"Literary criticism is the study, discussion, evaluation, and interpretation of literature."

I wrote these for AP English for the poem "Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson. It was difficult at first, but when I finally found the rhythm, I was actually finding it interesting. These are three separate pieces. I did not space them out while writing them individually, so it should be easy to tell them apart.

J.C. Levenson writes a literary criticism for the poem "Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson. Levenson is rather harsh in his judgment of the townspeople. His discussion of the poem focuses more on the townspeople's senselessness and less on forming assumptions to explain why Cory took his own life. Levenson says, "those who count over what they lack and fail to bless the good before their eyes are truly desperate." I agree with that statement, although the adverb "truly" could be a bit of an exaggeration when paired with desperate. I believe that both the townspeople and Richard Cory were desperate, to determine the degrees and differences in degrees of their desperation only opens up for excess debate. Levenson uses exaggerated writing, and he can sometimes be clumsy in his analysis. It makes it easy to argue his points because they are sometimes written to an extent that's ridiculous. He is correct when he says that, "the blind see only what they can covet or envy." The townspeople fail to see beneath Cory's exterior, they fail to recognize his despair as they absent-mindlessly isolate him as they idolize him. Levenson, although he is not the clearest in his writing, his points can be recognized by his exaggeration, so it is effective in that way. But it takes careful reading to reach that point.

In a literary criticism written by Wallace L. Anderson concerning his thoughts on the poem "Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson, he introduces a whole new level of understanding, an understanding that underlies the context of the poem. Anderson argues that the townspeople are better off than Cory. So far, I cannot see anything amiss with his perception of the authors point of view. In the first three stanzas the poem, Cory seems far better off than the townspeople. He was a "gentleman from sole to crown," he was "rich." Anderson cites many of the townspeople's observations of Richard Cory, soon after concluding that all these descriptions derive from external qualities only, "even his manner is not a manifestation of something innate but only a characteristic that has been acquired." The critic also concludes, in the very last sentence of his literary criticism, that the things that gave Cory his regal status also revealed "the inner emptiness that led him to take his own life." His argument there I cannot challenge, if it were not for the external traits that the townspeople admired and equally envies, it would be nearly impossible to form a conclusion that explained Cory's suicide. What I don't agree with is the critics method of over-emphasizing the word "light." Robinson writes "so on we worked, and waited for the light." To wait for the light, automatically suggests that the people believe in the light. Anderson says that, "light suggests a spiritual sustenance of greater value." The critic attributes Cory's sudden death to his lack in spiritual value, explaining that his life was meaningless and that he "lived only on a material level." to assume that Cory was deprived of spirituality is an unfair assumption that favors the townspeople. I cannot justly affirm whether or not Anderson speaks of a religious spirituality or one dealing with the human spirit. Either way it discredits Cory, and possibly over-credits the townspeople. This criticism is an example of effective writing because Anderson explains his observations well using direct evidence from the poem by choosing excerpts and quoting them in his literary criticism. He fails to define the grounds of spirituality, but offers a definition of his own when he relates it to the word "light." He is easy to understand, his thoughts are clear and he is contemplative in his perception.

Charles Sweet Jr. writes a literary criticism for Edwin Arlington Robinson's poem, "Richard Cory". He presents many thoughtful observations in his criticism. He sees deeper than any other critic, for this poem, that I have read so far. He focuses on the narrator of the poem, one of the townspeople before explaining his reasoning for favoring Cory as the main character. There is much to read into, much to discover when you read the point of view of one of the townspeople. Reading Charles Sweet Jr.'s literary criticism made me realize this. Although I understand that there is more to the narrating, Sweet allowed for me to go beyond my limited understanding. Sweet states that in the first stanza, it introduces the narrator and his limited view of Cory. The narrator focuses greatly on Cory's status and wealth, a conclusion that can be inferred by the speaker's imagery. Sweet realizes that in "stanza two, however, appears to contrast and even contradict the previously established viewpoint." "Sole to crown," can infer that the townspeople regarded Cory regally and then the "lines five and six of a different wording from lines as 'and he was always...' contrast with '(And) he was always...." "Cory seems at times like a king the narrator admits he is always 'quietly arrayed' and 'human.'" So, the narrator contradicts himself, as Sweet sys. Sweet recognizes that Cory attempts to communicate with the townspeople whenever he "went down town," but they "erected a barrier around themselves and their only reaction to Cory is stasis and silence." The critic says, "it matters not that it is Cory who pulls the trigger since the people have pointed a weapon at his temple." I admire his insight and am awed by the phrasing. There is nothing that Charles Sweet Jr. has said in his literary criticism that I can argue, because I agree completely with his reasoning. He put my own initial thoughts and inferences into a whole new perspective that I admire for it has also shown me new levels of understanding. This criticism is a very good example of effective writing. It is very well written, very well explained and formatted. It introduces a new way of questioning, where not only the common excerpts in "Richard Cory" are analyzed but also the words and teh tone of the narrator are somehow translated into new meaning, superior (in my opinion) in comparison to the other two liteary citicisms that I read.

