mummy, mummy,
who invented school?


oh, sweetheart,
what a clever girl you are;
why don't you tell me first
who you think invented school?


I think, mummy,
school must have been invented
it must be by people
like old grumpy Uncle Grim
next door;
and the grouchy Aunty Scowl
who lives behind our house


oh no, darling,
oh no, not at all:
O darling,
wise men and women
of the past
they invented school


oh, mummy,
they couldn't
have been wise
not if you went to school
and see what happens in class;
surely those men and women
of the past
couldn't have been wise
if they created places
where little kids are tested
every three days;
and little John thinks he's stupid
and little Sue says she'd rather
stay at home and sleep;
and Tua and Helen are always
tense and nervous
and Chandra snores while the teacher talks



oh no -
oh, no darling,
oh no,
it's not like that at all:
O darling,
they were wise and all-knowing
those
sage men and women
of the past
who invented school
so little children like you and your friends
can go and learn all you need to know



but why mummy,
why a school?
is it because daddy and you
and grandma and grandpa
you know nothing and
you can't teach me
what I need to know?*



oh, no darling,
oh no not at all;
O darling,
you must listen to mummy -
wise men and women
of the past
most certainly
they invented school

you ask if I will not write
a love song for you
if I will not sing of true love
and your beauty and tenderness;
you ask if I will not
hold out the stars to you
and sing of fictions like the soul
and the moon's sway over our eternal beings;
no, sweetheart -
I will not gather roses from the verse of centuries
and I will not hold out to you the songs of yore
and thoughts and conceits repeated
until the very lies have become the truth -
but of true love always I shall sing for you
O sweetheart mine who in my company endures
ordinary words and no stardust rhetoric;
O sweet and innocent love
a true love song I sing always for you;
inherited verses and worn-out conventions
I renounce before you;
and in my song
there are no
hand-me-down ways in love and passed-on ideas
no hyperbole and no sweet lies and fantasies
but I sing a true song of love
a true song of love I sing for you -
O beloved mine who has to do
without the routine verses

there is desire
and there is the flesh
there is nature
and there are the compulsive drives
and there are you and I
and the life given us these years

and so I sing my true love song for you
sweetest beloved;
you dearest beloved
who endures my ordinary words
for you I sing,
O you so cherished and much beloved,
my true love song
always for you
who have to do
without the routine verses

hey - do you ha, ha?
I know many of you
fall in love
and make love
and do pa pa and ma ma -
but hey, do you ha, ha?

and there’s that crazy woman
who thinks she’s a Lady
and she goes ga, ga;
and some men in black
who go nuts
and go rat-a-tat
but dump them, forget them
and think about you -
well, just how often do you ha, ha
and he, he, ha, ha,
a **, **, ** and a ha, ha, ha
and la, la, di, di, da, da
and tra la la la and ha, ha, ha, ha,
he he he hoo hoo ha ha ha?

you have some animals
go moo moo
some go baa baa
and some busy with zzzz…zzzz…zzzz…
some creatures might make sa sa sa
or ssss…ssss...ssss….
and you yourself may
go la, la, or tchk! tchk! tchk!
or you might go vroom! vroom! vroom!
but do you - honestly, do you ha, ha?
well, just how often do you ha, ha
and he, he, ha, ha,
a **, **, ** and a ha, ha, ha
and la, la, di, di, da, da
and tra la la la and ha, ha, ha, ha,
he he he hoo hoo ha ha ha?

so - do you *ha, ha?

Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree.
I think you’re standing
on my feet.

Oh,* said the man
and moved a little
and sat leaning
against the tree.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree,
but your sweat’s
on my trunk.

Oh, said the man
and he climbed up
the tree
to some way off the ground.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree,
but you’re in my arms
and you’re not my baby.


Oh, said the man
and he moved up
a little more
and rested well in a nest.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree,
you shouldn’t make
your home here;
I think it’s time
for you to move on.



Oh...right, said the man.
Let it be so.
And he climbed
down the tree.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree.
I don’t think
you need to water me!


Oh, said the man
zipping up his pants.
*Then I suppose
it’s time for me to go.

why are you vegetarian?
the friend asked
don't you like chicken and burgers?



dear friend*
I said
*it is all just how I relate to life and the world;
I look at a tree and at the clouds and I see their beauty;
I meet you and I am happy to sit and talk about things;
I see the animals and creatures
and I admire the way of each
and am awed by the uniqueness of each...
that is simply the way I relate to the world

no, let's not step
into the mud of labels
and stereotypes
and pronouncements and revelations
and fixed descriptions
and prescriptions
and easy categories;
let's step out of that baptism;
let's see instead
fresh and new and clear;
mostly we glide through life
lolly-coated with projections
and consolations
and mental formations
our minds programed from day one
on spinning earth;
let's, instead, if possible,
be still a moment
and see what actually is

my story will wander far and wide
(as I myself do in my later life)
in strange lands and strange tongues
though strangeness never surprises me;
and through centuries many will hear my story
and watch an enactment, on stage or in other visual ways,
and perhaps many will dismiss the story
many might find it banal and strange
a tale from a savage and mythic past
and perhaps some will stand on grounds of purity
and wonder that the story of Oedipus should even be remembered;
and perhaps physicians of the mind
might even analyze the symbolism -
but surely, surely
all who hear it will feel a discomfort
an itch,
an echo
a nagging question or two:
*why? what does Oedipus mean?
why is this remembered?