User:Oliver Duenas-Ramirez

BIO
My name is Oliver Duenas I am a student at the Art Institue of Seattle and working on my BMAA.

Response
Hey Derek

So I am here to respond to some of your works, and the first one I will comment is your short poem Seasons in you Style section. So first I want to say how clever it was that you only used the letter “s” as the start at every line, so having said that, the next thing I want to compliment you on is your use of imagery that makes me see a clear picture in my mind and they also go really well with the words you chose to use it makes more of an impact in the mind of the reader sort of giving it a little Shakespearean twist to the whole text. The other part of your chrestomathy I wanted to comment on was your Personal section where you decided to right the style as a 3rd person POV but since I know you and know that the guy is you in the story it was predictable but that’s only because it’s me reading it, had it been someone else that doesn’t know you for sure they would consider turning the person into anybody they wished. Going back the work itself, I really liked the style you wrote it in, kinda reminded me of the lead character from the movie “Wanted.”

Hey Christine

So I am here to comment on your writings, and the first one I want to do it on is the Cool Cat in the Hat poem, first off…that was the coolest poem EVER! Oh my god, I never thought that story itself could get twisted but you managed to make it so wickedly funny honestly I can really see this as a good animation if you ever get the time, I could even help if you’d like, hahaha. Anyways, going back to the poem, I would say that it would be a safe bet to say that Dr. Seuss would be proud. Another thing I wanted to comment on was your poems, Exposure I believe was the name of it. So this poem really struck me as awe inspiring especially with the imagery and use of subtle but sometimes powerful words an example:

The sun drops a misty veil Lilacs, roses, and orchids clutch A breeze pushes drops on their way, the dew dancing with everything Senses awaken

I can just picture being an insect and looking at this beautiful image for myself.

Hey Luc!

So I am here to read your writing and respond.

So the first awesome piece of text I want to comment on is your Perspective writing which is pretty awesome seeing as I am a bit of a Star Wars fan, not hardcore but enough. Anyways the thing that really got my attention was you decided to do the perspective from someone in the movie that gets really no camera time. And if I saw the movie through the eyes of this guy up to the point where he got shot dead, I would have felt sorry for him. I am really glad you made your Compare and Contrast on the Star Wars and Star Trek Sagas, as both have made a return in these past couple of years and there is still this on going feud between the so called “trekkies” and “fan boys” but thanks to your writing both parties can see that each has flaws and each has there great strengths, and through these strengths they have both been able to stay afloat in this mainstream media world that we live in,

Style
Using Doug Nufer's style only one vowel, "O" short words short snobs worlds to bonds nod to stop stop to crop from orbs sobs to honor from mobs to nooks short words short books

Hey Oliver, its Aaron commenting on your choice for your poem. It flows vary well from one section to the next, or is it a hiaku? Anyways, Its great that you worked it through the word and sentence labarynth. one might pursue a little side hobbie like this! Anyways, see you later!

Compare/Contrast
I will be comparing and contrasting two songs with different translations but the same music and rhythm.

"Piano" Italian Version On the road of the heart That it carries me from you It blows the wind of the time Tonight that it goes Always here it will find us Plan without do noise It turns the world them hours How much hustle that has A memory tomorrow Tonight it will be Always here then it will return The sun is born That things It will find embraced us Its hand On the slow door It opens the sky to the morning Day while arrival the winter A faithful return Its snow will fall And the clearer night This evening will be When the puio will come down The sun is born That things It will find embraced us Its hand On the slow door It opens the sky to the morning Strong and I want to scream it This stronger love Tonight it will be How many times In the bed it has awakened with me This love is for you compared to "Memory" from Cats. Daylight See the dew on the sunflower And a rose that is fading Roses whither away Like the sunflower I yearn to turn my face to the dawn I am waiting for the day. ..

Midnight Not a sound from the pavement Has the moon lost her memory? She is smiling alone In the lamplight The withered leaves collect at my feet And the wind begins to moan

Memory All alone in the moonlight I can smile at the old days I was beautiful then I remember the time I knew what happiness was Let the memory live again

Every streetlamp Seems to beat a fatalistic warning Someone mutters And the streetlamp gutters And soon it will be morning

Daylight I must wait for the sunrise I must think of a new life And I musn't give in When the dawn comes Tonight will be a memory too And a new day will begin

Burnt out ends of smoky days The stale cold smell of morning The streetlamp dies, another night is over Another day is dawning

Touch me It's so easy to leave me All alone with the memory Of my days in the sun If you touch me You'll understand what happiness is

Look A new day has begun

So the similarities of these two pieces is that they are both have the same tone and rhythm when they are played and they are both used for stage performances and they are usually sung by women. The most important similarity is that these two pieces talk about the past, a "memory." These pieces have more contrast, which one being that "Piano" talks about a woman who loves a man no matter what obstacles are in the way and all the wonderful things that seem to be happening in her Euphoric pursuit of Love. As in the Cats Version The women is singing about her days when she used to be a beautiful cat, opposed to the bedraggled mangy feline that she has become. She also seems to be longing for someone to hold her or touch her anything that would make her feel and tell her that she is still living and not forgotten.

