Poetry. Poetry. How hard could it be, right? It’s not like
it is one of Shakespeare’s famous plays, and prose certainly possesses greater
length. So may I ask of you, poetry, why must you bring frustration to the
minds of innocent high school students all over the world, throughout history?
I sit there, slowly but surely progressing through a poem,
the climax being just as confusing as the first word. I ask myself, “Am I missing
something?” or “Why am I not getting this?” looking at it as if it were the
Davinci code. Progressing a little further, nothings clicking, frustration
growing, this is completely hopeless. Reaching the end, I achieve a short sense
of satisfaction, and then realize I still have to answer questions to test my
understanding of the work as a whole. Muttering, I curse my inability to
understand this so called “beautiful piece”, diction being heard similar to
what can be heard on George Carlin’s 1972 special “Seven words you can never
say on television”, which I suggest you refrain your children from watching.
I search the page, scanning for some kind of aide when it
shines bright, the answer to this one blasphemous piece of writing was right at
the top of the page all along: the title. It all seems so clear now, the
speaker is a mirror; no wonder he speaks of himself as a four-cornered god. If I
had read the title first, this homework could have been done an hour ago!
Feeling accomplished and rather dumb at the same time, I close my book feeling
confident, at least until I walked into English the following day.
SIDE NOTE: When reading poetry, don’t be lazy, read the
title first! It saves so much time.
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