Yes, Last Class

They unlocked the door and I scrambled to print everything in time. I made it by a wide margin but I love scaring myself, I guess.

Before the exam, I did a rush job with these poets:

Ezra Pound’s “In the Station of the Metro.” I think this is a brilliant poem but part of me is still surprised they didn’t hang Pound after WWII. Each time I talk about him, I wish they had a little bit more. Maybe Quentin Tarantino will make a movie about an alternative history of vengeful literary theorists.

William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheel Barrow.” I’m not devoted to the Imagists (thanks, Ezra) but this poem has grown on me since I first read it.

Langston Hughes’ “The Negro Speaks of Rivers.” This is a great poem but how does a text book get printed that includes a section on Langston Hughes but leaves out “Harlem (a Dream Deferred)”?

T.S. Eliot reads “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” This is another one that has grown on me. I think I posted before about the line “I grow old. I grow old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled,” but I can’t find it. (It means Prufrock will start dressing like the young kids of the day.)

Carl Sandburg’s “Chicago.” Unlike Hughes or Poe, I don’t have an absolute definitive Sandburg poem. I guess this is the best choice.

e.e. cummings’ “next of course god america i” Spellcheck doesn’t approve of mr. cummings. His poetry could be a good test for Artificial Intelligence.