Personal
"The Coldest Day of My Life"

I had woken up to the sound of my alarm clock at around 4:00am in my hometown of San Diego, California. I got out of bed and headed into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face to wake up. "Hurry up Oliver or you're going to be late for the airport." said my mom as I was busy changing into some cargo shorts and a t-shirt. I got out of my room and went straight to the kitchen to grab some breakfast and snacks to take on the plane since they charge you more for a meal than the plane ticket. As i was getting done, I heard a car horn blaring outside, it was my best friend Michael, he had agreed to take me to the airport seeing that I was going to leave to Washington to start my college for a while and he wanted to spend as much time with me as possible. So I said my goodbyes to my parents and sister and grabbed my luggage and put them in the car. As I finished I tapped the trunk a few times as a signal to Michael that I was ready. So we where on the road for about 45 minutes when i saw the LAX International Airport. I could see planes taking off and landing left and right. Michael finally found some parking and helped me unload my and check it in. So I said goodbye to my friend and gave him a hug and I went inside to claim my ticket and wait for the boarding call to Seattle. The announcer finally called my boarding section and I boarded the plane. I found my seat and waited for take off which took about 20 minutes. While in the air I plugged in my ipod and slept the 5 hour plane ride to SeaTac. I awoke to the pilot informing us that we would be landing soon followed by the "fasten seat belt" sign dinging over head. another 10 minutes past until we finally landed and to my surprise it was raining and hailing like crazy! As I got off the plane and made my way to the exit gates I could see people carrying umbrellas heavy coats and rubber boats. I looked at my self feet first and noticed that I was dressed for weather back in California. As I made my way outside to meet up with my uncle who was picking me up, I got a call from him and he told me that he was at the other side of the parking area and that I needed to walk a quarter mile! I couldn't believe what he was asking of me! As I made my way through the rain and hail, I could feel the stinging pains on my legs from the cold and pelting ice hitting my limbs, face and head. Finally I made it to where he was parked, and as he got out he had the audacity to ask me how come I was so wet and shaking with chattering teeth. Needless to say, the next day I developed a severe fever due to the laziness of one uncle.

Ekphrastic
Claes Oldenberg & Coose van Bruggen’s Typewriter Erase

Little Mag’s Adventure

Long ago, there lived a little girl of nine years of age with pigtails on raven colored hair, “Mag” was what they called her since she was found bundled up in random magazines. She lived in an orphanage along with 250 other children. Mag was always a very imaginative child, she would love exploring the orphanage and since it was a mansion before, there were thousands of square feet she could investigate.

One morning after eating breakfast she left back to her room that she shared with 20 other children. Each child had a bed, pillow, blanket and a chest at the foot of their beds so they could put what ever they thought was precious in them. Mag went straight to her chest kneeled and opened the top; she rummaged through drawings and coats for the winter time. “Finally!” she shrieked as she pulled out a very old cigar box which she had found in one of the rooms years ago. She made sure that there was no one else in the room before she opened it. In it where her most treasured things, the last page from a magazine they found her in, there was also some dried leaves and flowers, and then she pulled out an old safari hat and binoculars that the caretaker, Mrs. Peers had given her for her birthday.

