You believed them when they said it was the desks did you?
L
----- Original Message -----
From: "Poetryetc: poetry and poetics"
To:
Cc:
Sent:Mon, 18 Mar 2013 16:59:38 -0000
Subject:Re: Deportment
Ah and that smell of linseed on the desks at the beginning of term!!!
P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]]
On
Behalf Of Bill Wootton
Sent: 17 March 2013 05:34
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: Deportment
I think you should post this, Judy. Very much a companion piece to
Max's. I
like the rich images of blue and white particularly. 'Percussed' an
interesting verb.
Cheers,
Bill
On 17/03/2013, at 12:17 PM, Judy Keighran wrote:
> Hello poets,
>
> I will confess to being a satellite observer of your writings this
week,
especially the responses to Max's poem Deportment which evoked some
memories
for me (including the frequent prods between my shoulder blades by an
over
zealous teacher).The last three lines of the poem hark back to a
different
era of child-raising. 'Problem' children are nicely contrasted with
the two
well-behaved kids who provide their angle of vision, made richer
through
irony.
>
> Reading the responses to this poem has prompted me to write a time
capsule
of my own school days.
> I hope I can navigate the rules of file posting
>
>
> School snap
>
> The inspector peered though
> black horn-rimmed glasses
> at my handwriting:
> looping lower-case fs and ls,
> Capital letters with elegant flourishes.
> Your chalkboard skills
> will be an asset
> in your new school -
>
> cursive copperplate learned
> at a communal wooden desk
> with china inkwells-
> the legacy of English education
> transported to schools in Victoria.
>
> We clambered behind one another
> to enter and exit the row,
> miscreants delivering pinches
> and finger flicks
> until observed by Sister.
> The ribboned ends of girls' plaits dangled beside (and sometimes
into)
> inkwells on the desk behind in the crowded classroom.
>
> I longed to be
> (and sometimes was) the one
> trusted to pour midnight
> blue ink into milk-white wells,
> while boys percussed felt dusters
> in the breezeway
> to exorcise their demons
> amid clouds of dust.
>
> In the rebellious 60s
> cursive script no longer
> taught in primary schools
> my style illegible to students
> I started to cross my ts
> reversed the letter s
> separated what had been
> laboriously joined.
>
> The permanent callus on my knuckle remains an embedded fossil of
> primary education.
>
> Judy Keighran
>
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