Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Who You Are in the Books You Read

Thursday, April 7th, 2022

What does it mean to see yourself in a book?

As a gay South Asian woman, this is a very important question to me. As a writer, this question is, in a way, a central focus of my life. Representation is vital; as someone who grew up with limited representation, I want to help facilitate a different future for the children growing up today. As we take each step into an unknown future, we should at least know that we are trying to positively change things for the next generation. 

There have been various books that have touched me, but there are three that truly impacted me in my adult life. Ada Limon’s The Carrying, Danez Smith’s Don’t Call Us Dead, and Kabi Nagato’s My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness all shaped my early college years. When I read each of these books, there was a certain point that I would have to set it down because my tears would be overflowing. It is through the words etched onto off-white pages that I felt seen by someone. These writers didn’t know who I was but had nonetheless found a way to reach out and remind me that I exist– that I’m alive with my own stories to tell the world. 

Cover of The Carrying by Ada Limon

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it was that was in those books that jolted my emotions so vividly. Was there something notable about the vocabulary? Was there particularly elegant use of punctuation or cadence? Was the imagery intensely vibrant?

While these books do indeed have something special to them (to be a writer who can weave words is a talent), I found the answer to my wonder elsewhere. These writers wrote unequivocally, unapologetically, as themselves. They wrote from their experiences, their lived emotions, feelings, and truths, without leaving a shadow of insincerity. Their works are raw; they touch on difficult topics and experiences. They recount the beautiful, the dirty, the painful, the joyous, and the hopeful. This hope is something personal; from the ways they were treated in the world, these creators write collections that plants seeds for the future.

I want to write as myself. I want to write for myself. I want to write for others… But I don’t want to write for others’ approval. 

I want to be the kind of writer who can be unapologetically me in my work; I want to record the macabre, the mundane, and the hope that ebbs and flows through my life. It was bits and pieces of Limon’s, Smith’s, and Nagato’s work that stuck with me; none of their life stories align completely with mine, but there were moments that fit in with moments from my own life. We are all made up of a myriad of identities, memories, and experiences. Even if we are not all the same, there are reminders, pockets of glimmering light, that can remind us that we are not alone… That there are others out there that have been through similar things and have felt similar emotions. I hope that from the various puzzle pieces of my own life, my future readers may find some kind of solace. To achieve this though, I’ve learned that I have to be free enough to put myself into what I write. In doing so, writers create stories that capture the realities of existing in this ever-changing world.


By: Ehani Schneiderman

Ehani Schneiderman is a senior studying literature and anthropology at The New School. She hopes to connect with others through writing, poetry, and cultural exchange. When she isn’t nose deep in a book or word document, you can find her paddle boarding in a bay or scuba diving out at sea.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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Passion in a Rocky Boat

Thursday, March 31st, 2022

I’ve written about how I’ve had my dream—my dream of being a writer—since I was a child. Words have always flowed through my mind, my veins, and my heart… They’re what I’ve chosen to dedicate my life to. When someone has allotted so much time and energy to something they love, one might believe that they have all the confidence in the world. In reality, this isn’t quite true. If anything, loving something with all your heart can create uncountable pockets of self-doubt. A bitter feeling creeps up through unseen cracks, planting little seeds that sprout before you even begin to notice them. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering if I’m good enough, talented enough, or worthy enough to wield a pen. When something is important to you, there is a kind of ever-present mounting pressure to do it right—to do it perfectly

So, how does one deal with this? I can’t say I precisely have the answers, but my years in college have taught me a simple lesson: be kind to yourself. Looking back, I realise now that I wasn’t helping myself by being harsh on my own work. If anything, I held myself back; by feeding my own uncertainty, I kept myself from doing what I loved. I worried myself into a kind of lull, a complacency, that kept me stagnant. It was here that I lay in a pool of self-made dread. I was waiting every day for a sign to keep writing– a sign that I should keep writing. I wanted to—an ache in my bones made me feel like I needed to—but I kept this desire dormant because of my lack of confidence. It didn’t matter that I got positive feedback on my work. It didn’t matter that I was encouraged to keep going. I simply kept telling myself that it wasn’t true and that I needed to prove something more.

