It's always a fun surprise to study the Imagists in the midst of studying Gatsby. Although published within a decade of each other, the works are about as far apart as two works can be: on one hand are Fitzgerald's crazy aphorisms -- "There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired" -- and on the other, this:
The students reacted with unanimous delight. "I LOVE this poem!" "It's so easy to understand!" "I can just picture a farm in sort of a misty rain."
I agreed with them: "Every word contributes so much to the image. It's powerful because it contrasts: white, fluffy feathers against a wet, shiny wheel barrow."
"Wait, what are you saying?" one girl asked. "Wheel barrel?"
"Barrow," I said, slowly and clearly. "Bear-row."
"I thought it was 'barrel,'" they murmured, almost to a person. "Wheel barrel."
Aghast, I realized their Baltimore dialect had reared its ugly head. "Barrow," I corrected them. "There's no 'l' at the end. See?" But they didn't. They tried and honestly couldn't say it. "Barr-oww?" "Bear-all?" "No, there's definitely an 'l' in there." "It makes sense because wheel barrels roll. They're on wheels, right?"
They were laughing now, and I was still stupefied. "You really think so? What about straw?"
"Strawl?" they responded.
I wrote the word on the board. "S-T-R-A-W. See? No 'l.'"
"Strah?" "Straaaa?" "Stroah?"
Now I was laughing. "You guys are SO from Baltimore!"
They loved it. "Do another one! This is so fun!"
We had to return to the poem then, although I was dying to hit them with "pull," "egg," and the ever-popular "down to the ocean." With a little luck, they'll remember Imagism for a long time to come.
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
The students reacted with unanimous delight. "I LOVE this poem!" "It's so easy to understand!" "I can just picture a farm in sort of a misty rain."
I agreed with them: "Every word contributes so much to the image. It's powerful because it contrasts: white, fluffy feathers against a wet, shiny wheel barrow."
"Wait, what are you saying?" one girl asked. "Wheel barrel?"
"Barrow," I said, slowly and clearly. "Bear-row."
"I thought it was 'barrel,'" they murmured, almost to a person. "Wheel barrel."
Aghast, I realized their Baltimore dialect had reared its ugly head. "Barrow," I corrected them. "There's no 'l' at the end. See?" But they didn't. They tried and honestly couldn't say it. "Barr-oww?" "Bear-all?" "No, there's definitely an 'l' in there." "It makes sense because wheel barrels roll. They're on wheels, right?"
They were laughing now, and I was still stupefied. "You really think so? What about straw?"
"Strawl?" they responded.
I wrote the word on the board. "S-T-R-A-W. See? No 'l.'"
"Strah?" "Straaaa?" "Stroah?"
Now I was laughing. "You guys are SO from Baltimore!"
They loved it. "Do another one! This is so fun!"
We had to return to the poem then, although I was dying to hit them with "pull," "egg," and the ever-popular "down to the ocean." With a little luck, they'll remember Imagism for a long time to come.
