from “At the College” by Richard Greene

Here, among these fierce and sentimental students,

I stand on the edge of a world not my own,

snatching small goods from the large irrelevance

of what we do, making the old sorrows known

to children bearing their first calamities,

teaching solitudes to the newly alone,

explaining writers’ exile to refugees

and notions of intrinsic worth to half-fledged

bankers, already driving smart Mercedes.

Yet they live by their hope, curiously pledged

to some afterness that will reward and bless

them for gifts that nature leaves unacknowledged

or earnest labours I grade at B or less;

they know some need of love that poets speak to,

and few can absent their hearts from every class,

however many droning they may sleep through;

they will mark a perfect image or a phrase

and hear it years from now, wilder then and new.

 from “At the College”

Richard Greene

Boxing the Compass