Graduation Poem 2012

15 04 2012

by Bheki Mhlanga and Mary Hui

Once upon an arrival time
For the first time I got searched like I commited a crime
Security measured measures and my temperature
strange smiling adolescents herded me into the boiling
hot humid temperature

Orientation Week – didn’t it feel like summer camp?
Hours of smiling and learning new names,
A bit of camping, playing lots of games.
Disoriented, maybe – but we felt somewhat reassured.
We told ourselves, ‘We’ll survive, for sure!’

These teachers are so strange,
they don’t ask me to take notes, ask me for homework; nothing.
This is quite a change.
I can call them by their first names, class ends at 1.30, this is lounging!

Then China Week came along
No typhoon can keep us in Hong Kong.
To Yangshuo, Nanning and different tribes we go
Through the week did many friendships grow.

I don’t understand the story but the dances are great!
Dress crazy dress formal eat food and pay
Music night and cafe

How many meals have we shared in the canteen?
Getting creative with our DIY cuisine.
Stealing fruits, not wearing shoes
Raymond we love you, though sometimes you’re not too amused.

For this part teachers cover your ears
we do unspeakble things on chinese new year
like celebrate chinese culture, red packets on the loose
some travelling,  singing, dancing and drink a bit of Juice

The long awaited Project Week is here
We work, explore and share with our peers
What a meaningful week! we all declare
But then we ask, am I just a touristy sightseer?

The end of first year is really surreal
sad? happy? i don’t know what to feel
I want to go home, and see my family and friends
but does this mean my new friendships have come to to their ends?

Now it’s time for the first years to come
They’re so small, they’re so young!
We miss our second years, that’s the honest truth
But we have to help the firsties, and make their transition smooth.

Aaaaaah what is this!
EE IA TOk PG Uni apps
how will I catch up on all the sleep I miss
dont come to LPC second year, third term it’s all a trap!

Two-thirty in the courtyard, the SCC reminds us
Ah, college meetings – what do we discuss?
Awards, canteen ware and the internet ban
Sorry college meetings, we’re not your biggest fans.

Flying into south east asia like an economy class boss
sun, sand, city,dirt, turtles, service or chill and gather moss
Until I realize this might be the last time i take a glimpse, a peek
into a different life on a project on project week.

Now we start to do some counting down.
Final this, final that
It’s not long before we’re no longer around.
It’s nearly the end that we’ve arrived at.

But we’re not quite there yet,
still exams, reflections , canteen parties,  we can’t skip a beat
standing here looking at you all my friends tears are a threat
so lets keep calm, listen to some speeches and eat

Playback we haven’t forgotten you
LPC, that was for you.


I dwell in Possibility…

22 06 2011

Poetry? Blehh. I don’t like it, I don’t understand it, and I’d rather stay away from it.

At least that’s what I used to think – until I met Ruth Padel.

I didn’t actually meet Ruth Padel personally. I read her two books, 52 Ways of Looking At A Poem and 60 Poems For The Journey Of Life. As I immersed myself in the books, I realised how interesting poetry could be. Poems are full of life, meaning, inspiration…and movement.

How is poetry movement? There are words dancing down and across the page. Sounds flicker and ricochet throughout. Colours weave in and out. Vivid images are projected. Each poem is a journey. We might read it linearly from beginning to end, but I don’t think the poem itself is as simple as that. Good poems are more like spirals. They twirl, twist, swivel, spin. They are interlocking journeys of thoughts, feelings, associations, images, as Ruth Padel puts it.

Where does all this winding and whirling lead to? Truth, I think: “the spiraling dance and winding stair are poetry’s road to truth”. But here’s the thing – truths can lie. Paradoxical? Not really. The poem can lie, but the lies are true to what the poet “sees, feels, imagines”. Truths in the poem can also contradict each other, but that’s the whole point.

Do you have no contradictions? Then you have no possibilities.

Czech author Vladimir Holan

That’s probably what’s most exciting about poems. They’re full of new possibilities and inspiration. Poems embody the possibilities of seeing new truths.

I dwell in Possibility–
A fairer House than Prose–
More numerous of Windows–
Superior–for Doors–                                 Emily Dickinson

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