When to Shut Up?
Imagine an off-the-cuff conversation
With an acquaintance, not a friend,
So it’s tricky to gauge the rules.
She tells you she prays for her family,
For friends, for peace in faraway places.
Sceptical, you challenge this faith
That prayer can interrupt the flow
Of events and act as midwife
To a better future.
After all, is it not your duty
To burst bubbles of false hope?
The meek, you remind yourself, won’t
Inherit the Earth, far from it, they’ll settle
For the displacement of wilful action
By impotent prayer and die unfulfilled.
Religion is the opium of the people!
But you see that she’s confused
And her innocence eschews the bluster
That male friends would hide behind;
She has no answers and looks fragile.
Does reason push you on regardless,
Or do you pause to take stock
Of what it is that you are doing?
People learn and recite religious scripts
For the comfort of acting in a play;
This is their theatre, their refuge
From an unyielding world of pain,
Suffering, disappointment or tension.
What right do you have to rewrite
The plot, to substitute an ending
Of your own?
Wittgenstein didn’t need educating
Out of his spiritual yearning,
He knew he was at the theatre,
Saw the plot for what it was;
His was a cry for help, for strength
To be a better person, which for him
– in interwar Vienna, in Cambridge –
Reduced to abandoning male lovers.
So, what price might others pay
For listening to your so reasonable
Disassembling of their narratives
Of comfort tinged with optimism,
Or your so reasonable deconstruction
Of fables that keep minds and bodies
Locked safely into personhood?
You might be on reason’s side,
But wrong to argue it out:
Look again at her furrowed brow
And shut up.
Tricks of the Trade
In philosophy seminars when times
Were different and clouds of smoke
From my pipe provided temporary
Cover from close inspection, as well
As a breathing space (if you’ll pardon
The phrase in this context), my pipe
Became a prop, gifting me a moment
Of respite, a chance to regain bearings
And think up a response to a query
From an awkward, enquiring student.
Emptied in a bin, scraped around a bit,
Refilled, then, a task of optional timing,
Lit and relit for as long as expedient.
If that didn’t work: ‘I’ll come back
To you in a moment, but first
I want to clarify something we were
Talking about earlier. Is that okay?’
In the lecture theatre, substitute
Coffee cup for pipe and the script
Was much the same, if more sanitary,
Not so ritualistic or cumbersome,
And with hindsight, less homicidal.
But other props became accessible
In this larger more complex space.
In the early days I had notes or acetate
Sheets to shuffle or drop on the floor
To ameliorate crises of self-assurance;
Later there were power-point slides
To toy with, though the downside
Was that students could see exactly
What I was doing, like watching
A silent film in a 1920s cinema.
The bottom line, sadly, is that students
Mostly knew what I was doing and why;
I knew they knew, and they knew
I knew they knew; it was all okay
Providing I didn’t do it too often
And that I treated them with respect.
Trees
The Ash in our hillside of a garden
Is a symbol of order and permanence;
It will outlast us, possibly by a century,
Inching higher when our backs are turned
And stretching its boughs like fingers,
Perches for the tits and, once in a while,
A throne for a lesser-spotted woodpecker
Smartly kitted out in the primary colours
Of a child’s new Christmas paintbox.
There is a quiet unapologetic dignity
In trees like our towering Ash, defying
The passing of eras and the shallow, fickle
Topicality of fashions of minds and bodies,
Altogether aloof from human finitude.
It’s as if it yearns to convey lessons learned
Out of its silent presence, this observatory
Of species that come and go, that pass it by.
And now with Spring there is fresh vigour
With the slow-burning bursts of buds
On the far-off tips of waving, looping twigs
Peering at a sky, blue and welcoming
Now but with Ash-grey clouds gathering
Over Norbury Park and heralding rain.
Undaunted by change, resilient in the face
Of the seasons, it is moral and monument
To the planet’s aspirations to endure.
Pleasant Pleasantries
They can be smart, friendly and fun
The ‘bear with’ brigade who inhabit
Our village pubs, discussing who won
The last test match, and why a rabbit
Chose their garden to nibble and dig.
What you find after a year or two,
As you collect your pint, take your seat,
Is that the agendas worked through
As you bid to unwind affect a retreat
From the world as you’ve known it.
Yes, it’s a harmless, pleasant interlude,
A break from normal mundane routine,
But it’s salutary too, an almost crude
Reminder that what matters has been
Set to one side by common assent.
Children and Adults
When you teach you will meet
Students much smarter than you,
It can be mildly irritating it’s true,
But then surely it’s no mean feat
To convey stuff they don’t know?
There’s a point I want to make
While I’ve got you to stop and think:
It’s good that students try to link
What you say and aspire to take,
Notes and apply the relevant bits.
But let’s celebrate their strengths,
These students are adults not kids!
They may be socialised to keep lids
On their talents, and go to lengths
To pretend they’ve little to say.
Just as children must be allowed
To be children, not chivvied along
By crazy plans to make them belong
Prematurely to a class of cowed
And anxious workers-to-be,
So students must not be denied
Their right to be treated as adults,
Participants in learning, consultants,
Teachers themselves, not decried
As mere apprentices for lives to come.
It Wasn’t Planned, But It Works
Darwin was right most would agree,
Natural Selection not God has paved
The way for a lifespan with a certain
Living symmetry.
Her innocence protects the child,
Who cannot know the vicissitudes
And corporeal and mind-fading
Shifts of old age.
Nor does the child care, for she
Is programmed to look away, safe
And secure against what in time
Will overtake her.
When you are old and reflexive
You may envy this unambiguity
And wish you knew in your youth
What you know now.
But it doesn’t work that way:
Were you to revisit your childhood
With the enlightened trappings of age
You would rob it of what it is.
So be reconciled, celebrate and find
Solace in children’s life-affirming play,
And take care not to burden them
With ineluctable futures.