On Poetry...
A Short Play by Jeanine Kemmer
Present Day Jeanine in Voiceover: Mr. Teacher was on the younger end of the spectrum for teachers. He had neatly arranged dark hair, and always wore khakis and a sweater; casual Friday was relaxed down to a polo. What always stuck out most was his enthusiasm. Looking back, I have to wonder if I was there for his first year of teaching or at least one of the first couple years... Maybe he just really loved his job. Regardless, I will remember to the end of my days how you could practically hold his energy; it was nearly palpable. He always had a bounce in his step like he was walking on his toes. You could hear the smile in his voice without even looking at his face, which of course if you looked up and him would be there. You could practically see lightening in his eyes when he felt like the class was getting somewhere or when he was introducing a new idea. Which is exactly the look he has on his face as he stands in front of the class during this particular story...
OPEN SCENE Teacher addressing a class of students seated in desks.
Mr. Teacher: (Brightly) Ok class, we are going to start a new project today. We are going to make a small book of poems. You will each individually write five poems. They can be any style, any subject, any length, and completely different from each other or all about the same thing.
Jeanine (inwardly): Groooaaannn. If there is one thing I have learned about poetry it is that I don't like it. Not only are there all sorts of rules and regulations and styles and grammar... there is also... feeeelings. Ugh! Angst-ridden, soul bearing, icky sticky ooey gooey drama... not just drama... melodrama.
Mr. Teacher: (Passionately) The best writing comes from what you know about. Think about things you like. What are things you spend time thinking about? Really challenge yourself.
Jeanine: Hmmmmm something I think about... Things I know about...
END SCENE
Now at home Jeanine sits with her notebook on her lap. The page is empty though the pencil is poised.
Present Day Jeanine in Voiceover: The first poem ends up being about meeting the Grandma who died before before I was born in Heaven. It ended up being published without my knowing by Mr. Teacher until after. The second was a poem about a butterfly in a field of flowers or something. The third and fourth are lost for all eternity in some dusty corner of the globe. The fifth however, I will remember word-for-word for all eternity; something I think about, something that I know...
Jeanine:
Eenie Meenie Miney Moe
I don't know how this poem should go.
I have no ideas from my future or past,
thank goodness this poem will be my last.
It's not that I don't like poetry,
it's just that writing it's not for me.
FLASH FORWARD TO PRESENT DAY
Present Day Jeanine sits at a desk typing on a computer fondly recalling the story just told...
Jeanine: (Typing) I talked with my mom over the weekend, sort of an informal interview... I asked her what she remembered about my writing in grade school. After laughing at the semi absurd request from her thirty-something eldest of four children she did get that misty nostalgic look in her eye and ironically recalled the poem that Mr. Teacher had published. She even recalled details I had forgotten; that it was inspired by a picture hanging in the hallway and in what publication it appeared... which I have already forgotten the name of again...
THE END
OPEN SCENE Teacher addressing a class of students seated in desks.
Mr. Teacher: (Brightly) Ok class, we are going to start a new project today. We are going to make a small book of poems. You will each individually write five poems. They can be any style, any subject, any length, and completely different from each other or all about the same thing.
Jeanine (inwardly): Groooaaannn. If there is one thing I have learned about poetry it is that I don't like it. Not only are there all sorts of rules and regulations and styles and grammar... there is also... feeeelings. Ugh! Angst-ridden, soul bearing, icky sticky ooey gooey drama... not just drama... melodrama.
Mr. Teacher: (Passionately) The best writing comes from what you know about. Think about things you like. What are things you spend time thinking about? Really challenge yourself.
Jeanine: Hmmmmm something I think about... Things I know about...
END SCENE
Now at home Jeanine sits with her notebook on her lap. The page is empty though the pencil is poised.
Present Day Jeanine in Voiceover: The first poem ends up being about meeting the Grandma who died before before I was born in Heaven. It ended up being published without my knowing by Mr. Teacher until after. The second was a poem about a butterfly in a field of flowers or something. The third and fourth are lost for all eternity in some dusty corner of the globe. The fifth however, I will remember word-for-word for all eternity; something I think about, something that I know...
Jeanine:
Eenie Meenie Miney Moe
I don't know how this poem should go.
I have no ideas from my future or past,
thank goodness this poem will be my last.
It's not that I don't like poetry,
it's just that writing it's not for me.
FLASH FORWARD TO PRESENT DAY
Present Day Jeanine sits at a desk typing on a computer fondly recalling the story just told...
Jeanine: (Typing) I talked with my mom over the weekend, sort of an informal interview... I asked her what she remembered about my writing in grade school. After laughing at the semi absurd request from her thirty-something eldest of four children she did get that misty nostalgic look in her eye and ironically recalled the poem that Mr. Teacher had published. She even recalled details I had forgotten; that it was inspired by a picture hanging in the hallway and in what publication it appeared... which I have already forgotten the name of again...
THE END