SELECTED POEMS ACCORDING TO THEMES THAT RUN ACROSS PUBLISHED WORKS
PART II: Superseded -- a poem for Lady Lovelace
PART III: Max More & Alan Turing
On using a Kindle for the first time
Faint whiff of air
on eyelids, cheekbones
and the tip of your nose
when you measure what's read...
and what's left
between finger and thumb.
Bookmarks: autumn leaf.
Punched ticket from a train trip.
Small love note. Cigarette packet foil
with a telephone number embossed on it.
Flaws: fish moth; suntan oil stain;
tear drop or rain; dog ear (a sin!);
hand-written note scribbled in the margin.
Choice – of hard or soft cover,
fonts that fit the story's mood,
spine stitched or glued?
Anchors. A date, place
and birthday wish on page 2.
Smells escape. Take you back
to Sunday afternoon blues.
Fairytales and faith.
For Howard and Marleen
Thirty degrees south in steaming heat
I stumble towards laptop, creased from sleep,
first virtual conference begging:
construct from walk-in closet on the screen
(while dunking rusks in rooibos tea)
a sassy chic in a boyish suit –
the me that delegates should rather meet.
Settled in, keyboards clicking, hello chirps sift
like small soft feathers onto my screen:
fellow delegates wrapped in scarves
sipping Ceylon and Darjeeling
report they are all snowed in.
Proceedings begin, keynote speaker greets in video,
speaks of learning through play,
to do things in a different way.
Ways of the future? Audience spell-bound,
all bodes well for orderly beginnings.
Then, while the presenter is still speaking
like the
first
plump
raindrop
on a thirsty plane
someone posts a comment for everyone to see
...and everyone jumps in – a cloudburst of text
pours across the savannah of my flat screen:
cryptic thoughts, critique, opinions.
I wait for the chair to call for order, instead
she picks up on some points, passes it on,
the speaker fields questions in between.
Squeezed against my comfort zone's seams,
I lurk and learn...
then leap in,
abandoning manners meant for
face to face ways of being –
download read text furiously field emails
welcome an unexpected guest at the door dash to the corner store do a few chores soothe a child on my lap, blog a few lines keep my boss happy feed a family (and the cats) upload pics to a photostream, tweet in between --
lost in layers of learning,
new ways of being.
Eight days later at close of proceedings
time is announced for conference dinner.
Bandwidth kaput, multitasked out,
I sip solo sundowners South, swat mosquitoes
in the breeze of mangoes and sea.
North, delegates settle snug under eiderdown...
while somewhere in the cyber sky
their avatars in Second Life stilettos
dance and play the night away.
Artemis*, you trawl down trails,
navigate by scent and spoor
of Snow Leopard and Firefox*.
In the cloud round towers and huts
friends and rivals lurk and play.
In this web you hunt ideas.
Dreams adorned by Blackberries*,
you're always watched...never lost.
*Artemis: The divine huntress is the Greek goddess of the wild, childbirth, and protector of young girls.
*Snow Leopard: Apple Mac computer operating system
*Firefox: a web browser
*Blackberry: a mobile phone brand popular among tweens and teens
For Gita
it's dark here in jasmine scent
wooden slats are semi-drawn
the garden holds its breath:
enclosed in swirls of orange light
a long, fine brush dips in black ink
writes rhythmically from right to left
a silent pledge on ivory curves
from coccyx to the base of neck
Fingertapping the iPad screen
I zip through Tolstoy,
grateful for the absence of weight
and being less crowded in.
But if I were
hopscotch playing Hana in Tuscany,
entering the villa's dark library
I'd choose...Ana Karenina. Or – War and Peace
in its fullest, heaviest leather-bound form –
on my way up to bathe the burnt body
and read to soothe the English patient's* soul,
I'd wedge a volume or two as steps
in the bombarded staircase's gaping holes.
*The English Patient is Michael Ondaatje's Booker Prize winning novel.
man alone, reading,
his iPad glows in the dark –
no paper rustling
spring outing with friends,
teenagers' fingers clicking:
blackberry picking
dinner is ready –
they settle round the TV,
praying mantises
while he wears headphones
the music of thunderstorms
sails by silently
midnight bedroom sky
gleam with electronic eyes...
haiku help me sleep
I got by until I was thirty three,
index fingers searching for keys,
cricking my neck or clinging to memory
to quote from the text to my left.
Then I saw him.
For all my years, other professors
stood suited in front.
We circled
behind his chair.
(He wore his hair in a ponytail,
shaved it for CANSA* each year.
Confessed to dyslexia.
Kept his small sons near
while proctoring exams
for which we could not crib.
Projects were deliciously outrageous:
Crack the code -- leave graffiti
on the virtual classroom's walls;
Build a hypertext float for RAG*; Or,
Make a memorable project to show
how learning could be made
more memorable."
We did them all. Guinea pig M Eds*
in the Wild West Web.)
Where was I? Hands...
he typed, that day --
fingers flying over the keys
like bolts of light.......bulbs went on
in my head.
I want to do THAT.
He gave us a reading that said,
the hands and feet of genius
is automaticity.*
Back at the office,
first ten minutes of my day
I did touch-type drills
to master my moves with QWERTY,
free memory. No more
two-fingered fumbling.
While reading a text, I jive my fingers
jiggle the HOTS*; make eye contact
over the screen in droning meetings,
writing-juggling rhythmically
essays-theses-poetry.
* CANSA: the Cancer Association of South Africa
* RAG: student fundraising for charity
* Bloom, B.S. 1986. The hands and feet of genius. "Automaticity". Educational
Leadership. February 1986. 70-77.
* M Eds: Master's of Education students
* HOTS: Higher Order Thinking Skills