Tag Archives: graduation

Yet Another Final Poem

Floor waterIn a blogging tradition that dates to the early Enlightenment-era philosophers, I post one poem on the last day of April to celebrate the end of Poetry Month. This poetry month, I wrote fourteen poems, a record mediocrity (which is the title of an upcoming collection). In any case, the following poem is dedicated to the Floor Water Collective (or my graduate cohort who shared/trashed an office this past year). They will be missed, by someone, probably.

Dear Future Occupants of Our Office,

A word of caution: the doors are untrustworthy
and you might get locked out, or worse, locked in,
or better, locked in with people you trust.

The coffee is best made from a garbage can
if you don’t want to stain our office (we
did), and the kettle is closest to an outlet
on the floor, which you should lie down on
listening to music when the world boils.

That will happen a lot, in and out of the office.
Our decorative rhetoric has remade it
a pilgrimage site for the curious and passionate,
as a reminder of what we used to be.

The office is exhausted inside and out,
but like us it’s used to being used as a means
of production, a clogged factory,
a closet of disconnected cogs, an easy target,
and inside the doors break, the floors are ant-trodden,
and everything is stained one way or another
with blood, sweat, coffee, tears, pizza sauce,
the list goes on. Whatever bright shine the office had
a year ago is now replaced with a language
that will be scrubbed away over summer.
It will look perfect again for you, but the flaws
are well-hidden in the design.

This office is a good place to go when the world
slams its many doors on you. It’s a good place
to have your heart and idealism broken,
to be comforted alone during your worst thoughts
on an uncomfortable couch under a friend’s blanket,
Future cohort, we dare you to match our worst days, to survive
the way we did, together, while our worlds boiled.

-jk

Once Upon a Time, Graduation Meant Something

Empty It finally happened. I graduated. I shook hands with the Dean of Arts and Letters and some of my favorite literature professors, and was handed a fancy diploma case for after the real one arrives in the mail. I went through the whole ritual, but when I left the Skydome amidst Flagstaff’s annual early-May snowstorm, I felt about as empty as the diploma case they gave me.

Most of my friends and family expect graduation to be a time of great joy, relief, sadness, and memory. I reflected on many things, but I tend to be reflective in general. For me, graduation offered no profundity. It was a mess of finding the right place, shaking the right hands, and enduring vague speeches about the future. Walking onto stage, having my name (and other information) announced, and receiving a diploma case should have been meaningful experiences, but I couldn’t keep myself from thinking that it was all a show.

Commencement was a self-congratulatory performance for the university, and the profiteering involved in the current education system was not only evident but ever-present. All students were required to have a cap and gown to participate in commencement, and the only way to obtain them, short of cheating and borrowing them from a friend, is to purchase them from a company; I was among those who cheated. After receiving an empty diploma case, students were ushered into two photo shoots. I was literally pulled into position, but I cannot get any of the photos taken unless I spend more money to purchase them. The commencement speeches had nothing to do with any of our own problems, our crippling student debts, an unnavigable job market, a scary world with an even scarier future. Instead, the speeches were about the university’s accomplishments, its growth and benefits, all at our expense.

College is no longer about advancing art and science and law; it’s become a business for the corporations benefiting from the on-campus dining, the corporations who make and sell caps and gowns, the construction companies profiting on new buildings the school can’t afford without cutting valuable tutoring and learning initiative programs. Education is one of the most important assets of the modern world, but the education system has become a method of exploitation.

All through commencement, I felt exploited. That’s not to suggest I did not receive an adequate education. Indeed, my professors exceeded my expectations, and they’ve changed me immeasurably. But college, as a system, profits regardless of anybody’s intellectual, scientific, artistic, political, technical, or social improvement. Instead, it encourages us to bankrupt ourselves so it can grow. In the end, NAU’s leaders do not care whether or not I graduate; they care about getting my money, and that realization hurts. I’m fortunate to have worked with professors who sincerely value their students’ collective improvement, to the point that they run themselves into the ground physically and emotionally by the end of each semester just to help us. But NAU, and the modern college-industrial complex, has done little, if anything, to contribute to its students’ intellectual improvements. I owe nothing to my university, but I do not blame it. This is a national pattern, and all of us are caught up in it. How long will it last? How long can it last before students realize that they are on a conveyer belt for the profit of private firms with no investment in literature, law, environmental science, political science, understanding globalization, or the development of compassion?

And now I’m going to pursue a graduate degree at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Now I’m plunging myself back into the factory.

Am I wrong about all this? Is it not the case that my friends have been placed on a conveyer belt for the past four years? For the next fifteen? Will the education system ever be returned to the hands of the educators and not the businesses? In a perfect world, the students gain more from a four-year program than the university they attend; we’ll never make it to a perfect world, but I think we deserve more than we’ve been given. We are more than crops with full pockets to harvest from. We are more than fruit to be drained and dried. We are scared, we are angry, we are curious, and we seek understanding. We are passionate and seek the means to express. We are knowledgeable and seek to use our knowledge. We deserve to be treated honestly about what we’ve been given, what we can do, and where we are going. Although I’m disappointed in my graduation, my university, and my country for voting the universities into such positions, I’m far from disheartened. Behind the curtain and the profiteering are professors who still work hard to teach and improve us. It is because of these professors that I have the means to express my discontent, and it is only through these means that I see any possibility for change.

