School: Day 1

[timepiececlock]

Well, I'm in the De Anza media lab, waiting an hour before my next class. I have a break from 11:30 to 1:30, and spent the first one watching the drummers from San Jose Taiko perform out in the quad. It was nice, very entertaining. Hopefully I'll get the Poli Sci class I want an my break will be down to two. So far, they're no taking add-ins.

Getting up to go to an 8:30 class sucks, I'd just like to say. However, that morning poetry class will be fun. Our first poem was a sex poem, which makes me think I'm going to like this teacher already-- she's not going to give us all PG-rated stuff like they do in high school. Some middle-aged guy complained and said "I don't know if this material is appropriate to this class; some of these students seem kinda young." I had to hide my snicker. This poem was fairly tame to what I've read in books and fanfiction, and I'm a freakin' virgin and I understood it.

Anyway, here's the poem. It's short and I liked it, so I'll share it with you. I don't know that I agree with the all themes presented in the poem, but the descriptive language is strong and lovely, especially near the end.


Sex Without Love
Sharon Olds


How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

Comments

[rashaka.livejournal.com]

Yeah. A funny thing happened in class. The teacher deliberately pointed out the "come to the come to the God come to the" and asked the class what it meant. I watched in amazement as three people came up with this really reaching, half-hearted theories. Finally I raised my hand in disgust and amusement and said "The line is written that way because that's how people talk during sex." I couldn't believe it took until the fourth person to come out and say it, because I know I wasn't the only person who understood it. I think most of them did, but were just afraid to talk about it. Not a problem for me. The teacher smiled at me and said, "That's what I think too."

[scarlettfish.livejournal.com]

There's an Australian poet called Gwen Harwood, and she wrote a poem about an old stodgy professor who goes to an all girls school for a prize giving evening as the special presenter. Anyway, the poem is about how entrancing and vibrant this one girl is (compared to how dull and lifeless he is), and there's a couple of references about him readjusting his robes. We studied it in high school, and either no one picked it up, or they just didn't want to say it, but I had to point out to quite a few people that he was readjusting his robes to hide his erection. Honestly! These modest types! ;)

Honestly! These modest types!

[rashaka.livejournal.com]

word.