Seivarden Vendaai (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fandomhigh2020-01-31 03:05 pm
1000yearstoolate) wrote in fandomhigh2020-01-31 03:05 pm
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How To Be Civilized, Friday, Period 3
"Every young Radchaai is expected to write poetry," Seivarden said, standing in front of the class. "The result is of course endless amounts of bad poems being sent to friends and family, possibly becoming an embarrassment years later. Only a few have the talent or learn to develop the skill ot actually write something good, of course."
She looked at the students.
"Understanding and appreciating poetry, even if your own writings are terrible, is fundamental to being civilized. That's why you're going to write a poem today, as long or as short as you like, read it to the class and then be prepared to discuss it. Apparently this planet has a lot of different poetic forms that you can try, or you could use something from your home. It can be as long or as short as you like."
She paused. "No, actually, not as long as you like, a maximum of two pages. It should be directed towards someone you care about."
"Pens and paper are over here, unless you've brought your own," Seivarden said. "Same with gloves." She glanced at Mae. "Please help yourself to some tea."
[Wait for OCD OCD is up]
Sign in
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Listen to the lecture
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Probably, almost definitely, not. But she'd been so bored and she'd felt a little better and she'd promised herself that she'd go right back to bed after her classes.
Nina was bundled up, looking pale and wan and huddled around her tea today. Even her pink gloves seemed a little wilted.
She perked up at the assignment, but wilted even further at the stipulation that it be only two pages, max…
"No epic poem is ever that short," Nina grumbled, before she started coughing again.
Yes, she covered her mouth. No, she probably, definitely, shouldn't be here
but the lure of writing terrible poetry for her had been too hard to resist…Re: Listen to the lecture
Her Nina-gloves were tucked away safely in her room. Not wearing proper gloves in this class was now a matter of principle!
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But the spirit of devilry had her saying, "For inspiration could we, like, have a poem you've written, Professor?????????"
Nina had wrestled with that title, not really sure if that was the proper way that Seivarden would want to be addressed but then, like, Seivarden hadn't said, so…
"Or perhaps you'll use this occasion to write one as well??????????????"
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Good excuses that were also true.
"And no, I won't." She smiled. "Try to inspire each other."
In a good way, Nina.
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Write poetry and read it to the class
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Especially now that she had a new subject for her poetry, and she was honestly a little surprised she hadn't thought to write her any so far.
Earth had clearly been skewing her sensibilities.
So, after a bit of thoughtful lip-chewing and more than a few scribbled out lines, Tisarwat felt that she finally had something pretty good. Far from perfect, of course; she would need to work on it a little more before presenting it to its intended audience, but she felt she had a very good start for reciting in class.
And it wasn't bad, really, not really bad at all, especially if you'd ever read any of the poetry Tisarwat wrote back before she shared a brain with the Lord of the Radch. But it was quite a bit heavy on some very admiring themes, such as blue eyes like far-distant planets, husky voices like the comforting rumble of a ship's engine, the strength of things forged in a fire of passion, and what she felt were some very clever plays on the word crumble.
And honestly? Once she finished reading it outloud, she thought it was some of her best poetry to date.
Even if it wasn't her most subtle.
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"That was quite good," she said. "I think you manage to convey your feelings for the person in question. Is there any part of it you feel you want to develop further?"
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Mae rubbed her chin with her hand. She was wearing plastic sandwich bags this week, held on with plain rubber bands. They made a pleasant, squeaky, rustling noise when she gripped her pencil.
And who should she write about? Maybe Gregg? What rhymed with "crossbow"? Or "knife"!
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aton her desk, made a show of ruffling paper and clearing her throat to make sure she had everyone's attention, and read it:Knife and a crossbow
Your* my best friend tho
Then she sat back down.
[* sic]
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Not because she was having problems writing it, oh no, but because of that terrible two page limit!
Every now and then she cast wounded and betrayed glances at Seivarden before going back to her masterpiece.
And, actually, after spending most of the class working on her real poem and realizing that a) it was never going to fit into two pages and that b) she didn't really want her classmates to read it in the first place, it was personal, Nina resorted to… a different method.
(Shush. She was still sick.)
'Her' poem was quite good, if she said so herself:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Letters are cheerful,
And so are you.
Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
Clouds are dark,
And so is your hair.
Magnolia grows,
With buds like eggs,
Powder is pie,
And so are your legs.
Sunflowers reach,
Up to the skies,
Days are warm,
And so are your eyes.
Foxgloves in hedges,
Surround the farms,
Your haven is safe,
And so are your arms.
Daisies are pretty,
Daffies have style,
Your moonlight is illuminating,
And so is your smile.
A leather-bound book is beautiful,
Just like you.
The truly amazing thing was that she managed to read all of that, dramatically, but perfectly (Nina's poem had many, many flaws but her enunciation and diction were not two of them) and a soulful look upon her face, without even the vaguest hint of laughter.
Then, finished, she started coughing again.
Because at that point it was either laugh or cough and her cold won.
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She was, in fact, devoting an entire page of her journal to that line as Nina read the rest.
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She pondered for a while before writing.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Always strive for more.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Passion isn't a weakness.
Through strength, I gain power.
Be strong and confident.
Through power, I gain victory.
You will prevail.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
Nothing can stand in your way
The force shall set me free.
We are one.
Well, it was maybe as much literary criticism of the original as a love poem, but Lana was fairly pleased with it, and she doubted the instructor would know what to make of it, so she would count it as a win.
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Seivarden didn't know what to make of it.
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Talk to the TA
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And wondering if the the 'two page limit' rule had been put in place because of anyone in particular.
Talk to Seivarden
OOC
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Autumn winds
Autumn sins.
Autumn times
Autumn crimes.
And then there's "There's no reception in Possum Springs". . . .
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