Instead of dosing you, dear readers, with yet another prescription of our own editorial musings, we are pleased to introduce this, the second of our issues devoted to the topic of teaching linguistics, with a relevant collection of poems that recently came to our notice. These we present for your edification without further comment.
I met a linguist marking an awful student paper;
Red upon red she slashed.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the teacher.
“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never—”
“You lie,” she cried,
And wrote on.
A linguist announced in the Lecture Hall:
“Students, I teach!”
“However,” replied the students,
“The fact has not created in us
A sense of obligation.”
In the conference room
I saw a linguist, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the linoleum floor,
Held an introductory textbook in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said “Is it good, friend?”
“It is oversimplified—oversimplified,” he answered;
“But I like it
“Because it is oversimplified,
“And because I wrote it.”
I stood beside a lectern
And saw, in the classroom below, many grad students
and carousing in baseless speculations.
One looked up, grinning,
And said, “Comrade! Brother!”