quotes Elisquared likes

"Saying 'I notice you're a nerd' is like saying, 'Hey, I notice that you'd rather be intelligent than be stupid, that you'd rather be thoughtful than be vapid, that you believe that there are things that matter more than the arrest record of Lindsay Lohan. Why is that?' In fact, it seems to me that most contemporary insults are pretty lame. Even 'lame' is kind of lame. Saying 'You're lame' is like saying 'You walk with a limp.' Yeah, whatever, so does 50 Cent, and he's done all right for himself."— John Green


Poetry Sunday (09)

This is a fabulous blog feature here at Eli to the nth!  Thanks to Genna from Reading, Writing, and the World of Words, who created this awesome feature and gave me the permission to host it here, as well as, use her cute graphic!  Poetry is one of my passions, but I have yet to share it here.  So this feature gives me the perfect opportunity to do so!
This week I'm sharing with you a poem by one of my favorite poets, Billy Collins.  He was Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 - 2003, and in my opinion is both fantastical as well as grounded.  If you don't like poetry, I believe you should pick up some of his collections to try out because he is so relatable in his rhetoric.

The video below is an animation of one of my favorite poems, from Collins' book Questions About Angels: Selected Poems. It is titled "Forgetfullness".


The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Let me know what you think!

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