English Lessons from Sting

Just recently, I was downloading some Police songs to my Ipod. One of the songs reminded me of a day in my high school English class. I believe it was my freshman year and we were assigned to write a poem about anything we wanted.

So, on the morning of the day the poem was due, I asked my locker mate if his poem was ready for English class. My locker neighbor, who was a character to put it mildly, flashed a sly grin and replied, "Guess what?"

My reaction of 'What' was answered by my friend with an explanation of his 'plan' for English class.

He explained that he didn't want to write a poem last night, so he got an inspiring idea to copy a couple of verses from one of his favorite songs.

With incredulity, I blurted, "No way!"

He said, "Yeah, why not? She's not going to know the difference."

We both thought this was the best idea in the world. The song he picked was very new at the time and was just starting to get popular. But who cares? Teachers don't listen to popular music.

The song he chose was Wrapped Around Your Finger, by the Police. And he chose the first two verses from that song for his 'poem'.

To refresh your memory, the lyrics are as follows:

You consider me your young apprentice

Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes.

Hypnotized by you if I should linger

Staring at the ring around your finger.

I have only come here seeking knowledge,

Things they would not teach me of in college.

I can see the destiny you sold

turned into a shining band of gold.

As you can see, he picked a very poetic lyric. This should be an easy 'A'.

So we arrived at English class and settled into our desks and prepared to hand in our poems. Our teacher had another idea, though. She stood in front of the class and announced, "Who wants to be the first one to read their poem in front of the class?"

A low groan could be heard rippling through the room.

After a little added prompting by the teacher, someone volunteered. She read her poem and we all sat in stony silence. Our teacher then threw us another curve ball. She started asking questions, of us, about our poems. Questions like, "What made you choose those words?" , and "What does that symbolize?". Questions that high school freshman are incapable of fathoming.

The rest of the class time was taken up in this manner. Student after student would slouch their way to front of the room, sheepishly read their poem and then shrug their shoulders to the teacher's questions. Every once in a while someone would agree with whatever the teacher thought our poems meant.

At the end of the hour, our class was asked, "Is there anyone who has not read their poem yet?"

That's when I remembered my locker neighbor had not read his 'poem' yet. I then realized that our assignment involved more than just handing in an innocent piece of paper. I also realized that my friend was going to be unable to explain anything about his thought process or creative inspiration. How could he answer why he chose the words, Scylla and Charibdes? How could he even define those words? I don't think Sting could even answer those questions.

As I said, class was just about to end and our poet laureate had yet to recite. Our teacher looked at the clock and determined we had just enough time for one more poem if we hurried.

I can remember my friend dragging his feet to the front of the room and bowing his head to read his wrinkly page of college ruled notebook paper with torn fringes on one side from the spiral edge. I can remember feeling uncomfortable for him, as he hurriedly rushed through his lyrics in a language slightly above a mumble.

When he was finished, I don't think he even looked up, as if hoping that everyone would forget he was there. His head bowed as if praying for a miracle.

And a miracle was granted. The class bell rang before our teacher could ask any questions. My friend rapidly handed in his paper and darted out under the cover of noisy desks and freshmen.

I'm not sure if our English teacher knew the truth or not. I didn't ask my friend what kind of grade he got and we never talked about it again.

Until now, that is.