Good news. Week 2 is much easier than week 1. I’m less stressed, and I’m getting my planning done in no time, which leaves time for hill walks, trips to the beach, even a capoeira lesson from my friend Paulo. And of course, some writing.
All of this work has left me turning to coffee again. Today was a record-breaker – 3 and a half cups, and then a cup of tea 2 hours later. And I still went to sleep, another 2 hours after that. And missed lunch.
Truth is, I get addicted to things, very easily. It’s why I’ve never tried smoking. It’s connected to why I can’t read books out of order, why I lock myself in my room to churn through episodes of a TV series. Perhaps it’s why I’ve never watched “Lost”, because by all accounts, I would curl into a ball, starve, and forget how to communicate with humans.
So coffee is something that I avoid, unless I need it to sustain myself. But sometimes the world of teaching can be stressful, and more frequently, the world of teaching needs you to be totally mentally alert and full of enthusiasm that’s as genuine as can be, at the drop of a hat.
This poem was written when I first began teaching. When I first threw myself into teaching teenagers, and then straight from that class to another with adults. Something I’d cope with now, and have done, but something that at the time needed some intense planning, and some quick improvisation. And at the end of a long day. So this poem was born.
The idea behind it is that the sounds run in total parallel to the rest of the poem. If I was ever to read it aloud, I would either need to tape myself making the noises, or get someone to perform it with me. Experimental? I hope so.
Anyway, I went back to it again this afternoon and made infintessimal changes. I know that bigger changes can and perhaps should be made, but I wanted all the sounds that the words make, to be made. Hmmm.
I’m mostly left with confusion about how exactly to structure it. Like two columns, parallel. A human eye can’t read both sides at once, and directly inserting them breaks the flow of the poem. But it’s a work of theory, not of perfection. I’m going to post it with imperfect editing – this poem was a bitch even in Notepad and Word, so making it look good on the blog is more fuss, and I’m hungry. Remind me to come back and neaten this up sometime.
Click // Clink.aaaa
Set the cup and check for change. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Jingle.
Half a euro.
Need this, five minutes, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Clink. Thunk.
reading practice, page fifteen. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “Café con Leche”.
How quickly will they finish that?aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Click.
Too quickly. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaWhiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
The brain runs a search to the whirr of the coffee grind,
a thick clot of caffeinated sludge, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
searching for something to sweeten it. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaClick.
The gush of the milk at pace with my gurgling thoughts.
A tumble of hard-pressed images rushing past,
Then slowing to a trickle…
And it’s over, the break, the panic, the class,
The day, the week rushes past at the pace of a coffee,
Held in a thin plastic cup,
Disposed of lightly and then ready for the next.