Maybe this trip wasn’t a good idea.

I am taking a class called, “Two British Poets, A. C. Swinburne and Robert Graves.” The same tutor that taught the Shakespeare class I had last summer is teaching it. I loved the last class and I knew that the tutor would give value for money.

Truth be known, I don’t give a damn about Swinburne and Graves. Never have and probably never will. I didn’t take the class because of the poets, but because of the tutor. I have just become interested in poetry and, as you may have seen, started writing a bit. I though maybe this would be access into the subject.

In all candor, I’ve never really liked poetry and have a hard time reading it. I read a couple of lines and sort of glaze over. My joke is that I’ve read 20 poems in my life and I’ve written 10 of them. Unfortunately, that it way too close to the truth.
So, I thought this class would give me some background. It would help me understand what is a poem, and how do you read poetry. I felt that this tutor would be a good person to help me start.

The bottom line is, he is brilliant and the class is brilliant.

He has taken us through these two poets and opened the door to a kind of understanding that I had hoped I would find. He delivered it. The man is drop dead brilliant. Each day as we leave class first one of us, then the next, comments in wonder about how he teaches. He has made the subject come alive in ways that I never though possible.

But, this isn’t the point.

He is so in love with his subject that he is infectious. There is such innocence to him as he talks about these dead poets that it not only rubs off on us, but also takes us to places we never knew existed. He has built a cult following and I’m not sure it is the poets or if it is him.

But, that still isn’t really the point.

He is so in love with his subject that all his focus is directed on seeing that we get there as well. In my case it maybe that will never happen, but it is not anyone’s fault but mine.

He did his dissertation on Graves, and has been studying Swinburne for three decades. He has written one of the major biographies on Swinburne and has a large collection on Swinburne’s work and his life. From pictures, to postcards, to letters from family and friends, and lastly first editions of most of Swinburne’s work, all are in his collection. This summer that collection is being displayed in the great library at Christ Church, and it truly is amazing.

One of the major parts of the collection is the death certificate for Swinburne’s sister. I won’t belabor the point, but this certificate has brought a whole new interpretation to the understanding of Swinburne and his work.

He talks about the search for this material and the detective work that it took to dig through old records and legal documents. When he talks about what this has done to change the way critics talk about Swinburne, and how this clearly shows how it would affect the work he lights up like a little child at Christmas.

And here is the point.

He is so in love with what he does that he almost vibrates. He can’t wait to tell you the next thing; he can’t wait to place the next poem in front of you. The excitement is palpable, and so intense you go along to places you would never have though you could possibly go, and it’s all done on the coat tails of his energy and love of what he does.

When was the last time you felt like that? When was the last time that your job took you to that kind of place? When was the last time that the love of what you were doing was more important than what you were doing?

The answer to that scares me. I used to tell people that directing for me was almost a sexual experience. At the first read through, when the actor’s would read the script together for the first time, when I would hear the playwrights words fly from the page and take voice as it came to life, it was almost orgiastic. I would joke that the moment that I first heard the words come to life was better than any sex that I’d ever had.

It wasn’t a joke.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way and I wonder if I ever will again? How about you? When was the last time that you felt that way? In your job, or maybe in your life is there this kind of passion?

This is a hard question and an even harder realization. Maybe too much education is not a good idea.