What I didn’t need was an external sign. I didn’t need to hear someone else’s validation. What I needed, simply, was kindness for myself. I needed to believe in my abilities and explore my writing freely. Discovering how to be gentle with yourself and your aspirations allows you to breathe. It allows you to be yourself. 

It is easy to say things such as “just do it.” We can think that, but sometimes we just don’t feel it. That’s alright; even though I am still harsh on my work, I hold onto the kernel of love—of passion—that inspired me to start writing in the first place. I remember what drove me to dedicate myself to my craft and grasp it with all my strength. When I remember these roots, they become a shining light… A beacon of sorts. They guide me back to my childish wonder, back to a time when I didn’t worry about the judgement of others (or the judgement of myself). Instead, I remember being held by the hands of characters who were my friends and realise that I want to create stories for little girls that want to see themselves in the books they read. And suddenly, when I am snapped back into my adult body, I rest easier in my bones. I let out a sigh, pick up a pen, and try to scribble a little something just for myself. Not for the world—just me and my own passions. 

It is here that I emphasise the importance of creating for yourself. As we grow older, our passions become subject to more and more eyes. This wears down on you, makes you self-conscious, and makes you wonder what your place in the world is. But in returning to yourself, to who you are to you, you can find solace and inspiration once again.


By: Ehani Schneiderman

Ehani Schneiderman is a senior studying literature and anthropology at The New School. She hopes to connect with others through writing, poetry, and cultural exchange. When she isn’t nose deep in a book or word document, you can find her paddle boarding in a bay or scuba diving out at sea.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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Connecting in a Vast World

Thursday, March 17th, 2022

In my last two posts, I have talked about some of my main passions– writing and anthropology. As I’ve continued my studies, I have often questioned why they matter to me so much. What do I wish to achieve by pursuing these topics? What do I hope for when I write? What do I hope for when I read? What influence do literature and anthropology have over my own desires, emotions, and dreams? 

I have found that it boils down to one thing: connection. This word has come up in my writing quite a bit… And for good reason. As a writer who desires to represent both myself and those who are like me, connection is vital. When I read, a thread is woven between myself and the author. I hope that when I write, I can create such a thread for those who pick up my books 

A variety of flowers from a trip to a botanical garden.

I have often been asked why I picked up anthropology and how it will benefit me as a fiction and poetry writer. While I don’t believe that you always have to tie together your interests (we are, afterall, multifaceted beings with limitless things to discover), I do have a response for these kinds of questions. A personal belief of mine is that in order to write good stories about people, we have to understand people. When we read books, we want to feel engrossed in what is happening. We want the characters to reach out to us from off the page. Even when characters aren’t humans, we still identify human traits in them. Therefore, I find it vital for writers to be able to understand what it means to exist as a human being. 

My anthropological studies have helped me not only learn about others, but have taught me how to learn about others. While this area of study is steeped in academic practices, it also teaches us to listen to one another. I have gained a lot from both articles I’ve read and conversations I’ve had with my peers. In a field that prioritises talking with others, I’ve been able to open up my understanding of the world by sharing stories with the people around me. While we all do this outside of the context of anthropology, I’ve found my listening to be heightened now because I’ve been taught how to take in real breathing stories.

Being able to converse, being able to listen, and being able to understand are all vital in the art of connecting. My philosophies boils down to this at its core: in my desire to connect, I also have a desire to learn. We should all open ourselves up to finding out more about one another. When we do, we can begin to understand how we all fit in as puzzle pieces on this vast planet. We may all be individuals, but we create and function within the world we live in. We affect the environment. We affect one another. We all fit together in one way or another; thus, it is important that we take time to acknowledge all bodies that exist. In doing so, we learn how we connect with everyone we come across in our lives. It doesn’t matter if it’s for years or for seconds– we have countless connections with others that influence the ways we choose to live.


