I slouch into my class, bowed by the brute,
apocalyptic shock. No student's eyes
forsake the glowing screen; the sound is mute.
Their center, Yeats's vatic lines forewarn, flies
...
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I also taught class on that September 12th. I drove to work like a zombie. I expected the parking lot to be a desert but had to circle for a quarter hour to find a place. The choir was rehearsing a piece called For Our Country. The text was written by a Methodist minister who was an outspoken war protester in Japan during WWII. I asked the group to sing the piece for themselves and they did with every dropp of blood that flowed through their collective heart!
A version of this sonnet about 9/11 appeared on the first page of the International Who's Who In Poetry a couple of years ago.
Scene: Teaching literature course, University of Hartford,9/11-9/12.
Exegesis unneeded, praise redundant.. Can I post this on the forum.. Thanks WfD.. just about to... jim
Aside to Robert Howard: Add this to poignancy: almost one-third of students at the University of Hartford came from the New York- New Jersey area; the only exchange occurred in the hall before class: a young man reported that Sarah ____ 's mother perished in Tower I, and asked permission to keep his cell-phone on because his uncle was missing. The soundless replay was mesmerizing, ineradicable.