The Poet
and The Cleaner
while the cleaner
scrubbed the toilets
the poet
spoke loudly
in meter
about truth
as the cleaner
polished the mirror
in swirling circles
the poet
leant close
to it’s
sheen
and
whispered
about
justice
her breath
making
a small
patch
of
condensation
the poet
repeated
to remember
her poems
to the rhythm
of
the cleaners mop
musing on
difference
or
identity
standing
back
to finish
her poem
in the
mirror
with a
flourish
the cleaner
slowly
clapped
her hands
the poet
bowed low
Above is the re-imagining of a poem I wrote when I was 17 and working cleaning a school, after my school day. I don't have the original it's in an archive far away...It's in honour of National Poetry Day in NZ July 27. People are going crazy for poetry all over the country! Read a poem aloud! It would be 15 more years after the above poem, before I finally started saying my poems out loud in public! I am celebrating 30 years of writing poetry myself, by re-joining the New Zealand Society of Authors.
I am reminded of teaching a poetry class a few years back. On instinct, on my way out the door, along with my books by Canadian poets, notes, and weblinks, I picked up photocopies of some poems I had published anonymously in the school magazine around the same time as the above poem. In a break in the class a man asked me what was the purpose of poetry, we chatted some and then I handed him the poems from aged 17 and told him to read as few or as many as he liked, 2 of the 8 poems were about writing poetry. After the break he was still studying the poems, closely. We wrote, and then who ever wanted to, read their work aloud. He like me, was an immigrant to Canada, and read about what he had left behind, what he found when he arrived, what he hoped for. It was a class in which people often shared their struggles, but later the tutor told me that in two years, this was the first time he had ever shared anything personal. I marveled that the words of a teenage white girl from the other side of the world, from 25 years ago, could inspire a middle aged black man to reveal himself in words. As I too have been inspired by so many poets from so many backgrounds.
Then we looked at video poems on the web, by young and old, performance poets, in American Sign Language, all kinds of formats. The tutor was so enthused she made a video poem right then and there with a poem she had previously written and some photos she had in her laptop.
Be enthused about poetry!
