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Mar. 3rd, 2003 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foi_nefasteI adore words. And literature, by extension.
But I've noticed that the smallest phrase of a well-written poem or text can provoke images that would never be represented in drawings, or in anything else.
J'aime, j'adore. Je suis en amour avec mes nouveaux livres. Ainsi qu'avec les vieux. Entourée de livres; que le vie est belle. L'odeur du vieux cuir et l'épaisseur du vieux papier, est une expérience tellement sensuelle qu'elle deverait être interdite. Ou cachée. Mais quel plaisir.
I've been reading two different poets, namely Ginsberg and Keats. The last is just lovely, and resonated through the room when read out loud. Though I'm not yet sure of my opinion of the former, as he's completely different from any other poet I've read, and lacks anything I've come to associate with poetry, such as rhyme or symbolism. Then again, it might just be that I can't see it.
On another note... someone mentioned that they thought I was copying style off someone else. If I've offended anyone by this, my appologies, as I truly didn't mean to do so, and wasn't consciously taking phrases from anywhere other than my own mind... which, itself, seems to have taken liberties. If you feel I've taken phrases or whatever from you, I am most sorry, and I'll avoid it happening again.
But I've noticed that the smallest phrase of a well-written poem or text can provoke images that would never be represented in drawings, or in anything else.
J'aime, j'adore. Je suis en amour avec mes nouveaux livres. Ainsi qu'avec les vieux. Entourée de livres; que le vie est belle. L'odeur du vieux cuir et l'épaisseur du vieux papier, est une expérience tellement sensuelle qu'elle deverait être interdite. Ou cachée. Mais quel plaisir.
I've been reading two different poets, namely Ginsberg and Keats. The last is just lovely, and resonated through the room when read out loud. Though I'm not yet sure of my opinion of the former, as he's completely different from any other poet I've read, and lacks anything I've come to associate with poetry, such as rhyme or symbolism. Then again, it might just be that I can't see it.
On another note... someone mentioned that they thought I was copying style off someone else. If I've offended anyone by this, my appologies, as I truly didn't mean to do so, and wasn't consciously taking phrases from anywhere other than my own mind... which, itself, seems to have taken liberties. If you feel I've taken phrases or whatever from you, I am most sorry, and I'll avoid it happening again.
