English Majors: It's What We Want

English majors have a bad rap. We're virtually taught to be poor and thrown out into the world assumed that we can only be teachers. False. My English major is everything I want. And it is a lot more than people think. 
I'm pursuing what I love, and it has opened so many doors for me. No, I do not want to be a teacher; I want to be an editor, a writer, an intellectual, a critic, and a traveler. My English major gives me these options and coupled with my Spanish and Publishing major, the world is wide open! 
There is nothing wrong with being a teacher; they're the people that do the most for this world and receive the least credit. I salute them, and I have an utmost respect for them. Teachers are the ones who got me to where I am today: I owe it all to them. 
But let me tell you what I can do with my English major: Anything I want. 
I can travel. I can teach English in Spain. I can edit articles for the local newspaper. I can submit short stories to popular publishers. I can write a novel. I can read The New Yorker and Wired, and learn about anything I want. I can be a writer; I can be an editor; I can be an intellectual. I have the skills to do just about anything, skills that are valuable in a company. 
I started taking a Web Communications class this year, and the class is not what you would think it is, unless you were like me and had really no notion of what a class with that title could entail. The professor spoke in terms a layman like me did not understand (what are deliverables), assigned 60 pages of reading, and told us there was a large project due at the end of the semester of producing an online presence for a real company. I shrugged and said, "That's nothing for an English major." 
The professor and the students in this class looked upon me as unprepared and oblivious to this class. On day one. And as much as I mirrored those looks, I knew I had what it takes. Sure, the first reading I actually had to active engage myself and look up terms and take notes and do such things that I've managed to skip since freshman year, but I get it. I think critically; I think outside of the box.
Second day of class, the professor notices my Star Wars mug and jeers, "Hannah's a closet nerd!!"
I said, "Oh, there's nothing in the closet about it." Apparently, I gave him the perfect segue to his next discussion: being open to new concepts and the ever-changing world. 
I may not know all the web design terminology, or what deliverables are, but I surely can find out. I can be as up-to-date as anybody because I love information and I love searching for it. Reading is easy. Research is easy. Best of all: It's my passion. 
So here's to the doors opened to me, doors of travel, opportunity, and novelty. 
Lastly, here's to all the English majors. Keep on keeping on. 

Spanish Poetry and my Journey to Fluency

As much as I hate being stuck in the same cycle, having a daily routine is healthy. I've started a list of things that I want to do each day, and limited them in some ways so that the list is achievable and more feasible. School started this week, and with the new rhythm of a schedule, I'm settling into a new routine. I'm writing of list of things I want to do everyday, and the first thing on my list is to read one Pablo Neruda poem a day. I bought Cien sonetos de amor (100 Love Sonnets) by Pablo Neruda translated by Stephen Tapscott several months ago and I didn't start digging into until now.
I will share my favorite stanza:

Oh invádeme con tu boca abrasadora,

Indágame, si quieres, con tus ojos nocturnos,

Pero en tu nombre déjame navegar y dormir.

Invade me with your hot mouth; interrogate me

with your night-eyes, if you want—only let me

steer like a ship through your name; let me rest there. 

These words struck me, "Only let me steer like a ship through your name; let me rest there." I read them over and over, settling into their loveliness, their familiarity. Some people truly have a way with words, and it's one thing to be a poet, famous or not, and it is quite another to be a translator of poetry. 

I'm speaking from experience. 

Spanish Senior Seminar last year, I worked on several poems, translating them from Spanish into English. Spanish is a much prettier, more romantic, and lyrical language than English is, and it is tricky to maintain the rhythm and the mean. I translated poems by Venezuelan poet Elías David Curiel (1871-1924).

Curiel used archaic Spanish and some words are not widely used today, in English or Spanish. Many times I could not find any inkling of the words online and sat down with my professor who pulled out aged thick books to look up outdated definitions.

This was one of the poems I had the most fun with. Many times I took creative license to make the English lines lyrical and pretty. 

~

MAL DE LUNA

a Antonio Smith

¿No ha padecido usted nunca  de ilunación?

 He aquí una enfermedad mucho 

más peligrosa que la más terrible de las

insolaciones, según lo atestigua Guy de

Maupassant.

Blanca noche. Me enfermo de mal de luna. Un prado. Surtidores.

Estatuas. Indecisas penumbras. Temblorosas claridades.

Una niña, en su blanco peinador semi-envuelta, entre las flores,

me espera, junto a una de las marmóreas míticas deidades!

Esa desconocida, que me aguarda, a los tímidos fulgores

de las rubias estrellas en un pensil cuyas frondosidades

penumbrosas acendran perfumes de sus labios tentadores,

suda el humor divino de las divinas voluptuosidades!

Bad Moon (Moon stroke)

For Antonio Smith

Have you ever suffered from moon stroke?

I have a sickness more dangerous than the 

worst sunstroke, as witnessed by Guy of 

Maupassant.

White night. I have moon stroke. A meadow. Fountains. 

Statues. Irresolute shadows. Trembling clarities. 

A girl, half wrapped in white negligee, among flowers, 

She waits for me, next to one of the mythical marble deities!

That unknown, she awaits me, the timid glow

Of the blonde stars in the garden whose shadowy 

Canopy of trees purify the perfume of their tempting lips,

She sweats divine humor of divine voluptuousness!

Seated, beside her, upon the moss bank, among the roses 

And amid the statues,—an arbor of goddesses made of Pentelikon marble—,  

I will tell her that love is the cradle of art, of which she is they symbol. 

She will squeeze a cluster of grapes in my mouth with a kiss.

I will bite an apple: her heart. And in my memory printed

her love, my soul will be the vision of a garden full of moon!

~

Poetry is beautiful artistic expression in all languages. Incorporating into everyday the poetry of Pablo Neruda makes me happy! And furthers my journey to fluency in Spanish.