-jk

The Best Advice From Four Years of College

Works

I now begin what will probably be numerous entries reflecting on the past four years of my life, as I near graduation and shores unknown. Be prepared for a lot of sentiment and confusion. For now, I’m going to let my peers and mentors tell you what I’ve learned; the following quotes are from the people who have inspired me in college, friends and professors and faculty. These little stones of thought cannot encapsulate my experience with the array of teachers I’ve met at college, but this mosaic, I hope, will be enough to show you the diverse voices I’ve had the honor of working with.

“Good writers are simultaneously gifted and burdened with insight and razor sharp observational skills, making them hypersensitive to the world around them. And believe me, if it doesn’t kill you, it will make you stronger.” -Professor Armstrong (Creative Nonfiction)

“There’s no one way to do feminist criticism, and at a certain point, no matter what an author does, somebody will call it bad. If a female protagonist is sexually independent and active, a critic will argue she’s being hypersexualized and that she’s a negative portrayal of women; if a female protagonist doesn’t participate in sex at all, another critic will say she’s being sexually repressed and is a negative portrayal of how women should act. And we should remember that there’s no one right answer.” -Professor Renner (Sci-Fi Literature)

“The kind of dizziness people felt when they talked to Socrates is what I feel now after learning and listening to everything around me and trying to take it all in. That kind of dizziness is good. It’s the beginning of a thought process.” -J.E. (friend and writer)

“Online research can be helpful, even digital humanities, even though saying that makes me cringe. But when it comes down to it, the best way a historian can conduct research, to put it one way, is to have boots on the ground. You have to go out and find your sources in person.” -Professor Reese (Islamic Reformist Movements)

“If the story I heard on the radio today about black holes is true, then nothing we do is important, and I’m okay with that.” -Fritz (friend and teacher)

“What will a discussion solve? We can have a really good discussion about history, but if we leave it inside the classroom, it’s just an exercise in academic masturbation.” -Professor Kalb (World War One)

“Everything is problematic. If I hear the word one more time, I’ll flip. Is it so bad to just enjoy a story?” -M.W. (friend and writer)

“Study literature, all literature. You’ll be poor, but you’ll be free.” -Professor Canfield (Postcolonial Literature)

“Stay calm. Just stay here and relax. It’s only an earthquake.” -Mayan spiritual leader

“Studies have already proven that reading literary fiction can make you more compassionate, and being compassionate is really the only hope for humanity.” -Professor Stalcup (Fiction Writing)

“You can only do what you can. We raised so much money for water for migrants; two hundred people are still going to die crossing the border this year.” -A.K. (friend and historian)

“Culture is really the driving force for any movement, and every movement has its own culture. Counter-culture is still culture, still follows the same rules and influences other cultures do.” -Professor Dakan (Resistance and Activism)

“Just asking questions and getting to know people, everyone, can help you out no matter where you go in the world.” -C.T. (friend and traveler)

“I don’t accept the nature of this world. But every so often something warrants a chuckle.” -E.V. (friend and poet)

“There’s no such thing as multitasking. True focus can’t be applied to multiple tasks at once. Everything you do on your phones while trying to listen to a lecture is called serial tasking.” -Professor Sullivan (Asian Mysticism)

“You can do a lot with a B.A. in English. Or one can. You, maybe not.” -Barb (friend and boss)

“Maybe we should stop defining women’s rights so superficially, like whether or not they wear a burqa, and look at bigger-picture issues, like education or healthcare. These are strong, resilient women who survived up to thirty years of war. Let’s treat them as such.” -Professor Martin (Afghanistan)

“A lot of us treat romantic love like it’s a really new thing that somehow never existed in the ancient world. But look at the wording these playwrights use. Look at the anguish and loneliness. I think this is proof that they had a concept of romantic love, similar to ours, at least in ancient Athens. What does that say about humans? About us?” -Professor Kosso (Ancient Athenian Democracy)

“Fuck off.” -E.N. (my muse)

 

Poem: Cantata for the End

It’s National Poetry Month, and by tradition I endeavor to write one poem every day during April. I won’t specify how many days I’ve missed, but I’ve written more poetry than usual this month. Here is an example of the kind of thing I write when I have ten thousand final projects due plus graduation in only a few weeks.

Lovely Sunset

 

This is it.
The curtain is falling, the fruit is molding,
the milk is curdling, the kidneys are failing.
This is the last sunset before we dive into a bomb shelter.
This is Dr. Nietzsche standing over God’s hospital bed,
looking at his watch and preparing his declaration.

All the unresolved chords are clamoring in ecstasy,
and the caps are falling on graduates like rain.

This is the last-minute cancellation of the Resurrection.
This is a black hole on its way to work.
This is Eternity hanging up the phone.

The end is near enough to kiss
but time has not accommodated
all that is still left to accomplish,
the everythings still on the shelf,
how many alltogethernows are waiting on the rim,
the countless curiosities that are yet unraveled.

There is still the Pope looking into the fridge,
there is Steinbeck sitting at a bus stop,
there is Elie Wiesel shaking his head,
there are neverminds to bury
and sleepwells to evaluate,
a whole patchwork quilt of deadline half-life.

So this is it, a cacophony of goodbyes
and the past stuffed into a sarcophagus.
This is wiping the lipstick off the collar
even with so much desire left.
This is us mapping the final frontier,
buttoning up our coats,
and walking out the door into the wind
for the last time.

-jk

Photo (La Jolla, California) generously donated by the marvelous travelers at Keene Short Photography. Poem copyrighted work of Keene Short, 2015.