Lauren Rosales from Austin, Texas, is a graduate of Lyndon B. Johnson High School.
To the sophomore English class (comprised largely of future math and science majors), a poem was something relatively short - perhaps a page at most - that rhymed. The Iliad, with its several hundred pages, looked to them like an anthology, or perhaps numerous copies of the appendix to Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Also, the translation was that of Robert Fagles-not the Pope version presented in rhyming couplets. To my classmates, the Iliad held no relation to poetry other than the fact that they disliked it.
I, however, did like it; so much, in fact, that I embarked on a voyage to discover any texts that held relevance to it. I unearthed everything from Euripides' Menelaus. What fascinated me was the purpose in each of Homer's seemingly over-elaborated details. References Agamemnon made to Iphigenia within the epic poem would mean little to anyone who hadn't read Euripides' play, or weren't familiar with the mythology. My creative writing teacher summed it up for me when she explained, "In poetry, every word, every 'the,' matters."
I wanted to share the fun I was having thinking of the scout Dolon, sent by Hector to spy on the Argive ships, who was caught by Odysseus and Diomedes from behind. He attempted to run away and then realized, "Hector - he duped me!"
A classmate told me that I should be an English teacher. I considered this, imagining how delightful and fulfilling it would be to be paid to help students see that when Hera seduced Zeus with her feminine wiles and "the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing," (courtesy of Aphrodite), and convinced Sleep to overcome him so that she could help the Argives, she was committing date rape - Ancient Greek style. Why shouldn't I get paid to share my passion with others and encourage them to give the literature a chance? I've been set on the idea since.
I'm quite a passionate person about poetry and literature. Since the tenth grade I've abandoned my idea of winning an Academy Award or an Olympic medal in softball to plan for a career relating to reading and writing when I "grow up." I would love, for a living, to incite others to consider and accept the hopeless romanticism of Jay Gatsby, the naïve-yet-charming foolishness of Marianne Dashwood, and the-yes, sometimes infuriating, but also very human-wistfulness of Emma Bovary: especially students whose talents lie elsewhere and who might struggle with the intensities and subtleties of literature.