where all the poets went to die [dead poets society]

5 - to hell with pritchard's 'understanding poetry'

The following morning the students sat excitedly for Mr. Keating's lesson. As predicted by him, having Maria seated at the front of the class certainly did draw the boys' focus toward where Mr. Keating sat solemnly in his chair beside his desk.

He held in a smile. His niece would be the center of attention for all these young gentlemen, he was quite certain of it. He thought it would be good for her, a little bit of attention would help a girl like Maria to bloom in self-confidence, to shed herself off her shy exterior. Of course, he'd step in if the boys got a little too rowdy - he knew that teenage boys tended to go over the top with such things - but yes, this would be good for her.

"Boys and lady," he said as the class bell rang, "open your Pritchard text to page 21 of the introduction. Mr. Perry," he gestured towards Neil, "kindly read aloud the first paragraph of the preface entitled 'Understanding Poetry.'"

The class found the pages in their textbook obediently and followed as Neil read: "Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evan Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech, then ask two questions..."

Maria braced an elbow on her desk and rested her cheek in her hand as she listened to Neil. How bland a perspective - how bland a way to look at poetry. It was too structured, too rigid for something that ebbed and flowed as poetry, for something that was supposed to be the literal rendition of art.

There would be no way Uncle John would allow such a stiff way of looking at words in his classroom.

"...thereby revealing the poem to be truly great," Neil finished.

Uncle John suddenly stood and Maria watched with a knowing smile as he moved toward the blackboard, drawing a graph on its surface. There was a deep frown on his face as he urged Neil to continue with a wave of his hand and gave Maria a subtle wink.

"As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this manner grows, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry."

Neil stopped and looked up toward Keating and Maria watched on with quiet amusement while her uncle grabbed onto his own throat and screamed horribly, "AHHH!" Several of the students in the classroom jumped, and pulled out of the temporary reverie they had slipped into while Neil was reading.

"Refuse! Garbage! Pus! Rip it out of your books. Go on, rip out the entire page. I want this garbage in the trash where it belongs!" Keating proclaimed loudly and dramatically.

It was like the classroom stood frozen for a moment before the sound of paper ripping sounded at the back of the class.

Maria turned back to see Charlie grinning at Keating, holding up his ripped-out textbook pages. She allowed a small smile, how predictable it was that it was he who was the first person to leap for such an instruction.

"Very good, Mr. Dalton!" Keating gave him a thumbs-up and swept his eyes across the classroom. "Now, go on."

It was as if those three words had turned a dial and the boys in the classroom happily tore the pages from their books.

"Get rid of the entire first chapter, gentlemen. Tear it out! I want nothing left of it! Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D., you are disgraceful!" Keating strutted around the classroom as the sound of paper ripping and laughter grew louder and rowdier.

Fire and excitement danced in Keating's eyes and when he turned to his niece, he nodded at her. "Maria, would you be a dear?" He gestured toward the backroom and Maria nodded, slipping out of the chair and into the room to grab the wastebasket.