So I love the idea of this poem, and absolutely despise its current form. It was a thought I'd had for a long time, then forced myself to write during the slam in which I performed it. The pacing feels way off to me. Any ideas about where to trim stuff and what needs to be added would make me dance a little.
This Spring
I spent 3 hours
on no less than 15 Thursdays
seated at a table that barely fit
in the smallest classroom
of the humanities building
of the school I disappeared from three years ago.
At this table
I discussed the finer points
of post-colonial theory
with people who were born
when I was in middle school.
We didn't actually read any post-colonial literature,
we just discussed the theories based on it--
whether postcolonialism
is different than postcoloniality,
what difference it makes to put a hyphen in
post-colonial
or not put a hyphen in
postcolonial
with kids who get weekly allowances from their parents
so they can spend their free time getting high
instead of getting jobs.
I had a full semester of this
because someone where I work
thinks this will make me a better employee.
For twelve years
I have been engaged in the slow and incremental pursuit
of my Bachelor's degree;
today I frantically and unsuccessfully attempted
to teach myself to use an exacto blade
with glue covering my fingers,
already stained with the black smudges
of silhouette paper
because this semester
Mondays and Wednesdays
find my ass warming a swively studio chair
'cause, according to Goucher "bend over and be educated" College,
an art elective is the last piece I need
to make me ready to teach English.
For twelve years
I have been employed by schools--
as a substitute I was requested by middle schoolers
twice as frequently
as my teacher-certified biddy compatriots.
As a teaching assistant I correct the grammar
fo people working on their Masters,
so I wonder how much credit I should be giving
to this notion of credits.
My students don't care
about the source of the subversive elements
in Chinua Achebe's texts,
but they know that I love them.
So I should get a credit for every compassionate act.
My prospective profession doesn't hinge so much
on the art class ability
to attach paper to canvas with glue
so much as to discourage kids
from eating it.
So I think that every day that I do my job
I should be one step closer
to being paid decently for it.
Because real callings aren't achieved
through a series of randomly assigned classes,
they build themselves into our lives
based on our decisions and circumstances.
In a just world, college employees
would be yanked from their offices
and forced to follow us,
assigning redeemable credits
for every element of our lives.
So by now I would have
Associates degrees in fidgety excitement and making people cry,
a Bachelor's in inspiration
and a Ph.D. in poverty
from waiting for somebody to finally recognize
the things we truly
deserve credit for.
2 comments:
Little things:
- "they build themselves into our lives
based on our decisions and circumstances."
I think the "decisions and circumstances" part sounds a little out of place, like almost lecture-y. It doesn't really gel with the tone of the rest of the piece. Maybe play with the idea that we have control over our decisions and we don't necessarily over our circumstances, but they both affect our experiences.
- "because someone where I work"
Just sounds kind of awkward. Maybe say "the common consensus where I work is..." or something.
- "and a Ph.D. in poverty
from waiting for somebody to finally recognize"
I would think about saying something other than just "from" because at this point, it might not be all that obvious that you're referencing the fact that you're not getting paid. I'd suggest "and a Ph.D. in the poverty that I achieved by waiting..."
General thoughts:
- One thing I think you could consider would be incorporating more of your teaching experiences into it, so you can show how much of a contrast there is between your "learning experiences" at college and the things you learn doing your job.
- I love the idea of discrediting credits.
- Despite my nitpicky critique, I like this poem A LOT and I definitely don't understand why it's been collecting dust.
I understand why you probably don't like this piece as much as you think you should. Instead of making MY suggestions for revision, I'm going to make some suggestions of how YOU might want to attack it to turn it into the piece you want it to be.
Go through and highlight your favorite words and phrases. Whole stanzas if you'd like. Whatever you love, you want to save.
Then, figure out what your key images are. If it were my poem, I would probably start with the images about the art class and then move into the things you should be doing (like interacting with the kids (also, I hate that blogger doesn't show you the entry while you're leaving a comment)).
I think this poem could be a lot stronger merely through reorganization. Play with the parts. See how they fit together. Try to find some interesting transitions. Because this is totally a Chris August poem and needs to be part of your repetoire.
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