this class makes me so frustrated with myself. we go through poems and what they mean and he asks different questions about what lines mean, and i have thoughts but too nervous to say, but after he explains it, he often says exactly what i was thinking.
In Marcus Wicker’s “Dear Mothership”, we create a “mothership”, which can mean a variety of things in the sense of Wicker’s mind state and perspective, as well of course as our own thoughts and perspective in reading this poem and determining our own “mothership” and what it may represent in our...
to an earlier point, if one ignores the circu role of the teacher, and writes without their own care, and writes within the boundaries of their own instincts rather than the teacher's instincts, then there will be no remorse or regret.
Dear Mothership,
Marcus Wicker
Earth is reeking. And we obsidian-backed, winged
cling to the funk in a language that never fails: Peace vibes.
Wonderment & all that pimp shit. An ambrosia we invent
to savor roses through the stink. Like witchgrass effacing
a wheat bed with a gangster lean, bias...
thats a good point. maybe i should add that line to the end of my analysis so my teacher sees. i think he may get a sense of pride and self importance in being able to grade undergrad poetry analysis since he knows oh so much more than his students.
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