Lying in the depths of a place so cold.
Somewhere I'm resting, somewhere I've escaped.
Distantly, I feel a touch; then another.
They've reached me; I've succumbed.
Warmth envelops as I'm pulled down deeper.
Something welcomed at first, turns,
And touch whereupon touch, I feel needle pricks.
Blood is escaping from these places, and
Tepidness of this flesh that seeps red, starts to burn.
Oranges, reds and yellows come to view,
As the vision I had lost when I closed my eyes
That last time... returns.

It's Saturday, the stamp-date for this post clearly reads Friday but I'm typing this a day later. I had a game on Thursday. I wasn't able to post anything about it that day; I was exhausted and I just completely forgot. I tried to write something about it yesterday (on Friday). I went as far as creating a post for it, along with a title, but I never got to writing up the content. Now that I finally feel a genuine obligation, I will write for two days, if not three.

On Thursday, we had our first real soccer game. We were against this school. Our game was away, while the Varsity had theirs on the turf at our school. Before taking the 45-minute bus ride to the school where the JV team would be playing at, I played around with Christine's Nikon D40. I was immediately in love. Well, I suppose love is a bit exaggerated. I was awed by the quality of the pictures. I can't say I want a Nikon D40, though I told my friend that I did while I carefully snapped shots of a few stepped on (and completely disgusting) yellow mushrooms. I want the Nikon D90. It's over 1,000 dollars. It's very prestigious and I'm foolish for wanting it in the first place. Oh well.

The ride to to the school wasn't that interesting. I fell asleep and then coach was slightly annoyed when she realized that I hadn't put on my gear during the bus ride.

They scored 2 goals on us within the first 10 minutes. I was out of it the first half of the game. I don't know why I wasn't being as aggressive as I could have been and going in for the ball. I could easily come up with excuses: our team wasn't spreading out, 2 or 3 people from our team would go after for the ball at a time. I couldn't go in and send the ball far outfield as my position requires. I would most likely be interfering and that would only worsen the situation. I found myself sprinting back often because the offense on the opposite team would somehow get the ball past me. I didn't go for the balls as I should have, even when there wasn't anyone on my team near. I just watched as they got closer - and watched as they got passed me.

I want to say the second half was better, I guess it was, but it wasn't really an improvement.

I don't know what the final score was, I just know that we didn't score any goals, and they scored numerous goals on us.

There was no practice on Friday for JV, even though the rain had stopped by the time that I arrived home. Yesterday, I went home early for the first time this year. True, it's only been a few days, but oh Lord, did it feel great! Then I was so bored. I probably should have done school work, instead of complaining about it and telling numerous people that I would do it, when I actually did NOTHING. Sitting at the computer, I was almost wishing that there was practice. It gives me something to do. It gives me something to pass my time. Even though it's torturous sometimes, I really like it.

Today was our second game. I can't remember who it was against, but the turn out wasn't as devastating as the other game. I arrived at the school at 10 AM (earlier than I had expected), then I remembered that I forgot to put in my contacts. We turned around and drove to the house so I could do that. If it were a practice, I wouldn't have cared, but it was a game, so yeah... I needed them. I ended up arriving on time, 10:15.

We were in an evenly matched game. Whatever goals they did score on us, it was just out of pure chance. They were somewhat more impressive when it came to passing, but nothing compared to the other team. That team was BADASS. I made a lot of mistakes during the game, but we all did. I just have a habit for focusing more on my mistakes than what I did good. I kneed the ball towards the goal twice (terrible mistakes, THANK GOD those slip-ups of mine never gave the opposing team a goal). I missed a header. A lot of offensive players got passed me with the ball, so I always found myself chasing after them at a full sprint. I don't know how I managed it, but I was always so winded afterward. Overall, I think I did a good job, though. I passed the ball off the side often, although sometimes it would come back right at me. I despise goal kicks! I have to practice them. They always end up in the center or absolutely no where. I managed to do one header. It wasn't entirely successful, well, I suppose it was. I cleared the ball off to the side, but I could have managed one that stayed up in the air, rather than bouncing down onto the ground before returning to the air. I was aggressive throughout the game. I pressured and often got the opponent to slip-up.

At one point in the game, I was pressuring a girl who caused me a lot of trouble on the other team (I was always going after her, and often she would get the ball by me). This one time while I was up against her, she kicked the ball into my thigh and it fell onto the ground. It fell between my feet, but I wasn't aware of that. So, I turned circles once, maybe twice before realizing the ball was underneath me. I could hear the other team laughing. It was so embarrassing.

In the end, the score was 0 to 2. We were so close!

