So, today I was paging through my favorite volume of Emily Dickinson after taking a final, losing myself in her simple artistry. Anyway, as I was reading, I noticed myself sub-consciously looking for the meaning of the poem and the purpose for which it was written. In the very back of my mind, the part that hasn't quite shut down for the summer yet, I was composing outlines for mini-commentaries. Now, I dislike commentaries mostly because there were so many of them this year; although poetry commentaries are almost always easier because they have much more symbolism and double meanings and such. I just find it rather ironic that no matter how much I dislike actually sitting down to piece them together, apparently my brain has taken the process and made it a reflexive reaction to the trickle of verse across an eager palette. So, I guess I'd have to say "Kudos, Ms. Peifer" for drilling this skill into our stubborn, unwilling membranes; I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to lose it anytime soon.
Slanche!
Bridget
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