Nearly There

Well, ConLaw II is down for the count.  As with the others, I though things went OK, but you can never be sure of such things.  I did well enough (I think) not to bomb the exam, and I can certainly have a law-student cocktail-party conversation on more aspects of constitutional law than I’d care to name.  But beyond that, I have to remind myself that I’m being largely graded on my ability to list X number of factors and apply them to the fact pattern on the exam.  So He or She whose X is largest, wins.  (Aside - every now and then I like perfect little iambic sentences like the previous one.)  It’s very American, in the worst way.  Or at least for me given the stutter-type glacial crawl that my fingers manage over the keyboard.  Actually, in spite of that I do OK.  It’s just frustrating to know what’s primarily holding you back and be unable to do anything about it.  (I say “primarily” because I am *not* under the delusion that I’m the best legal analyst/student/future advocate in any given class of mine.)

So – onto Corporations.  This one is going to be rough.  I have 36 hours till I begin my 4 hour closed book exam.  I plan on talking aloud to El Gato perfecto a lot. 

I was thinking about class privilege and work recently, so this seems a very appropriate study-poem for the evening:

  What Work Is

  We stand in the rain in a long line
  waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
  You know what work is--if you're
  old enough to read this you know what
  work is, although you may not do it.
  Forget you. This is about waiting,
  shifting from one foot to another.
  Feeling the light rain falling like mist
  into your hair, blurring your vision
  until you think you see your own brother
  ahead of you, maybe ten places.
  You rub your glasses with your fingers,
  and of course it's someone else's brother,
  narrower across the shoulders than
  yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
  that does not hide the stubbornness,
  the sad refusal to give in to
  rain, to the hours wasted waiting,
  to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
  a man is waiting who will say, "No,
  we're not hiring today," for any
  reason he wants. You love your brother,
  now suddenly you can hardly stand
  the love flooding you for your brother,
  who's not beside you or behind or
  ahead because he's home trying to
  sleep off a miserable night shift
  at Cadillac so he can get up
  before noon to study his German.
  Works eight hours a night so he can sing
  Wagner, the opera you hate most,
  the worst music ever invented.
  How long has it been since you told him
  you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
  opened your eyes wide and said those words,
  and maybe kissed his cheek? You've never
  done something so simple, so obvious,
  not because you're too young or too dumb,
  not because you're jealous or even mean
  or incapable of crying in
  the presence of another man, no,
  just because you don't know what work is.

Phil Levine

Comments

[Lyco]

I love that poem. Thank you for posting it.

[Steve S]

Yes, one of my favorites by Levine and also a favorite in general...

[zuska]

thank you for posting these poems. while bored to tears at work today, i read a few to ease my aching brain. a very nice break in the middle of the day.