'Write fourteen lines on Growing Up, a sonnet, '
the teacher told us, 'Don't forget the rhymes
must make a pattern; I've told you several times.
The subject's easy; you've all got ideas on it.'
Who does he think I am? Some second Milton?
Another Shakespeare? an Eliot? a Tennyson?
Compared to them, my mind's as dead as venison,
slightly less fresh than over-ripened Stilton.
'A poem's the equivalent in words
of something I once felt, ' the poet said.
Clues to another's feelings, like the sherds
of ancient pots, like jig-saws in the head.
A few curt words my feelings clearly tell,
one simple sentence - Growing up is hell.
I like it! It's true, growing up is hard. but most if you look at the bright side, it's also fun. I like the responses to what the teacher had said, it gives it emotion and the reader can relate. I can defintaly relate to the poem. But like i said, life is good and bad, you just gotta look at both sides. Great poem! Kat, =)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Quite simply briliant. I love the Milton/Stilton Tennyson/Venison rhymes and the way it explores the daunting feeling when trying to write a poem in form. The final line brings it neatly back to its intended theme. Very clever.