Roses are red, violets are blue, poetry is difficult, but analyzing isn't!

I actually read Lucas’ journal before typing my own, to get an idea of what the topic was (as I was on a cruise to Mexico for a week of sun and relaxing, and that tends to melt the brain), and I find it interesting that he and I feel the complete opposite about poetry and the analyzing of it. I have this great fear of writing poetry, because I approach it with all of those analytical terms in mind. Does this rhyme? Can I fit alliteration in here? What is my theme? Oh my god, this isn’t profound enough! Backspace! My experience with the wrecking poem was just that. I had some ideas on the computer, and deleted them all because I thought they weren’t good enough, or moving enough. This fear of not provoking some great emotion in poetic writing cripples me, and it was only when I woke up at 6 am and decided to just write it without thought that it actually worked. That’s the problem! I think too much, which helps with the analyzing side.

It is much more difficult for me to write my own than it is to read and deconstruct someone else’s. Analyzing poetry is much like analyzing a novel, or a short story. Different terms, and different things to look out for, but you use these things (such as alliteration and rhyme) to expound on a greater theme or issue like you would use sentence structure in a novel. Finding support and evidence of this issue is like a puzzle, and trying to fit the pieces together to form the strongest picture for the case is an adventure. I’ve heard the phrase “Those who can’t do, teach” before, but I think it should be more along the lines of “Those who can’t write poetry, analyze.”

Please don't tell me you want to be a teacher...

Hello out there. My name is Maureen Grandchamp, and I'm an avid Disneyland goer. I work full time, school full time, and Disneyland full time. I'm 28, and fabulous! This is (part of) my story...

Ten years ago when I graduated High School I went straight to Boston University into the pre-med program. I had wanted to be a doctor since November 11, 1991 at 1:02 pm when my little sister was born. I was so amazed that someone could help bring life into this world, and something so perfect as my sister, that I thought I had found my calling. Everyone was so proud of me, and they threw a huge going away party the summer before I left. I was going to be a doctor! Once arriving in Boston, however, plans began to change. I was taking 2 science classes, and 2 electives: French and Shakespeare. As the semester progressed I found myself enjoying Shakespeare more than any science I was taking, and actually starting to dread the days I had to work with biology or chemistry. I would rather be reading As You Like It than learning about the Krebs Cycle. It was then that I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing. You're supposed to enjoy the field in which you choose to study, right? I was not supposed to find more pleasure in literature than in science! I couldn't give it up, though. Not something that had carried me through nearly half of my life at the time. The second semester rolled around, and again I had two science courses and two electives. Again I enjoyed my British Literature course more than my Chemistry 2. My experience in Boston wasn't turning out to be what I had imagined. Apart from not knowing anything about the white fluffy stuff that falls from the sky and covers the ground and makes it freezing cold and makes you want to just stay inside and ask these crazy people why they would ever live in these conditions (I think they call it "snow"), the thing I had wanted for 7 years of my life wasn't turning out quite what I expected it to be. When the semester came to an end, I mustered up the courage to call my mom and said, "Mom. I'm coming home. And I don't want to be a doctor anymore." Her response? "Please don't tell me you want to be a teacher..."

Guess what? I did want to be a teacher! My mom's concerns were based on salary, and once I assured her that I didn't need a house on the beach she was in full support of my new plan. I had tutored throughout most of High School, and I started to think how great it would be to actually take that talent and put it to use. Maybe I wouldn't be bringing life into this world, like a doctor, but I would be helping somehow. I enrolled at the community college and began to take the general education credits I needed. I was passionate about this, and would throw myself fully into this new goal. Suffice to say, I hit a few bumps in the road to accomplishing my teacher goals. I had to stop school for a while, and then I just didn't go back. I became lazy, content in my job at Kaiser and forgot about the future for a while.

It wasn't until two years ago, when someone I knew from high school came into my work that anything changed. I asked her what she was up to, and she told me she was an English teacher. At a high school. What was I doing? Why was I wasting so much time? The very next day I called Pierce College and asked what I needed to finish with my AA. One class, which I took over the summer. And now? I'm here at CSUN, on my last semester for my Bachelors in English. It took me ten years to get to this point, and now that I'm here, I'm not looking back. I cannot wait to be a teacher, to stop doing something I'm 'content' with, and start doing something I will fully enjoy. I don't regret the time it took me to get to this point, as I had many life experiences between then and now, but I can't say I'm not grateful to that woman for walking into my work and giving me the push I needed. I should send her a card or something. Maybe a nice fruitcake over the holidays.