I am too much an island, insular and insulated and deaf to the pleading
empty mouths, voices that might have reached me if I hadn't turned
away. If no man is an island, then why is it that I've spurned
these youngest parts of me? Their loss should leave me grieving,
devastated, willing to sell the things I have and give them food, but I am turned
away, and they are mute, faceless, nameless, voices that I spurn, deceiving
no one. No one believes that they are mute. I do not believe their grieving
does not exist. But still I turn away, pretending not to hear, enjoying things unearned.
I drive my car, make plans for dinner, I sip a cup of coffee and ignore
or make myself forget the things you said. They die, and I know you meant
it when you said that I should do for these as I would for you. But still, we store
up things, televisions and telephones and computers and automobiles and home decor
and designer label clothing and money in a 401(k). They die, and I know I have misspent
the things you've given. Thirty thousand every day, and I am too much an island, too content.
2 comments:
I have just stumbled upon your blog while searching for a poem that I remember reading while in your class in 2003. I read a few of your entries and really enjoyed them. I'm adding you to my reader.
On another note, I want to thank you for being one of the few genuine teachers that I had while in high school. I fully attribute my high "A" in American Literature in college to your teaching style and enthusiasm for the subject at hand. Unfortunately, (or fortunately)that was the only Language Arts course I was required to take in undergrad because I did well on the AP exam for your class. I enjoyed your class very much and I still enjoy reading classic American literature to this day.
I also want to comment on your most recent poem (the one in this post). This really struck a chord with me because just yesterday at church, my pastor (Troy Gramling) was speaking on this very issue. He was specifically talking about how we, as a society today, don't allow our emotions to be shown. This is to say that if we see a commerical come on for UNICEF or one of the other many charities devoted to feeding the hungry children, we immediately change the channel. We don't want to stay on that channel because we don't want to "feel" anything. We're afraid that if we do, we may realize that we do have an obligation to help them. Also, we have the means to help them, just not the willing heart. The message focused on not being afraid to embrace all of our emotions, and to act on them when we feel the nudge to do something of importance.
Anyway, that's my little thought for the day. I'm glad I found your blog! I hope you don't mind a former student reading along.
-Shawna Harris
AP Lit. c/o 2003
Shawna,
Thanks so much for the kind words. I'm glad to hear you're doing well--at least it sounds from what you wrote here that you are, and I hope that's the case.
I'm glad that our class served you well in college, except that, of course, I wish you'd been able to take more literature courses in college. Of course, there's no stopping any of us from reading now, I suppose.
A friend of mine is working on a project to help feed some of these hungry people. You can check out his plans, if you're so inclined, at notfashionable.com and youarenotanisland.com.
Again, I hope you're well. Please keep in touch.
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