Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Bonjour!

Desole, mais je just can's stand not blogging. Ha Ha.

I'm learning french online right now. Ainaa gave me the idea when she came over today. She told me that she was learning french online and I was like what the heck, I still have two more months ahead of me. So why not do something productive?

Now I can speak quite a lot of french! Well, not that much really but it's still a lot compared to what I used to know. Heh.

From this moment on, my titles are all going to be in french! Muahahahaha. Or not.

Oh I just remembered that I wanted to show you a poem I wrote for our poetry exhibition last semester. It's very, very..jiwang.

The evidential proclamation of love,
she had heard it without trouble,
as he said it so verbally clear,
to the whistling windy air,
his face was like the golden,
sun burning for our selfish gain.

One man's lost is another's gain,
so to say the nature of love,
in it's way shining a golden,
luminous glimmer free of trouble,
i a misty night, in open air,
where entities are ever so clear.

She wishes to be frank and clear,
for the fact that she wasn't to gain,
his love like she had breathe the air,
as she senses his overwhelming love,
to spell not happiness, but trouble,
for she sees no prospect so golden.

Her heart was neither silver nor golden,
but she had made it very clear,
that they would only mean trouble,
if she were ever to feebly gain,
his unrequited mountain of love,
to obtain his share of fresh air.

He experienced shortness of air,
when she turned her head of golden,
so he asks, "Mademoiselle, what is love,
if a person had been so wickedly clear,
but still he is unable to gain,
love after eagerly facing trouble."

She said, "Monsieur my concern is not the trouble,
but my jealousy of the birds in the air,
flying free with no worries to gain,
anything but plainly basking in the golden,
ray of the sun to the exceptionally clear,
melody of mating songs exhibiting love."

What is hard to gain is usually golden,
don't go finding trouble by giving your share of the air,
simply clear out your heart and learn that to accept is to love.

This type of poem is called a sestina. It is made up of 6 stanzas of sestet(6 lines) and a stanza of tercet(3 lines).

The sestina is said to be one of the hardest poem to write because if you hadn't noticed earlier, the end words of the first 6 stanzas are repeated throughout the poem in a particular order.

The first stanza : A B C D E F

The second stanza : F A E B D C

The third stanza : C F D A B E

The fourth stanza : E C B F A D

The fifth stanza : D E A C F B

The sixth stanza : B D F E C A

The tercet : F E
B D
C A

So there you have it, an unannounced lesson on poetry. Google if you wish to know more. Ha Ha.

Bonne nuit!

1 comment:

ceLy. said...

waah. kakooie. :D