By: Ehani Schneiderman

Ehani Schneiderman is a senior studying literature and anthropology at The New School. She hopes to connect with others through writing, poetry, and cultural exchange. When she isn’t nose deep in a book or word document, you can find her paddle boarding in a bay or scuba diving out at sea.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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What Does it Mean to Be a Writer?

Tuesday, February 22nd, 2022

As a child, I read. I read hungrily, voracious in my need to devour words, every day until my head was on the verge of bursting. Each weekend, I would browse the shelves of my local bookstore. By the following Friday, I would be done with whatever I had bought. 

Imagine my surprise when little me realised that people were behind books. It was one of those things I had sort-of known but never really absorbed; I suddenly understood that individuals didn’t just write books, but created them. They crafted plots, characters, and entire worlds. They had a magic within them, something that seemed almost mythical, but were still people… I realised that they were human, just like me. 

A small part of my growing collection of different stories!

And thus began my lifelong desire to be a writer. Approximately fifteen years later, at the verge of 23, I look back at the beginning of this dream fondly. In my mind’s eye, I see a little girl who was touched by the beauty of a grand world. My journey from then to now is a complicated one though. As I grew up, the types of books I read changed– though I suppose it is more accurate to say the types of books I was exposed to changed. My literature classes in middle and high school focused almost exclusively on one thing: the Western canon. I was fed the classics, the greats, with little understanding of what this was supposed to mean to me as an aspiring modern writer. 

As a LGBTQ+ South Asian girl, I grew up not seeing myself in media. Someone like me was rarely in a show or novel, and if there was someone like me, they were never the main character. When a child sees (or, perhaps, doesn’t see) themself, it permeates how they perceive their existence. It is here, at the doorway between a grand world and a PWI (predominantly white institute) that I began to misunderstand what was expected of me as a writer. I had begun to think that the Western canon was what is to be striven for– that it was the be-all and end-all of good writing. Nothing in my education before college dissuaded me from this misguided belief. I thus ended up not knowing how to write for and of myself… And I was too afraid to try. 

In my first year of college, my world was shaken. I had enrolled in a class called Living Writers; in this class, we would read books by modern storytellers and then attend a live reading. Different writers of various backgrounds poured their hearts out to us, sharing their struggles and triumphs, their insecurities and lessons. They opened up about the discrimination they faced, the roadblocks they overcame, and the visions they wished to share. They were all recognisable creators; decorated and respectable, their talent permeated the air. They were accomplished. They were passionate. They were dreamers. They were themselves… And they resonated with me. From where they stood on stage, looking out at the countless faces in front of them, they managed to reignite something within me. It was there, in a packed lecture hall warmed by dim overhead lights, that I heard voices– living, breathing voices– that reminded me of what it means for words to dance within a human body. 

What does it mean to be a writer? My time in college has afforded me a myriad of new ways to answer this. I think, foremost, it means to live– it means to be alive. We are all unique individuals. We all have our own stories. Nobody’s story is more important than anyone else’s; everyone has something to share, something to write about.  Learning to write for and about yourself also means learning to write for others. In a world that limits stories by telling creators what stories should be told, it is easy for us to become disconnected from one another. It is through reading that we can learn that we are not alone. It is through writing that we can show someone else that they are not alone. We begin to truly see one another.  When we choose to write about our own passions, our own realities, we begin to build community. A writer brings life not only to the pages, but also to those who pick up their work. We start to remember that we are all here, as humans, with stories that are deserving of being told.

Main takeaways:

  • Write for yourself! In doing so, you write for others as well.
  • Remember that your story is always worth being told!

