Dead Poets Society – Students’ Poetry Scene

To Chris. I see a sweetness in her smile. Bright light shines from her eyes. But life is complete. Contentment is mine. Just knowing that… Just knowing that. she’s alive. Sorry, captain, it’s stupid. No, no, it’s not stupid. It’s good effort.It touched on one of the
major themes: love. A major theme not only in poetry, but life. Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing. You’re up. The cat sat on the mat. Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins. You have the first poem to ever have a negative
score on the Pritchard scale. We’re not laughing at you, we’re laughing
near you. I don’t mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be
about simple things like a cat, or flower, or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with
the stuff of revelation in it. Just don’t let your poems be ordinary. Now, who’s next? Mr. Anderson, I see you sitting there in agony. Come on, Todd, step up. Let’s put you out
of your misery. I didn’t do it. I didn’t write a poem. Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside
of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn’t that right, Todd? Isn’t the your worst fear? Well, I think you’re wrong. I think you have something inside of you that
is worth a great deal. “I sound my barbaric YAWP over the rooftops
of the world.” W.W., Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don’t know, a yawp
is a loud cry or yell. Now, Todd, I would like you to give us a demonstration
of a barbaric yawp. Come on, you can’t yawp sitting down. Let’s go. Come on, up. Gotta get in yawping stance. A yawp. No, not just a yawp. A barbaric yawp. Yawp. Come on, louder. Yawp. Oh, that’s a mouse. Come on, louder. Yawp. God, boy, yell like a man. Yawp! There it is. You see, you have a barbarian in you after Now, you don’t get away that easy. There’s a picture of Uncle Walt up there. What does he remind you of? Don’t think, answer. Go on. A madman. What kind of madman? Don’t think about it, answer again. A crazy madman. You can do better. Free up your mind, use your imagination. Say the first thing that pops into your head,
even if it’s gibberish. A sweaty-toothed madman. Good God, boy, there’s a poet in you after
all. There, close your eyes. Close your eyes, close them. Now, describe what you see. I closed my eyes! Yes? And this image floats beside me. a sweaty-toothed madman. A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that
pounds my brain. Oh, that’s excellent. Now give him action. Make him do something. His hands reach out and choke me. That’s it. Wonderful, wonderful! And all the time he’s mumbling. What’s he mumbling? Mumbling truth. Truth like a blanket that always leaves your
feet cold. Forget them, forget them. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket. You can push it, stretch it, it’ll never be
enough. You kick at it, beat it, it’ll never cover
any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment
we leave dying, it’ll just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream. Don’t you forget this.

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