Poetry feature: Teaching

His most common song–

‘Come over here and listen’.

He stands with Dick Rodgers for an opening night triumph.  I look round for another kid. The voice searches for me. A Harlem baritone that’s on the move. His hand leans down, presses my palm and tells me to hear the St. James’ rustling foyer.

Oscar is a big fellow. A taxi stuffed neatly into a tux. A humble face chiselled and carved.

I wanted to be whatever he was.

Lyricist by trade.

Playwright by experimentation.

Teacher by instinct.

Write for yourself. Content dictates form. Less is more. God is in the details.

Anything that’s good in my brain, Oscar dusted off and shined before placing it in my head.  Write for yourself. Content dictates form. Less is more. God is in the details.

My life was saved by gracious men like him.

This stable presence, counterpoint to a new world.

My family was split at the solar plexus. My mother never wanted a child. She made me pay for the sins of my father. A plague that has never left my city. Oscar and Dorothy gave me respite.

After his soliloquy and the Act One curtain swept down, I cried into Dorothy’s fur coat.

The fur was wrecked but they were satisfied.

They gave me the opportunity of balance.

He proved that magic is made by hands. That harmony opens up everything. The most beautiful and terrible dancing in dialectic.

Not to forget your yesterdays. Slip them into your pocket. You’ll have them when you need them. When you take them out in the morning, they’ll give you the power of giants.

The hills of tomorrow are always there to be seen. Landward bells are ready to be listened to. Make the slightest movement, the world draws itself together.

To try for an audacity that can bloom

that can catch every true feeling and honest thought–

IF YOU BECOME A TEACHER BY YOUR PUPILS YOU’LL BE TAUGHT.