By: Ehani Schneiderman

Ehani Schneiderman is a senior studying literature and anthropology at The New School. She hopes to connect with others through writing, poetry, and cultural exchange. When she isn’t nose deep in a book or word document, you can find her paddle boarding in a bay or scuba diving out at sea.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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At the End of the Day

Monday, April 28th, 2014

In everything that I have thus far said about the experience of reading and my own experience of reading, there is only one notion that I want everyone to constantly bear in mind: this is only one possible potential of understanding reading. The analogy of understanding the world as a text may be understood in a plurality of contexts. All I offer is one possible method and whether or not this reader wishes to take it to heart depends on the heart of the reader.

 

“What is given form here is not the totality of life but the artist’s relationship with that totality, his approving or condemnatory attitude towards it; here, the artist enters the arena of artistic creation as the empirical subject in all its greatness but also with all its creaturely limitations.”

—György Lukács

 

The beauty of the analogy of a text is that it allows for the reader to choose between understanding the text as a thing created by a person, taking that person into consideration; or taking the text as its own entity, which only truly comes into becoming when engaged in participation with a reader. Regardless of which text appeals to one’s sensibilities more, both texts are created by language, which by itself calls for the most intricate plurality known. Language is the simplest whole that is simultaneously a multitude of disconnected parts. This idea can be traced back as far as Genesis. When God destroyed the Tower of Babel, he wasn’t destroying mankind’s creation of language and his achievements. He destroyed mankind’s attempt to unify all the languages, because language isn’t meant to be a perfect unification. It urges its own tension and to deny that is like denying one’s own self-awareness. What texts do is they take this language and utilize it in order to create a poetic rendering of the world. And despite the fact that by creating this rendering, this reflection, the image created is merely an appearance, a portrait of what is truly attempting to be represented, and we are able to get more from this image than from anything else.

 

“Why couldn’t the world that concerns us—be a fiction? And if somebody asked, “but to a fiction there surely belongs an author?” —couldn’t one answer simply: why? Doesn’t this “belongs” perhaps belong to the fiction to? Is it not permitted to be a bit ironical about the subject no less than the predicate and object?”

—Friedrich Nietzsche

 

A frequent topic of conversation these days is where the direction of literature is headed, especially printed literature, in this technological Internet age. But what is rarely considered is the fact that literature is merely one medium for language. Similar questions are also asked about poetry, which seems to be suffering a more brutal battle than prose. But at the end of the day, poetry and prose are merely forms for the content of language. If the Internet and technological age are as threatening to the mediums of poetry and prose as people are making them out to be, then what will merely happen is that language will find a new form, a new vehicle. The only reason it’s difficult to imagine the type of vehicle it would be is because we have lived in constant mediums of language since before the time of Homer.  Now we have the Internet, something maybe vaguely conceptualized before its time, and we have absolutely no idea what the potential form of language will be in relation to the world that the Internet has created for itself. We’ve already gone through the times of Leet speak and Internet shorthand (LOL, OMG); but that’s just the evolution of conversation. The evolution of the poetic rendering of the world in the world of the Internet is, for now, a difficult thing to conceive.

 

“A whole world will envelop you, the happiness, the abundance, the inconceivable vastness of a world. Live for a while in these books, learn from them what you feel is worth learning, but most of all love them.”

—Rainer Maria Rilke

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Marina Manoukian, Sarah Lawrence College

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Poetry Review: David Mutschlecner’s Enigma and Light – Not Your Everyday Ekphrasis

Wednesday, June 13th, 2012

“Enigma and Light offers up a poetry unlike anything I’ve recently encountered: intelligent, fearless, engrossed in the rigors of its own journey.” – Elizabeth Robinson

