A poem by Edward Lucie-Smith
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The Lesson
"Your father's gone," my bald headmaster said. His shining dome and brown tobacco jar Splintered at once in tears. It wasn't grief. I cried for knowledge which was bitterer Than any grief. For there and then I knew That grief has its uses -- that a father dead Could bind a bully's fist a week or two; And then I cried for shame, then for relief. I was a month past ten when I learnt this: I still remember how the noise was stilled In school-assembly when my grief came in. Some goldfish in a bowl quietly sculled Around their shining prison on its shelf. They were indifferent. All the other eyes Were turned towards me. Somewhere in myself Pride, like a goldfish, flashed a sudden fin. Edward Lucie-Smith Edward Lucie-Smith was editor of many poetry anthologies and other important references (such as EXPERIMENTAL POETRY: 1, A PRIMER). See various web pages (including a page at Shergood Forest). This poem was found online at thestar.com's website with a nice explication discussing grief and childhood.
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