Cruel to be kind
Cruel to be kind
This month's Writing magazine informs me that February 17th is Random Acts of Kindness Day, and suggests writing a poem where the narrator has to be cruel to be kind. The prompts reminded me of a very particular event.
Course mates
But not yet a couple,
You hand me your work,
And a red pen - joking
"Do your worst!"
Later, on my own, I take it up,
Read it through quickly,
Sighing. Then,
Read past the misspellings,
The bad punctuation,
The ungrammatical sentence structure,
To mine the seam of gold underneath.
I remind myself that your tutor
(Who does not love you)
Won't take the time, the trouble
To seek out this kernel.
Will give up,
Throw their hands in the air
Throw your hidden gems
On the pile marked F
Without a moment's qualm.
With love, with kindness
I pick up the red pen,
Begin slowly, choosing
When to change,
When to make a note in the margin,
When to suggest a different phrase or word order
(Different, never better).
As I get into it,
I become bolder, more convinced
I'm being cruel to be kind.
I make more suggestions,
Crossings out, introduce arrows to reorder
Your stream of consciousness prose.
I suddenly think of the editor
Who proof read To the Lighthouse
And blush at my audacity -
Before remembering this is science coursework
Not a daring new art form.
When it's done,
And checked to detect any apparent insult,
Unintended patronising, or lingering pedantry,
I tell you it's ready:
"Obviously these are just suggestions,
Feel free to ignore them if you disagree",
I hand it to you,
Scared my honesty will lose me your good will,
Lose me the possibility of your love.
Such a relief, when you smile
And understand:
Your insight and perception
Is revealed by my grammar school attention to detail;
We make a good team.
I still have that red pen.
I still have you.
© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
This month's Writing magazine informs me that February 17th is Random Acts of Kindness Day, and suggests writing a poem where the narrator has to be cruel to be kind. The prompts reminded me of a very particular event.
Course mates
But not yet a couple,
You hand me your work,
And a red pen - joking
"Do your worst!"
Later, on my own, I take it up,
Read it through quickly,
Sighing. Then,
Read past the misspellings,
The bad punctuation,
The ungrammatical sentence structure,
To mine the seam of gold underneath.
I remind myself that your tutor
(Who does not love you)
Won't take the time, the trouble
To seek out this kernel.
Will give up,
Throw their hands in the air
Throw your hidden gems
On the pile marked F
Without a moment's qualm.
With love, with kindness
I pick up the red pen,
Begin slowly, choosing
When to change,
When to make a note in the margin,
When to suggest a different phrase or word order
(Different, never better).
As I get into it,
I become bolder, more convinced
I'm being cruel to be kind.
I make more suggestions,
Crossings out, introduce arrows to reorder
Your stream of consciousness prose.
I suddenly think of the editor
Who proof read To the Lighthouse
And blush at my audacity -
Before remembering this is science coursework
Not a daring new art form.
When it's done,
And checked to detect any apparent insult,
Unintended patronising, or lingering pedantry,
I tell you it's ready:
"Obviously these are just suggestions,
Feel free to ignore them if you disagree",
I hand it to you,
Scared my honesty will lose me your good will,
Lose me the possibility of your love.
Such a relief, when you smile
And understand:
Your insight and perception
Is revealed by my grammar school attention to detail;
We make a good team.
I still have that red pen.
I still have you.
© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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