And I want to be someone who believes

[raven]

I have spent the day in the garden, revising in relative peace and quiet. This is in contrast to the morning, when I was dragged out of bed at six thirty and made to function like a human being. I didn't like that. I never do.

My mother flew in at seven in the morning, tired but cheerful. She came bearing gifts, as they say; I am now the proud owner of two handfuls of beads and the most gorgeous wooden necklace cum dog collar - it's big and obtrusive and I love it.

I think I can't write and think clearly because my mind is saturated with the anthology poetry; twelve annotated poems and the texts for the second section. Some of the poetry is beautiful and so I don't want to analyse it, I want to read it and love it, but I have no choice in the matter.

As a general comment, amchau and I are reaching new levels of weird co-dependency.

Comments

[ex-senza930.livejournal.com]

Yes, that's what I've always hated about poetry units. The seemingly obsessive need English teachers have to see you categorize and deconstruct and give eveything this entirely contrived significance. It steals all the magic from the words, and mine are always insanely clumsy in comparison, anyway.

I've had to paraphrase Plath and Thomas and Neruda this semester, among others. Sacrilege, I tell you. ;)

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

I always feel totally inadequate when faced with poetry. I can't read it on my own, you see; I need help before I can extract any meaning from it, and then when I have I worry because it might not be the real meaning.

This is probably all getting to me.