Poetry: Please, Can I Sue for Damages?

PLEASE, CAN I SUE FOR DAMAGES?

Having reached the age of wisdom,

I thought nothing would surprise me.

Not a coming of Messiah.

Not a new rise in the prices.

Nor—God help me!—just a teacher.

Still, we’re young as long as we can marvel.

That I did. As she came in.

Lesson one. Phonetics. That was

What we were expecting.

Not a model in the spotlights.

Not Her Majesty the Queen.

Nor a succubus incarnate.

Not exactly. That I grant you.

Just a lady phonetician.

NOT a lady à la Vogue.

Were the others stricken down?

Ask them. I, for one, was not prepared:

Such a beauty—in a classroom!

She’s the one to teach us.

What a present!

Dawn was breaking in my head.

Dusty classrooms? Eden’s gardens!

Whether Eve was even prettier…

It’s for pundits to resolve.

(I’ve a hunch Eve wasn’t all that charming…

Otherwise it’s Adam Serpent would have handled.)

Were their looks found equal,

Eve would lose the contest all the same:

Omnia vincit amor,

Amor (Russian sets the gender right)

Was the name of the instructress.

(Wasn’t it perhaps the pull of name alone

That made Paris single Venus out?)

Still, it’s trite enough in Russian.

Not an asset in itself.

What I’m driving at is

Her enunciation and the timbre of her voice.

(All the sex appeal of Mona Lisa

Down the drain would go unless

True to image did she speak.)

Well, at last I heard a lady

Speaking English, Queen’s.

Not the rag I’d heard around,

Swelled the chorus, forced to speak, myself.

Do I have to spell my feelings out?

Ah, in short, it clinched the case.

And for me it made the headlines,

Sky-high, for I was surprised,

Flabbergasted, if you will.

Let us hope a few of like surprises

Life still has in store for us.

Otherwise, till Judgment Day

It’s a bit too long a stretch.

That was all I thought then.

Now I wonder, for, you see,

That surprise was not the last.

Nor the least, alas.

Day by day she taught us English.

Day by day… Routine. And yet

Such a splendid teacher was she

All the students made some progress

(Dubious? Well, but surely none regressed.),

But on me she cast a spell.

Why the others proved immune to voodoo’s

Hard to say, and anyway

It’s too early for conclusions.

Wait and see. But as for me…

I’m a lost man. For you see..

“Comrades, you must be more rhythmical,

Still more rhythmical,” she urged.

Has she rammed her message home?

Large as life and twice as devastating!

Wish she hadn’t cast her spell, recast my soul, so that

Struggle as I may and beg for mercy—all’s in vain!

Overnight I find myself obsessed by rhythm.

All I do is versifying,

Lost my sleep, look like a zombie.

Rhythm can be such a burden!

Still, it’s not so bad. I will survive.

Only one thought still is nagging at me…

Should she, cards consulted, teach me yet to rhyme

(Guardian angel, your job! Up and at it!),

Then I’ll be a goner, worth at best a dime.

Alexander V Demidov

9 November 1988