The All Too Easy, Crazy, Save Me Essay

Emeka Igbokwe
Pathways
Essay 5
December 15, 2010
The All Too Easy, Crazy, Save Me Essay
    Going into college, doubt was never something that plagued my mind. My success would depend on whether I did my work or not. Confidently, I went into classes ready to do what I have to get the grade. My list of classes were, English, Psychology, Astronomy and Math Statistics. Eager to get the grade I got to work in all of those classes. I wasn’t ready to procrastinate or postpone anything to the last minute.
    Of the four classes the most interesting was Astronomy while all the others were simple classes that I took in the past, but for some reason the past seemed to be repeating itself. I started off well in all of the classes and all for the most part did well in all of them, except for English. For some reason English always somehow managed to slip out of hand and I would have to play “catch up” with my grade. Midterm came and I had a C-. Wanting a better grade than that, I attempted to refocus myself on the work and raise my grade. With the semester coming to an end, I find out my grade is the same! Confusion is the only thing that in my mind. I felt I did almost everything I could to change my act and raise my grade to find out it didn’t move at all. I begin to become a bit angered. I’m ready to give up until I find out there is one last chance… A narrative ! One of the easiest forms of writing, is the final essay for the class. Something that comes out of my head, with no need of research or the most annoying part of an essay, the dreaded works cited page. All I need to do is write about an event that happened this semester, whether academic or non-academic. This seem to be the perfect assignment for me.
    I tell myself I’m going to get this essay done well before the deadline. I passed in the 4th essay on time and the day after I planned to get to work on the narrative. On the next day, Saturday, I woke up with a plan for the day. The list went like this: Breakfast from 12:00 to 2:00, laundry from 2:30 to 4:30, statistics study group from 5:00 to 6:00, psychology group from 6:15 to 7:30 and then I start the essay from 7:45 to 9:00. After 9 o’clock I was in relax/party mode. Everything was going according to plan until it became time for the psychology group. Waiting at the library for the other four people that were supposed to be studying I sat there until 8 o’clock when only two of the four people in the group came. Aggravated that none of them thought to call and tell me they were coming late or not coming at all, we began studying, studying that cut into the time that I set aside for my essay. At 9:30 the group finally finished the material but I knew I had to get at least a paragraph of the essay done. I went from topic to topic. It was almost impossible to think of an event to write about. I wrote the first paragraph and a half originally intending to write about how I got a 94 on my first statistics exam and left the library at 10:30. Now, I had 30 minutes to shower and get ready for the Cape Verdian Student Association (CVSA) Christmas party. After 11 o’clock they would turn everyone who was waiting to get in to the party away and I didn’t want that to happen to me again like it happened the last party. I made it into the party at 10:58 with an hour and two minutes until my birthday. Being my birthday I was determined to have fun because there’s not much to do on a Sunday, with no vehicle. I stepped in my room at 5 o’clock in the morning, drained from a great night of fun.
    I wake up to a sunset, apparently I slept through the whole day, I looked at the clock to see it was around 4:30. Once I get out the shower I look at my phone and see I have 11 missed calls. Then it dawns on me that it’s still my birthday. On top of the misses calls I’m still getting calls from family and friends. Happy birthdays turn into hows college and by the time I realize it its 8:30. When I finally attempt to begin my essay, I get a knock at my door. When I open the door, it’s a group of my close friends with a cake and balloons. Within an hour or so, the suggestion of going out to eat is brought up and off we go to T.G.I. Fridays. From there we drive around to a bakery for more sweets which I must say were delicious. I get home at 2 a.m. tired from laughing and eating and in a matter of minutes I’m sleeping; still having only a paragraph and a half– about 75 words of the 1000 word essay done.
    The next day I wake up for class at 8 a.m. Classes go by and I have more study sessions. I don’t have free time until 6 p.m. and I know its time for me to finally do this essay. The computer is on and ready. I turn the television off and now all I need is my flash-drive. I reach inside my bag to get it and its not in there. I look into everyone of the pockets that I wore on the Saturday while I was at the library and it wasn’t there either. Perplexed and infuriated, I begin to take apart my room. I look through every article of clothing and still it is no where to be found. At this point I don’t know what to do. My only option is to start it over. The only reason I even considered starting it over was because I didn’t have much done to begin with. So I sit down and  get to work. Four hours later I’m just a paragraph away from a finished product. I make the decision to stop working for the night and I make sure I save it to the computer. On Tuesday I barely think of the essay because I know I would be able to finish it easily. So, I parlay through the day. I eat, hang-out, and then go to the gym. By the time I get back to the room its 12:15 in the morning and after a shower I lay down with the computer and before I know it the hours I put in at the gym put me to sleep like a baby.
    CRASH! A few hours later I wake up to find my laptop on the floor. Thank goodness it was in one piece, but from the height of which it fell I was afraid to even turn it on. As I fell asleep, the only thing on my mind was whether it would turn on or not. Wednesday’s classes happen, the final classes of the semester, they last tests of my first semester of college. I get through them with only two things on my mind. 1. The semester is basically over. 2. Its not over because I have one more paragraph on a computer that I don’t even know will turn on. I get to my room and turn pick up the laptop from the table. I turn it on and wait. Five minutes go by and the light is on but the screen is black. Ten more minutes and the same thing is happening. After another 15 minutes, I take the power cord out and leave the room. To my mistake, I left with out my key or phone; my room mate was at the library and my RA was nowhere to be found, probably at the library too. So I go to a friends room and wait for my room mate and RA, going back to knock of the doors every hour or so. By 2 o’clock I was asleep in the friends room tired from waiting and aggravation. At about 6 a.m., I wake up and rush to my room and bang on the door. My room mate comes opens the door confused and I explain what happened. With my second attempt I wait 45 minutes and then finally the computer fully powers on. I finish the last paragraph and now I wait to see what grade I will get on the essay that could save my grade.

