To a Misinterpreted Poet I Met in Literature Class

In Literature class, whenever we discuss a poem, nobody shares an opinion with anybody or even the critics our teacher tells us about. Which makes me wonder - are we overcomplicating things? Did Wordsworth and Tennyson and Owen and Hughes really want their words to be dissected and examined like this?

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1. To a Misinterpreted Poet I Met in Literature Class

Translate these slow quiet days

Into words spelled on a page

Listless, restless, you sit dreaming

As things fall apart, unseaming,

All unravels. But care not

For even as your body rots

You live on through musty books

That do not warrant second looks

Except from those who sympathize

With what they say to be your lies.

We see you through so many lenses

Swept about by these perspectives

Springing from some great delusion

Bringing round so much confusion

That in this you meant to make

Literary monuments lofty and great

When maybe all you wanted to say

Was that these slow quiet days

Are bliss, and rightly so merit

Being turned into words that are inked on a page.

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