      The exercise of ekphrasis – a literary description or critique of a visual work of art, intended to illuminate an essence which reveals itself (perhaps exclusively) in the dialogue between two mediums   – is not new. Dating back to ancient times, the term’s original definition extended to a description of anything: person, place, art, or even experience. Rooted in the Greek, ek and phrasis, translating to “out” and “speak;” to literally “speak out” to or identify an inanimate object by name. Unoffically originating in Plato’s discussion of the forms, the rhetorical device can be found throughout literary and philosophical history. Socrates and Phaedrus had ekphrastic discussions. Virgil used it in the Aeneid; Homer in the Iliad; Melville in Moby Dick; Cervantes in Don Quixote. But perhaps the most demonstrative – and notable – use of ekphrasis comes to us in Oscar Wilde’s Sui generis The Picture of Dorian Gray. While it also has robustly traceable roots in poetry, from the work of the Pre-Ralphaelite Brotherhood to William Carlos Williams to W.H Auden, the most contemporary, prominent example is found in the eponymous opening poem of John Ashbery’s Self-portrait in a Convex Mirror (which of course takes its name from Parmigianino’s famous micro-painting). To put it mildly, Ashbery exploded on to the scene following the book’s release, a worthy recipient of what has been dubbed the “Triple Crown” of poetry awards (the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, and National Book Critics Circle Award). Ekphrastic poetry has, ever since– more due to Self-portrait‘s notoriety than comparative critical reception – lived in the shadow of Ashbery’s landmark collection.

That is, until now.

David Mutschlecner’s newest book of poetry (author of Sign and Esse) titled Enigma and Light is an exquisitely crafted (a capacity which Ahsahta Press has recently exhibited industry-leading proficiency for) intertextual gateway to a world whose borders are typically only penetrated via hallucinogenic/augmented imaginative assistance. Past its mesmerizing grey-canvas wrapping – once an adequate attention is attained – inside one is greeted with familiar names unfamiliarly juxtaposed to familiar names, as titles. Mutschlecner adamantly takes his departure from the rhetoric’s Platonic origins, and then proceeds to gracefully transcend it.

My own personal experience with ekphrastic discourse goes back to freshman history in high-school, where I had the serendipitous pleasure of encountering one of the most brilliant people I have ever met. Not only was his knowledge encyclopedic, but his diverse and expansive array of areas of expertise would put most encyclopedias to shame (he memorized libraries while we refused to commit even the Bill of Rights). Yet, it was one fairly well known anecdote, haphazardly proclaimed, that has managed to stick with me some 8 years later. Mr. McShane was in the habit of playing music in class, which given his impeccable taste, was a welcome addition to an otherwise traditionally obtuse syllabus. On one such occasion, without warning (as he was also in the habit of doing) he played “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan, followed by abruptly slamming the pause button (as he was never in the habit of doing) after the line, “you don’t need the weatherman to know which way the wind blows.” If it wasn’t a Dylan song, I don’t know that I, or anyone else in the class, would have even realized the words prior to this anomalous occasion (keep in mind this was around the advent of “artists” such as Lil’Wayne and E40). Of course we would eventually learn that the song and the lyric in particular, was the inspiration behind the Weather Underground, a radical organization started in 1969 which went on to become one of the faces of the New Left.

Dylan somehow (this is another article altogether) captured a zeitgeist buried in young people that they could not bring into aperture themselves. In his art, his message, his essence was the Rosetta Stone they had been waiting for to translate their own ideals (which were more or less parallel to Dylan’s in Blues) into a full-blown movement. To put it simply, it spoke to them, in a language they could finally understand.

David Mutschlecner accomplishes a similar goal, tantalizing his own latent curiosities to uncover ones in the reader he or she didn’t know were there. The poetry grounds its tension in the struggle of a man drowning in ideas and a faith that seem to be at odds. What occurs in Enigma and Light is rare, and does so immediately. A few pages into the opening poem, as David Peak of The Rumpus keenly observes, Mutschlecner gives us six lines that work as a quasi-micro-orientation, a layered ekphrastic invitation itself of what is to come, a revelation of the pulse that sustains each of his scintillating conversations.

“Martin’s marks are Stein’s
word stipplings,
both inter-patterning one another

as they could not
without the clear delineation—
each word girded by the grid.”