Essay 3

Emeka Igbokwe
Pathways
Essay 3 Finally
November 20, 2010

Death is a Good Thing:
Techniques of Edger Allan Poe and Hans Baldung Grien

    Art is a matter of interpretation. From poetry to paintings, every work of art has a meaning, its just the task of finding out exactly what that meaning is. Something like poetry might be hard to analyze. In  some poems a title may mislead the reader into believing one thing, then once the poem has been read it might mean something totally different. In other poems though, the title is a direct suggestion of what the poem means. Writers like Edger Allen Poe often do things like this in his poetry. His way of writing was very distinct, it was either something grim or had to do with love but he always managed to  incorporate the theme of death into the work somehow. Interpreting paintings is, in a way, an easier task to complete. Many paintings show exactly what their meanings are, while one of the few aspects left to interpret is the inspiration for the painting being made. Once a reason for a painting to be made is known, it should be easier to understand what the poem means. Hans Baldung Grien was a painter during the 1300’s. Many of his painting featured sex, love and death as genres. In almost all of the paintings these genres were exhibited clearly.
    Edger Allen Poe, an American writer, knew how to catch his audience attention when writing. Like most of his writings, his early life was a tragic one. Before the age of three, both of his parents were out of his life. His father was claimed by an unknown sicknesses while it was speculated that his mother was killed by pneumonia. Many say that, along with a few other factors, was what influenced his writing style to be so grim and psychologically thrilling. Poems like “For Annie” were on the other side of the spectrum. This was one of his poems that had to do with the theme of love. Hans Baldung Grien lived earlier than Poe. While Poe was born in 1809 Baldung lived from 1484 to 1545. There was 264 year gap between the two but what they based their art on was often similar. Baldung, like Poe was born into an established family. Baldung’s family was composed of doctors and lawyers and because of that he was able to learn a lot in the artistic field; even before he served as an assistant to Albrecht Dürer (possibly one of the greatest German renaissance artists). Many of his paintings showed some sort of progression and then, much like Poe, Baldung dropped death into the portrait; one of his paintings is called Three Ages of Woman and Death.
    In the painting Three Ages of Woman and Death Baldung seems to paint four characters. Looking closer, it is apparent that there are only two real characters in the painting. There is a woman but Baldung showed the woman in three different stages of her life. At the bottom left corner of the painting is the woman as a little baby. To the right of the baby is the woman as a teenager or an adult. This woman has long hair, down to her calves and she is standing looking at what seems to be a mirror but her reflection cannot be seen. To her left and standing over the baby is the last version of the woman. This is an old hag of a woman. On the other side of the photo is a skeletal figure that seems to be falling apart. As defined in the name of the painting, this being is most likely death. Both of its hands are occupied in the painting. In one hand, it is holding up a hour glass that seems to be half full and in the other hand it is holding the only piece of garment covering the young woman and the baby. None of the women seem to be acknowledging each other. The only acknowledgment seemed to be between death and the old woman. The old woman seemed to be looking and reaching up to the hour grass but at the same time she has a terrified look on her face. The baby was preoccupied with the small garment that was covering her, seeming not have a care in the world.
