How to Teach Jane Eyre
First, explain it is a crime
that lives incarnate in the tale.
A fire that births
a hunger. Curl to endure
the shifts between days when
you keep to your caste, days when
you laugh (a cold, distinct,
formal, mirthless laugh) and
still other days
when you pace and whirl into a man
with a gytrash by his side.
Restlessness, to put it plainly,
will be in your nature. Threatened
by the chalk, the chairs,
the dust up your nose, in your hair,
you have to detail
the tumult, the structure
of travel, the architecture of space. Always
choose winter
for clarifications. Document
the pantomime of hurricanes
and reserve, the opposites
of custom and love, night
and light, red
and white. Faith (like birds)
will be disguised
because no net ensnares
thought. Acknowledge the readers, silent
but unenslaved. Let them know
it’s easy to stir up mutiny. For
the strange little figures
gazing back at you, learn to simplify.
Defend Indian ink, question
good race. Rationalise:
violent, unfeminine, untrue.
Since the tongue of labour
has to be tasted, become a heathen, approach
the windowsill, keep a knife
with you at all times. Stop worrying
about using your teeth.
Finally, do not tire
of the routine
of a decade
in one afternoon.
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