11.13.2006

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.

11.08.2006

Advertising Is Educational!

A Minnesota high school is selling ad space, both aural and visual, as part of its theater production of "It's a Wonderful Life." The school's drama advisor claims that the process of selling out American students is "a lot of fun": "The kids are going to deliver all the ads and it will be a great piece for the advertisers to get their product out, too."

The school's principal seems only slightly less enthusiastic, stating that "in a perfect world, we probably wouldn't need to go ahead and sell advertisements." Probably?

The principal is also some kind of visionary prophet/profit, and you can practically hear the ringing of cash registers in the offices of advertising agencies across the country when she says, "I would certainly never want to have ads in the school hallways."

I don't know why not. The pimped-out teens of this country already wrap themselves in the holy cloth of Corporate America on a daily basis. And, really, aren't all those football games worth any price?

And as our once incomparable system of education is sold out to Coca-Cola and insurance companies, the total cost of the Iraq war to date is over $340 billion. I wonder how many high schools are teaching their students about that, or the further sacrifices that will need to be made by the educational system (and its students) to pay for it.

11.07.2006

Calling Schrand

Schrand? What happened to Chronicle West? It's been turned into a lame celebrity blog! What are you doing? Where are you? Have you evacuated the country in anticipation of tonight's stolen election results? This is our most desperate hour!

Seriously, dude. I don't know how to reach you. I'm hoping you or your blogging chums still check in on Chazzbot occasionally and can drop the 411 on your current status. Call or write anytime!

The Last Election Day

Almost everything is in place now to ensure that today--November 7, 2006--will mark the last free election in the United States. Ohio 2004 was the warm-up; today we face the dress rehearsal. Don't believe me? Read these articles before you go anywhere near a Diebold voting machine.

From Harper's Magazine: "None Dare Call It Stolen" by Mark Crispin Miller.

From Rolling Stone: "Was the 2004 Election Stolen?" by Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

Congratulations, Americans. We have been suckered.

Fun with Literature

I'm currently teaching a class on introductory literature. At the risk of contributing to Utah stereotypes, here are some excerpts from a reading journal I assigned my students to keep during the semester. All excerpts are preserved in their original, er, language:

On Kafka's "The Metamorphosis":

"I am extremely bothered and frustrated by the fact that we are reading a number of sexual interrupted stories. I am feeling overwhelmed and quite depress by the salacious nature of many of the conversations in class."

On poetry:

"I have always seen poetry as the written expression of depressed people."

On Keats' "Bright Star":

"I guess there is nothing like the ultimate orgasm."

On Gabriel Spera's "Kindness":

"DISGUSTING. I must say I think this is an absolutely inappropriate poem to have in any textbook unless it is a psychology book where students are analysis the psychosis of the perverted mind."

On Martin Espada's "Frederico's Ghost":

"This poem is environmentalist, which means antihuman, and Marxist."

On Alifa Rifaat's "Another Evening at the Club":

"I struggle to fathom why people are so willing fit into a society that is morally depraved as to put image above the value of human existence. It is just severely irritating."

(Not a Baywatch fan, then.)

On Kate Chopin's "The Storm":

"The freedom human beings need should not be elaborated through lust and disgust. Period. It disgusts that the only way authors seem to elaborate on situations such as this is to color human beings as something horrid and disgusting. I despise this."

During the last few weeks of class, we will be reading Toni Morrison's novel, Beloved, and this student's head will EXPLODE.