Disclaimer: Do Not Read. It's a rant.

FUCK.

It's 11:30 in the post-meridiem and I have at least four hours of a paper to write on a god-damned book of poetry that makes no sense. And I was totally coming around to poetry this term...willing to play on poetry's team...able to decipher the decent stuff, be in awe of the amazing stuff, and argue poetry's merits. But Carolyn Forche is fucked-up and all I want to do is sleep.

So I played in the snow all day yesterday and agreed to watch Pixar's Cars (during which I fell asleep) instead of coming up with insightful and beautifully formed analyses of how Forche creates meaning in her poems. Yeah, well, my bad.

"White. Given lilacs, lilacs disappear. Then low voices rising in walls."

How do you analize something SO abstract and SO unconnected to anything else in the poem that contains it?

This will be my, ahem, analysis: the impossibility of finding meaning where only purely subjective meanings can be found. That can be 500 words, easy. Slap a Works Cited on the end and my name on the top. And that's just what I'm going to do. And I've already wasted 10 minutes with this rant.