Danny Fekete is studying education at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, appropriately. 
Modern Poetry Prejudice and Bereiter’s Unsituated Cognition
In my final year of undergrad at Nipissing, I took a second-year American Literature course to round out my fairly pathetic spatter of regional and period coverage. As we approached the modern period and started reading modern poets, I discovered a deep sense of alienation from the text that was clearly not shared by (or at any rate, novel to) most of the rest of the class. Unlike earlier poetry, which had for me achieved its startling, evocative, or plainly gorgeous imagery and wordplay in tandem with its clear and compressed message, the poets of the 1920s didn’t seem to care about—yea, assiduously scorned—their audiences. Shock, originality, inscrutable faithfulness to the language of their inner voices, and subjective interpretability dominated our readings; after several months of strolling down welcoming galleries of meticulous and pleasing artifice and mastery, I felt myself a trespasser in someone’s contemptuously unkempt private room. This fed nicely my prejudice that the best poetry—the only poetry worth reading—was written before the end of World War I, and that the rest of the course would consist of this miserable dross.
Then, we were given Robert Frost. He was welcoming (famously), obviously conscientious of the comprehension of his audience, obviously sensitive to the expected rhythms and cadences of the old poetic forms even when he chose not to employ them—in short, he was my renewed hope for the poetry of Modernity and a balm for my gloomy, disappointed brain.