‘Is he bright enough?’ they said,
As I bent my aching head
Around the nonsense they forced in -
They should have left it in the bin.
They weren’t bright enough, you see,
And viewed the world complacently -
Pushing the little that they knew
Naively into my full view.
There wasn’t much there, that was plain,
No questions, fun, not much to gain
Unless one’s mind was very square,
And mental cupboard starkly bare.
Their teaching hadn’t changed a jot
Since Noah was a little tot -
Grinly, thinly, pursed lips tight
I watched them exercise their might.
But when I cried off, stayed away,
A register forced me to stay:
‘What way is this to teach!’ I cried -
They shook their heads and sadly sighed.
So what Hope is there if the fools
Who teach us, based on mindless rules,
Are trapped within a web of lies
And never, ever, raise their eyes?
Imagine if instead they’d taught
The rudiments of simple thought!
The bliss of creativity!
The wonders of the mind set free!
If only they had questioned, ‘Why?’
And let THEIR imaginations fly,
If only they had set dreams loose -
They might – just might – have had some use.
2005
I was a student at a stifling college (I was a crap student by the way, probably the worst they’d ever had).
Their method of teaching came from the dark ages. Notes from old notebooks that were read out, to be copied and memorised; essays that were marked down for imaginative, creative thinking; an overpaid fool who thought she deserved more money and filled us with bullshit; an old dear who chuntered on; the ‘right-on’ trendies who acted like mirrors rather than creating passion and debate – it was dreadful. A prison of the mind.
But apparently the problem was that I wasn’t bright enough …
