Three Things

[aimeesworld]

ONE

Anne is a filthy enabler and bought me the entire first season of Vampire Diaries for Christmas

Comments

[musicforwolves]

Wallace Stevens - 'The World as Meditation' might be useful.
On the more definite side, with a dash of art history, William Carlos Williams - 'Landscape with the Fall of Icarus'.
Yeats has 'Leda and the Swan', and Keats 'Hymn to Apollo'.

If I really wanted to get 14-year-olds interested in poetry, though, I'd pick something a bit dark, a bit grisly - something by Neil Gaiman. "The White Road' is quite good, but maybe a bit too explicit for a class, so I'd introduce them to the world with his poem 'Instructions'. In particular, close attention to:

'The ferryman will take you.
(The answer to his question is this:
If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to leave the boat.
Only tell him this from a safe distance.)'

[labellementeuse]

On the more definite side, with a dash of art history, William Carlos Williams - 'Landscape with the Fall of Icarus'.

And to go with it the WH Auden version of the same painting, Musee des Beaux Arts:

Musee des Beaux ArtsAbout suffering they were never wrong

[musicforwolves]

Oh, I should've thought of Colquhoun. I guess you're referring to 'That place inside me where she was'?

[labellementeuse]

Actually no, it was another one, but I haven't got it on me - I'll hunt it up and post it tonight.

Aimee, random thoughts on fiction: Orfe by Cynthia Voigt (Orpheus and Eurydice) and Psyche in a Dress by Francesca Lia Block (Cupid & Psyche, obvs.) I assume you already have books in mind but, IDK, extra reading list? I read Orfe when I was around 14.

[aimeesworld]

I love how EXCITED you are about Vampire Diaries. It is truly the best.

Hahahaha, YES PLEASE RE: HISTORY BOYS AND HANGING.

[annemjw]

But of course, I know what you truly desire from Christmastime - shirtlessness.

[aimeesworld]

It is all I have ever wanted.

[nix_the_fish]

Toroa - Albatross

Day and night endlessly you have flown effortless of wing
over chest-expanding oceans far from land.
Do you switch on an automatic pilot, close your eyes
in sleep, Toroa?

On your way to your homeground at Otakou Heads
you tried to rest briefly on the Wai-te-mata
but were shot at by ignorant people. Crippled.
You found a resting place at Whanga-nui-a-Tara;
found space at last to recompose yourself.

Now, without skin and flesh to hold you together
the division of your aerodynamic parts lies whitening,
licked clean by sun and air and water. Children will
discover narrow corridors of airiness between,
the suddenness of bulk. Naked, laugh in the gush
and ripple - the play of light on water.

You are not alone, Toroa. A taniwha once tried
to break out of the harbour for the open sea. He failed.
He is lonely. From the top of the mountain nearby he
calls to you: Haeremai, haeremai, welcome home, traveller.

Your head tilts, your eyes open to the world.

- Hone Tuwhare