Learning to Read

The longer I'm in college, the more I'm convinced the ultimate aim of education is learning how to read properly. I'm not just talking about your basic literacy here; if all we needed to know was basic phonics and spelling, we'd be done with school in second or third grade. College takes reading to a whole new level and challenges you to rethink what you know about reading.

Let's start with an obvious example: my English classes. One of the biggest perks (and pitfalls) of being an English major is that I have to read--all the time. Even when the material is difficult or obscure, even when I'm tired, even when I've read the same ten lines of poetry so many times the words are starting to blur together on the page. The most important thing I've learned as an English major is how to read closely, to look past the surface of the words and try to get inside the mind of the author. Close reading allows me to analyze the author's arguments, look for flaws in the author's logic, and appreciate the author's use of language.

They say good readers make good writers, and all this close reading practice has definitely made me better at writing. I use the same techniques when I'm revising and editing my papers as I do when I'm reading for my classes on Kafka and Romantic poetry. Close reading has made me more attuned to my own use of language, and it has definitely increased the efficacy of my writing. In Six Memos for the Next Millennium, a book I'm reading for my Internet Literature class, Italo Calvino says that one of the essential qualities of good literature is exactitude. He says that writers should be precise in their use of language and grammar. Poets should choose their words with care so as to achieve maximum affect with the least amount of words.

This piece of advice reminds me of a poem by Wisława Szymborska, a Polish poet I discovered through my good friend Sasha. Szymborska's use of language is masterful, each phrase evoking a distinct mental image that stays with me long after I've closed her poetry book. I've included one of my favorite poems in this post--as an actor and Shakespearean, it resonates with me in a special way. I hope you enjoy it. 

Wisława Szymborska - Theatre Impressions (from Could Have, translated from the original Polish by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh)

For me the tragedy's most important act is the sixth:
the raising of the dead from the stage's battlegrounds
the straightening of wigs and fancy gowns
removing knives from stricken breasts,
taking nooses from lifeless necks,
lining up among the living
to face the audience.

The bows, both solo and ensemble -
the pale hand on the wounded heart,
the curtseys of the hapless suicide,
the bobbing of the chopped-off head.


The bows in pairs -
rage extends its arm to meekness,
the victim's eyes smile at the torturer,
the rebel indulgently walks besides the tyrant.

Eternity trampled by the golden slipper's toe.
Redeeming values swept aside with the swish of a wide-brimmed hat.
The unrepentant urge to start all over tomorrow.

Now enter, single file, the hosts who died early on,
in Acts 3 and 4, or between scenes.

The miraculous return of all those lost without a trace.
The thought that they've been waiting patiently offstage
without taking off their makeup
or their costumes
moves me more than all the tragedy's tirades.

But the curtain's fall is the most uplifting part,
the things you see before it hits the floor:
here one hand quickly reaches for a flower,
there another hand picks up a fallen sword.
Only then one last, unseen hand
does its duty
and grabs me by the throat.