally unplanned for and b) I have no idea why I’m blabbing about the hiatus but then c) I’ve always wanted to make one of these hello-I-am-back-from-my-hiatus-did-you-miss-me-oh-say-you-did-please kind of posts.

ANYWAY. Lately, I’ve been feeling kind of..old. It might have something to do with the fact that I was a “working” woman for a month, since I interned at one of the city’s newspapers. I wrote for the tabloid, got about 16 by lines, and I’m happy. Like someone put it, it was soul training in a sense. The point is, I’m suddenly realizing heck, I’m not going to be able to say I’m somethingteen for much longer (never mind the fact that my birthday is in March). The tween-teen-twen jump is not looking good.

I went off on a four day vacation with my friends from school, where I got to act totally ditzy and blonde and serious all at the same time, and well, I don’t seem to be like that in real life any more. The time away from parents, boyfriend (there was no mobile network coverage), and life in general was great and I  meant it when I messaged my dad to say I really didn’t want to come home! But as I sat there listening to all the girly conversations, it hit me (and the rest, I think) that in a year, none of us had really changed all that much. Apart from a one major break up, all of us were still US. And I don’t know whether thats a good thing or bad.

I devoured Megan McCafferty’s Sloppy Firsts – it made me miss high school. Boys, bitchy friends and bathroom drama.