Diana Bennet, the Welton-famous pessimist has had an interesting time at the prestigious academy she attends. But with a new English teacher and an alter in rivalry things begin to change.
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"Gentlemen, open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled Understanding Poetry?" Keating instructed, pulling one of many books out of a pile on his desk and flipping it to the first page.
I looked to Neil, he had his reading glasses on and began to read, "Understanding Poetry, by Dr J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and two, how important is that objective. Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatest becomes a relatively simple matter."
I couldn't help but yawn, even when Neil (a very captivating reader) read the passage aloud I could feel my sanity slowly slip away. I watched the kid in front of me shove an entire half of his sandwich into his mouth, hiding the rest of it in his desk. He wasn't being very discreet, he chewed loud enough and the crumbs on the floor was a rather large indicator of what he was doing. It nearly made me sigh in disappointment, what ever happened to class? Keating finally stood from his desk, grabbing some chalk. He began to draw a diagram onto the blackboard behind him. I groaned internally, grabbing my pen and flipping open my notebook. I began to copy it down roughly, most of the students around me doing the same.
Neil continued, "A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will - so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry."
Finally, Neil removes his glasses and solemnly looks toward the blackboard and our teacher. Keating turns from the diagram he had drawn, a smile plastered upon his face. I looked up to him, confused. Was he smiling at the torture he was putting us through?
"Excrement," he announced, breaking the silence that plagued the room.
I gulp obnoxiously, feeling as if everyone could've heard it. Never had I heard a professor have the audacity to say such words, especially in front of students. Don't get me wrong, Hager would let a couple 'shits' out occasionally but not intentionally. A grin couldn't help but form on my face, it was childish to find so much amusement in a mild profanity; but it was hard to care.
"That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry!"
I watch Cameron hurry to cross out his diagram, making sure to use a ruler and a pencil to make it as neat as he could. It made me smile more.
"I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it."
I hear somebody shift in their seat, their desk squeaking slightly. I turn my head slightly, being met with a depressed Knox and behind him an eager Charlie. Everyone seems to be paying attention now, even the teen in front who had previously been stuffing his face.
