Tuesday, September 27, 2011


I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

Sylvia Plath

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Andrea Gibson at RISD!

Hey everybody! Here's the event I was talking about in class...Andrea Gibson is one of the most nationally acclaimed female spoken word poets in the United States, and she is coming to RISD to perform! Her show will be opened by three amazing poets from Brown's performance group. I had the awesome opportunity to see Andrea perform at Rhode Island College my freshman year, and she is incredible. She will make you laugh, make you cry, and everything in between...I highly encourage everyone to attend!

The show is October 8th from 7-9pm. You can find more information on the Facebook event page: here!

A big thanks to Jess Chen for organizing this performance. Hope to see you guys there!


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Bavarian Gentians

Not every man has gentians in his house
in soft September, at slow, sad Michaelmas.

Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
darkening the daytime, torch-like, with the smoking blueness of Pluto's gloom,
ribbed and torch-like, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off light,
lead me then, lead the way.

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch!
Let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness
even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice
or a drakness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms Plutonic, and pieced with the passion of dense gloom,
among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness on
the lost bride and her groom.

D. H. Lawrence