“You’ve
got no intestinal fortitude, Scoville,”
Coach advised me at lunch while I applied
butter to
my saltines Long ago I told a
required 8
0’clock composition class they
could
attend or not and let them grade
themselves.
Cowardice? Civil Disobedience?.
A class in
transcendental romanticism turned
the tables
on me, wrestled in the middle of the
room, did pirouettes
on the desk tops, laughed
and laughed.
From time to time no one will talk
the whole period.
Frontiers yet unknown.
First day teaching
at Warren Wilson,
basement
of Carson, late August, 1971:
I asked a
question and we sat silent
until 9:00 –ruminating. Contemplating.
O my
wondering, Considering. Deferring
response. Hesitating
to reduce. And
off to another class or work
or service.
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