W. left me an offline message (about the news), and concluded it with a link to Rupert Brooke's "The Hill," which was stunningly beautiful. When i was reading it earlier this afternoon, it froze the time.
i told him i never thought i would fall in love with poetry. In college, fiction was my favorite genre; i couldn't really see why people would want to read or write poems. They were riddles to me - beautiful riddles at most. In my senior year, with a strong passion, i turned to literary criticism. i stayed up at night, read, read, and...read - Foucault was the caffeine that kept me going. Now i realized it was because i was young, and possibly because of the need to hold on to something concrete.
Over these years, though, i began to appreciate poetry and its condensed elegance and subtlety. It seems that somehow, in the process of "middle-aging", my perception of the world (or the texts more precisely) has also evolved, not necessarily for better, but the difference was there. i am now attracted to the charm of stillness: a moment, a glimpse, an image, an emotion, things that were unsaid but present.
To those who bring the world poetic catharses, i salute you!
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