I’ve mentioned before that when I was in
high school I had a wonderful
English teacher, Mr. Collier. We had two years to
plod through literature exams with him, and rather than devote the entire time to the
prescribed works, he decided to spend the first year stimulating our love of the written word, with a series of
challenging and involving
books. Apart from introducing me to some of my favourite novels, such as
The French Lieutenant's Woman and
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and recommending his class of
bright, eager 14 year olds to go and watch
Woody Allen’s
Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex, But were Afraid to Ask, he brought poetry to life.
He had an
unerring instinct for what concerned the hormonal
adolescent and what engaged their
interest. This meant, of course, that we were served a
diet of
drama,
love,
sex and
death. Strawberries, by Edwin Morgan, qualifies as on three counts; it’s dramatic, loving and sexual – it was my first exposure to
poetry that was both openly
erotic, and written in
modern English which didn’t
mask the
eroticism in unfamiliar
language, as Donne and the other
metaphysical poets tended to, until you cracked their
code.
It still makes me
shiver, now.
Strawberries
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that
sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open
french window
facing each other
your
knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries
glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in
sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the
feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your
eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my
memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun
beat
on our
forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat
intense
and summer lightning
on the
Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates
Edwin Morgan
As an aside, I heard from Mr. Collier recently – he took early
retirement from teaching and now works as a
librarian. I
envy any reader who asks him for recommendations.
Poem noded with permission