Len Roberts

I found a book in Portland that was written by my favorite professor. I had looked for it in my area, where I have found and purchased some of his other books of poetry, to no avail. Of course I found it across the country. This book is special because it was published less than a month after Len Robert's death in May 2007. I found out about his passing in May of 2008. I was searching the website for the local community college, where he spent most of his teaching career, hoping to take another class with him, even though I swore I'd never go back there. "Len Roberts Poetry Day" was featured on the main page . I double checked the event schedule, but didn't see Len's name as a presenter. I didn't find any of his classes available either. I checked some more.

I had missed him by a year.

When I found out about his death, a full year after the fact, I started sobbing uncontrollably. (Yes, I just admitted that.) Len, as he preferred to be called, was such a special person, I couldn't believe he was gone. He shouldn't have been gone. He wasn't old. He wasn't finished. I was sure he hadn't gotten to his Thoreau state of working yet. (I think it was Thoreau who advocated a four hour work week.) If anyone deserved to meet his goals, it was Len. I cried for his wife and children, and for his students, and maybe a little bit for the students who had missed out on the extraordinary man.

On the plane home from Portland, I read his book, while tears slipped silently down my face. (Yes, I just admitted it again, OK?) This poem in particular touched me, so I will share it.

Sister Aquinas, Questioning

I wake to the dark the way
I woke
to Sister Aquinas rapping
on my desk
back in that fifth-grade class,
asking
Where have you been?
What will you make of your life?---
the questions still ringing as I turn
from side to side
to ease the pain in my back,
my right leg,
hacking into the Kleenex set
on the bedside table each night,
trying to remember where my
wife is,
what day, what season,
my mind racing for answers
as it did back when Sister
floated down that narrow aisle,
black robes out like wings
that wafted our small heads behind her
till she reached the blackboard and whirled
to ask the nine names of God,
calling on me---the one who had fallen
asleep, fallen behind,
the one who could not tell the difference
between dark and light---
to stand and answer the question,
to pray if I didn't know, to search my soul
as long as I needed to get it right.
From : The Disappearing Trick University of Illinois Press, 2007.

The "What will you make of your life?" line especially struck me. What he made of his life was more than most people will ever achieve. He was a caring, honest man with little tolerance for bullshit. He rose above his upbringing, but seemed to never forget how far he had come.

I felt a special connection to him as I entered my first relatively sober semester in well over a year. He had attended the university that ate me alive, but he had survived. In fact, he survived and returned to teach there, then decided that community college made him happier, he could relate to his students there more. I wonder if the over privileged world almost ate him alive as well.

In any case, Len made me feel like my opinion was worth having once again. I felt worthy of his praises, which didn't come easily. He made me realize I didn't have to be chewed up and spit out and accept defeat. I clearly remember his mannerisms and voice, and have always been able to picture him reading his poetry. I'm just sorry the lessons he taught me about life slipped away too quickly, just like his life.