Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

I read this book in university for a Canadian Literature class. I held onto it because although it’s a sad story, it’s a powerful one that documents a sad part of Canadian history.
It’s a short book that can easily be read in a couple of days. The language is simple yet poetically clear in getting across the narrators sentiments. That being said, there is no way we can begin to understand the narrator’s true anguish unless you’ve experienced similar situations.
From Amazon:
Joy Kogawa’s Obasan is a novel of memory, exploring the Canadian government’s deplorable treatment of Japanese Canadians during the Second World War, which included the suspension of all rights, forced internment and labour, and the fracturing of families. Worst of all, though, in the eyes of narrator Naomi Nakane as she recalls the events of her childhood, was the repeated exile. In a powerful blend of historical fact and rich symbolism, Naomi finds herself pushed aside from Canadian society ….
Buy this book on Amazon.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet? Read the rest of this entry »
as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
that is not mine, but is a made place,
that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
an eternal pasture folded in all thought
so that there is a hall therein
that is a made place, created by light
wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.
Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady. Read the rest of this entry »

William Blake ( November 28, 1757 – August 12, 1827) was an English poet during the Romantic period (second half of the 18th century) known for his noncomformist radical views.
From Poets.org:
In defiance of 18th-century neoclassical conventions, he privileged imagination over reason in the creation of both his poetry and images, asserting that ideal forms should be constructed not from observations of nature but from inner visions.
Blake believed that his poetry could be read and understood by common people, but he was determined not to sacrifice his vision in order to become popular.
Aside from a poet, Blake was also a painter, engraver, and a printmaker.
I’m generally not drawn to work from the Romantic period because I find it dark with too many horrific undertones. What can I say, I like “pretty” things.
Good morning Revolution:
You are the best friend
I ever had.
We gonna pal around together from now on.
Say, listen, Revolution:
You know the boss where I used to work,
The guy that gimme the air to cut expenses,
He wrote a long letter to the papers about you:
Said you was a trouble maker, a alien-enemy,
In other words a son-of-a-bitch.
He called up the police
And told’em to watch out for a guy
Named Revolution Read the rest of this entry »
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed–
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe. Read the rest of this entry »
I got those sad old weary blues.
I don’t know where to turn.
I don’t know where to go.
Nobody cares about you
When you sink so low.
(first stanza from poem)

I just realized that I didn’t review book four, A Feast For Crows, nor do I intend to go back and do so. I intended too but never did. Perhaps because I found the book slow and was unmotivated after reading it. Actually, it wasn’t slow at all. I just had different expectations after book three, A Storm of Swords, which was action packed.
I just recently finished book five of the A Song of Ice and Fire series, A Dance with Dragons. Whereas I polished off books one to three in record time, it took me forever to get through books four and five. AND I was reading the book often so explain that.
Book five is what I call a developmental book. It’s not that things don’t happen, because they do, but they happen in small ways. I feel like the entire book is setting the scene for something huge. Certain things that might happen are obvious but others not so much which leaves you wondering when shit might hit the fan, etc.
The majority of the book focuses on Tyrion, Reek (Theon), Jon Snow, Daenerys, Quentyn, and Davos. In the beginning a few other characters (should I tell you or will it spoil it? Ok….Arya, Jaime, Aegon) make an appearance but they don’t return until after the 650 page mark. I understand in a sense why this was done but it gets tiresome reading chapter after chapter of Daenerys deciding who she loves and who she must marry, John sending wildings to and fro, etc.
It’s a good book and I did enjoy it, I just felt it dragged on and on and on….and then it ends on a huge WTF note. And to add further stress, The Winds of Winter may not be released for years. Yes that’s right, years. I know right? WHY.
Buy on Amazon.