Another Perspective: Notes from Underground

This poem was published in Friday's issue of the Argus. It was written by Phil Conwin in 1956, but it pretty much sums up how I feel about Wesleyan right now.

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Wesleyan, I hate you.
I hate scholastic pressure and
compulsory chapel credits and
the great god Integration
and yes, of course, for some reason or other
I hate South College.

Wesleyan, I hate you.
I hate all your pseudo-intellectual and
pedantic undergraduates and
optimistic jelly fish
and yes, of course, for some reason or other
I hate South College.

Wesleyan, I hate you.
I know I should have gone to school
down where the nights are gay and
the sun shines daily on the mountain top
and there are women. And
if I had to do it over again
I wouldn't come here, but never mind.
I just hate South College.

Wesleyan, I hate you.
You frown on athletics and
you build well rounded amoebas and
you have prudish house parties
and all the time South College is
telling us we're leaders.

Wesleyan, I hate you.
I hate all your arty individualists
and I hate your fraternities
because everyone is so gregarious and
I hate immediate rushing
and yes, of course, passionately
I hate South College.

Wesleyan, I hate you.
You present no more challenges for me
because I'm no more a disillusioned young freshman
and I can see through all your spurious fanfare
and when someone asks me where I go to school
and I answer, they ask me if it's a girl's school
in spite of the fact that South College tells us
that this is a top school and that everyone in
the whole wide world knows about it and
respects it. Everyone's heard of Amherst.

But Wesleyan, most of all I hate you
Because you made me introspect and
Made me feel guilty I didn't do my homework
and made me conscious of so many things
I didn't even know existed before and
Because you made me feel so stupid,
So helplessly frustrated and stupid.

And Wesleyan, I hate you
because you made me feel I owe
humanity a debt, because you made me
read poetry and listen to my nogood
roommate's problems and dress up for dinner
every night. And Wesleyan, I hate you
because you taught me how to judge,
how to criticize, how to doubt, and how to
hate. Through you I learned there was no storybook
God, and now my soul is empty and
I have to fill it somehow
all by my little lonesome self.
Wesleyan, I like you.