"Gratitude to Old Teachers," by Robert Bly

A poem in blank verse--not typical of Bly. But it has his characteristic surrealism, offering a striking comparison, to say the least, all in the context of walking across a frozen lake, no doubt in Minnesota. Bly's book about surrealistic poetry, Leaping Poetry, is terrific. 

link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PngPw5xK3Fs

Education

She says,
I took the post because
I wanted to teach students
English. Well, all right,
I also needed to earn
a living. In the classroom,
there was boredom. And noise,
endless noise. Most of the students
were distracted by their poverty,
hunger, hormones, phones, talk,
music, and self-loathing.

Outside the classroom,
the corridor was always
crowded, with parents,
administrators, politicians,
consultants, pastors, priests,
rabbis, police, coaches,
pimps, pundits, and God.
The crowd pressed
against the door every day.

In other words, I never
had a chance; worse,
they never had a chance--
the students: you remember
them. She says,

Now I'm a clerk at a
building-supply company.
It's easier, and it pays
the bills, I admit. It
doesn't feel crucial to me,
though, like education
used to feel.


hans ostrom 2013