Author's Note: This piece is almost an author's note itself, because it talks about what happened while I read the novel and how I came up with the response I did. The reason I wrote this is because a poem alone did not cover all of the 6 traits of writing, and I needed something else to write. Mr. Johnson gave me the idea of doing this, and since this is the first time I have ever wrote something like this, it's not perfect. Even though I'm not experienced in this type of thing, I hope you enjoy it anyway!
When I first laid my eyes on the skinny spine of the Great Gatsby, I felt relief. No more running around the library skimming the shelves, sighing in frustration when all I can find are teenage vampire sagas. I knew my mom had said that this book was one of her favorites, so it gave me hope that it would be a good choice. As soon as I saw Mr. Johnson's face, I knew I had to read it, because he couldn't stop talking about how great it was.
The first page left me speechless, not because it was the most beautiful thing I had ever read, but because I could barely understand it. My support group took it slow, reading each page and decoding it, but that would leave us reading until far after Christmas. The more I read, the easier it was for me to understand, and Alyssa and Autumn were there every step of the way to help me firmly grasp what was going on. Even though I understood the plot, I was far from understanding the symbols and themes of the novel.
Time went on, and we made our way through the book, page by page, and before we knew it, we were almost done. I, however, was disappointed. This book was named one of the greatest American novels of all time, and many people had put it up on a high pedestal, but when I read it, it seemed like a foot stool would be a more appropriate term. I know this is because I have only scratched the surface of this novel. In a couple years, I will read it again, and maybe find it to my liking more, because I will be able to dig inside and find things I couldn’t this time. Also, the book was slow; I jumped on when hints were given that it would pick up, but it almost never did, until the very end. That, obviously, was my favorite part, and if the whole book was like it, I would have wished for a sequel.
After we finished, we did more research on the theme and symbols of this novel, and found a firm understanding on what lied beneath. As we came up with a plan for how we would respond to this book, I decided to do a poem, and talk about how people in that time period wasted and cheated and threw away their hope for tomorrow. They did all of this because that was what America was--and still is-- about. We tell people to keep going, keep making more money, keep climbing the social ladder, but when you reach the top, there is only nothing. In this poem, I wanted to talk about how love is the savior to that, if you have love, you always have something, no matter what, but some people choose to manipulate love, and turn it not into what saves us, but to what makes us fall.
Whenever I tried to start writing, it always ended up in rhyme, no matter what I did. I don’t know why I couldn't stop rhyming, because when I do it usually sounds like something from Dr. Suess. I started numerous poems, but they all sounded cheesy, and I grew frustrated. I was stuck in a place where I knew what I wanted to talk about, but whenever I typed it out it just came as a jumble of words. Something clicked in my mind that the poem I write should look like a letter, and I don’t know how that did it, but the poem began to appear on the screen line after line. The second I wrote the last word I knew that I was done, and that I wasn't going to change anything, because I loved it too much. I know it fits the novel, and I know it ties into the rest of my support group's response, but I can only wait and see if the people that read my poem enjoy it, even without reading each page of this American classic.
One Last Letter
Author's Note: The author's note is basically the piece above this, but in short, this piece is a response to a theme in the Great Gatsby that showed that people in that time period took everything for themselves, and then just threw it away like it was nothing. An example would be like a husband cheating on his wife, like I talk about in this poem. This is probably the first poem I wrote that rhymed and that didn't sound like it was written by a childrens poet, so I hope you enjoy it.
Dear Husband
Listen carefully, for my voice is soft
I am weak from the lies that you've dealt me
You might not have noticed, or you might not have cared
But I know more than you will tell me
The women you use, you know them not
But that doesn’t seem to stop you
When you get tired of one, you throw her away
And then search for a girl that’s new
Why do you do it? I can't understand
You have me here all alone.
I sit, and I wait, and I peer out the window
Waiting until you come home.
I wish I could ask what your thinking inside
For you refuse to say it aloud
Even though we have money, cars, and nice things
We shouldn't betray and feel proud.
I shouldn't blame you, a bigger party's at fault
The whole nation is doing the same
They waste, and they spend, not thinking about tomorrow
Something desperately needs to change
Love is the thing that saves us from that
A savior to us and to all
But when you plague love with the nation's disease
Your setting us both up to fall
I've made up my mind, though I will detest these words
We can't go on living like this
You'll find this poem, in place of my heart
I leave you with one last kiss.
