Ode To an English Prof.

Gosh! How time flies! As I was cleaning and packing up in preparation for my house moving in 4 weeks' time, I came across an old poem which I wrote in one of my English Literature classes in the University of Alberta.

Professor B. Mitchell would probably be in her mid seventies now. Although I have lost touch with her, I believe she would still be in the pink of health. A catholic nun, who exudes such serenity, composure and kindness will certainly live a long life. I have never seen Professor Mitchell stressed or agitated.

I remember I found myself one day in her home, sent by the cleaning company I was working for, Cindrella Maid Services. Noticing my awkwardness, Professor Mitchell, made me feel very much at home. She was hospitable and insisted that I had lunch with her - a simple tuna sandwich with Caesar salad which she made, with a lemon meringue thrown in for dessert. Canadians often have dessert with their meals, and this is how I picked up my sweet tooth!

Horror upon horrors! I accidentally broke her crystal vase while trying to clean it. Somehow it had slipped from my hands! I was so soo ooooooooo embarrassed. Professor Mitchell was so kind and forgiving. She kept reassuring me it was alright... not really an expensive vase, but I insisted on reporting the breakage to my boss, and asked that Professor Mitchell be compensated by the Insurance Company.

There are many wonderful lecturers during my University days. But Professor Mitchell remained in my memory because I had wondered how such a lovely, gentle and talented lady could be single and be a nun. She would have made some lucky man a wonderful wife and mother. However, I guess God always has all the best single ladies in His ministry and service.

One day, I wrote a poem and dedicated it to Professor Beverly Mitchell. Here I reproduce it for my readers.

ODE TO AN ENGLISH PROF.

I bleed when I write,
Yet must put up with the fight...
Staying up all night,
Writing what I feel is right,
Though I may not be in the right,
Or always win the fight,
My predicatment in sight,
Despite all my hairs turning white,
Feelings soar like a kite
Emotion both heavy and light,
But harder still to put it in black and white.

Writing is such a pain,
Yet keeps me from becoming insane,
Before my courage starts to wane,
Persevere even when slain,
In order to learn and gain.

Thanks to your remarkable teaching,
It enlightens my reading and writing,
Helps me find literature more alluring,
In the final process of discovering,
That the above pain is worth enduring.!

Choo Choo Kam


PS. This poem is dedicated to Profesor B. Mitchell
in appreciation of her helping the "budding poet"
(ahem!) fall more deeply in love with English
Literature.