Poetry in motion
NB This happened in high school. I was standing in line outside the classroom, waiting for our English teacher while chatting with my best pal, Steve. Me: How’d you go with the assignment? Steve: Huh? What assignment? Me: Er, you know… the assignment? We had to write a sonnet? Steve: (looking panicked) Shit! Was that for today?! Yes, the sonnet assignment was due today. And as I looked on, Steve took out an exercise book, scribbled down something on a page, and tore it out. Just like that, he wrote his poem and finished the assignment. The entire process took a couple of minutes at the very most. On the other hand, I had spent hours working meticulously on my sonnet. It was: heartfelt about enduring love super romantic in iambic pentameter. In short, it had the traditional content in the traditional format. It was everything a sonnet is supposed to be. I was very proud of it and confident that our teacher would reward my efforts. About a week passed. I didn’t know what