February 16th, 2009
Lynne Knight
THE LESSON
My first class left a little early. He came in, hesitant. I need for someone look my
grammar, he said, holding out a sheet of paper the color of old mushrooms. His
hand was dirty, his coat, his clothes. You teacher? he asked. You could help me
with the English? I nodded. I am plumer an electricin, his paper began.
Sometime I like my work but is dangerus. Very busy putting heavy pipe.
I wrote in missing words, corrected the spelling, made him read it aloud.
Sonetines, he read. I stopped him, made him say sometimes, hum the mmmm.
He practiced humming then asked if he could stay in the room to copy his paper
over. He wrote slowly, keeping his eyes on the words, as if they might slip away.
Midway, without looking up, he asked if I’d read Heningway.
Hemmmingway, I said. Mmmm.
Mmmm. He smiled, or half smiled, hiding bad teeth. He’d read the one about
the man with the fish, read it in Spanish. Did I like teach literature, he asked. I
loved to teach it, I said, stressing the to. I was a poet, I added. I loved Neruda;
did he know Neruda?
Both hands flew to his heart. His smile forgot to hide his teeth. And he gave me
Neruda, the last of the twenty love poems, his voice rising, his face like the old
man’s when he feels the fish take, feels the line running, running, taut, sure, his.
–from Rattle 29, Summer 2008
It is moments like this that make teaching more than just a job.
That was very touching
How beautifully touching!
im going to carry it with me all day
I got chills
That is so sweet. That dear old man.
[...] #1074. We’ve published three of her poems in the past — two in issue #26, and “The Lesson” last summer, which was already the third-most-read poem in Rattle.com history. I’ve [...]
Now I have to read Neruda too.