Fox on a Boat

New watercolour fox for #FoxyFeb As I am writing this, I am trying not to panic about the essay I should be working on. The end of February/beginning of March is always a very busy time in students' lives. Last week was almost entirely spent on filming and editing a short film for one of my classes, and the weekend was used to catch up on coursework I didn't have time to write due to filming. So far, I've translated a cover letter into French, and written an essay debating the quote "poetry makes nothing happen" (W.H. Auden). Unfortunately, it is not over. In the past few hours, I've written a grand total of two sentences - one for my second essay, and one for my novel excerpt translation. I go to class, and nearly everyone looks completely out of it. We're all exhausted, burnt out, save a select few. (Can I really trust a student who isn't tired as the end of the semester looms over us?) I've not much writing left in me at the moment, so h...

Foxes are flavour of the month It is the month of foxes. Search Twitter for #FoxyFeb , and you will find photographs, artwork, poetry.. all about foxes. I've been participating; contributing my own art, and sharing poems I've discovered. As I have been learning Arabic since last May, I wanted to link poetry, Arabic, and foxes. As it was, it didn't take much effort on my part. I'd asked for Arabic poetry recommendations on Twitter, and was not disappointed. @TigersSterne You might want to look through the poetry here: http://t.co/kt0mxONiSe al-Saddiq al-Raddi, for instance. — M. Lynx Qualey (@arablit) February 9, 2014 One of the poems written by al-Saddiq al-Raddi was titled " Small Fox ": Suddenly - a small fox, playful, floods your wounded heart with joy He searches your face with his singular gaze, knows you're at one with his vagabond stance  ثعلبٌ صغيرٌ يمرحُ في قلبكِ الملوَّث  أَفلحَ في الهطول تلك الليلةْ وجهُكِ ...

In the Victoria Embankment Gardens I set out today with a specific goal in mind - to make some sketches and write some poetry. The sun lured me out of my cave  bedroom, and, as is often the case when it is sunny and I am feeling creative, I headed to Southbank. There, I found myself in the Poetry Library. It is a wonderful place - quiet, with few people, and full of books. One night, in the throes of great emotional turmoil (that I don't fully recall), the children's corner, hidden from sight, was a calming poetic haven. It is a little gem of London. Today, I discovered Ted Kooser's Poetry Manual , full of interesting thoughts and quotes. When I go back, I shall have to finish reading it. One thought which I felt rang very true, and particularly enjoyed, was his idea of how a poem changes you, changes your view of the world. If you were to read a poem with a line about the summer evening sunlight, streaming through a willow tree as a nearby musician played sad son...