The look he gave me as I made my way down the pathway towards him somehow made all my other worries disappear - disappear into the heavily flower scented air I walked through. Through his eyes, it was as if he was telling me everything was going to be okay and he would always be there for me. All I could see was him as each step brought me closer to him and everything else was blurred just as my thoughts were at that moment. A smile broke across his face once I took that last step that now only distanced us by a couple inches. No more than a few seconds passed before I was smiling that same crooked smile.

"You came," he said softly.

"Of course," I replied simply, pulling away from his gaze and sitting down on the stone bench that was surprisingly cold for a summer day. Soundlessly, he took a seat next to me, swinging his leg over the bench so that he was straddling it and facing me.

Purposely ignoring him, I looked around the garden, resting my eyes on everything I missed when I entered first. The noise of running water from the fountain trickled in my ear, gradually drowning out the sounds of his breathing.

Looking up at the sky, I closed my eyes and I felt the warmth of the sun touch my face, its soothing caress moving down my neck to my bare shoulders. Opening my eyes finally, I turned my face back to him and met his gaze that sent an unexpected sensation through my body. I smiled as I scrambled through my head, looking for the right words that wouldn't ruin this perfect atmosphere.

"I've missed you," I said finally.

"I'm sorry to admit I can't say the same," he said with a slyness that now formed his lips. I looked away as I felt my features hardening into something I couldn't control. He sensed my distress and I felt his breath brush my ear as he laughed softly. "You haven't once escaped my thoughts, Chloe. I could never truly miss you."

I shook my head and laughed. "You know, I think you really have to work on your romantic lingo. It never really sets in the right mood with me."

"Oh?" He questioned, I grinned as I sensed the mockery in his tone. "And why is that?"

"You exaggerate too much."

"I only say what I feel," he said, the change in his voice made my head turn. I looked into his face and noticed something different about him. "And what I feel for you is love," he looked sad as he said this. I couldn't tell what he was sad for, though. Reading his face, it seemed like he was missing something and missing it was hurting him - whatever it was, it was hurting me too. "And we all know how absurd love can be," forcing a smile, he took my hand and brought it to his lips where he kissed it.

I smiled. "I suppose I can't blame you then." Taking my hand from his, I rested it back down on the bench.

He laughed and whatever hurt he was feeling before, was gone now. "No, you can't," he breathed, "It makes me wonder, though." He looked away from me and off into the distance. I followed his eyes where they rested on a pair of hummingbirds moving with their nearly visible wings from one Dahlia to the next.

"What do you mean?" I questioned after turning back to him.

"It seems like you're always holding back," I watched his crystal blue eyes move across the row of flowers as mine did not too long ago.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I answered, trying to gain the appeal of his eyes with mine, that I knew he could see though his peripheral vision.

"I don't think you really trust me."

I gently rested my hand on his thigh, the warmth of it shocked me for a moment, but his eyes were back on me and I focused on them.

"Of course I trust you, Michael."

"Then what are you afraid of? Whatever I do, you pull away."

I sighed and my eyes found the ground, where they didn't move. "You know it's hard for me; you know that better than anyone."

"I know," he spoke softly, I felt his hand moving into mine, I closed my eyes as his fingers found their place by mine. "You don't have to with me, though. I could never do anything to hurt you."

"You could," I mumbled through lips that would have preferred to remain shut. A silence followed, and I wasn't sure what to do with it, so I stayed quiet.

"I would never fall out of love with you," he whispered, "Chloe, I know you're the one. Nothing could change that."

"Don't say nothing. I could list a few right off the top of my head. And please, stop saying never. It's not helping."

"You're so superstitious sometimes," I lifted my head and saw that he was smiling now, "And you need to have more faith in me, and in yourself," he continued.

I looked away.

"I love you, Chloe."

"Please, stop saying that. It's not possible."

"Of course it is."

"You don't even know me."

"I know more about you than anyone else that's in your life." No quick reply came to my head, and I found myself wondering why I was even arguing with him.

"That's not true," I replied after my thoughts cleared.

"It's what you told me."

"I lied," I said quietly.

He sighed. "As much as I love your stubbornness, can you just please give this up? Time I could be whispering romantics in your ear is being wasted by the time we spend arguing."

I smiled with a sigh parting my lips. "I wish things were simpler."

"I'll find you. Don't worry. You will be in my future, no matter what it takes."

"I just don't know if it will work out."

"You and I will make it work."

"It'll be different from this. This is easy. There are no real life forces pulling us apart, aside from the chance of our dreams together."

"Don't worry, we can work against those forces," I leaned in and rested my head on his shoulder, turning so my forehead pressed lightly against his neck.

"I hope so," he put his arms around me and kissed the top of my head before nuzzling his cheek in my hair.

"I know so."

After moments of blissful silence and embrace I heard a distant ringing sound. Lifting my head I looked around curiously.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" He asked, looking at me concerned.