June 2018
David Graham
grahamd@ripon.edu
grahamd@ripon.edu
NOTE: As someone who essentially never left school, at least until I retired from teaching, I’ve attended more graduations than most. The speeches can be tedious, obviously, and to be honest rather few were memorable. But in all those years as a professor I never failed to be moved by the ritual itself. It was a privilege to be present during such an important moment in so many people’s lives. And it was always bittersweet bidding farewell to students I had come to care for, wondering which ones might stay in touch, and which ones would vanish forever from my life after this day. Over the years I often tried to capture in poems the mix of feelings such days provoked. Here are two of them, displaying quite different moods.
My Poetic License column is a further installment in my Poetry Aloud series, this time a handy guide for poets: how to present your work aloud. After this I’ve got one more column on this subject: stay tuned for next month’s grand finale.
My Poetic License column is a further installment in my Poetry Aloud series, this time a handy guide for poets: how to present your work aloud. After this I’ve got one more column on this subject: stay tuned for next month’s grand finale.
Commencement 2000
Corks bobbing on the ritual waves
of talk, talk, talk, what will these glowing
children remember of today? Perhaps just
a windswept sky, gowns snapping
like flags and clinging to their legs,
lilac air full of words no sooner spoken
than blown away. Maybe they'll recall
a floral swirl of color on the hillside,
grandmothers shivering in shawls,
the giddy daylong banter
of classmates never seen again, except
as blurred and thickened versions
of themselves at a thirtieth reunion,
some time so far over the horizon's
sharp edge that it will feel
every bit as strange as these vans
parking now, these shining brothers
emerging, tugging at ill-knotted ties.
Another Damn Graduation Speech
I'll be brief,
in the sense that the Jurassic was brief
compared to the whole pre-Cambrian.
I will honor the sun
with my own glitter
and flares.
When I reach
for the stars it will
look just as dorky as it sounds:
fair warning,
at least, for anyone on this
hot seat in that future
which shall be yours.
Then I'll slip my minor key
into its noiseless lock
near the end,
the blessed end,
so often prayed for,
so seldom arrived at.
You'll know when my weighty boat
nears shore
by how my voice deepens
and s l o w s . . . .
Look for the requisite quotation
from Yogi Berra
or Martin Luther King--
that'll be another welcome buoy
marking our safe passage to harbor.
I won't give advice
except for
giving a little advice.
I'll tell a little tale
about my own graduation
and it will sound
funny to me, I'm sure.
I'll be sure about this,
sure about that,
but ultimately,
many questions will remain.
In conclusion,
and finally,
to sum it all up,
as Martin Luther King once said,
when you come to a fork
in the road,
take it.
Corks bobbing on the ritual waves
of talk, talk, talk, what will these glowing
children remember of today? Perhaps just
a windswept sky, gowns snapping
like flags and clinging to their legs,
lilac air full of words no sooner spoken
than blown away. Maybe they'll recall
a floral swirl of color on the hillside,
grandmothers shivering in shawls,
the giddy daylong banter
of classmates never seen again, except
as blurred and thickened versions
of themselves at a thirtieth reunion,
some time so far over the horizon's
sharp edge that it will feel
every bit as strange as these vans
parking now, these shining brothers
emerging, tugging at ill-knotted ties.
Another Damn Graduation Speech
I'll be brief,
in the sense that the Jurassic was brief
compared to the whole pre-Cambrian.
I will honor the sun
with my own glitter
and flares.
When I reach
for the stars it will
look just as dorky as it sounds:
fair warning,
at least, for anyone on this
hot seat in that future
which shall be yours.
Then I'll slip my minor key
into its noiseless lock
near the end,
the blessed end,
so often prayed for,
so seldom arrived at.
You'll know when my weighty boat
nears shore
by how my voice deepens
and s l o w s . . . .
Look for the requisite quotation
from Yogi Berra
or Martin Luther King--
that'll be another welcome buoy
marking our safe passage to harbor.
I won't give advice
except for
giving a little advice.
I'll tell a little tale
about my own graduation
and it will sound
funny to me, I'm sure.
I'll be sure about this,
sure about that,
but ultimately,
many questions will remain.
In conclusion,
and finally,
to sum it all up,
as Martin Luther King once said,
when you come to a fork
in the road,
take it.
©2018 David Graham
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF