Is Classic Literature All It’s Hyped up to Be?

Perhaps I’m odd, but I love many classic works of literature. I trust the rating that a piece is a classic, read it, appreciate what earns its title, and try to acquire a good copy for our home library. I feel that almost all are written well and/or demonstrate some extraordinary aspect that sets them above other literature.

Then again, some classics are boring.

Some are wordy.

A few have something that ruined the book as a favorite for me -and I do not speak of glaring grammatical sentences.

One of the first classics the public education system forced me to read was Silas MarnerThat one is in the Boring category, its primary failing. Even to this day, I do not know a redeeming characteristic of it. If one wants a good bite of rambling sentences, there’s James Joyce. If one needs historical literature, there are many alternatives. A treasure hunt? What about Treasure Island?

Silas Marner could also win for wordiest, but I’m more inclined to bump the phone book-sized The Three Musketeers to that position. To be fair to this assessment, I have not yet successfully gotten past the first third of the novel. Not even whilst I was on bedrest with my second pregnancy and had nothing better to do than stare at the walls and hope my previa moved was I able to get through it. Many, many classics are horribly wordy, yet the words are valuable. They are worth it. Instead of Three Musketeers, try The Count of Monte Cristo.

Last but not least is the failing category I am most interested in discussing: some thing that really bothered me in a classic. Sometimes in these cases, people hyped up the book. Others liked it; it’s acclaimed; it’s a classic. Surely it must be good, right?

One of my top entries in this grouping is The Great Gatsby. My criticism? I could not relate to any of the characters. At all. They were so unreal in behavior, thought, and action that I could never get into the story.

A second is The Screwtape Letters. I love C.S. Lewis. I wanted to love everything he wrote. As I read this famous work of his, however, I felt disappointed. I realized I expected Screwtape to be more insidious, more clever, more devious. Perhaps my experiences have been with a smarter and more subtle fiend?

A third and final classic for my chopping block is Wuthering Heights. I’m not a romance fan, in case people didn’t know, but I do read stories with romance in them. I like Jane Austen, for example. Wuthering Heights seemed far-fetched, perhaps. Mostly, like with Gatsby, I had little interest in the characters.

In retrospect, much of the reason I’ve found distaste with some classical literature is that I had to read them. That’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg problem, though, because I doubt I’d have chosen to read them on my own.

Also, disliking a classic can have its benefits. Before The Grapes of Wrath in my senior year of high school, I’d never fallen asleep whilst reading.

As always, I am curious what others think. Are you a defender of all classical works to the bitter end? Are you one to agree with me, and nit-pick a few for failings? Do you not care so long as you can watch Colin Firth dive into a pond?

As my mother says, “Inquiring minds want to know.”

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—————-

I most certainly did not get wordy this week. Here’s what I did:
Wednesday, May 22: Wrote “If You Could Be Any Mythical Creature, What Would You Be?

Thursday, May 23: Nothing.

Friday, May 24: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations, again, to Bruce Goodman!

Saturday, May 25: Announced the 27th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is epic book or film series. PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, May 26: “The Gatehouse,” in response to Sue Vincent‘s prompt.

Monday, May 27: Answered Peregrine Arc‘s prompt with “The Cell of Snares.

Tuesday, May 28:  Also nothing.

Wednesday, May 29: Today.

I also posted some at my motherhood site. I wrote “Mom, What Can I Do?,” and “Happily Ever After Is Possible, but It Requires an Epic Journey.”

 

Photo Credit:
Image by klimkin from Pixabay

 

© 2019 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Sorry for the delay, but I will hold you all in suspense no longer! After a close bet between three finalists, the winner is: Bruce Goodman.

Acrostic to an unnamed personage

by Bruce Goodman

Hell!
I don’t really detest anyone much.
Look, I’m not happy with the unfashionable woollen fabric
Like what some people wear;
About as frumpy as possible I reckon.
Really, I guess that means a detestation,
You know, of some sort.

Congratulations, Bruce! You are once again the most terrible poet of the week!

As I mentioned, it was a close race at the end. The two others had some intentionally misused words and some rotten rhyming. Bruce ultimately won because of his overall terrible poem. It wants to sound like a poem; it makes us think it might possibly be poetic. Then, it leaves the mind hanging like a sandwich at lunch that may have had some not-quite-in-date mayonnaise.

