At the entrance to the theater!

Tenant of Wildfell Hall:  Play Review

(Based on“Tenant of Wildfell Hall”, by Anne Brontë)

My first few steps into the Frederic Wood Theater were definitely not how I imagined them to be.  I was amazed by the beautiful modern design of the theater and impressed by the number of people who had come, but mostly, I was shocked at the fact that I had been betrayed. There I was, standing in a black skirt with tights and a black jacket, flanked by two middle aged men wearing t-shirts and shorts. As always, I was in a rush to finish eating dinner while cramming in some study time for my biology test the following day, and I was worried that I hadn’t dressed formally enough. Much to my surprise, I was far from being the most casually dressed at the event. In fact, it even felt a bit awkward at times when I was caught in the middle of an older, informally dressed crowd. On the other hand, it was also fun to compare fashion choices with my classmates and transform into adults for the night.

To be honest, I didn’t think that I would enjoy the play very much. There were quizzes and test that (I thought) I would much rather be studying for, and I hadn’t slept well the previous night. That being said, the chances of enjoying the night were slim, right? Wrong. The intriguing plot of the play paired with the incredible acting skills of th

e performers lead to a captivating performance. I thought that the props they used to set the scene were very effective. From the way that the actors confidently moved around the stage, a simple switch from chairs to paintings was enough to make the change in setting very believable. The giggling, gossiping ladies were similar in that they were clearly supposed to be a light hearted component of the play, yet each of them had their own unique personalities that set each one of them apart. They wore long, flamboyant dresses with wide bonnets, which made them appear as though they were floating. The real surprise came when Helen Graham, the main character of the play, glided gracefully into the “sea of ladies” like a black swan. She seemed to be the epitome of elegance, and she fit the image of a strong female character very well. Undoubtedly the most talented and cutest actor in the play was Helen’s son. I was completely amazed at how well the boy was able to remember his lines. It was as though he had learned his character so well that he wasn’t acting anymore, but being himself.

The night was full of pleasant surprises and happy moments. I had no idea that I would enjoy the play as much as I did. When I got home, I recommended that my mom should go watch it the next day, but she settled on reading the book by Anne Brontë instead. Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance, and the experience of attending a play with my classmates. 

Campus Haikus (UHill Poetry Project)

Writers block- a dreadful virus that attacks and supresses your ability to produce creative masterpieces. Sadly, I seem to have caught a very severe case of writers block, as I have been unable to produce pieces of writing that meet the standards I have for myself as a writer. Poetry has always been one of my most favourite units in English, because it lets me to dig deep into my giant box of bizarre and unique ideas and create something that I’m truly proud of. After much procrastination, I decided to open my box a few days ago to search for some inspiration, but after fishing around for almost an hour, I still hadn’t caught anything. Writer’s block strikes again.

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But, I wasn’t discouraged. It was a beautiful sunny day, and I had to run an errand at the library, so I decided that I would come up with an idea while I walked. Luckily, I was not disappointed. On my way to the library, I heard the distinctive “gong” of the UBC Clock Tower. It was a little past noon, and students were lounging on white, puffy bean bag chairs in front of the Koerner Library. This scene served as the inspiration for the first in a collection of five haikus I would write over the course of the week. I decided that each poem would focus on one of the five senses. In honor of the booming Clock Tower, this haiku is about sound.

Clock Tower

  Curled on a white cloud,

only to be woken by

the footsteps of time.

               

On my way home from the Library, I thought that Id take a different route for a change in scenery. I walked through one of my favourite parts of UBC- the Rose Garden. I enjoy looking at the multicolored roses contrasted against the lush, dark green leaves while listening to the chirp f birds flying in the trees above. Most of all, I love the way the garden smells. Even in the winter time, a visit to the Rose Garden will make you feel as though you’ve walked into a spring paradise. Therefore, I dedicate my next haiku to the   beautiful, fragrant aroma of the garden.                                                                                 

Rose Garden

Diving into a

crimson sea to bathe in nature’s

fragrant perfume.

The last three haikus were written based on the fond memories that I have accumulated while growing up in UBC. They are a tribute to (in my opinion) the most beautiful, friendly neighbourhood in the world. The first is a Summer memory of going for long walks on the water’s edge at Spanish Banks. This haiku is about the “touch” sense.

Spanish Banks

Fine sand grains embrace

my toes as the cool sea breeze

 caresses my cheek.

I remember having the edges of my mouth stained purple from blueberry juice. Locally grown blueberries taste best- especially when grown at the UBC farm.

Blueberry Season at the Farm

Piercing delicate

skin to free the sweet, tangy

blood of ripe blueberries.

The UBC Japanese Garden is also a very beautiful place to visit. I particularly liked the miniature waterfall- the splashing water against the rocks is very soothing.

Japanese Garden

A lone twig rides the

river’s ripples, plunging into

the pool of diamonds.

        Having completed the (supposedly) harder part of the project, I ended up hitting another dead end when thinking of ideas about how to publish my poem. My Cousin, who is living is in elementary school in India is also doing a poetry unit in her class. I thought that I could send her my poems to read to her classmates in India, but when I called her to suggest my idea she told me that her teacher had finished the Poetry unit early in order to squeeze in an extra unit before the term ended. She sounded especially grumpy, because the rest of her friends had already started their summer vacations (Usually, summer vacation starts a month early in India), but her school is one of the only schools that operates differently. With that idea down the drain, I had to search for an alternative method of distribution.

Customized Poetry Napkins :)

My poems on the Feature Display.