    Nancy “Annie” Richmond was a woman Poe befriended in  Lowell, Massachusetts at a lecture on American poetry. As time went on, his feelings for her became stronger but because she was a married woman he knew he would not be able to act upon his feelings. Instead he framed his emotions in a poem dedicated to her titled, “For Annie”. The poem was an elating one; starting off with an optimistic: Thank Heavens ! As the poem goes on, he describes how this danger, this illness, this fever is finally over. He proclaims how he has conquered this terrible thing called life. He cannot move at all, and he is laying straight out but despite that he feels better than he ever has. He lays so “composedly”, no “moaning and groaning”, no “sighing and sobbing” they have all stopped. Even that horrible throbbing in his heart has stopped. He declares again how that maddening fever called life is finally over. He further attributes it with sickness and pain; whatever life he was living before could not compare to what the situation is for him at the moment. The whole time he has been searching to quench some insatiable thirst for something natural and he has finally found it. In some fountain or spring, under ground in a cavern not too deep, there is a natural water that he has attained at last. In this bed that all men sleep in is where he slumbers, but this bed is neither gloomy nor narrow. He lies an dreams while the beauty of Annie is drowned in her hair. She kisses and caresses him while he falls gently yet deeply asleep in her breast that he describes as heaven. He lays there and Annie preys that the angels keep him safe. As he lays there those who see him see death but his heart shines bright with the thought of the eyes of Annie.
    Baldung’s painting had two aspects to it, life and death. The painting would almost have made sense without the manifestation of death. It would have showed the progression of life from childhood to adulthood. Not only that but it would show the points of life that occupied them the most at the ages that were represented; the baby being occupied with something as trivial as a piece of cloth and the young woman taken up with her appearance, but without death and the hour-glass being depicted in the painting what would the elderly woman have to look forward to? That question is what helps give the painting meaning. All anyone has to look forward to is the inevitability of death. The old woman is inevitably looking at time pass until her last hour comes.
    For Annie was filled with optimism and elation. Every line had to do with the happiness of Poe being with Mrs. Richmond. Somehow though, Poe managed to incorporate his, seemingly, favorite theme of death into such a lively poem. What made Poe decide to talk about love as death? Was he really dead? In the third and fourteenth stanzas he stated that those who see him might fancy him of think of him as dead. He implies that it is only a sight to see, which must mean he is actually alive. Poe must be so overcome with this love that he has for Annie that he is sent into this euphoric-like bliss in which nothing matters any more. In stanza six and seven when he talks about the river that he has finally been given the opportunity to drink from, it is the river of love that he has splurged on. With the addition of the mistaken identity of death for love, the poem’s ability to entice the reader to find out what the actual reason for this death is.
    Both of these works of art would have depicted a meaning well, without the addition of the death theme. But because the theme of death was added, the meaning was enhanced. The theme of death makes meanings and lessons seem life long. Whether the message is conveyed through word or picture, if the theme of death is depicted well and can be interpreted, the meaning that is picked up from the art will be a memorable one because the person comprehending the message is able to put it in perspective.

