Phyllis Wheatley

So, I'm taking this English class called Six American Authors. In the past, I've found American lit to be much less tedious and more tolerable than English literature, so I figured I would enjoy it, at least a little bit. When I went to buy my books and found that almost all of them were published in the eighteenth century, I was instantly disgusted. Granted, as an English major, I realize it's a little retarded to not expect to have to read classical literature, but that doesn't make it any less painful.

Right now, we're reading the complete works of Phyllis Wheatley. Phyllis Wheatley was a slave in America in the 1700's, who, despite being born and raised in Africa until age 7, picked up the English language and began to write poetry and impress people with her intelligence and aptititude for learning. I guess that's a compelling enough introduction. I mean, I'm not clamoring to hear more or anything, but I'm not bored yet. However, when we started to read her poems, I wanted to fucking kill myself. Who the fuck actually likes Phyllis Wheatley? Forget those bearded kids who wear scarves and make sure to anunciate every word they say perfectly...they don't really like Phyllis Wheatley, they just think they're supposed to and they pull some reason out of their ass to justify it. I guess the only people who honestly might be able to appreciate Phyllis Wheatley are PHD scholars and English professors...people who understand this shit, in the proper context, and can critique classical work based on mental standards they have acquired by studying it. How the fuck am I supposed to know if Phyllis Wheatley sucks? I hardly even speak the same language that she did. What kind of asshole, in 2010, busts out the Phyllis Wheatley anthology for a quick peruse before bedtime? They should really re-evaluate the curriculum for undergrad english majors. What am I learning from Phyllis Wheatley? Nothing, directly. The only way most of the people in my class can even understand what the fuck she's talking about is through the filtered lense of my professor, and the pompous musings of the bearded kid(who sits next to me, praise god), who obviously wikipediaed the bitch before class. The professor could tell us that Wheatley was talking about blazing blunts and nobody would know the difference. But maybe I just resent formal education in general.