Mr. Courtney
Sitting in Mr. Courtney’s English class
moving my feet to that iambic beat
while greasy Joan doth keel the pot
and snot runneth down the back of my nose.
He tells us he is not a happy man
which makes us feel embarrassed, awkward, sad
(behold the dawn in russet mantle clad)
we pretend interest in (yes) Charles Lamb.
He struck me on the face once, hit me hard.
Have at you varlet! A palpable hit!
A snide remark I made, yes that was it,
about poor Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Still, would this poem be, if not for him,
Keats, beaded bubbles winking at the brim?
Over at Desperate Poets, Brendan quotes Joyce Carol Oates:
“There’s lots of reasons that people have for not doing things. Then the cats are gone, the children move away, the marriage breaks up or somebody dies, and you’re sort of there, like, “I don’t have anything.” A lot of things that had meaning are gone, and you have to start anew. But if you read Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” Ovid writes about how, if you’re reading this, I’m immortal. You see that theme in Shakespeare’s sonnets: You’re reading this, so I’m still alive. In fact, they’re not alive, they’re gone, but while they were alive, they did have that extra dimension of their lives. That is not nothing.”
When I read this I thought of the above poem “Mr.Courtney” about my high school teacher. The poem has had a number of forms but ended as a sonnet. As Joyce Carol Oates also points out (see Brendan’s intriguing post) that memories fade but if you capture that memory in a poem, a novel, a painting it gets a life ot its own.
Mr. Courtney taught us Latin and English Literature. The curriculum was tilted towards the great English authors, like Shakespeare, Shelley, Keats. he was a big Keats fan. We had to learn whole poems and passages off by heart. Some lines are permanently stuck in my head and I have inserted them in to the poem here and there. And yes, he did clatter me across the face once, he could never quite look me in the eyes after that.
The sonnet idea came from Bjorn’s verse form challenge over at dVerse to write a sonnet. I’ve chosen an ABBA, CDDC, EFFE, GG rhyme scheme. I’ve used half rhymes here and there to add interest and tried to keep to a ten syllable line even though I haven’t always stuck to that iambic beat.
Stopdraggingthepanda 
Wonderfully done. I feel sad for Mr Courtney, who sounds sad, and who knew he had done wrong by hitting you……..you have drawn him so well I can see him.
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Thanks Sherry!
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Oh a well-crafted memory of poetry and teacher! The poems from school do stay stuck in our heads… there’s something to be said for all the hours spent learning them by heart!
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Thanks Rajani!
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Bravo!
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Thanks VJ!
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Welcome
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I read that Oates interview recently, too. I started her MasterClass during Covid, but didn’t finish.
High school English teachers! There’s a lot. We adored our lit teacher. They do trend toward the tragic, though, don’t they?
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yes…it’s a tough job!
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You have a very fine portrait of a man and a time here–high school English. Hawthorne, Dylan Thomas, Whitman, Shakespeare–I wouldn’t be me, as the author (and the teacher) would not be himself without it. Very appropriate to the form as well and a great exposition on the prompt, and some memorable “repurposed” quotes that take on their own life. Great reading, Jim.
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Thanks Joy, much appreciated!
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I wonder how many of us still writing poetry have formational memories like this? As little as I remember of my 10th grade English class, Mrs. Batson was so foundational for all my future work — if only because she wrote in my yearbook, “you are it so be it.” For me that became a lifetime command to do this odd little thing. Your Mr. Courtney seems to have wrought and whacked the same meter from you.
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Yep, I think it was a tough job getting teenage boys interested in pastoral poetry!
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Amazing that a teacher who struck you didn’t turn you off to the classics. I fell asleep in a high school geometry class once (I had an after-school job). The teacher threw a book at me, made me stand in the corner, and then held me back after class for another reprimand. I’ll never forget it. But I’ve never written a poem about it. And I still suck at geometry. Go figure.
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I had several English teachers like that – although it was the Religious Education teach who actually struck me.
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Ah yes, religious education, always a hard class to stay out of trouble in!
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