Like A Teapot

Geography Lesson
by Brian Patten

Our teacher told us one day he would leave the school
And sail across a warm blue sea
To places he had only known from maps,
And all his life had longed to be.

The house he lived in was narrow and gray
But in his mind's eye he could see
Sweet-scented jasmine clambering up the walls,
And green leaves burning on an orange tree.

He spoke of the lands he longed to visit,
Where it was never drab or cold.
And I couldn't understand why he never left,
And shook off our school's stranglehold.

Then half-way through his final term
he took ill and he never returned.
And he never got to that place on the map
Where the green leaves of the orange trees burned.

The maps were pulled down from the classroom wall;
His name was forgotten, it faded away.
But a lesson he never knew he taught
Is with me to this day.

I travel to where the green leaves burn,
To where the ocean's glass-clear and blue,
To all those places my teacher taught me to love -
But which he never knew.

Today I read a poem that touches a nerve. Tears welled up in my eyes, just as when I was watching a documentary on Icelandic environmental refugees who emigrated to Canada at the turn of 20th century, just as when I saw the Bulgarian young man in the award-winning film East-West (France-Russia-Spain-Bulgaria, 1999) swimming to freedom in the Stalin era.

I have travelled. I have struggled. It is not easy to fulfill one's dreams and go see places. It is not easy to be a new immigrant. Hardship abound on the road. Barriers to overcome before and after departure. It takes a lot.

It is sad that the teacher in the poem never took off. I am glad I did.

He sounded the same as before
Which I much like
In fact he said he loved me
Just as clearly
As if he were never away

But he was away
In a mysterious way
I can feel his warmth
But also my standoffishness
Still, I am being hurried