Tuesday, November 1, 2011

...what being an english failure taught me...

there was this one point in my life where i thought i was cut out to be an english major.  now, from my lack of capitalization skills, you can probably figure out how that played out for me. 

exactly.

after two semesters i chickenend out and went with biology instead.  seriously, it's easier than english, and there are definitive answers.  no ambiguity. this is a muscle.  this is what it does.  this is a cell.  this is the krebs cycle.  the same over and over and over again.  in fact, i was so intent on graduating with my degree in biology on time (you know, because i spent two semesters in british literature, creative writing and other such classes) that my last semester i had 23 credits.  twenty.  three.  i had to get a special signature to take that many credits.  

allow me to be proud of myself for a moment.  graduated with a's...mmk and one b minus.  screw you organic chemistry...

english?  too much left to the reader.  

i remember i took a poetry class (kristen, if you still read my blog, remember that?  REMEMBER our poetry class?!)  while my poems were technically perfect (which always bugged me because, i mean, really?  isn't poetry supposed to be free and fluid and whatever the writer wants it to be?  when are their rules for poetry?)  i was always docked for, 'content.'

psh, content.  

one day after class i stayed behind to ask my professor what was so awful about my poetry.  i can't recall exactly what was said, but apparently i didn't have the emotion that poetry requires.  not enough life experiences, or something of that nature.

what?  my two page poem about the fat kid who broke my slip 'n' slide doesn't have enough emotion for you?!  

apparently you either had to write about death or taxes...mmk, kidding.  death and jesus.  to this day, i remember some of those poems and i am still sufficiently creeped out.  oh kristen and i would have a wonderful time, sitting in the back corner snapping after each student had read their poem.  kristen!?  remember how that class was at seven in the morning?!  no one should try to write poetry at seven in the morning.  it is only a recipe for disaster.  

kristen!?  remember that one kid who brought his guitar and sang his song about how jesus is good!?  praise be with jesus!  praise, praise, praise be with hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim.

i have no clue where this was supposed to go.  i really got so caught up in the memories from that class that i completely forgot where this post was heading.

never take a poetry class.



p to the s.  i am going to try to find the poems i wrote for that class.  seriously. 

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6 comments:

Kristen said...

Bwahahahahahaha!!!!! Oh, good lord. Yes. YES. Yes, I still read your blog (biweekly catch-ups, usually), and YES I remember our poetry class! I remember your fat kid on the slip'n'slide poem, and how magical I thought it was. I also remember him saying something about our poems' "lack of content", and how I thought it was so retarded I responded by writing the next three assignments about alligators. Do you remember that?

I had forgotten about the Jesus song. HOW DID I FORGET THE JESUS SONG? There was a lot of love for Jesus in that classroom. Although my memories of our class have kind of merged with the ones from my creative writing class in Virginia, which was even more Jesus-y. Was it our class that had the girl that wrote the poem about going to heaven to choose her future children? That was disturbing.

Every morning we would hold our breath, waiting to see if he was going to put one of our assignments up on the overhead projector for the class to "analyze". And wasn't it a rule that we weren't allowed to talk about our own? Like, even to defend ourselves if someone interpreted it incorrectly? Brilliant.

Oh, good times. We should totes have a poetry slam someday. You bring the Cheetos and the snark, I'll bring the guitar and the life-size cutout of Jesus.

elliespen said...

Shoot, I would've thought that no capitalization would have given you extra points in poetry. ee cummings, etc.

And I know I wasn't in your exact same poetry class, but I have so been in that poetry class before. All college poetry classes are pretty much the same, with the super-sincere folks, the "I think the limerick is the pinnacle of poetic form" folks, one or two actually good poets, and the snarky ones in the corner. (I was one of the latter, although I hope I was at least decent at the poems, too. But then I never wrote about death or Jesus, so my content probably sucked.)

(Come to think of it, though, one of my poems was actually a re-telling of one of the cases from my wills and estates class—yes, really, I had so many stupid law school assignments that week I had to double up homework assignments—so it soooooort of might could maybe have been a little bit about taxes. Does that make me a POET?)

And I absolutely want to see this fat kid on the slip'n'slide poem. Pretty please?

Ryan said...

I can picture you and Kristen in a poetry class at 7 am. The only thing better would have been to have added some absinthe in the mix, or Mad Dog. Please find that poetry.

Brianne said...

You definitely need to find your poetry cuz I need to hear the poem about the fat kid and the slip n slide. NEED.

Jennif said...

Where did you take this poetry class? Snow?

Joanna said...

I'm a freaking good writer. And I currently suffer through a ridiculous English 2010 class, that I have learned nothing in, where I get docked on my content. Seriously?! Stupid Content...Oh, and it's a 7am, attendance required, class. Death.

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