Annotated Bibliography

Eberhard Ruhmer. “Albrecht Durer.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Academic edition. 2010. The Encyclopædia Britannica is one of the most trusted encyclopedias in the world. The information obtained was biographical information on Albrecht Durer, the mentor of Hans Baldung.

"For Annie by Edgar Allan Poe." Edgar Allan Poe, Short Stories, Tales, and Poems. Web. 24 Nov. 2010. <http://poestories.com/read/annie>.This is the website where I obtained the poem "For Annie" by Edgar Allan Poe. The website has a number of his works and a brief biography.

Kennedy, J. Gerald. A Historical Guide to Edgar Allan Poe. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2001. Print. From this book I received biographical information on Edgar Allan Poe and other trivial information like who Mrs. Nancy "Annie" Richmond was and information about Poe's family.

The Editors of The Encyclopædia Britannica. “Hans Baldung.” Encyclopædia Britannica. Academic edition. 2010. The Encyclopædia Britannica is one of the most trusted encyclopedias in the world. The information obtained from this encyclopedia was biographical information on Hans Baldung, an artist that lived during the 1300’s. Also, a painting called “Three Ages of Woman and Death” was taken

Thomas, Dwight, and David Kelly. Jackson. The Poe Log: a Documentary Life of Edgar Allan Poe, 1809-1849. Boston: G.K. Hall, 1987. Print. This book was used to obtain biographical information about Edgar Allan Poe

Blog 3

    During mid July I took a trip to Miami Florida. My cousin just graduated with a Pharmaceutical degree so the family was throwing her a party. We had been preparing for the party for months, expecting the turnout to be great. The day before the party was a rush; everyone was in a scurry to make sure everything was in order for the next night. The house was hectic as people walked in and out with supplies. Because I didn’t know the area that much I was given the job to fill the gas tanks of all the cars at the end of the day.
    There were five cars and all of their tanks were empty. I decided to have one of my cousins come with me so I wouldn’t be doing all of the work by myself. Within 40 minutes we were down to the last car. As I sped down the street I decided to scare my cousin a little bit because it was basically his first time driving with me. The first four trips I drove cautiously so when I started to swerve through the traffic he got a bit scared; understandable since I was driving 60 mph on a 45 mph zone. As the street came to an end the light turned yellow. I knew I could beat it, so I drove faster but then some guy came out of the a side street and managed to cut me off and he was going faster than me.
    As a driver with a competitive spirit, I was not going to allow him to show me up; I was driving a Dodge Charger while he was driving a Chrysler mini-van so I had to catch up to him. As we raced up to the signal light he slowed down while I was still going very fast. Luckily, the car was brand new so the brakes were still perfect. With a screeching halt I stopped with about two inches of space between his bumper and mine.
    As my cousin and I waited behind him, a red bumper sticker on the mini-van caught my eye. The sticker read “If you can read this, I can stop suddenly and sue you!”. Immediately I began laughing hysterically. Perplexed, my cousin looked at me wondering what was going on. The light turned green and we pulled into the gas station. I walked up to the mini-van with my phone to take a picture of the sticker, while my cousin was still bewildered as to why I was laughing. Once I moved away from the van my cousin looked down. Within a second the whole gas station heard him “Oh” with realization of what was so amusing to me.
    We topped the tank, then started to drive home. I drove slowly so we could take in the irony. To think, if that light wasn’t there, with the speed I was driving, if he stopped short, I would have been getting sued in the state of Florida.

