Our class completed a second timed assessment, this time on one of two unseen poems that we had to choose from. I made some poor decisions during the test, including a.) deciding after lots of deliberation to analyse Text A (“The Problem With Sappho” by Charles Rafferty). b.) deciding to switch to Text B (“[Didn’t Sappho say her guts clutched up like this?] by Marilyn Hacker”) halfway through my analysis of Text A due to a an irrational feeling of regret. It was a bad idea. Glancing over at Fauzan after finishing my annotations for Hacker’s poem, I saw him madly scribbling away, having already written half a page. Dammit. I shouldn’t have switched. Too late. By then, with over twenty minutes gone, I was jolted into a sinking realization as my stomach clutched up in alarm. I wouldn’t be able to… Stop it, Anthony! I berated myself. You’re supposed to channel the emotions of the poet. How is regretting now going to help you? Disregard the time! Good point. Ignore time. Do the best I can do now.
Picking up my pen, I wrote my first paragraph, in a perhaps overly leisurely pace: should I use “passionate” here? Or maybe “intimate”. No, both would be appropriate. By then, over half an hour had gone by. I glanced up at the clock instinctively !!!?!?!!! I tried to increased my pace, but my hand wouldn’t let me compromise my legibility. God. My blessing has turned into a curse at the worst possible moment.
Finally, first paragraph done.
Second one halfway 15 MINUTES REMAINING! said Mr. Huntington. Gasps around the room were heard. My hand was aching badly, but, like a wounded, yet faithful soldier, it scratched out the final words of my second paragraph.
I decided to reread the poem again. Wasn’t there some interesting rhyme going on? Hmm… “lactate” and “kaopectate.” How many syllables were there in each line? 10…10…pentameter?…11…no. Or perhaps, close to pentameter. How many lines in total…14…interesting. Precious minutes ticked by. I felt I was missing something crucial. No matter, Write, write, write! You still have two paragraphs unwritten! Yes, there is rigidity in the structure, but also a certain unevenness. How should I describe this. free form? Hmm. No matter. I’ll put it down for now. Becoming increasingly unsure of myself, I stuttered to a halt halfway through my third paragraph. By then, people were handing in their papers. And I had to mine too. Sorry, Mr. Huntington.
Hey, this is a good story! The one thing wrong with it is the title (back on the homework page). “Sorry, Mr. Huntington” is a terrible title.
Anthony, there are times in our lives when all we can do is apologize —but we must never apologize for our writing not being good enough. The world is full of people who will ignore us –we can’t introduce our work to them with an apology that it isn’t good or they will never read it.
And it sets us up, mentally, to seek the praise and approval of others —which is only one way to work. I think there are better ways.
And I think your take on Hacker was very fine considering how much was on your mind in those 75 minutes! Keep it up!