Mr. Teacher

What I spoke as truth
was what I had imagined,
made up, pretended -
convinced that my pretense
was utter Reality, outer

reality. And they listened.
My God, they listened
(or else transferred out) :
Sondra, Lindy, Ann,
John, Errol, Sam....
I had never been listened to
before. They listened
to what I made up, or
evoked from what I skimmed,
scanned, perused, browsed:

what Douglas Bush meant
or John Locke or Cardinal Newman,
heaven's bourne in 'La Belle Dame, '
Whitman's astronomer and
Geo. Meredith's galaxies,
how Eben Flood was already
ebbing, what Christmas meant
to Nemerov or Laurence Ferlinghetti,
'Christ climbed down...this year, '
Old (St.) Nick gone by Easter....

I told them what it all meant,
and, by God, they listened -

and found their selves therein,
I think, as I was finding mine.
That's what education is, isn't it?
Listening to what someone made up,
and learning, by the way,
how to make things up oneself.

Literacy is illiteracy disguised,
a tale told by idiots -
signifying what is signified,
and we become who we become
by deciding which pretense is real,
and which merely pretentious.
That's what teachers are meant to be
- until they go away for their Ph.D.

and disappear.

by Frank Avon

Comments (1)

Aloha Frank... You give the system quite the spank my brother in word working bard... Hello Lucy, how is your usage, of this program designed to produce servants and idiots plenty... from onset to bad steps, from crawling on allfours to swallowing short hairs, you serfs there... get on over here, and do just the things that I say! Dumbed down and bend down and head down with derrière high in the air...Are we there yet? Wonderful words to profoundly ponder, I wander lust for more... Great crack Frank... kudos and menudo on Saturday after 02: 30 hrs... when you may be in town... All of the best from this life, to you, and all of your relations... Michaelw1two.