Blog 2

    Mike Gerbino is a young poet from Rochester New York. He was a contestant on the HBO special Brave New World; a poetry competition where youths from all over America come together to speak their minds artistically. Mike Gerbino recited a poem called “Ugly Sunset”. The poem described how the sunset meant and caused so many things, not only to Mike but in general to everyone who has ever been affected by the things he spoke of in the poem. In his performance, the passion he put forth emphasized his point on how even though sunsets appear so physically beautiful; “If there ever was a moment to be labeled 'poetic', this was it. She was everything. And we were endless”; so many “ugly” things happen. He says, “This is to that sunset, which claims to be beautiful with it's shapes, and shades, and mystical colors but really...it's one ugly motherfucker. That sunset has put an end to more beautiful days than you'd care to count. That sunset is the reason for teen curfews, and little girls being taken from their homes. That sunset is the cause of evil worldwide. Fuck that thing! You can paint your canvas and snap your photos, but I submit that that is one ugly sunset. That sunset, in all of it's hideous glory, barked death threats at me, and told me that if I thought it was so fucking ugly, that I shouldn't look at it. And that if I thought these feelings were so painful, that I shouldn't write poetry about them.” He states negative things that happen when the sun sets like little girls being taken from their homes. To think something like that could happen because the sun is going down. But then he seems to switch his stance on how evil and hideous sunsets are. He goes further to say how in reality, ugly is actually beautiful. “I looked at that sunset, because even ugly is beautiful. And humanity holds no standards, so kissing this audience with my break-up poem is not self indulgent. It's taking something ugly, and painful, and heartbreaking beyond comprehension, and showing you just how fucking beautiful life can be.” In the last line he reveals that he is not just talking about a sunset but he is using that sunset to represent life. He is saying that no matter awful life can be it is still a beautiful thing. Life can cause so much pain but the fact that you are living life it the beauty but you have to actually work to find. “I appreciate beauty no matter how difficult it is to find. I hope you can do the same.” The only thing is people are sometimes too afraid to look for a way to make it beautiful. “Ugly sunset. Ducking beneath that horizon. What are you so afraid of?” That's his opening and closing statement and that is a question many people should ask themselves.

Essay 2 Nature

Nature Essay


Emeka Igbokwe
Pathways
10/19/2010

Nature is interpreted differently by everyone. Some people enjoy nature; some people could care less about it. There are people who care so much about nature that they choose to live on a tree-top and risk their lives so that tree wouldn’t be cut down by some development company. Then there are other people that just like nature for the scenery. If there is anyone who falls into that category it would be me. A great view of nature is a beautiful thing to me. Whether it’s a beach view or a field of trees, as long as there isn’t too much influence from unnatural sources, that view can be precious. When nature is tainted by humans it takes away from the true beauty of the scene. A scene as beautiful as the night sky filled with stars is something that many people miss out on because of the light pollution. In my home city of Boston, it is almost impossible to see a shooting star because of all the lights that illuminate the city. The scenery here on campus is beautiful though; there are many things here that are not normally seen back in Boston.

I’m woken up from sleep by the bright light of the morning sun. Although it is almost two hours before my alarm is set to wake me up I decide not to go back to sleep. Instead, I lay and gaze at the beautiful view of the field outside my window. The oval shaped field is surrounded by a group of trees on one side, which acts as a barrier, protecting this field from the rest of the world; only showing small portions of the buildings behind them through their trunks. On the other of the field stands my building, further secluding this area making it private to only those who know of it. The first thing that comes to mind is the possibility of playing a great game of football there because of its size. Since fall has just started the colors of the leaves on the trees have begun to change, shades of oranges and yellows and red surround the field; every tree except two pine trees that maintain their deep green color. To the right, behind one of the pine trees is a walk way that leads to the sophomore dorms. In the peace of the morning only two things can be heard; the music playing in my room is the most apparent sound since the speakers are less than two feet from me. The next sound that’s heard in the sound of cars driving by. This is a sound that slightly manages to show that I am not totally in the middle of nowhere but at the same time it’s odd because from my point of view it is almost impossible to see where this sound is coming from. Now, in a way, the sound of the cars going by becomes less apparent and is almost muffled out. As I close my eyes and take a deep breath the smell of the morning dew overwhelms my nose and my mind. It’s one of the smells that I’m actually familiar with because of the lawn at my house back in Boston. The smell brings back memories from when I was younger and I had to wake up early to wait for the school bus; that would be the only thing I smelled in the morning until I got on the bus. Once that thought begins a feeling of warmth rushed through my body. This is a good feeling because I forgot to close the window that night so the brisk morning breeze blows into the room instantly chilling me. By the time I realize what has happened, it is 8:30 and I have only thirty minutes to get myself to class.

