So far in college I’ve never received an assignment that I’ve absolutely hated. I’ve always accepted whatever it is that I have to do, and, even if I have to stay up for a few days straight, I do it happily. I like that rush of progress that comes from working on a challenging paper… But with all that said, I think this paper that I recently received in my Shakespeare course has to be at the top of my list of least favorites.
Let me complain for a second:
I had to write 4 mini-essays (150-250 words), which each focused on a different moment in some of Shakespeare’s plays. Sounds easy enough, right? My task was “to make explicit what is implicit in the play” – I was actually pretty excited about the project until I got to the part where the professor spelled out how each one of the mini-essays should be laid out. He wanted the first sentence to be this, and the second to be that, and so on…
I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but I was initially pissed that some “Shakes-pe-herian” was trying to tell me how to formulate my thoughts. I am a writer because I love the freedom of creation. To me, writers are like the Green Lanterns of Literature (<--let’s see who gets the comic-book reference). Basically, what I’m saying is that my work is nothing more than my thoughts manifested in exactly the way that I see fit for them to be presented – all of my choices are my own. From the start, I knew this assignment was going to be hell for me.
I struggled with the assignment, and I hated every second of it; every sentence that I had to write twisted me up inside... but after 2 all-nighters, caffeinated and frustrated, I noticed the title of the handout that my professor had given me, "The Commentary Form", and I had an extremely helpful realization: the true artist of language can manipulate his thoughts into any form, be it a piece of flash-fiction or creative non-fiction, a poem, a biography, or a novel... or even an assignment. A great writer works to manipulate the language within the structural setting of the form.
I sat and thought for a while, and I was amazed at all of the different forms I could think of. Even within the form of poetry there are countless different types of poems, and each type of poem has its own structural identity that allows the language in it to be compared and contrasted with other poems of the same type. I guess in terms of Literary Theory, I got to experience structuralist theory at it's best at about 3:30 in the morning.
The idea stayed fresh in my mind for a few days, and I began applying the theory to things other than writing.. I'd like to leave you with what I think is one of the forms that I enjoy the most. I don't really know if this form already has a name, so I'll just call it the "Assumed-Role Poetic Flash-Fiction Form" (please, help me with a better name, because that one sucks).
And she treats me like some type of common vagrant
I see her everyday, but there's nothing to say
Unless I decide to step inside of that cafe
I only get to sit if I buy something to eat
Otherwise it's best to keep my feet moving down that street
And god damn she's a hard bitch
Talks at me like I'm the bad dog that got into the garbage
Yeah I know that the toilet is for customers
You ain't got to tangle up the strings to make this puppet work
It doesn't have to be a game of patty cake
But it ain't like you don't know I sleep in that alleyway
And by the way, I can see it in your eyes
You're angry with your life, not a stranger to the fight
I bet you hate every man that you date
And you're probably addicted to all types of escape
You take it out on me that you're all alone
When you know you got your own closet full of hollow bones
Watch the tone when you speak to old folks
I'm grown, just trying to get out of this Minnesota cold
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/a/atmosphere/the_waitress.html ]
Look lady, I'm homeless, I'm crazy
I'm so hopeless I'm suicidal daily
If you and I can't co-exist, let's fake it
Cause I ain't got the energy it takes for this relationship
I'm waiting for a city bus to flatten me
And transport me to the ever after happily
Maybe reincarnate and with luck
Come back to Earth as a cockroach in your tip cup
She said she's had it up to here
She's gonna call authorities if I don't disappear
I love her threats, it rejuvenates my breath
I give her stress for the reaction that it gets
I got a pocket full of pan-handled money
On a cup of bad coffee and a stale honey bun
In front of everyone she calls me bum
But she notices my absence on them afternoons I don't come
So here I am, thorn in her hip
Holding down the corner table all morning with some corn chips
Ignoring the insults and evil eyes
I feed off of 'em, I wonder when she'll realize
That she's the only reason I visit
The only woman in my world that acknowledges my existence
And if my ship ever comes, I'll miss it
Because I'm getting old and I ain't got much left to give it
So there it is and I have to live with it
I had the chance to make a difference, but I didn't
In the cafe bathroom drinking free tap water
Thinking: "Damn, I should've been a better father to my daughter"
Until next time,
S.Pine
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