My thoughts on what I've learned here.

I have to admit that I was already a huge fan of literature before this class. I read often whether or not I'm being instructed to for a class, but this class definitely broadened my horizons. I never really read poetry for entertainment previously, but I'm considering giving it more of a chance now. I also really enjoyed the novel we read, and I never would have thought about reading it if I hadn't been assigned it because I'd always had my concerns about the actual value of reading a translated work. In general I feel that I am a more well-rounded reader thanks to this class, and I feel that makes me a much stronger reader overall.

My thoughts on the pacing of the class.

I've already spoken about this elsewhere, but if I did have one negative thing to say about this class it would be that the pacing felt a bit too quick. There were large amounts to read every week--and that's fine, normally, but the amount of writing we had to do on top of that felt a bit much. I had trouble sometimes thinking of things to say here or in the forums--while it's nice to have the open discussion of the forums or the lit circle chats, it's a challenge to say something that no one else has said yet. I can't help but cringe when I browse down the list of posts only to see the same exact idea or point that I was going to post--it makes me feel like I'm not actually contributing much if I express the same concept, as if I'm just popping in to say "Same here."

Learning to Love America

In the lit circle group we did this week I learned something interesting about the poet who wrote "Learning to Love America". She ended up migrating to America and had a child here, which really helped add depth to the story told in the poem. The added perspective made the poem feel more alive and real, like I was peering through a window into her life. It's interesting how rarely we consider the lives of the authors who write the stories and poetry we love.

Harlem (Dream Deferred)

I thought this poem was especially strong just because of how much it said with so few words. There's only 52 words in the entire poem. That's shorter than the majority of my posts here, yet I believe it's far more profound than anything I've written here as well. Hughes wants the reader to think of dreams as real, physical, tangible things: a difficult task at times, but this way they're harder to forget about and harder to just push aside. He knew the value of having dreams.

My thoughts on "I, Too".

I felt that this was a fairly powerful poem as well. While I can't really sympathize with Hughes's position, it was very easy to see the perspective that he was coming from. It's a tale of "revenge" that manages to not be bitter or acerbic at all: it's hopeful, even! The third and fourth stanzas really tie it all together by paralleling the second: the speaker is going to make a peaceful act of defiance by sitting at the table in the dining room. He will be "beautiful" in his act of retaliation, independent like the concept of America itself. It's dramatic and stirring.

In Memoriam John Coltrane

I'm just going to start out by saying I loved this poem. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for jazz and blues music, and a poem addressed to the memory of John Coltrane seemed like it would be right up my alley. Thankfully, it was. I liked how even though the poem was "about" Coltrane it didn't burden itself with overblown praise or flowery description of the man that we already know: instead, the poet paints us a picture of a coal train moving smoothly and slowly, dark against the night, the rattling of the cars beating a rhythm against the tracks. It's still relevant to Coltrane--not only is it a pun involving his name, but it resembles his music in a way: powerful and steady and smooth. It's a clever play on the language and it works very well in this case.

Grass: Deeply Rooted Commentary

I'd also read the poem "Grass" by Carl Sandburg for this week. It's possible that I'm reading a bit far into it, but I thought it was almost nihilistic in its treatment towards the passage of time in marking human events. The wars keep going on, whether they're held in America or Europe, but the grass remains the most constant of the constants: it's always there to cover up our mistakes. The second-to-last and last stanzas really sealed that thought for me: "Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work."

No one will remember in time--and I can't even honestly say that I knew the relevance of most of these locations right off hand, either. It speaks something interesting about the impermanence of even our own inhumanities against each other.