I mention finalists but the others weren’t half bad, either. I eliminated most on minor technicalities like not being terrible enough or not really reading like a poem. You all know I have trouble picking a favorite child each week.

Read through the terribleness and see for yourself:

Voldemort

by Peregrine Arc

Very tyrannical are you, bald headed twit
Oh, look at your Death Eaters running away again, you idiot
Lost is Nagini, curled around your toes
Dementors would have nothing to suck out of your remaining soul.
Everyone knows you were a spoiled brat
Many a time you could have turned back.
Or did you not care?
Really, I don’t think you ever loved another in your life
Twould have been just another game for you to ruin and set fire to with strife.

—–

Untitled piece

by Cynical Wordsmith

Does she have to scream at every meeting?
I can’t handle it
Am I allowed to punch her?
No but I can get up and walk out
Evadable

—–

Scientia Pontentia Est

by Violet Lentz

Could I possibly implore you
Oh ye of little sense
Not to fall for every 
Schemers
Ploy, as you peruse the
Internet?
Really, I’m not the only one that thinks, you
Are coming off half cocked
Claiming insider information
You most assuredly haven’t got

The ‘truths’ you’re privy to online
Have to be weighed with common sense
Evidently, in which you’re lacking-
Or you’d have thought of this yourself.
Really, I’m not judging- 
I just absolutely believe, that when Sr. Francis Bacon
Said, “Scientia potentia est”- he knew 
That knowledge can only be power, when your
Sources are correct.

—–

Marilyn

by Ruth Scribbles

M alevolent woman
A ppalling stink*
R ight-always
I nstigator-you name it
L iar (because she’s not always right)
Y acker-constant
N icotine addict*

—–

Tove

by Ruth Scribbles

T errible
O pinionated
V indictive
E vil

—–

To My Enemies

by Fresh Hell

Thou fiend
Of hell

May you never see light
Yearn for …light

Even I don’t like you
Now go away
Ease my workplace drama
Mind your own business
I think you
Stink

—–

Henry Clay

by H.R.R. Gorman

He looks like a dead opossum
E
xcept with much less hair
N
ever won a duel in his life
R
otten butthole of a man
Y
outhful joy never became him

Corrupt bargains were his specialty
L
ost more elections than Nader
A
llied with gilded corruption
Y
our political party is dead

—–

John C. Calhoun

by H.R.R. Gorman

Just a rotten son of a gun
Obsolete before he was born
H
air was an absolute mess
Nullification was the sword he fell on

Campaigned against himself

Carolina was his weapon
Attempted to dissolve the union
Lied about Adams and Monroe
How ’bout that Vice Presidency?
Oh, you did nothing?
Until you became a traitor?
Nullification was so stupid

—–

Don

by Michael B. Fishman

Diarrhea complexion & smelly mouth. Why do you talk so much about so little?
Oafish lapdog smile, your man-boobs wiggle and you’re not funny so stop trying.
Nasty Muzak is more interesting than listening to you drone on and on and on…

—–

Thank you for the laughs, the cleverness, and the horrible feeling in my gut. Perhaps the latter is indigestion and not at all related to the poems.

Tune in tomorrow for next week’s prompt!

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Bruce: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

WELCOME to The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, Week 22.

Please remove all dignified, appropriate rules about poetry and drop them behind a dumpster somewhere, read how to terribly poem, and look at the specifics below:

  1. This week, we are going to make an acrostic poem. The Topic of said poem is a person you detest.
    If his name were Bob, your poem might read:
    lessed waste of
    O rgans is
    ob
  2. For Length, your masterpiece must be no longer than the person’s name.
    Also, keep the number of people you hate and therefore wish to honor with a poetic address to three.
  3. Rhyme if you wish; don’t if you’d rather not.
  4. As always, make it terrible. The person you hate must sense, by aura of recitation alone, your loathing and aversion. He (or she) must follow the scent of vitriol to your computer and vow revenge upon your children’s children.
  5. Keep things PG-13 or nicer, if you please.

My children have Spring Break next week, which means I do not. Therefore, the deadline for this ‘weekly’ contest will be in two weeks. You have till 8:00 a.m. MST Friday (April 26) to submit a poem.

If you are shy, use the form. Leave me a comment saying that you did as well, just to be certain. I will be able to tell you whether I received it.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

 

friend-2754278_1280

Photo credit:
Pixabay

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

I look forward to this contest every week. I smile, laugh, feel slightly ill; then realize that I only get to choose ONE entry as winner.

