There are times when I get so bogged down in schoolwork (essays, bibliographies, research, responses, countless countless readings…) that I seem to forget why I love what I study.
Then there comes a night like tonight, when I am alone in the house, attempting to organize closets, and stumble across some things from the past. Tonight those things were letters and journals, and I found within the pages my overabundant love for certain books and certain authors. Books and authors that I haven’t forgot about or stopped loving, but ones that have been put on hold while I read authors that I Have to read for school. Reading for pleasure and reading for school are usually two entirely different things.
Tonight I want to tell you about my favourite author. Ever.
I will tell you about him by sharing with you one of his best poems (in my opinion):
On the porch thin ceramic chimes Ride wind off the Pacific bells of the sea I do not know the name of large orange flowers which thrive on salt air lean half drunk against the steps Untidy banana trees thick moss on the cliff and then the plunge to black volcanic shore It is impossible to enter the sea here except in a violent way How we have moved from thin ceramic to such destruction
It is a poem like this that reminds me why I love writing and why I’ve chosen to study it in university for the past five years.
If you’d like to read something else awesome, written by Michael Ondaatje, I would suggest The English Patient. You will not regret it.