Ozymandias

After reading "Ozymandias" I thought a lot about pride and what kind of role it plays in life...

Too little pride, and you don't realize how amazing you actually are at things..

Too much pride, and you come off as a pompous jerk...

"Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

I think that's what happened to Ozymandias... he decided he needed to be prideful of his accomplishments but he went to far... now he's lonely.

May we learn from him, so that we can find a good balance. You can be proud of yourself, most definitely. But too much, and you're alone. What a valuable lesson.

Blighted Stars

"Which do we live on - a splendid one or a blighted one?"

"A blighted one."

To an extent, I agree with Tess. Our star is blighted beyond repair. There is so much suffering and despair and hurt; it's impossible to avoid. There are so many problems in our little star. It's barely shining.

But on the other hand, our star is the most splendid. It gleams with potential and opportunity. We could make our star the most wonderful in the world yet we focus on the problems or faces.

Tess, I understand why you believe our star to be blighted. But until you believe it could turn splendid, it won't get better.

Shine on.

P.S. I love Linda Pastan

I was planning on blogging about the poems "Traveling Light" and "Somewhere in the World" but as I googled Linda Pastan, I found a poem of hers that I fell in love with; a poem that made me smile.

"Vermilion"

Pierre Bonnard would enter
the museum with a tube of paint
in his pocket and a sable brush.
Then violating the sanctity
of one of his own frames
he'd add a stroke of vermilion
to the skin of a flower.
Just so I stopped you
at the door this morning
and licking my index finger, removed
an invisible crumb
from your vermilion mouth. As if
at the ritual moment of departure
I had to show you still belonged to me.
As if revision were
the purest form of love. 

It's a beautiful poem entirely. The language flows well and the imagery creates a vivid picture in the mind, especially with the use of the word vermilion, an amazing red color. It's glorious, truly. She even states that love is art and that's just so sweet, I love it.

What really got me was the metaphor, comparing herself to the painter Pierre Bonnard. It's a simple metaphor; easily understood and recognized. She is like the painter, her lover is like the art. 

Previously we've seen all of her metaphors and similes show some sort of uncertainty or even unhappiness in the world, especially in "Somewhere in the World" but also in "Traveling Light". But to see how she can also find beauty in an emotion is fabulous. I like to see this different style of writing from her.

Sorry, I just really can't get over this.