| Preface to "The Examination" |
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I've pretty much always been a Libertarian.� In high school I got in trouble for merely referring
to birth-control devices in an essay on the topic of Over-Population in the school newspaper.
���� And another of my student essays there titled "The Case Against Conformism" - was written at a time of life when most kids are jumping off cliffs to be like the other guys. ���� So you can imagine my reaction when I ran into the poem "The Examination" in college.� It has remained my all-time favorite poem both for content and style.� The poem is supposedly about the examination procedure for a college degree.� But it so well depicts the totalitarian types who would crush the individual down to the lowest common denominator - that I cannot help but love it. |
| BUNI |
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T H E��� E X A M I N A T I O N by W. D. Snodgrass |
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Under the thick beams of that swirly smoking light, � The black robes are clustering, huddled in together. Hunching their shoulders, they spread short, broad sleeves �� like night- Black grackle's wings and reach out bone-yellow leathery fingers, each to each. They are prepared. Each turns � His single eye - or since one can't discern their eyes, That reflective, single, moon pale disc which burns � Over each brow - to watch this uncouth shape that lies Strapped to their table. One probes with his ragged nails � The slate-sharp calf, explores the thigh and the lean �� thews Of the groin. Others raze, red as piratic sails, � His wing, stretching, trying the pectoral sinews. One runs his finger down the wheat of that cruel � Golden beak, lifts back the horny lids from the eyes, Peers down in one bright eye, malignant as a jewel, � And steps back suddenly, 'He is anesthetized?' 'He is. He is. Yes. Yes!' The tallest of them, bent � Down by the head, rises, 'This drug possesses powers Sufficient to still all gods in this firmament. � This is Garuda who was fierce. He's yours for hours. 'We shall continue, please.' Now, once again, he bends � to the skull, and its clamped tissues. Into the cran- ial cavity, he plunges both of his hands � like obstetric forceps and lifts out the great BRAIN, Holds it aloft, then gives it to the next who stands � Beside him. Each, in turn, accepts it, although loath, Turns it this way, that way, feels it between his hands � Like a wasps' nest or some sickening outsized growth. They must decide what thoughts each part of it must think; � They tap at, then listen beside, each suspect lobe, Then, with a crow's quill dipped into India ink, � Mark on its surface, as if on a map or globe, The dangerous areas which need to be excised. � They rinse it, then apply antiseptic to it. And silver saws appear which, inch by inch, slice � Through its ancient folds and ridges, like thick suet. It's rinsed, dried, and daubed with thick salves. The smoky � saws �� Are scrubbed, resterilized, and polished till they gleam. The brain is repacked in its case. Pinched in their claws, � Glimmering needles stitch it up, that leave no seam. Meantime, one of them has set blinders to the eyes, � Inserted light packing beneath each of the ears And caulked the nostrils in. One, with thin twine, ties � The genitals off. With long wooden-handled shears, Another chops pinions out of the scarlet wings. � It's hoped that with disuse he will forget the sky Or, at least, in time, learn, among other things, � To fly no higher than his superiors fly. Well; that's a beginning. The next time, they can split � His tongue and teach him to talk correctly, can give him memory of fine books and choose clothing fit � For the integrated area where he'll live. Their candidate may live to give them thanks one day. � He will recover and may hope for such success He shall return to join their ranks. Bowing away, � They nod, whispering, 'One of ours; one of ours. Yes. �� Yessssssssss.' Phi Beta Kappa poem, Columbia University, 1961 |
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