Today, that winner is Joanne the Geek.

For You My Love

by joanne the geek

I love you so much, even with all my heart

but you can’t find any love for me at all

but with you I could still never bear to part

I’ll poison you and keep you stuffed in my hall

–♥–♥–♥–♥–

Congratulations, Joanne! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: the competition every week is stiff. Most of the times I judge, I find myself drawn to three or four poems. After that, I have to search deep within them to suss out small details or turns of phrase that can set the poem apart and above the others.

This week; mostly everyone killed it with horrible rhymes, nailed awful story arcs, berated my poetic sensibilities with twisted romance, and left me gasping at an overall terribleness. Joanne’s poem did all that; plus I appreciated her ending. The meter and message left me hanging, wondering Wait -what? What did my love say to me? Short, sweet, pointed, terrible. Good job.

If I had a second prize to give, at least five of the following would tie for it. The rhymes, the messages, the “love…” You guys are amazing:

Take My Arm

by Trent McDonald

I really, really want to be your guy
I would rip out my heart for you
Chop of my head

Sure, an expensive gift I could buy
But parts of me are exclusive, there are few
Take too many and I’ll be dead

Well, actually I don’t want to die
Would ripping out my spleen do?
chop off a finger instead?

I hope you didn’t enjoy this poem 😉

—–

Yowza

by Peregrine Arc

Hello babe, I saw you from afar
I drove by in my shiny new Mustang car.
I smiled, flicked my bangs back just so
James Dean had nothing on me, as you know.
You smiled shyly, like the angel you are
And then your boyfriend leaned over to kiss the car.
“Here’s a twenty, thanks for bringing it around.
No scratches, I see. Safe and sound.”
I got out, handed over the keys
And scratched off a number on my valet receipt.
I could only stare as the tires went round
And hope the police would order an impound.

—–

One More Chance For The Unrequited Lover

by Bladud Fleas

So, the flowers I sent you
weren’t that fantastic
bought at a filling station
and made out of plastic
and you said plastic is bad for the planet
and I wrote on the card, “to my Jane”
when your name’s actually Janet
does it really mean I won’t get a kiss?
why should it mean you’ll give it a miss?

—–

Candy

by Doug

Why did you stand me up, my Dove,
Oh Dear Candy of June days, my Love
you misunderstood my allusion to
Ogden Nash day who used to say,
“Candy is dandy
but liquor is quicker.”

You are a diamond in the rough,
Is a diamond ring enough?

—–

Artificial Love

by Geoff

The Roses were red
Not that it mattered
Cos like my poor heart
With their rejection you shattered
Them both.

You blanked me all day
My life you are blighting
By coldly ignoring
The genuine plighting
Of my troth.

Do you think I’m too small
Could my voice be sexier
Just tell me your needs
And I’ll meet them forever
Your loving
Alexa…

—–

to lucy westenra i’m watching you

by count vlad dracula tepes

though you grew up on some farms
how could i resist your charms?

you may be only nineteen
and i five hundred thirteen

but thats fine with me you see
because im not so picky.

ill kill that doctor you love
and wear his skin like a glove.

then youll love me forever
no betrayal whatsoever.

—–

Be Bee Been Not to Be

by Doug

I’m not a “has-been”!
Love me in the now
now, now, now-ish

“har været” is a Danish,
a été is French
è stato is Italian
I’m a stallion immense
dense as a cloud now

—–

Why did you not?

by Ruth Scribbles

Oh my darlin’, oh my sweet
I loved you, yes, complete(ly)

You looked around me
Why? I beg you, gee!

My nose never dripped snot
I didn’t smell of rot

Was I too tall, ugly, or thin
What could I have done
To reign you in?

But now that we’re grown
And I’ve matured a bunch
I escaped a hell of a life
I now know that much!

Stay out of my dreams
You now make me scream
-with delight

Forever,
never yours

—–

Trying to Love You

by Michael B. Fishman

I sent you a puppy to show you my love.
You turned the poor thing into a first baseman’s glove.

I sent you a kitten to show you I care.
You shaved the poor thing so it had no more hair.

I sent you a toy, a cute Barbie doll.
You melted it by dunking her in raw alcohol.

I sent you a dove to show you my passion.
You sent me his bones after eating him with an Old Fashioned.

