What I'm finally beginning to realize, is how behind the times I've gotten with all the technology out there at our fingertips. I used to be the one who was in the know, waxing poetic about the virtues of newest technological discovery. And now, I find myself feeling a little disconnected from all that technology has to offer.
I was recently introduced to GoogleTalk, a way of Instant Messaging (IM), and while it was cool, I felt a bit awkward. Yes, it was good to be able to communicate quickly via IM, but what I missed was the interpersonal connection I get from talking to someone face-to-face or over the phone. I can see how someone is feeling or hear it in the voice, and I can't get that with the IM. Isn't it funny that I prefer regular e-mail to IM? Please tell me, if you know the answer to this, what is it that I don't get about IMing that teens find so addictive?
And technology isn't the only thing I've found myself feeling out of date with. How about music or fashion? Sigh. Edited to Add: If you have a moment, I'd love your help. Please stop by and read my Writing Question: Invasion of Privacy...When is it Considered Bad Form? and leave your comments.
So I offer up Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem Youth and Age for today's Poetry Friday.
Youth and Age
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young?—Ah, woful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along:—
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit—
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:—
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that thou are gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
The Book Mine Set is hosting Poetry Friday today. Have a great weekend, Everyone!