5’ 11’’ and as sharp as can be
Certainly was his mum’s pride and joy
Father had long long gone far far away
Now the time had come to make a life apart
Smart in look and dressed e’r so well
Matching element not necessarily to the maker’s eye
Let’s just put that down to the clumsy laissez fare of youth
Bound to be suitably suave in future time to come
A conscientious youth the young man became,
Never ever concerned with the fruit of excess, living sparingly and asking little
Always rising early, setting out meticulously, taking his designated place
Armed with a gleeful smile and a canny look
Spirit was sound intact
For mother had brought him up in her ways
Preaching the concern for others
To be parsimonious, almost to a fault
The youth asked little of friends
Gifted acquaintances a willing hand
Was for ever respectful of ladies and old
Such was the way, the path, the right
Ramis passed away aged just 22
Heart broken by ignorance of all
Barely a look reciprocated, never an arm outstretched
Hardly a human contact made, a simple meaningful smile, a reassuring nod given
What is it about man
Making us look down
Unwilling to encounter and reluctant to give of
Is it just that we lack
The upbringing the dead immigrant enjoyed?
Personal take
Stunning. Hurtful. Disarming. True. A tale of our times and a reflection of our being. If only we were different, if only we realised that we are nothing superior, nothing different in emotion or need.
Just imagine how we civilised folk would make out on the streets when we do not even have the nous to nod and smile, to lend a hand. Strong words indeed accompanying the personal take of this poem but who is to deny that they are not true. Look around, witness for yourself. So taken up are we with ourselves that we barely notice the existence of other human beings, never mind acknowledge their existence. The poem is structured so to build to the devastating crescendo. Nothing in outset is particularly strange, that is until we read the poem again and understand that his father had probably been lost to misfortune or ignorance of circumstance too and that his youthful demeanour was perhaps not just of natural characteristic but borne out of pain and poverty, and that perhaps even the clothes did not particularly match well for they were an assortment of collected items. The poem explodes in our faces as we move from a tale of promise and great dignity to a heart-rendering and wasteful death. The condemnation of humanity follows. Enough said on the matter. As for the structure of the poem it is as if a novel has been compressed into a few lines for there is plot and tension, hiatus and uncertainty, even a lead down the wrong path. There is also time for description and character development, and above all an ending which leaves the reader questioning, questioning what he or she has read, and perhaps even questioning oneself.