German history

I have a class each Thursday from 4:30 to 7:30, straight lectures, by a German professor on Franco-German relations in the 20th century. It's often not that bad, however. Apparently they won't have tests till January (after I'm gone), so I guess I keep going for the pleasure of it. It makes me reminisce about being a high school student in AP European History.

And things even got a interactive for a moment (and just a moment). In his discussion of the Dawes Plan, the professor paused, wondering if there were any anglophones in the room who could verify the pronunciation.
"I think it's DOS," he said (like two in Spanish), "le plan dos--"
"DAWWWS!" I thundered from the back of the classroom. Everyone sort of giggled.

The French students in general have trouble understanding his accent, and they are very kind in asking me how I'm doing in that class. "In fact," I tell them, "a foreign accent is easier than a French accent." "Mais non," they reply, "This is central France. No one here has an accent!"
I'm sure, in a way, we're both right.

But while the girls around me continued to snicker at poor Monsieur Beck's accent and write down every word he said (French students are a little crazy when it comes to note-taking), I kept looking out the window to my left across the river. And I started to write some poetry (translation will follow):

la forêt de l'autre côté est ravissante
dans le vieux soleil, cette fin d'après-midi.
les feuilles se colorent dans cette heure tranquille
grâce à la colère du nouveau automne
et bientôt, l'eau de la Loire devient cendre
de ce feu peu feroce qui souffle dans
le vint du soir.

Pourtant, pendant que les oiseaux
rentrent aux nids, les braises respirent en haut dans les arbres,
les dernières feuilles de feu contre le soir.

(okay, this isn't the best translation)

the forest on the other side is ravishing
in the aging sun, at the end of this afternoon.
the leaves color in this peaceful time
because of the anger of new fall
and soon, the water of the Loire becomes the ashes
of this small, weak fire that blows
in the evening wind.
But still, while the birds
return to nests, the embers breathe high in the trees
the last leaves of fire against the evening.

Good night :)