Thursday, August 17, 2017

Poetry and Conversation

My neighbour (a remarkably astute principal of a college) periodically asks me to judge a poetry contest she conducts during their college festival.  So it was that I spent much of yesterday poring over poems, almost all reflecting teenage angst (except for one, who had written about Hitler's prowess as an artist!).  The title given to them was 'Is This Me', hard enough for anyone to think about, more so perhaps for young adults.

When I went to return the poetry filled sheets, I mentioned to my neighbour about how much angst the students seemed to have.  "Yes," she said, in a very matter of fact way.   "That's partly why I organize these contests - to give them an outlet."

We have all gone through phases of struggle; the process is familiar but the contents seem to have changed, and we discussed this for a while.  She said that the main problem students in her college voiced was not peer pressure but being unable to communicate with their parents.

I was a bit taken aback at this; I had attributed many of the problems to social media, lack of time and place for sport or creative opportunities, a sense of isolation and more.  Not to parents.  But that's not how the students seem to see it.  Reality probably lies somewhere in between but I can see that relentless pushing at home would not help a teenager who is anyway struggling to come to terms with the world around.  Something to ponder about.

The poems were free and frank and reflected more confusion and dismay than anger.

At the end of all this, I was happy to turn back to old loved poetry, to Rilke, who reminds us that every moment is precious and life changing.  I have quoted this poem before but I put it down once more for it moves me each time I read it-

A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

No comments:

#Header1_headerimg { margin: 0px auto }