Induction day

(observations of a mature student)
Induction day. A bright modern building.

Overwhelming crowd of young faces -

all beautiful. My fringe, I hope, is shielding

my wrinkles safely.
My heart embraces

this place as the place of all places

as my abode for the next three years,

and in an instant every wall endears

this place to me as if it is a new

fresh canvas - I will paint on it my future.
The past receives my cordial grand ‘adieu’.

I love these walls and hope the love is mutual.

I’m glad that other places turned me down.

They must have sensed some mischief and were scared.

It’s their loss, as far as I’m aware.
Auditorium. In multitude I drown.

I’m scanning students and the bunch of teachers,

or rather lectures. In art they are the preachers

of the spiritual.
The Head is a professor,

but looks too young, too handsome for the role.

There is no hint in him of an oppressor,

and, thankfully, my heart is in control.

Besides, at this age men have wives, -

I won’t be ever wrecking people lives!

I’m a Christian, I dare not to sin,

but still a sinful nature springs within

and makes me joke.
Jokes are my chance
to fight the life’s dullness and enhance

existence by whatever known means,

and ready for exploits, I’m full of beans.
From sinful nature’s natural distraction

my mind goes back to the induction.

Well-meaning, nice, but boring welcome speeches –
a ticking boxes’ type. Just a procedure

that one must follow.
They tells us what’s in store

for students, and what are the Uni’s features

and who is who, and what is what…
It ends before

my mind from the speeches’ dullness screeches.

I might entertain them one day

and introduce some qualities of play.
Oh, no, no! Isn’t it enough

to have a reputation of a daft?

I am away from the Foundation course

and from the tutor with a magic smile

that once distracted me, without denial,

and prompted poetry - to compensate for life’s prose

and empty nights, but now I will of course

be prudent, cautious.
That smile did beguile

and turned me on – immediate impact,

but here so far no male hacked

into my mind and unlocked its code.

My heart is not in a perilous mode.
So, I will steer clear of frustration.

I have to keep a watch: imagination

is dangerous sometimes for my lyre.

I don’t want to have a reputation

of tutors’ smiles a serial admirer.
We’re divided into groups and led upstairs.

There is an option of a lift. Who cares?

It’s only four floors, and I’m sporty –

I’m fifty one but look about forty,

as I was told already by some students

to whom I had already some imprudence

to tell my age – who pulled me by my tongue?

It’s no difference to them, for I belong
by their rates to ancient generations –

and I’ll remain for them an aberration.
The studio is bare – just some chairs.

No tables, no blackboard, no computers.

Two rather scruffy kind-looking tutors.

The tutor with a mane slightly scares -

perhaps, his past is paved with broken hearts.

I hope quietly that he is just as skilled
in the domain of training us for arts.
His colleague leaves my woman’s feelings still.

He’s sporting stubble, but the first, the other
appears neglected in his grubby jeans.

They talk to us as if they were our fathers

and reassure us.
I’m feeling in my teens

and by the minute more and more at ease.
They seem to know how to appease

our natural anxiety.
The tutors,

they are to guide our minds, to impute us

with their knowledge and their expertise.

I should be careful with tendencies to tease

and to divert their minds into spheres

beyond tutorials, beyond the course ideas.

I guess, there is no point here to dress

in sexy clothes or trying to impress,

because, in any case, paints stain -

I don’t want the cleaning clothes’ pain!

Somehow this explains the tutor’s way

of choosing old jeans for his display.
The tutors, kindly diffusing students’ fear

of the unknown, are now obliged to impart

the study program (for the entire year)

and what should be expected for a start

in our studies of the Fine Art.

No life drawing, alas! Oh, well, it will deprive

me of some pleasures, but I will survive.

Apologetically the tutors tell

that in the past attendance was a hell

to deal with, thus they had to scrap

the lessons and to fill the gap

with other things.
And then they inform

about a trip to Athens, the reform

of usual arrangements making cheap

the trip for those who have troubles to afford

because the students now have to sleep

not in a hotel but in youth hostels board.

I hope, my friends in Athens will be there,

when trip is planed, and could provide care.

We will have time for fun, but we should bear

in mind, as the tutors say, it is a study trip
foremost and so, we mustn't skip

what was pre-planned for us.
OK, OK,

I did not plan to skip this anyway –

it would be silly to miss out on some chances

of sending to my tutors teasing glances.
They talk to us about our work.

No student seems to shudder or to irk.

A cosy small group - there’s an advantage,

the scruffy tutor states, because they could

provide a better training: they would manage

more time individually.
That sounds good.

My tutor looks at me. We are allies,

his eyes tell.
I quickly analyse
the warmness’ level in his lovely eyes:

it must be harmless - a parental style.

It seems, not predatory. Surely, I’ll cope.

I think, I will be safe with this smile,

though I’m not so certain what I've hoped.
21-22 September 2011

Метки: Induction