Looking back on my very first blog post where I preached that at one point in my high school I believed that I was a decent writer until my senior English Literature teacher crushed any ounce of self-esteem, I really should have thanked him for it. I was able to start all over here at Penn State and in this English15 seminar class I was given the opportunity to form a voice of my own, as opposed to molding my thoughts to my teachers’ expectations. I honestly think that the fact that this class was designed to highlight “The Arts in Penn State” is what kept my interest for so long. If I hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to base my writing on something that I’m already so passionate about, I don’t think I would have developed as a writer the same. I had always considered myself to write my best when I could speak freely, in more of a prose style, but rarely in high school was that the task at hand. I think that’s why I enjoyed assignments like posting my opinions and thoughts on the blog; it was a place for my to be graded by what I thought, without any mold to conform to. While most of the assignments this semester were on the other end of the spectrum from that of the limiting papers that I couldn’t master in high school, I still felt challenged and pushed to move outside of my comfort zone. When we were asked to write a memoir of our own, I was incredibly intimidated after hearing the eloquently written piece by Sheila, but I was also inspired to create something that wasn’t comparable, but my own. While I believe that I could have added more to my story and my struggle, it was still a great learning experience for me to condense all of my thoughts and not become too overbearing with all my ideas, which I ‘m told I do. With that being said, I’d also like to add how much the peer review exercises really did improve my style of writing. In previous English classes it was just the teacher handing out advice and it was a completely new experience to have a peer give me unbiased and helpful criticism. While I think I have more to learn, knowing that I can’t rely on my prose writing preference forever, I believe that I have finally developed that unique voice that is my own and that I can still evoke that voice without steering too far away from what is asked.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Not Just Because She's My Teacher
I’m proud to say that I have privileged enough to hear not only one example of my own teacher’s talent but also several. Not only was it nice to have a relaxed class where we could all just sit back and listen but also I was really excited to hear more of Sheila’s work…and no I’m not trying to kiss her ass ;). Beginning with a lyric essay titled “Self Portrait with Rollercoaster” designed in an eight parts; it was my first time hearing a piece of this format. Being introduced to a style completely unfamiliar to me I wasn’t sure what to expect or what to pay attention to.
There were however a few components that stuck out to me, like the use of anaphora with “see her” and alliteration with “watch her watch,” and the bookend structure, beginning and ending with the slides. There was one line in particular that stood out to me, “here they dare each other.” Why it did I cannot say, for some reason it resonated with me the most; maybe it was a sense of impulse in which I was in search of myself. Continuing on through the reading, a series of different style poems, from found poems, and letter poems to dream poems, which I found in specific quite fascinating, With the found poem about Sheila’s grandmother’s advice for the wedding night, I couldn’t help but laugh because I could never in a million years picture my own nana giving out such blunt and unexpected advice. I was very intrigued with the concept of turning a dream sequence into a poem, maybe because my dream recall is fairly poor compared to Sheila’s vivid dreaming, I was inspired to give it a try myself. After going over my notes from class, the poem I put a giant star by was Sheila’s relationship poem. The metaphor of the front and back door or wing moving through and the differences between them seemed to make the poem most relatable; everyone has experienced at some point or another “the sounds of someone leaving” or at least I have. The ability to take inanimate objects, apply such intense emotions and background to them is what I believe what makes a good writer.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
An Overdue Review
While this review is incredibly overdue, better late than never. Back in September I visited the Foster Auditorium to see a poet by the name of Laura. I had never been to a poetry reading before and I had some sort of stereotypical image in my head; where the room was dimly lit, poets reading their work with a bit of over exaggeration, and everyone would applaud with finger snaps. I was thankfully proved wrong. The atmosphere was very relaxed and Laura presented herself as an equal whom I believe made her poems more inclusive and understandable. Hearing several poems from her new book, a couple stood out to me in particular. A poem titled The Selvage was a story told from her daughter’s perspective in reference to President Obama’s campaign in the south. It was set in the summer at the peak of the campaign and began with a question and answer; “Who are you voting for?” “The black guy.” The Selvage presented several blind insults, which paralleled how so many Americans are blind to what is actually going on, too many people are misinformed or not informed at all. What I found most interesting about this poem was that the observations were made by her young daughter; she seemed to be more aware than the majority of society. I found a new appreciation for poetry at this reading however, my experience was fairly interrupted by the woman sitting next to me. I believe she was a professor in the English department or an admirer, and her enthusiasm was too much for me to handle. I couldn’t help but be distracted when she would lean too far over on my armrest and repeatedly gasp in my ear. I thought that at some point she may settle down, but no, no she didn’t. What was most irritating was that I felt compelled to leave the reading because I couldn’t concentrate on the guest speaker. I’m sure the woman sitting next to me had no knowledge she was being so distracting but I’ve learned my lesson, steer clear of faculty at school-sponsored events.
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