Stevie Smith, come back to us!

I think I claimed somewhere recently that I had not been exposed to Stevie Smith's poetry before this class.  Not true!  I've read "Not Waving, But Drowning" before, I'm sure.  Okay, I think.  But I have really developed a new appreciation for her since I've been reading more of her poetry.  I think she and I would have gotten along famously.  Sad she died when I was only two.  My work for today was to pick a Modern British poem we hadn't yet read for class.  I decided to let the textbook fall open and see what I came up with.  The result was Stevie Smith's "Souvenir de Monsieur Poop."  Somehow that title caught my eye!  Hard to believe, I know.  This poem puts into words what I feel about those who feel a might superior about their knowledge of English literature.  There's more in my head about it than Stevie (Yes, we're on a first-name basis now.) puts in this poem.  She talks about the belief that the classics are the only valid literature, citing Shakespeare, Milton, and (tee-hee) Housman.  Another aspect of this is the idea that only some topics of contemporary authors are good enough to be called "serious" literature.  Poop on mysteries and horror!  Turn away from sci-fi and fantasy!  No, not every contemporary writer is a master of his craft.  But there is more than one goal of writing.  Not everything we read has to elevate us or educate us.  Writing can entertain us.  It's okay to escape sometimes, as long as you make it back to the real world.  I love Stevie Smith.  And I love Stephen King.  Maybe I can even teach him some day.  You might be surprised.  He even has subtext.

Love, War, Alienation, and Inanity

Today I read "Lullaby" (not "A Lullaby" - took me a few to figure out I'd read the wrong poem) and "Refugee Blues" by W.H. Auden and "Not Waving But Drowning"" and "Pretty" by Stevie Smith.  I loved them all.  (I did enjoy "A Lullaby" as well, but it was a bit difficult to answer questions about romantic love based on this poem.)  It's funny.  We started out with T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land."  Eliot seems to have crammed every bleak, confusing, contradictory thing about life into that poem.  Now, we're looking at several of these issues individually.  Life in modern society can be overwhelming.  We can't fix everything.  Personally, I've tried to stake out one or two little corners where I might be able to make a small difference.  I did enjoy each of these poems, as I have enjoyed everything I've read so far.  I just find it depressing sometimes, focusing on problems for which I suspect no solution will be forthcoming in my lifetime.