Summer
09-08-2005, 09:24 PM
Has anyone heard of the poem 'Examiner', by F.R. Scott? Well i need to find some allusions in the poem, but i can't see any. This poem was written not recently and the way of writing poems should be different now, but I don't read poems so I don't know how it has changed. Someone, please help me.
This is the poem:
Examiner
F.R. Scott
The routine trickery of the examination
Baffles these hot and discouraged youths.
Driven by they know not what external pressur
They pour their hated self-analysis
Through the nib of confession, onto the accusatory page.
I, who have plotted their immediate downfall,
I am entrusted with the divine categories,
ABCD and the hell of E,
The parade of prize and the backdoor of pass.
In the tight silence Standing by a green windo
Watching the fertile earth graduate its sons
With more compassion-not commanding the shape
Of stem and stamen, bringing the trees to pass
By shift of sunlight and increase of rain,
For each seed the whole soil, for the inner life
The environment receptive and contributory-
I shudder at the narrow frames of our text-book schools
In which we plant our so various seedlings.
Each brick-walled barracks
Cut into numbered rooms, black-boarded,
Ties the venturing shoot to the master stick;
The screw-desk rows of lads and girls
Subdued in the shade of anadult-
Their acid subsoil-
Shape the new to the old in the ashen garden.
Shall we open the whole skylight of thought
To those tiptoe minds, bring them our frontier worlds
And the boundless uplands of art for their field of growth?
Or shall we pass them the chosen poems with the foot- notes,
Ring the bell on their thoughts, period their play,
Make laws for averages and plans for means,
Print one history book for a whole probince, and
Let ninety thousand read page 10 by Tuesday?
As I gather the inadequate paper evidence, I hear
Across the neat campus lawn
The professional mowers drone, clipping the inch-high green.
This is the poem:
Examiner
F.R. Scott
The routine trickery of the examination
Baffles these hot and discouraged youths.
Driven by they know not what external pressur
They pour their hated self-analysis
Through the nib of confession, onto the accusatory page.
I, who have plotted their immediate downfall,
I am entrusted with the divine categories,
ABCD and the hell of E,
The parade of prize and the backdoor of pass.
In the tight silence Standing by a green windo
Watching the fertile earth graduate its sons
With more compassion-not commanding the shape
Of stem and stamen, bringing the trees to pass
By shift of sunlight and increase of rain,
For each seed the whole soil, for the inner life
The environment receptive and contributory-
I shudder at the narrow frames of our text-book schools
In which we plant our so various seedlings.
Each brick-walled barracks
Cut into numbered rooms, black-boarded,
Ties the venturing shoot to the master stick;
The screw-desk rows of lads and girls
Subdued in the shade of anadult-
Their acid subsoil-
Shape the new to the old in the ashen garden.
Shall we open the whole skylight of thought
To those tiptoe minds, bring them our frontier worlds
And the boundless uplands of art for their field of growth?
Or shall we pass them the chosen poems with the foot- notes,
Ring the bell on their thoughts, period their play,
Make laws for averages and plans for means,
Print one history book for a whole probince, and
Let ninety thousand read page 10 by Tuesday?
As I gather the inadequate paper evidence, I hear
Across the neat campus lawn
The professional mowers drone, clipping the inch-high green.