what is it???
god?
feeling?
good purpose?
real, abstract, or both?
the use... what the use of god creating this universe
with its contradictionsssss
Kamis, 30 September 2010
Minggu, 19 September 2010
Poetry
Why poetry is worth studying?
What is the purpose of studying poetry?
For me, poem is reflection of human being's experiences. That's why most of poems are created based on true story. it doesn't tell something directly. it uses chosen words, more precisely, the beautiful one. how could we identify whether or not the words is beautiful?
The more old fashioned, the more beautiful. The old fashioned English is called Archaic English. It is often found in Shakespeare's Sonnets. Here it is :
The sonnet I
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
What is the purpose of studying poetry?
For me, poem is reflection of human being's experiences. That's why most of poems are created based on true story. it doesn't tell something directly. it uses chosen words, more precisely, the beautiful one. how could we identify whether or not the words is beautiful?
The more old fashioned, the more beautiful. The old fashioned English is called Archaic English. It is often found in Shakespeare's Sonnets. Here it is :
The sonnet I
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
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