In a journal held by Henry David Thoreau he wrote of a similar scene:
“P. M. - To Cliffs. Looking under large oaks, black and white, the acorns appear to have fallen or been gathered by squirrels, etc. I see in many distant places stout twigs (black or scarlet oak) three or four inches long which have been gnawed off by the squirrels, with four to seven acorns on each, and left on the ground. These twigs have been gnawed off on each side of the nuts in order to make them more portable, I suppose. The nuts all abstracted and sides of the cups broken to get them out. The note of the chickadee, heard now in cooler weather and above many fallen leaves, has a new significance. There was a very severe frost this morning (ground stiffened), probably a chestnut-opening frost, a season-ripener, opener of the burs that inclose the Indian summer. Such is the cold of early or middle October. The leaves and weeds had that stiff, hoary appearance. (Thoreau)”
When I read this it immediately reminded me of the scene outside of my window. Thoreau’s explanation of the scene he was looking at shows that he holds the same value if not more for nature, as I.

On the second occasion I caught myself gazing leisurely out the window at a gray, rainy afternoon. With classes being finished for the day I decided to relax for a while before I started my homework. While laying down a feeling of contentment, both physically and mentally, came over me. Physically content, because I just came back from lunch so I was full; that along with the grayness of the sky made it so I couldn’t wait to take a nap. The only thing was I knew if I took that nap I would never get to do that homework because I would be asleep for the rest of the day. Never the less I was mentally content because I knew I had the next day all to myself. Once I finished that homework I would be free to do whatever I wanted so I was determined to finish. Unfortunately the view out the window was distracting for some peculiar reason. As I lay there, I watched rain drop after rain drop trickle down the window. Watching the drops stream down the window became almost hypnotizing. One stream branched off into two other streams, then those two into two others and so on. In a few minutes my idol gazing became a game of guessing. From the top of the window I watched the streams run down but this time I attempted to anticipate where the crystal clear drifts would end up at the bottom of the window; this went on for a while. The pitter-patter of the rain against the window was the only thing that could be heard for a long time. It was peaceful for while. It was almost as if time had frozen. I just laid there in the perfect thinking atmosphere. Miniature episodes of reflective thoughts occurred as a focused my sights at the top of the tallest tree. I stared and thought, and then all of a sudden my concentration was broken by the sight of two chickadees frolicking in mid-air. I watched to birds soar through the air and wondered, “How is it possible that these birds were still out flying in this down pour? Shouldn’t the rain be slowing them down?” My full attention was diverted to the birds; it was as if they were putting on an aerial show from me. They cut through the sky with ease; the rain meant nothing to them.

The third account of my nature gazing was at night. Lying in my bed with no lights or television on, the room was pitch black with no sounds in it. The only light came from the few street lights behind the trees. From where I was the lights gave just enough light to cast shadows. Because the lights were so low, they didn’t take away from the beautiful night sky. The way the moon shined and the stars gleamed was an exquisite sight. In the bustling city, a sight like this would be hard to come across. The stellar full moon boldly hanging in the sky; looking almost close enough to touch. The shimmering stars like Sirius totally visible in the sky; “Sirius …the brightest star in the night sky. Aptly named, Sirius comes from the Greek word Seirius, meaning, "searing" or "scorching." Blazing at a visual magnitude of -1.42, it is twice as bright as any other star in our sky. (Braganca)” Only here on this campus have I been able to draw out constellations in the sky, consecutively, night after night. The only thing that would stop me from seeing the stars on a certain night would be it was a cloudy night. Aside from that, I have been able to see the stars almost perfectly. It’s a great thing to look at; to just sit back and ask our hows and whys, or to just contemplate on the possibilities.




Works Cited

Braganca, Pedro. The 10 Brightest Stars. 15 July 2003.
Dimijian, Mary Beth; G, Gregory. "Night Sky." Night Sky Images from a fragile planet 17 Oct. 2010 [http://www.dimijianimages.com/More-p20-Madagascar-p7/night-sky-from-Madagascar-gallery.htm]
Thoreau, Henry David. (n.d.).