Dead Poets Society

missing.
    “It’s all right, Johnson, it’s the effort that counts,” Keating said, as he put down another ball. He opened up his case and took out a portable record player. As the second boy, Knox, stood waiting his turn, Keating put on a record of classical music, blaring it loudly. “Rhythm, boys!” Keating shouted over the strains of the music. “Rhythm is important.”
    Knox read loudly: ‘“To be entirely alone with them, to find out how much one can stand!”‘ Knox ran and kicked the ball, yelling “Chet!” loudly, just before he smashed it with his foot.
    Meeks was now at the head of the line. “To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium face to face!”‘ he shouted, running and kicking the ball, squarely and with great intent.
    Charlie stepped out next. “To indeed be a god!’ Charlie shouted, kicking the ball through the goalpost with strength and determination.
    McAllister shook his head, smiled, and walked away.
    The line of players read and kicked until it got dark. “We’ll continue next time, boys,” Keating said. “Good effort.”
    Todd Anderson sighed with relief and started jogging back to the dorm. “Don’t worry, Mr. Anderson,” Keating called after him. “You’ll get a turn, too.” He felt himself blush, and when he reached the dorm, he slammed the door behind him, then ran into his room and hurled himself on the bed.
    “Damn,” he cried. He sat up, facing the half, composed poem scribbled on the pad that still lay on his bed. He picked up a pencil, added a line, then broke the pencil in anger. He paced around the room, sighed, picked up another pencil and tried to grind out the words. «
    “1 got it!” Todd heard Neil yelling in the hallway. “Hey, everybody, I got the part! I’m going to play Puck.” He opened the door to the room and saw Todd sitting there. “Hey, I’m Puck!’ y
    “Puck you! Pipe down,” yelled a voice from down the hall.
    Charlie and several other boys came wandering into the room. “All right, Neil! Congratulations! they cheered.
    “Thanks, guys. Now go back to your business. I’ve got work to do.” The boys left, and Neil pulled out an old typewriter from under his bed.
    “Neil, how are you gonna do this?” Todd asked. “Ssshh! That’s what I’m taking care of now,” Neil explained. “They need a letter of permission. “
    “From you?” Todd asked.
    “From my father and Nolan.”
    “Neil, you’re not gonna...” Todd started. “Quiet, I have to think,” Neil said. He mumbled lines from the play and giggled to himself as he typed. Todd shook his head in disbelief and tried to concentrate on his poem.

    In Mr. Keating’s class the following day, Knox Overstreet was the first to read his original poem.

    “I see a sweetness in her smile
    Bright light shines from her eyes
    But life is complete; contentment mine
    Just knowing that she—”

    Knox stopped. He lowered his paper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Keating. It’s stupid.” Knox walked back to his seat.
    “It’s fine, Knox, a good effort,” Keating said. “What Knox has done,” Keating said as he faced the class, “demonstrates an important point, not only in writing poetry, but in every endeavor. That is, deal with the important things in life—love, beauty, truth, justice.”
    He paced in front of the class. “And don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared— anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired—makes us feel a bit immortal.”
    “O Captain! My Captain,” Charlie asked, “is there poetry in math?” Several boys in the class chuckled.
    “Absolutely, Mr. Dalton, there is... elegance in mathematics. If everyone wrote poetry, the planet would starve, for God’s sake. But there must be poetry and we must stop to notice it in even the f simplest acts of living or we will have wasted much of what life has to offer. Now, who wants to recite f next? Come on, I’ll get to everyone eventually.”
    Keating looked around, but no one volunteered. He walked toward Todd and grinned. “Look at Mr. Anderson. In such agony. Step up, lad, and let’s put you out of your misery. ”
    The students all eyed