Hit the Fan

Wednesday, 16 April 2003

it hit the fan today in poetry class, but i do not feel vilified. what i wanted was discussion and by gum i got it. some few were offended, most discussed what exactly i was going for, ranging from satire to prima nocta rights. some wanted me to make the ending different to acknowledge my understanding of rape = bad. others disagreed. everyone had something to say. all was well. i successfully stirred the pot. then i was allowed to speak. i said that there have been a significant amount of rape poems written in this class by various people and that i have had trouble engaging within them. there is the female victim, which women can identify with, but for men there is only the rapist. i said that i do not feel that i am being addressed by these poems.

there was much disagreement to this. i was told i was wrong, that i was being addressed. alas, there was no more time for discussion, because the professor made us move on. if so i would have responded that if i do not feel like i am being addressed but i am supposed to be, then there is a fundamental problem with the poetry. also, i would have said that even if i did feel addressed, i am still offered no frame of reference for how to associate myself as a non-threatening male toward a victimized female. the dialogue takes place between the rapist and his victim only.

overall the class became what i wanted it to. i am quite pleased.


Tuesday, 8 April 2003

i’ve been getting emails from the class i dropped lately. apparently, the group i had signed up to do a presentation with at the beginning of the year had not realized i dropped the class over a month ago. i’ve been reveling in their email struggles to set up a time to meet with my professor. today however, my sadistic voyeurism ended. the prof finally realized that i was on the email list and was no longer in the class, thereby informing the rest of the group that “Adam Harvey is no longer a part of the class.” i could sense the venom in those words, especially since she sent the email to me as well. poor craptastic ex-teacher of mine.

in other news, i’m so tired of reading poems about rape in my poetry class that i am going to fight back. Now, the very fact that each week there is at least one poem a week written by a girl about sexual assault or rape or the invasive, violent aspects of sex, points to a variety of problems. first, that things like this occur on a scale such as this, second, that even if said writers have not been raped, they still feel that they must write about it constantly. third, that i have yet to see a poem that is constructive or feels even slightly enjoyable toward the sexual act. And fourth, that the poems i’ve been reading about rape are so unconstructive and have become so stale that i feel that i must write a poem from the standpoint of a rapist. at first my friend Kate suggested i write a poem as if i’d been raped. i immediately changed it to being a rapist. its quite more confrontational and i think i can channel my exasperation after 13 weeks of rape poems quite nicely. what is my poetry class coming to? jeebus.