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School (a sonnet) (Ode) by Nicholas Jones

Cold eyes, dark tiring journeys now and then The fields rang out for we who could not know All that was around, but stiil we knew when A thing is real and not made just for show. We learnt so little; but our damaged minds Fought on, of course, we understood our fate: To think was to resist, to think and find That we were helped along by purer hate. They burnt our dreams and told us not to dream. But still we disobeyed to fight our lot We did not know how to their side it seemed Alive, aware, we knew what they did not: Dark scenes in corridors where children died, Cruel actions of a system fuelled by lies.

Nicholas Monson 4-Dec-02/6:00 AM
Dear Nicholas,

I received your reply but I am not wholly convinced by your answer. Still, that is only my opinion. Yes, I worked for JB for ten weeks. He kindly took me on after he had heard me (at his request) recite some of my compositions. The next ten weeks were bliss. I repaid his kindness with a scorching attack (in verse) on his critic Alvarez who maintained that Betjeman's poetry was a branch of fascism (among other slights). It was published in the S Telegraph and it gave me a sort of twisted starus as an enfant terrible amongst the intelligentsia. Anyway you write very well and all power to your elbow. NB There is some poor demented fellow who has been hurt by your criticisms as you probaly know. I am sure you are a big enough sort of fellow to send him a soothing note. He sounds young and in some pain. Best wishes, Nicholas




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