In Writing

I could put some words here, but what words. Do I make up one of my stupid stories? Do I pull a quote from a song lyric that only I know or care to know? Somewhere out there are people who listen to what I listen to but I don’t know any of them. At least, I haven’t known them in forever. How about a bit of poetry from one of those poets I hated back in high school.

I was making an “A” until we hit those romantics. I recall having a “discussion” with my teacher in that ill-fated class. I offered my interpretation of the meaning of some suicidal, incestuous and tragic poet’s ode to something. I was told my interpretation was wrong.

It’s an interpretation, I thought and said, how could it be wrong? It was wrong I was told. How did my teacher know I was wrong? Had anyone asked the poet what he meant while he was alive? No? Why not? Because that would destroy the beauty of the poem and the ability to interpret it’s meaning. Just like I had interpreted it? How can you say I am wrong when you have just admitted that no one knows because no one asked?

Well, you can see how my grade dropped and my disdain for the romantic poets soared.

Anyway, here’s a poem on the ocean by the dark romantic or gothic Nathaniel Hawthorne.

The Ocean

The Ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.

The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.

Calmly the wearied seamen rest
Beneath their own blue sea.
The ocean solitudes are blest,
For there is purity.

The earth has guilt, the earth has care,
Unquiet are its graves;
But peaceful sleep is ever there,
Beneath the dark blue waves.

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