The narrator and the author are never the same

15 November 2006

Feel free to make of that what you will, but it blew my hair back yesterday. The narrator of everything ever written, but especially fiction, is always a construct of the author. Or something.

Anyway, I’ll just be a slacker and repost something today, because I haven’t yet written the post on how, at my house, burning propane makes my beer cold.

Via Uncertain Principles a poem about academia by Tom Wayman, of whom I had never heard until I read this post:

Did I Miss Anything

Tom Wayman

Originally from: The Astonishing Weight of the Dead.
Vancouver: Polestar, 1994.

Question frequently asked by
students after missing a class

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 per cent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 per cent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring this good news to all people
on earth

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human existence
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered

but it was one place

And you weren’t here

Ponder. And if you really enjoy science, it’s good for you to occaisionally wander into a well-taught lecture on literary theory.
Be seeing you.

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