A Gay/campy chronicling of daily life in NYC,with individual kernels of human truth. copyright 2011 by The Raving Queen
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Girls, Every Positive Step Forward Is A Little More Piece Of Justice For Tyler!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Darlings, I never thought my past would converge with Tyler Clementi, and yet in an odd way, it has. Let me explain. You all know of my dedication to his cause, his quest for justice that I seek on behalf of himself and his aggrieved loved ones.
That quest still continues, and will, but recently a part of my past long buried has surprisingly come to the surface.
The other night, Monsieur Davide and I were discussing the Clementi tragedy, and I recalled a poem that appeared in my high school newspaper, in Highland Park, New Jersey, sometime in either 1972 or 1973. It was published under the title "He Always...." which is what I have only known it as. According to the editorial note that preceded the text, this work was submitted by a student to an English teacher in a small Southern high school. Two weeks later, that student committed suicide. I remember questioning at the time how this found its way to nowheresville Highland Park, New Jersey. For years afterwards, I kept all my papers (it was called the Highland FLING) but when I moved out of my childhood home they got lost in the shuffle. While discussing Tyler Clementi with Monsieur, this poem came back to me. I could recite bits and pieces, but not the whole thing.
Well, girls, seek and ye shall find! Not only did I find this long lost poem, I have discovered it has a mysterious, seeming unresolvable, history, goes by several different titles, plus I have some additional theories of my own, about its true nature. But, first, here in its entirety, is what I came to know as "He Always..."
"He Always..........
He always wanted to say things. But no one understood.
He always wanted to explain things. But no one cared.
So he drew.
Sometimes he would draw, and it wasn't anything.
He wanted to carve it in stone, and write it in the siy.
He would lie out on the grass, and look up in the sky,
and it would only be him, the sky, and the things inside
that needed saying.
And it was after that, that he drew the picture.
It was a very beautiful picture.
And when it was dark, and his eyes were closed, he could still
see it.
And it was all of him, and he loved it.
When he started school, he brought it with him. Not to show
anyone, just to have with him, like a friend.
It was funny about school.
He sat in a square, gray desk,. Like all of the other square,
gray desks.
And he thought it should be red.
And his room was a square, gray room.
Like all of the other rooms.
And it was tight, and close, and stiff.
He hated to hold the pencil and the chalk, with his arms stiff
and his feet flat on the floor, with the teacher watching
and watching.
And then he had to write the numbers.
And they weren't anything.
They were worse than the letters that could be something
when you put them together.
And the numbers were tight and square, and he hated the
whole thing.
The teacher came and spoke to him.
She told him to wear a tie like all of the other little boys.
He said he didn't like them.
She said it didn't matter.
After that they drew.
And he drew all yellow, and it was the way he felt about
morning, and it was beautiful.
The teacher came again and smiled down at him.
What's this? she asked.
Why are you drawing that? Why don't you draw something like
Ken is drawing? Isn't that beautiful?
It was all questions.
After that, his mother bought him a tie.
And he always drew airplanes and rocketship, like
everyone else.
And he threw the old picture away.
And when he lay out alone, looking at the sky, it was big,
and blue, and all of everything.
But he wasn't anymore.
He was square inside, and gray, and his hands were stiff,
and he was like everyone else.
And that thing inside that needed saying, it didn't need
saying anymore.
It had stopped pushing.
It was crushed.
Stiff.
Like everything else."
The boy in this poem is me. No, dears, I did not kill myself, but it echoes exactly my school experiences with one exception--I REFUSED to stop pushing. I REFUSED to be crushed. So I was saved from being Tyler Clementi, and here I am to speak for him.
My interest in this work was revived. What I can ascertain for sure, is that it is purportedly written by a student who committed suicide two weeks after submitting it. That fact is indisputable. But who that student was is up for debate. Some say it was Richard Karl Roberts, of Alton, Illinois. But I can find nothing on him. Some say the writer was from Alton; others from the South; still others from Regina, Saskatchewan.
It was said to have been written in 1972. Which would make the student close to my age, if not so, and would fit the time frame of when I first saw it. Others claim it came from a counselor in Buffalo, New York, in 1973. It was quoted by John Taylor Gatto in his book, "The Underground History Of American Education."
And still others say that it is impossible to trace the poem's author, but that it was a boy who ended his life at the age of sixteen.
Which would not make him 12th grade, unless he skipped. And how would these other items be known, if the author cannot be traced?
This points to my two theories.
Remember the book "Go Ask Alice?" by Anonymous? It was supposedly the diary of a deceased 15 year old drug user. Years later, the author was revealed to be the book's editor, Beatrice Sparks. Maybe the poem was an adult, perhaps a teacher, passing themselves off as a 16 year old? But to what purpose?
Or perhaps it comes under the chain letter rubric; something beginning someplace that has been handed down.
It echoes so many. Myself included, and of course Tyler Clementi. But I am telling you now--do NOT be like the poet, or Tyler. REFUSE to be prevented from pushing or get crushed. Just like I did.
Does anyone out there know more? Because I want to. I want to tell this student's story in juxtaposition to Tyler's. I have a long road ahead; and if I pursue such, many legal channels and permissions to pursue. But the cause is worthy, the result could be a work that makes a difference in the future.
The poem, additionally, goes by the titles
"May Your Sky Always Be Yellow"
"About School"
"Yellow"
"He Drew"
"A Poem About Non-Acceptance"
"On Education"
"Untitled"
Let me know what you find out, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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I have had a copy of this poem, under the title "ON EDUCATION" since 1968 or 1969 (I got it from my sister who graduated in '69) It's a mimeograph legal sheet and the "boy" who wrote it was a senior from Akron, Ohio.
ReplyDeleteI read it as a young child. My mother was given a copy of it by one of her English teachers. The version I read was titled"Beauty Victim Of Conformity" I spent years trying to find a copy of this poem online. I finally happend upon it one day by accident titled as "May your skies always be yellow"
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteYes, I have seen it under that title too. I suppose we will never know the writer, but the words haunt me to this day.