one more year
After sending my fifth packet of the semester on Wednesday, I have officially finished my first year at Bennington. Of course, the packet was a week late, and my teacher had, after the fourth packet, said that she wouldn't be able to answer it at all. We will see.
It's safe to say that Jane, my teacher, doesn't like me very much. Maybe I should have sought a change when she wrote, May every flavor of earth blossom on your tongue, in a book I asked her to sign. I listed her as my first priority only because she doesn't teach very often. Apparently everyone else also picked her first, and they were quite jealous of me. For this semester I've put Henri Cole, someone whose work I like, in that position.
Throughout the term, Jane has concentrated more on the lateness of my work, rather than its quality. Her critiques haven't been very helpful, as she writes little more than a repeat of the exact words I've written in my accompanying letter about the poems. She doesn't answer questions, and when she agrees with me, the last sentence of the paragraph always holds some note of divergence, which is usually so painfully obvious that I've chosen to skip the point entirely. She actually vetoed the topic for my paper after telling me to write anything I wanted, just have fun with it, because it's not for me, it's for you. Personally, I would have had a great deal of fun writing about Hjalmar Soderberg and his novel Doctor Glas, but, according to her, I'm not allowed to write about fiction because I'm a poet. So, instead I wrote about poetry, and I had very little fun, because it felt very much like i was doing something for her.
I tried to sympathethize with her about my turning the packets in late, but I couldn't. The entire program stresses flexibility, and she, as a teacher, has to realize that material isn't going to reach her by the deadline. It's not as if I have to answer math problems or follow a recipe to cook dinner, I have to write poems that are good enough that I don't mind her reading. Anyway, as for those poems, I think I had some good ones with the most recent packet, really, it's some of the best stuff I've written. Amanda made the comment that I must be proud, because I've been telling everyone about them. It's true, there's a grouping of seven poems downstairs on the table, and if you come over, I'll let you see them. Or if you don't, you can talk to me on aol instant messenger (my usernname is lefaive), and I'll show you. Or you can wait a couple years and buy the book.
In other news, where I'm not marketing myself, if you are interested in joining an investment club, you should look at this journal. Each month we use $10,000 of fictional money to buy one or two stocks. Prizes are given to the top three people. There are more details at the journal.
It's safe to say that Jane, my teacher, doesn't like me very much. Maybe I should have sought a change when she wrote, May every flavor of earth blossom on your tongue, in a book I asked her to sign. I listed her as my first priority only because she doesn't teach very often. Apparently everyone else also picked her first, and they were quite jealous of me. For this semester I've put Henri Cole, someone whose work I like, in that position.
Throughout the term, Jane has concentrated more on the lateness of my work, rather than its quality. Her critiques haven't been very helpful, as she writes little more than a repeat of the exact words I've written in my accompanying letter about the poems. She doesn't answer questions, and when she agrees with me, the last sentence of the paragraph always holds some note of divergence, which is usually so painfully obvious that I've chosen to skip the point entirely. She actually vetoed the topic for my paper after telling me to write anything I wanted, just have fun with it, because it's not for me, it's for you. Personally, I would have had a great deal of fun writing about Hjalmar Soderberg and his novel Doctor Glas, but, according to her, I'm not allowed to write about fiction because I'm a poet. So, instead I wrote about poetry, and I had very little fun, because it felt very much like i was doing something for her.
I tried to sympathethize with her about my turning the packets in late, but I couldn't. The entire program stresses flexibility, and she, as a teacher, has to realize that material isn't going to reach her by the deadline. It's not as if I have to answer math problems or follow a recipe to cook dinner, I have to write poems that are good enough that I don't mind her reading. Anyway, as for those poems, I think I had some good ones with the most recent packet, really, it's some of the best stuff I've written. Amanda made the comment that I must be proud, because I've been telling everyone about them. It's true, there's a grouping of seven poems downstairs on the table, and if you come over, I'll let you see them. Or if you don't, you can talk to me on aol instant messenger (my usernname is lefaive), and I'll show you. Or you can wait a couple years and buy the book.
In other news, where I'm not marketing myself, if you are interested in joining an investment club, you should look at this journal. Each month we use $10,000 of fictional money to buy one or two stocks. Prizes are given to the top three people. There are more details at the journal.