retirement

In 2008 four long-serving teachers – with getting on for a century of service between them – took their retirement.   I wrote poems to commemorate them all but never shared them.   The titles are their initials.

 

 

 

                                                                                              KK

                                                                                 on the topmost branch
                                                                                 lurching occasionally
                                                                                 from side to side

                                                                                 the blackbird sang its
                                                                                 various innovative
                                                                                 songs

                KS

       on the endless voyage
       the amphora
       leaned forward
       then back always
       with graceful
       lip and glazed
       blue detail
       amid the creaks
       and lurches

                                                                                              SG

                                                                                 pages and pages
                                                                                 of data and document
                                                                                 but always the one
                                                                                 exquisitely-embroidered
                                                                                              fan

                SG

       they painted the walls
       blue and grey and red
       but they always remained
       walls

 

 

 

sea wormhole: 1964 – open window
blackbird wormhole: the breath of London

 

Struck

 

 

 

                      Struck

                I went on strike today.
        For the first time in almost twenty-one years of teaching I went on strike.
        I withdrew my work –
        I didn’t go in and collect nuggets to show
        I didn’t strategise how I would show them
        I didn’t find in myself the way to ‘say’ the nuggets
        I didn’t ‘OK’ and then give them again
        I didn’t quickly paint a picture and ‘arm-wave’ it to the class
        I didn’t chip away at my comfort and maintain my professionalism
        I didn’t jump aside and think a second to give the focus
        I didn’t sit to one side and give yet another bridge
        I didn’t hold my breath a little and give another tool –
                ‘hope they’ll be careful with it –
        I didn’t make eye contact by marking work
        I didn’t share a vision by building yet another step-up
        I didn’t clap or smile or care when I recognised or reported
        I didn’t remember to do the tracking
        I closed the gate to a world when I didn’t plan
        I didn’t practise patience when they failed my aspiration
        I let the gate open when I didn’t tutor.

        I didn’t do ALL of this
        because the government
        shuffled around in its pocket looking for the
        small change while I –
                even though I know my place –
        shake the tin one more time and
                yes I would rather spend it
                in Starbuck’s AND have a slice of cake with it
                as well …

        and for one of the
        first times in twenty one years
        I felt that what I do in teaching IS still noble.