Suddenly, I was hit with a stroke of inspiration- I could print my poems on bookmarks and make them available at libraries around UBC. That way, I could advertise my favourite places on campus and publish my poems at the same time. I went t the UBC Bookstore first, but they told me that they didn't allow any form of "advertising" at the cashier counters, and they rejected my bookmarks. Oh well. But I didn't give up there- my next stop was the Koerner Library, just a couple minutes walk away from the bookstore. I put my bookmarks next to the book return slot in hopes that people would either read or take one on their way into the library. From there, I went to the VPL library- another appropriate place to deliver book marks. The librarian took my bookmarks and displayed them in the "featured" section. 

My lonely poem napkins, longing
for a customer to notice them. 

       For my second form of publication, I wanted to somehow target coffee shops. Many, many
people visit cafes or popular coffeehouses (such as Starbucks or Blenz Coffee) on a daily basis, so it is an ideal place to get your poem across to a large number of people. To do this, I decided to make custom napkins with my poem written on the corner and keep a stack of them next to the coffee lids and sugar packets. That way,
when a customer is making their coffee, they can choose to brighten their day with a locally written poem. I visited the Starbucks and and Bean Around The World on West 10th, and the baristas at the counter were very friendly and willing to let me publish.

Napkins at Bean Around the World

I had some left over poem squares from the napkins project, and I needed a way to use them (I wouldn't want all that color printing to go to waste!) So I thought of the next most popular place to visit- the grocery store. The "Kin's Farm Market" is located near the VPL Library, and it is a popular destination for fruit and vegetable shopping. The cashier allowed me to display my poems next to the brochures so that customers would be able to read them.

Poems next to the brochures
 at Kin's Farm Market 

          My three forms of publication were hand-crafted bookmarks, customized napkins and (left over) poem squares. I visited a total of seven stores- I was successful in distributing my poems to five of them, and was rejected by two. In all, I think that my poem publication project was successful, in that I was able to target more people by taking the help of popular stores and coffeehouses. UBC is a truly beautiful neighborhood that should be enjoyed by everyone, and I am proud to have been able to share its beauty through my poems.

Jack in the Box
(A poetic response to "Sweet Like a Crow" by Michael Ondaatje)

Your voice is like a hidden predator, lurking in the tall grass,

waiting patiently to strike.

Like a teacher counting backwards in the last seconds of a test.

Like the muffled sound of the audience as you wait to mount the stage.

Like a character in a horror movie about to enter the basement,

unaware of the murderer concealed

in the shadows of the staircase.

Like an ascending minor scale.

Staring intently at a jack in the box and listening to the

falsely sweet tune as you wait for the jack to be freed of its prison.

Like waking up on a Saturday morning to finally discover

what will happen to your favourite character,

only to be met by a string of commercials.

Like watching someone blow a balloon and knowing

that no matter how many times they deny it,

the balloon has reached its maximum capacity.

Like a single key on a broken piano being pressed repeatedly.

The monotonous voice of the lonely robot,

trapped in the confines of an iphone and

freed only by the accidental press of the home button.

Playing a game of tag on the playground at lunch

and being interrupted by the school bell, calling you inside.

Like walking down a deserted street at midnight,

like a football being thrown at your stomach.

Like when I was standing on a bright white line amidst a sea of blue, 

listening for the telltale click of a music player, and the grim voice of a man,

reminding us that our test begins in thirty seconds.

A Summer Storm
(A poetic response to William Carlos Williams' poem "The Red Wheelbarrow"

so much depends

upon

a crippled Aspen

tree

broken down and

conquered

by the merciless

wind

A Diamond in the Dust

(Poetic response to "The Metaphor") 

Through the swaying bulrushes,

a flock of grey fowl swim. 

Their ruffled feathers and dull coats

seem to merge into a single cloud of grey.

But in the center of the cloud

lies a large, gaping hole,

Through which the sun shines bright,

like a daisy among the weeds. 

With its regale head poised 

and white feathers gleaming, 

the swan glides with ease through the current, 

graceful and elegant amongst the dull fowl. 

Raising my rifle, I gaze at the swan 

as it gives a final stretch of its wings, 

and marvel at its beauty. 

Like a diamond in the dust, 

It's the perfect target. 

Amongst the Shadows

(Poetic response to “The Sound of Hollyhocks”)

The dark is a curious thing.

The way the countless shades of night interweave,

The colors and shapes distort themselves,

Into an endless and unbreakable expanse of black.

The shadows that slip and slide against one another

Dancing with the musty, cold air.

The feeling of being secluded in your own world

While constantly being observed.  

My doctor said I could leave the dark if I wanted.

That if I tried hard enough, I would see daylight once again.

But I know a lie when I hear one.

I chose to live amongst the shadows.

To fully immerse myself in this eternal night.

To be engulfed by this black tide of darkness.

Why?

Because, despite what everyone says,

 There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Blood Red Wine

Such a beautiful thing it is, the wine.

As I place the second glass on the tray,

My eye catches on my graceful, slender fingers.

So out of place, performing such a cold-blooded task.

Back and forth, back and forth.

The smooth, red liquid caresses the sides of the glass,

Sloshing gently from side to side,

As I draw nearer to my victim.

Such a beautiful thing it is, the wine.

Two deep, crimson wells of perfection.

Both so shallow, yet so deep.

Both seemingly identical, yet vitally different.

I take a glass, she takes the other

We raise the cups to our lips.

She smiles at me, as my knees buckle.

I chose the wrong glass.

The light is already fading,

My eyes beginning to close.

But I watch as the red trickles between the broken glass.

Such a beautiful thing it is, the wine.