With her hat on her head and binocular around her neck, she was almost ready. All that remained was to get a flashlight from the janitor’s closet, but since Mag had been doing this for years, it was a piece of cake. She finally managed to snag a flashlight while Byron the janitor cleaned up an accident in the bathroom. With her equipment all at hand she eagerly walked to the west end of the mansion where there was territory to still be explored. She got to the hallway and saw nothing but doors. To her they looked like the house had a lot of teeth. Mag straightened up, adjusted her hat and opened the first door closest to her. As she opened it she could hear the creaking of the rusty un-oiled hinges and see the cobwebs that formed along the edges. She shined the light into the room and saw dozens of old paintings along the floor. And some still hung up on the walls. Old men just stared at Mag as she walked in the room. It was really dark so Mag used the flashlight to illuminate the room more. Before she could take another step something blinded her peripheral. She looked around to see where it was coming from but she couldn’t tell. That’s when she got an idea, she ran her hands along the edges on the paints frames and gathered dust particles in her hand and blew it into the air. Where she saw the dust become a bright beam, she followed it. It led her to a whole in the wall. She leaned into see what was the object that gave off that light. With one eye in the hole she could see that there was a secret room. Mag quickly moved all the paintings out of the way to reveal a door, she opened it and stepped inside and made her way to what appeared to be a desk. On top of that desk stood a very old typewriter, “this is ancient!” thought Mag. Since she was still too young and short to reach the typewriter, she piled papers on top of each other and made a crooked yet sturdy stepping stool. When she finally reached the top she stared at the typewriter and ran her fingers on the keys and pressed one, “shnnk!” it went and out fell a tiny red wheel with strands from it. Mag had no idea that it was an eraser for the typewriter she just knew she wanted it. Before she could put it in her pocket, she was startled by the lunch bell and fell back on a pile of papers. When she got up she didn’t have the wheel. She looked up and saw that there was a small nook on a window that led to the garden. The wheel must have slipped out from her hands and gone out to the garden. She rose up from the ground and looked at the window thinking she had to get the wheel back, Mag straightened up, adjusted her hat and left the room to explore the vast gardens of the mansion, but that is another adventure for another time.

Hey Oliver! This is Derek, and I am writing my Response to your Ekphrastic, “Little Mag's Adventure” First of all, I enjoyed the details and descriptions throughout the whole thing. They really helped bring me into the world of Little Mag. I also thought it was clever that instead of “Mag” being short for Maggie or Magdalene, it was a nickname that hearkened back to her origins, being found on a pile of magazines. It also alludes to her interest in the typewriter, as it is a tool used to create magazines. The imagery of the dusty old orphanage was nice, and the sheer scale of the place was a nice contrast to the small stature of Mag, and adds to the feeling of adventure. Mag is portrayed well in a charming light, and adds an element of whimsy to her quest. This is especially evidenced in her snagging a flashlight from the janitor as he cleaned up an accident. The nature of Mag also gave me an image of her actually causing the accident in order to distract him. After Mag walks to the west end of the mansion, and gets the hallway with nothing but doors, she immediately chooses the first one, and moves on. Given her curious nature, it might have been fun to have her maybe open a couple of them, and peer in, just to quench her curiosity, and add some build-up to when she finally chooses a room to fully explore. You could also use this as an opportunity to add more history and magic to the orphanage, and paint it as more of a character in itself. When Mag enters the room, and “Old men just stared at (her) as she walked in...” it was a little confusing. A little clarification that these were ornate paintings of old men, creepily watching her as if they were alive, would have been helpful. Or maybe they are alive! When she enters the secret room with the typewriter, it would have been nice to get some imagery as to what the secret room looks like. As a reader, a secret room is exciting and awesome, but the lack of detail and imagery lessened the overall impact of the discovery. The “small nook on a window that led to the garden” could have benefited from a more detailed description. I have no idea what a small nook off a window looks like, and if there is a nook, do you have to climb out the window to get there? And if the nook leads to the garden, then the garden could technically lead to the secret room, making it not-so-secret anymore. Just something to think about. Overall, I enjoyed the whimsical nature of the story, and felt the charm that you were instilling into the character of Little Mag. I also liked the scale of the orphanage, and the magical and mysterious possibilities for Mag in the future are essentially endless. The ending left me wanting to keep reading, and experience the vast gardens of the mansion with Little Mag. All in all, a good read.

Memorization
Child of the pure unclouded brow from: Alice in Wonderland

Child of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale.

I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter; No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life's hereafter - Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy-tale.

A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing - A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of our rowing - Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say 'forget'.

Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread, With bitter tidings laden, Shall summon to unwelcome bed A melancholy maiden! We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near.

Without, the frost, the blinding snow, The storm-wind's moody madness - Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, And childhood's nest of gladness. The magic words shall hold thee fast: Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.

And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For 'happy summer days' gone by, And vanish'd summer glory - It shall not touch with breath of bale The pleasence of our fairy-tale.

Self Assessment
Coming into the class was a little nerve=wrecking for me because i am not that good in the Literature department, or any writing for that matter.

Even though i had my little fears, the class turned out to go smoothly once i got the rhythm of the operation. I also wanted to take a chance to thank you Steve for making me read a book (My Jim) that didn't involve the psychotic mind of Stephen King.

I felt that the quarter could have gone better on my part, which to I am referring my contribution for the class but alas we are in a school that gives us 5 classes to deal with. I only wished that i would have worked more on my stage presence when reciting my memorization piece, I had it in the bag but my nerves got the better of me.

All in all, I really enjoy the classes that you teach, Steve. You are one of those teachers that actually gives us a breakdown and explains what the reading is about. But thanks for another excellent quarter and i wish to see you in at least another.

CHEERS!!