Inspirational Quote of the Day
I assigned my lit students to read and critique a single-author poetry collection last week. A few students seem to think that "poetry" is a synonym for "lyrics to popular songs," and I ended up getting some papers "analyzing" the lyrics of, among others, the Blood Brothers, AFI, Evanescence, and <shudder> Chris LeDoux. So there's the subject of my next lecture, I suppose.
Most of the papers, however, were pretty decent and the students seemed to be making honest attempts to wrestle with the representatives of the canon, such as they are. (Though I did get a few papers on Shel Silverstein, and one on Charles Bukowski, which delighted me.) One student wrote a paper on encountering Keats for the first time, which prompted me to haul out my 1000+ page compendium of "The Great Romantics" and root around in some stuff I hadn't read since my undergraduate days.
Keats, perhaps not surprisingly, could knock off gorgeous little rhymes in his sleep, and often appended spontaneous poems to his letters. The student who took on Keats spent several paragraphs expressing his admiration over one such poem, a minor effort for someone like Keats, but enough to engage someone who's been forced to pick up and read a book of poems for the first time. (A very gratifying result of teaching an introductory literature course, I must say.)
Anyway, here's Keats' lead-in to the poem, from a letter to his sister Fanny dated April 17, 1819. I like it even better than the poem, even if it's a bit foofy. But, hey, it's Keats:
"O there is nothing like fine weather, and health, and Books, and a fine country, and a contented Mind, and diligent habit of reading and thinking, and an amulet against the ennui--and, please heaven, a little claret wine cool out of a cellar a mile deep--with a few or a good many ratafia cakes--a rocky basin to bathe in, a strawberry bed to say your prayers to Flora in, a pad nag to go you ten miles or so; two or three sensible people to chat with; two or three spiteful folks to spar with; two or three odd fishes to laugh at and two or three numbskulls to argue with--instead of using dumb bells on a rainy day."
Then he knocks out this delightful little piece of fluff:
Two or three Posies
With two or three simples--
Two or three Noses
With two or three pimples--
Two or three wise men
And two or three ninny's--
Two or three purses
And two or three guineas--
Two or three raps
At two or three doors--
Two or three naps
Of two or three hours--
Two or three Cats
And two or three mice--
Two or three sprats
At a very great price--
Two or three sandies
And two or three tabbies--
Two or three dandies
And two Mrs. mum!
Two or three Smiles
And two or three frowns--
Two or three Miles
To two or three towns--
Two or three pegs
For two or three bonnets--
Two or three dove eggs
To hatch into sonnets--
I imagine he could have gone on all day with this, but the final image of dove eggs hatching into sonnets seems an appropriate representation of Keats' creative process. Slapping throwaway rhymes like this onto the end of a casual letter leads, one must assume, to something like Endymion. Maybe my student, so taken with this poesy, will follow the path a little longer. I can't assume he will ever read Keats again.
I guess there's always Evanescence.
More on Keats here. He's worth a few hours, at least.
Most of the papers, however, were pretty decent and the students seemed to be making honest attempts to wrestle with the representatives of the canon, such as they are. (Though I did get a few papers on Shel Silverstein, and one on Charles Bukowski, which delighted me.) One student wrote a paper on encountering Keats for the first time, which prompted me to haul out my 1000+ page compendium of "The Great Romantics" and root around in some stuff I hadn't read since my undergraduate days.
Keats, perhaps not surprisingly, could knock off gorgeous little rhymes in his sleep, and often appended spontaneous poems to his letters. The student who took on Keats spent several paragraphs expressing his admiration over one such poem, a minor effort for someone like Keats, but enough to engage someone who's been forced to pick up and read a book of poems for the first time. (A very gratifying result of teaching an introductory literature course, I must say.)
Anyway, here's Keats' lead-in to the poem, from a letter to his sister Fanny dated April 17, 1819. I like it even better than the poem, even if it's a bit foofy. But, hey, it's Keats:
"O there is nothing like fine weather, and health, and Books, and a fine country, and a contented Mind, and diligent habit of reading and thinking, and an amulet against the ennui--and, please heaven, a little claret wine cool out of a cellar a mile deep--with a few or a good many ratafia cakes--a rocky basin to bathe in, a strawberry bed to say your prayers to Flora in, a pad nag to go you ten miles or so; two or three sensible people to chat with; two or three spiteful folks to spar with; two or three odd fishes to laugh at and two or three numbskulls to argue with--instead of using dumb bells on a rainy day."
Then he knocks out this delightful little piece of fluff:
Two or three Posies
With two or three simples--
Two or three Noses
With two or three pimples--
Two or three wise men
And two or three ninny's--
Two or three purses
And two or three guineas--
Two or three raps
At two or three doors--
Two or three naps
Of two or three hours--
Two or three Cats
And two or three mice--
Two or three sprats
At a very great price--
Two or three sandies
And two or three tabbies--
Two or three dandies
And two Mrs. mum!
Two or three Smiles
And two or three frowns--
Two or three Miles
To two or three towns--
Two or three pegs
For two or three bonnets--
Two or three dove eggs
To hatch into sonnets--
I imagine he could have gone on all day with this, but the final image of dove eggs hatching into sonnets seems an appropriate representation of Keats' creative process. Slapping throwaway rhymes like this onto the end of a casual letter leads, one must assume, to something like Endymion. Maybe my student, so taken with this poesy, will follow the path a little longer. I can't assume he will ever read Keats again.
I guess there's always Evanescence.
More on Keats here. He's worth a few hours, at least.
posted by Chazzbot at 10:12 AM
4 Comments:
Yesterday in class I asked my students to write down books they'd recommend I read over the holidays. I curious about what they considered "good" reading and got everything from John Grisham to Harry Potter. A couple of award-winners were thrown in there (I'm actually considering Marley and Me), but I nearly lost my Diet Pepsi when I saw Treason by Ann Coulter listed on one student's paper. I thought you'd understand the wave of nausea that overcame me, one I hadn't experienced since my last bout with morning sickness.
By the way, how *did* you respond to the students who used song lyrics? I'm curious, only if you don't mind sharing.
Actually, the papers on Blood Brothers and AFI turned out OK. The students were able to somewhat justify their use of those bands in conjunction with the elements of poetry we had been discussing in class.
The Evanescence and LeDoux papers were more problematic, at least partly because I don't think much of those performers. I referred the Evanescence fan to some other gloomy-gus poets and am awaiting a revision. The LeDoux paper had a certain rustic charm, but was ultimately a fanboy appreciation paper, not any kind of analysis (poetic or otherwise). I sent that back with a highlighted copy of the assignment sheet.
I would hate to see what kind of books my students would recommend to me, especially those students who think I'm the AntiChrist. I can't read anything by Ann Coulter until I get my blood pressure down.
Have I told you about the student who gave me some of her erotic fiction to read? I need to blog about that soon, but maybe I should wait until the semester's over.
Testing...one...two...three?
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