(no subject)
So today is going to mostly suck I think. It is pouring rain, and windy, so it goes sideways, and also about thirty-seven degrees, and my jeans are wet from the knee down which means I am wet and there is very little I hate more than being wet. GRAAAAHHHHH.
Happily, we are talking about Robert Frost in my American Lit class, and he is my favourite poet, so that is good.
This girl tried to say that "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" was about a guy going to kill someone. ..............What?! Seriously?! Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this class who's ever read any of this stuff before. No. That is not what it's about. It's about a guy stopping in a snowfall to look at some trees. That is all. Frost said so himself! A lot of his poems are like that: he contemplates the world around him and writes spectacularly gorgeous poetry about it. THAT'S IT. *headdesk* XDDDDD
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
from "After Apple-Picking"
Happily, we are talking about Robert Frost in my American Lit class, and he is my favourite poet, so that is good.
This girl tried to say that "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" was about a guy going to kill someone. ..............What?! Seriously?! Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this class who's ever read any of this stuff before. No. That is not what it's about. It's about a guy stopping in a snowfall to look at some trees. That is all. Frost said so himself! A lot of his poems are like that: he contemplates the world around him and writes spectacularly gorgeous poetry about it. THAT'S IT. *headdesk* XDDDDD
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
from "After Apple-Picking"