1337 BLOGGING

La “National Honor Technology Society”, o NTHS por sus siglas en ingles, es una organizacion dentro del Colegio Lincoln dedicada a asistir a los profesores y personal de la institucion con todas sus necesidades tecnologicas. Me uni a esta organizacion con el proposito no solo de ayudar, pero de aprender mas sobre los usos de la tecnologia en nuestra sociedad. Como hay pocos miembros, cada uno tiene que esforzarse para completar las tareas que se asignan, y muchas veces no se pueden completar todas.

Con esta sociedad, intente comprender mas mis propias limitaciones, ya que me ayudara a  comprender la  extension de mis propias habilidades. Ademas, me ayudo a mejorar mis abilidades para trabajar en grupo, ya que siempre era necesario coordinar todos los pasos a seguir tanto con  los companeros como con profesores y personal. Puedo decir con certeza que esta fue la parte mas importante de toda la actividad. Finalmente, me ayudo a mejorar mi abilidad de organizacion ya que siempre era necesario planificar todas las actividades con mucho detalle.

A pesar de todas las cualidades de esta sociedad, hay que admitir que si tiene fallas. Principalmente, hacen falta estudiantes que puedan asumir la gran cantidad de trabajo que se deja. Ademas, la habilidad de todos los estudiantes no es igual y aveces se avanza lentamente por esto. A pesar de todo, me parece que la sociedad cumple una funcion importante.

The dark side opens its side as the evil twin awakes

Scales of heavenly wrath and primal hate glisten in the morning light

Its’ jaws, open wide as it rises from the waves.

A legendary creature of mighty rage rises

Twin of the colossal cat and a cat itself

Bound by the Gods, possessing a divine hand.

Rise Fernir! Rise!

Meet your brother in the final twilight!

Jormundgandr and the feline meet the guardians,

Guardians of Asgaard! Now, where are the Gods?

The bestial beings, sons of hate, advance

a relentless march towards their death.

Thor! Odin’s son, protector of mankind,

Rise to meet your fate!

Ragnarok awaits!

Odin takes nine steps towards its claws

Tools of feline death, confidence is

shown in Fenrir’s eyes as the twilight begins.

Our holy father lies now in the dragon’s snout,

His essence part of the great roots.

His life written in prose and godly blood.

A tool, son of Brokkr, is wielded by Thor,

Poisoned, he meets the serpent, he meets Ragnarok itself.

The twilight dawns near, as Mjollnir is used to end the pain.

The World’s Snake is gone,

and only nine more thoughts are left in this world.

But Fenrir lives! And Odin lies dreaming of wood.

The cousin of the battle cry, brother of Thunder,

Is called to live.

The great cat cries in Anguish, as he listens to the flap of wings,

No wolves land, they say, as his fangs are now property

Of the descendant of the light

Live on Odin, through your only son.

Nine weapons stand guard, as Asgaard returns to its prime element.

Nine sacrifices were made at the rising moon

Crescent in its beauty, forbidden to fight

Nine warriors, descended, now human

Nine tears in nine eyes. Such lovely rain falls,

Yet it falls without thunder. 

http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/04/06/090406po_poem_raab           

The Poem That Can’t be Written is a poem written by Lawrence Raab, and it was published in the April edition of the New Yorker in 2009. The poem is very appealing because of its peculiar qualities. The author uses simple language and plain images to effectively convey his message. The author’s main goal is to differentiate a poem which is impossible to write from many other incorrect conceptions. The theme of the poem, though unclear in many ways, is impossibility. The poet manages to convey his intentions simply by expressing his ideas directly without the use of many literary figures.

The theme of the poem is created by the events of the poem itself. The first point relevant to the theme the poem wants to make is that the poem that can’t be written is different from several conceptions one might already have. The author mentions that this poem “is different from the poem / that is not written, or the many / that are never finished”, The fact that the poet immediately makes the distinction between his main subject and other conceptions sets the theme for the rest of the poem, since he immediately separates impossibility from other characteristics. In order to emphasize the theme, the author mentions how this poem “becomes an emblem / [...] of the impossible”. This reinforces the theme of the poem by idolizing this very same quality.

The structure of the poem supports the poet by effectively expressing simple ideas.  The poem is organized into 9 stanzas, but the interesting quality that gives the structure is the fact that every stanza consists in 2 stanzas. This very characteristic contributes to the simplicity attributed to the poem, since every stanza explains a very concise, clear point which stresses the theme. Moreover, the stanzas are ordered in a way in which the poet uses simplistic literary devices to further express his ideas. Another interesting aspect within the structure of this poem is  the fact that the title  itself serves as the introductory verse to the poem. The first, official, verse of the poem reads “is different from the poem”. The fact that it starts with a lower case letter and that seems cut off from something else reflects the title’s quality of being a verse itself. This characteristic contributes to the general purpose of the poem because it stresses the simplicity of the poem. Suddenly, the line between it being a poem and a statement, a decree, becomes thinner. Without having a separate, classical, title the poem becomes more peculiar and expresses its message more effectively to its reader.

The poet uses several simple literary figures to reinforce the theme of impossibility. The poet uses few literary devices to steer away from a more poetic approach to a more factual one. The poet wishes to convince the reader that the poem that can’t be written is just like he says it is. When Raab mentions that the poem that can’t be written is not like those that are never finished he compares this to “boats / lost in the fog, adrift / in the windless latitudes, / the charts useless, the water gone.” This metaphor quietly expresses the author’s opinion that the poem he talks about does not exist, just like the boats he mentions. This poem is but a symbol of impossibility itself.

There’s, nobody here. There’s, nobody near.

The Dead, will always care. They, have always stared.

The light, will never agree. (Don’t trust what you see).

When, you control time, you have crossed the line!

Gods of War announce their salvation,

(Rays of coldness transcend their rue),

Valkyries degut their own condemnation,

And the tearing of seals becomes true!

A, Mistress of death. Exhales, chooses heroes with breath.

He, who’ll cry for this state. (We know it’s too late).

Looks to the heavens to find, his destiny intertwined

With the World’s trees.

They rid the disease!

Yggdrasil waits for redemption,

The old legend is finally true,

Asator cries with indignation,

As the gods cease to exist, their life is through. 

The Moor exists in a corner of the colossal flame

Two almonds in his face raging with the desert’s fire

Yet his instrument remains cool as death.

He sings to his mistress earth, wind and water.

The fires have consumed her before.

His arms become her hearse.

Yet the temptation amplifies,

An ethereal desert welcomes the undead souls,

And The Moor sings.

Two chestnuts in his face burn a blue flame

Of a paradoxical cool rage.

Impossible! he thinks as she turns her back.

And hope leaves the demon’s body, giving the

Rage to the universe, fueling the flame of the desert.

His insides corrode with fire, stand tall against this invasion.

It rids the disease, the fire does,

As he becomes hate and she

Becomes life.

She wears a wreath, made of twigs and leaves

Drops and falls

Gusts and heaves.

Yet it burns!

The Moor consumes her soul

And she turns but not to fight,

But to atone to his wishes.

By the pain I see in others,

She thinks,

Fire will prevail. But the black rose, immortal,

Shall conquer in the end.

As she stands in the rays of the sun

She is longing for the darkness.

Her heir apparent dispersed, triumphant,

And her ethereal mist gone.

She is nothing but a mortal now.

The desert claims victory.