Thursday, January 26, 2017

The Beginnings of Poetry Class

I read an article recently that said if you blame yourself because of any number of faults that you may have on why someone broke up with you, then the time it takes to recover will be longer for you than someone who rationalizes the ending differently.

It's poetry class, and my poetry professor is sitting just next to me in a desk, as the students are gathered around in a big circle. He's a small, wiry man with a passion for his subject. Often, he divulges into topics that encompass politics and social issues. First class, he talked adamantly about heroin addiction and the opioid epidemic, telling us about "white china" (apparently heroin laced with fentanyl). And, my poetry professor doesn't mind telling students when they are wrong in interpreting the works. He corrected me once, to which I told the English instructor about it, saying, I didn't feel discouraged, but rather I felt challenged. The English instructor responded with a causal "good luck."

We're discussing the Beatles' song called "Eleanor Rigby." Later on in the class period, the poetry professor plays the song, which the music doesn't impress me.

In class, we talk about how single, older women are ostracized in society. I bring up the topic, and the poetry professor just nods his head in agreement until I'm finished. Then he adds his own comments.

My Art professor mentions a few hours later how our society is obsessed with youth and beauty, that it wasn't that way a few hundred years ago.

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