Time. Truth. Hearts.
The Oddity (A Homeric imitatio of our first day of class.)

 “Professor Whitchurch, most distinguished of men,

it is certainly a marvelous thing

to read and write prose such as this,

whose style is like a god’s. For I say

there’s nothing gives one more pleasure

than when rapture grips entire groups of students

who sit in proper order in study hall

reading and writing of the muse

with piles of books there aside them

hidden under emails and handouts, as the advocates

send us more work, forwarding poems,

and solving problems. To my mind this seems

the greatest thing there is. But your heart

wishes to know of my introduction

to these grievous sorrows

what started us weeping and groaning  more than before.

What shall I speak of first? Where do I start?

for English One Ten has given me

so much distress. Well, I shall start

with the first day. Once you know that

if I escape the painful process of grading

then later I can welcome you as friends,

though I live not far away

I am Lauren, student of Golden West,

known for my love of books-

whose library extends all the way to heaven.

I go to school, a campus of sunshine.”

“I was carried by the wind from Santa Ana

to Huntington, land of Southern Californians. I enjoyed

my summer there, read my books,

spent time on the internet, or outside with my

friends, we lapped time up. I found

great pains in returning to the school

year. We were warned against taking English

with you-

and with great conviction. But us students were fools.

We didn’t listen. We laughed too much

at their warnings and ignored

Their prophecies. Meanwhile the transfers

set off and gathered at other schools,

students dorming further inland. There are

more of them, and they’re brighter students,

skilled at writing essays from chapters

and also, should the need arise, on fable.

We lost some students to them,

and our hearts were filled with grief

as well as jealousy for their having moved on.

“Now, here was the first day of the semester,

outside in the hall, there’s a pregnant pause,

covered in tired yawns and students unaware.

They travel in countless numbers.

They have had no need to fear before.

Difficult classes have not challenged

them before, not even those

Who endured great hardships knew what

true hardship was before.

Some god led us through the misty morning-

we couldn’t be expected to see a thing

and our cars were swallowed by dew.

The ceiling hid the sun, so there was no

light coming from the sky.”

“We soon reached his class but didn’t

find him.

He was biking from his home across the way.

We stayed by the classroom and waited


until he parked his bike outside. He

came, wearing ceremonial dress

true to those who hail from certain tribes

in Africa. He did not look African,

but let us into the class with a

humorous bustle. In our confusion, we sat back

Ii our desks, in the deepest corners.

once he had set everything about he said:”

“Students, who are you? What class

has brought you here? Are you German scholars

or those who intend to study the history of

the African people? Do you not speak of this language?”

“As he spoke, he had done so in Deutsch

before returning to our native language

confusing our hearts, terrified

by his strange and marvelous ways

as he turned his paperwork into

that of the proper subject.

All day long until much after time,

we sat working on grammar and it’s

principles, until we were released.

We scooted away from there

Sad at heart, happy to have avoided being destroyed,

although we would have chance in the future

as would our companions, to soon be killed.”


 Since Claire asked me to post it. :) Yes, I realize it’s rather imperfect, but I enjoyed writing it-getting an A was not too shabby either. 




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