Mark Grist's Blog

01-12-2009: Blog a go-go!

Well, here it is. My new blog.

I'd like to apologise in advance for what this will grow into over time. I am at heart not a very cool person. Whilst I spend most of my time trying to ignore this and acting like I know what's going on in the world, I suspect that this blog grow into quite an odd voice. The football bnoots you bought it will gather dust in the attic. It's fashion choices will be ropey at best, garish at worst. Don't be surprised if, within a year, this blog is showing you its home made sonic screwdrive and discussing the merits of The Sega Dreamcast. Deep down I'm that kind of person. :)

Aside from that, I'm also an English teacher and a poet. The main reason I teach is because I love working with teenagers. Most of my poetry is inspired by the young adults I work with. As I also write about how awful I was when I was growing up I find it pretty difficult to get annoyed at people who are going through the same process.

Anyway, some people do hate teenagers. This poem is about (and for) those people

A teacher, eh?

The starter is removed
Our main course emerges
And when I’m asked what I do for a living
Our host’s reaction verges
On the incredulous
Half digested food that’s been fed to us
Spittoons
From his wet lips
He leans in,
He quips
‘A teacher, eh?
Wouldn’t catch me wasting my time
With today’s youth,
Just a bunch of grubby little shits!’
The waistcoats laugh around me
Applaud the wit that he has fired
His wife smoothes my arm like tablecloth
Beams ‘no wonder he looks tired!’

The room erupts again
And I chuckle
Because she is right
I am tired

I’m tired from hours spent
Saying ‘tuck in that shirt’
From getting kids into lines,
Making girls unroll their skirts
And I’m tired from setting tests
To the grumbles; the complaining
The exams get me stressed
Giving detentions can be draining
And who’d have guessed it’d be knackering
Making lessons entertaining?
The kids don’t notice cos someone’s farted
Or had a nosebleed
Or its raining

And I’m tired from working with Artists,
with athletes, with dancers
I’m tired from asking questions
Till I realise maybe I didn’t know all the answers
And then I’m tired from watching the sparks that fly
Behind young eyes
The heroes made in my classroom
The self worth they realise

And then those other kids
Where you have to tie
On a line
Dive deep
Into their minds
Rescue the battered scraps of confidence
Another adult rusted up inside
scrabbling at those locks
Dredging back those pearls
Then saying
‘Well done,
I’ll see you next week.’
Letting them back out into the world

I’m tired
Because I work hard
With young people
Who care about community,
They aren’t happy accepting
Our banal shirt sleeved mediocrity
While the efforts of the majority go to the back of the local paper
The kid with the blade who hates the world cos nobody taught him better
Gets plastered on page one
So that when we’re all tired, when all our hard work is done
I get to stand on duty, witness the grown ups fearful looks
Directed at those young minds travelling home
Laughing with their books

But look,
Mostly, right now I am tired
Because in my lesson yesterday
We discussed poverty in Uganda
Throughout it my students were seething, irate, raw with anger
They couldn’t understand the
Fact that children were starving in our world by the score
When one girl asked
‘How can this happen? How can adults let the poor stay poor?’
It got me thinking all night about what I once stood for

And so you all may be successful
And this meal may well be Michelin
But I’d swap the swine around me now
For a dozen kids on Ritalin
Cos those ‘grubby little shits’
Won't learn your layers of indifference
And I am tired, yeah I’m exhausted
But teaching’s what I do
I feed others before I feed myself
So that fingers crossed
I’ll never ever become
As overfed
As you.