Rough Book

The anticipation kept building up in the last week of the holidays before starting back to school, new shoes, uniforms, books,pencils,erasers have all arrived and decorated the study table. All the notebooks have been covered with standard brown paper and neatly labeled but jut not assigned toany subject since it was the teachers call to ask for a 200 page ruled or white notebook. The text books however have been passed down from elder siblings and the task of erasing all answers from the endof the lessons got serious. An occasional sneak peek at the first lesson or a glance through all the pages of the text book for images was a common thing throughout the holidays. I can recollect the beautiful picture of the earth in color in the Geography book was a favorite specatale.It was as if I couldn’t wait to get back to school.

First day of class 7 section C, a huge classroom with many new faces and finally we got to meet our new class teacher once her introduction was done and the roll numbers issued each of us gets to introduce ourselves to the class which was typically just our name, which was the dreaded part of the first day. I couldn’t wait to start writing in the new crisp notebooks and especially since it was the 7th grade we got to use ink pens to take notes.

The second period rolled in and a we saw a new face for the English teacher, this was also the first time since we get a different teacher for every subject and she seemed so very knowledgeable and equally excited to start teaching. My excitement was sky high to take some notes in the new note books but the teacher had then asked us to write only in the Rough book and to be copied in the fair back home. It had to be a quick call to define a notebook as rough, some opened a new notebook and prepared to write in it but I didn’t want to just take notes in a new book, I reached for my bag and pulled an old notebook which happened to be my 6th grade English notes. There was nearly half the book empty so decided to fold a paper at the end of the written stuff and labeled rough book class 7 on it and prepared to take notes. We were taught The Solitary Reaper a poem by William Wordsworth.

BEHOLD her, single in the field,Yon solitary Highland Lass!Reaping and singing by herself;Stop here, or gently pass!

He wrote this poem as a part of his MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1803 a poem aboutA young girl reaping and singing by herself in melancholy as the author listens from a distance he wonders if she is singing about the battles or family matters or about her sorrow, loss or pain working and singing effortlessly to herself as he mounted a hill after which he heard no more but the music bore his heart.

This poem was so beautiful and as I wrote down the meanings of some words I seemed to have understood more of what Wordsworth was trying to say and at that moment I hadn’t cared about me writing in a rough book, the poem was great and I had a great day already in school and more so exactly what I was waiting for to get back to school. The poem was so inspiring that I had to refer to the notes from my favorite poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. By Robert Frost in the 6th grade from the same ‘Rough book’ and as I found the famous lines ‘Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though;’ I knew exactly how I learnt that poem and grasped the essence of it. I remembered my basics and I felt I was back in the groove right on the first day of school and poetically enough I knew I had promises to keep And miles to go before I sleep and was back to the Solitary Reaper.

I went home in the same excitement and finally wrote the summary of The Solitary Reaper in a brand new 300 page note book with crisp hand writing and a firm understanding of my insight to Wordsworth’s thoughts. Now I am still not sure if at the end Wordsworth had himself wanted to be at a Solitary place singing in melody away from sorrow and pain or wanted to meet her to ease her pain but again we are not sure what she is singing about or if she is even sad, we just have thoughts and thoughts on a mind are like bubbles on water, each bubble is short lived but gives room to another. I selected a notebook with hundred extra pages than suggested in hope that I can carry this forward to my next year as a Rough book, a book which will help keep my cumulative thoughts together allowing me to fit in school maybe on the first day again and maybe I can add a few lines to my summary on the Solitary reaper who was Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

THE SOLITARY REAPER By William Wordsworth

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands 10
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago: 20
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill 30
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.