Carpe Diem ▸ Dead Poets Society ✓

six

"Okay, please open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction. Mr.Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled 'understanding poetry'?" Mr.Keating asks Neil.

Neil, who is sitting in the desk next to me, starts reading. "Understanding poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions..."

Neil continued to read, it was hard to focus, I kept daydreaming. That was until Mr.Keating got up from his desk, he started writing on the board, the scale Neil was reading about.

I wanted to get as many notes as possible, so I started copying the scale down. As did the rest of the class.

Neil finally finished reading, he took his glasses off, I smiled noticing his looks with his glasses.

Mr.Keating turned around from the chalkboard, and smiled. "Excrement, That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry." He paused. "Now I want you to rip out that page."

I looked up. I wasn't sure if I just heard him correctly. I behind me at Knox, he shrugged.

"Go on, rip out the entire page. You heard me, rip it out. Rip it out!" Mr.Keating repeated.

"Go on, rip it-" Keating was interrupted by a loud tearing noise from the back of the class. I turned to see Charlie, holding up a piece of paper, grinning.

"Thank you Mr.Dalton. Alright, tell you what, don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history. Leave nothing of it. Rip it out."

Boys around the class start tearing out the introduction.

"Rip! Begone J.Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. Rip, shred, tear. Rip it out. I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard." he finished.

I started laughing, Slowly tearing out the introduction.

"We'll perforate it, out it on a roll. It's not the bible, you're not going to hell for this. Go on, make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it." Mr.Keating leaves and goes to his back room, searching for a trash can. I crumple up the last few pieces of paper, from my book.

I look over to Neil who is telling Cameron to 'Rip' his page out. I giggle. Todd, who is in front of me, is continuing to tear his page out.

"What the hell is going on here!" I turn to see Mr.Mcallister at the door. The room goes quiet.

"I don't hear enough rips!" Mr.Keating comes back, filled with enthusiasm.

"Mr.Keating,"

"Mr.Mcallister." Keating smiles.

I hear a snicker from the back of the class.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't know you were here." Mr.Mcallister apologizes.

"I am."

The whole class smiles at our teachers reaction.

"Ahh, so you are. Excuse me." With that, Mr.Mcallister leaves the class.

Keating hands Todd a basket and Todd hands it back as our papers start filling it around the classroom.

"Keep ripping. This is a battle, a war. And the casualties could be your hearts and souls. Now in my class you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I have a little secret for you all, huddle up!" Keating announces.

We all get up from our desks and go closer to Mr.Keating, who is crouched on the floor,

I stand next to Neil's desk, Todd stands beside me.

"We don't read and write poetry because its cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But Poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote Whitman: "O me, O life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life? Answer: That you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." Mr.Keating goes on.

He looks up at me. "What will your verse be?"

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