I walked to your door hoping for a dialogue.
You said some strange words and turned me into a frog.

I hopped on back home and got lost in St. Paul.
I called you on the phone but you didn’t answer my call.

I hopped back to your door hoping that you’d put me back.
You said more strange words and gave me a bad panic attack.

I begged you to slow down my speeding heartbeat.
You said more strange words and poof – I was a parakeet.

I flew around in circles and was chirping in tones.
You muttered something about a skull and crossbones.

I perched on your screen door feeling frustrated.
You said go away or you’ll find yourself castrated.

I asked if you’d turn me back into a human.
You said, “What’s the middle name of Harry S. Truman?”

I said, “I don’t know, may I have another question?”
You just stood there staring with an odd facial expression.

I said, “Please restore me and I’ll leave you alone.”
You said more strange words and I was in a NASA space cone.

I said, “Bring me back please and you won’t see me again.
You muttered something under your breath that sounded like, “Amen”.

I was back down on earth and I said, “Can I ask one last question?”
You said, “Only if you want to see more magical aggression.”

I thought that I didn’t so instead I just said, “Bye.”
You just looked at me harshly with one squinted eye.

I walked down her sidewalk and turned ‘round the bend.
And that’s where my story of unrequited love comes to an end.

Then I stopped and made just one quick backward glance.
You shouted, “Keep going. You don’t have a chance.”

—–

Your Love Haunts Me

by Doug

I’d die for your sultry voice,
for an answer to my last missive.

I loved you at the mountain venue:
drums and guitar on cliff in blue

I loved the oblivion in your voice, your
devouring sorrow and sudden run.

If only you could have loved me
I’d have loved you too, a bump
to have jumped with you

Come haunt me and
I will love your ghost
at the bottom of the cliff.

—–

let me in

by Violet Lentz

she lurks just
outside my window.
from the shadows
she implores,
“let me in.”
-eyes so wide,
so innocent.
she taps lightly
on the pane
and whispers,
“i’m scared.”
“let me in.”

she lurks just
outside my window.
it should be so easy
to just open it,
and let her in..
but instead,
i draw the blind
so i can’t see her
i write poems,
i paint with words,
and i pretend.

that the scared,
little child
just outside
my window
is not me-
i don’t long,
to let her in.

—–

If You Duck Love, How Will You Swim?

by Doug

Once we played ping-pong in the rain
following the arrows to Reign Park, and

I know you loved
the pitter-patter of rain
although too

Cupid’s ping pang pain of love
rolled off you like
rain off a duck’s back

I don’t walk like a duck though
and you’re a beautiful swan

—–

One Soul

by Härzenwort

Even if your silence weren’t quite so loud

If you didn’t wear it like a shroud

This pain of yours would still be mine

I counted seven, eight and nine

Ten on a scale from one to none

One soul, one life, what’s done is done

Beyond the count of time are these our fears

Under and above a show of tears

For in this sleep of life what dreams may come

Must give us pause: there’s the respect

No purpose, no cause. Yet each other we affect

One soul, one life, what’s done is done

Ten on a scale from one to none

I count to seven, eight and nine

This pain of yours is also mine

I only wish you wouldn’t wear it like a shroud

That your silence weren’t quite so loud

—–

Thanks, again, to all who entered! Tune in tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

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Joanne: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, celebrating nineteen weeks of unruly writing behavior. It’s also my birthday; which, as an adult and a mom, means…

If you’re new, confused, and/or need directions; read my how-to about terrible poetry. Writing terribly is more of an art form than one might think, and the poets of every week prove that.

Play along! It’s fun! Here are this iteration’s rules:

  1. Our Topic is Unrequited Love. It’s those times when that Special Someone has someone on her mind besides you…
  2. Since we’re talking love, keep the poem’s Length to a Hallmark card message or so.
  3. Should you Rhyme? YES, this time.
  4. The Terribleness is most important. The object of your affections must sit up and pay attention to your heartfelt soliloquy, only to beg that she really, really needs to powder her nose for the next …lifetime.
  5. We want your love to run for the hills, but not because of profanity. Keep things PG or classier.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 29) to submit a poem.

If you are shy, use the form. Leave me a comment saying that you did as well, just to be certain. Then I will be able to tell you whether I received it.

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

 

fezbot2000-65191-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit:
Fezbot2000