ANOTHER SEPTEMBER
The groundsman was already burning leaves.
Each working day, I was paid to lead
other people’s children through the labyrinth
of language – received, standard. (For some,
it was the wrong one – language or labyrinth.
They had their own minotaurs at home,
on the streets). And each day, I would drive back
to smiles and books and weathered bricks and luck.
Watching the smoke drift, I was surprised
to be still there, trying to unload
the dice from some sense of duty –
and something not a little like love.
John Huddart
September 26, 2012I am drawn straight to this poem’s use of the word ‘luck’ for some reason – because life’s like that! Also, this marvellous piece makes its own….from the genial harbinger of the fates in line one, with its harbinger of winter tones [and the rest], to the contrasts between work and home, between duty, rest … and love.
What’s not to be at one with, for any teacher, here?
David Selzer
October 3, 2012Thank you for the imprimatur!
Nilanjana Bose
September 28, 2012‘…trying to unload the dice from some sense of duty – and something not a little like love…’ So evocative – enjoyed this one so much. Thanks.