This is the precious commodity with which the poet performs his alchemy. The marks and words which inter-pattern one another, the invisible thread of thought which extends beyond eras, mediums, and death itself between artists and thinkers (and us all) alike. Mutschlecner states in the author’s statement that “seeking the inherit similarity in dissimilars is the work of the Holy Spirit;… this is, to me the highest goal of poetry” (which, unsurprisingly, could just as easily could be the words of Ashbery – less “Holy Spirit”), a pursuit satisfying not just an artistic hunger, but metabolic need to digest the work of those who title his extrapolative discussions. On the surface, Mutschlecner‘s work is a serial poem, but a more perspicacious description would be an amalgam of philosophical discourse, an extended and fragmented essay on art, a treatise on form and message and meaning; a meditation on medium.

Gertrude Stein and Agnes Martin, Martin Heidegger and Ezra Pound, Thomas Aquinas and Emily Dickinson, Robert Duncan and Dante Alighieri, Joan Mitchell and Charles Olson, Georges Rouault and Robert Motherwell: just a selection of the intriguing – to say the least – pairings which compose this unusual and beautiful work. Names like Herman Melville, Nicholas of Cusa, Robert Ryman, Karl Rahner, Saint Faustina and the Gee’s Bend Quilters, alongside so many more, are used by Mutschlecner to sketch a stimulating, abstract, time-bending map of voices he follows until excavating the fault lines where centuries of celebrated art and ideas intersect.

You might be saying to yourself, this idea seems fresh, interesting, intelligent and perhaps even worth the purchase price on its own. But it might also seem a bit pretentious, implying a necessary body of knowledge very few, if any, potential readers will possess upon checkout. Despite the fact that Mutschlecner’s lifetime of intense study and obsession with detail are (albeit quite elegantly) on open display in essentially ever y other line, this is not necessarily the case. This is, because, and not despite, the premise the work takes. By choosing the unknowable, highly subjective domain that exists in these contrived discourses between artists of his choice; using settings mundane as empty rooms and cracks of sunlight sneaking through veiled curtains as his meditative arenas; a vigorous stripping of line and length, producing a perfectly rationed minimalistic prose; Mutschlecner provides ample avenues of accessibility into his own idiosyncratic thought process and associations. The “world view” which reveals itself at the bottom of the glass of this cerebral concoction is an original one. It is a view that comes more and more into focus with every poem, with the diction, pace and measured metronome of each consistently aesthetically pleasing. The grey area that Mutschlecner’s unique combination of knowledge and inquiry inhabits is a place opened to the reader, where he is then able to infuse his own philosophy and curiosities to a discussion that never ends, and if we are to side with our guide, perhaps never was. A place where the patterns of being that are generated only appear to do so; they have been there all along, our experience is simply the recognition, the girding of each word to the grid.   Consider an excerpt from “Karl Rahner / The Dusky Seaside Sparrow”:

“There is no improvement
can spark substance. The message dead
in this bottle, and yet the message

still, is read: Dusky—“Orange”
—Last one
Died 16 June 87

tagged to the lid. . . .”

It is in such benign everyday moments, ones we all must tolerate, that our most deeply ingrained (whether through internal or external means) patterns seem to correlate; a phenomena for which Mutschlecner has (perhaps unknowingly) conditioned his eye. It is for the same reasons, we are able to make that eye our own, to see from a place where allusions are the horizon on which “thought rolls and turns and” can be followed to gaze upon our most substantial, and lasting constructs: those composed of agreed-upon meaning.

I highly recommend this new collection poetry not just because of its sublime musicality, but it is educational, provocative, and demands an active and thinking mind beginning to end – most of which without the reader even knowing it. If you’re like me, then it won’t take very many lines to inspire the inner artist in you – regardless of whatever you consider your primary walk of life – so why not use the student advantage provided (below) by your friends at #CampusClipper for some awesome art supplies at Da Vinci (they have a great selection of moleskine notebooks too in case Enigma inspires the poet or writer in you as well!).

Mahad Zara, The University of Arizona and Columbia University, Read my blog and follow me on Twitter

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