The Teacher

A Parody of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" 

Once upon a math-test dreary, whilst I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious page of forgotten index law,

While I prodded, nearly tapping, suddenly their came a snapping,

As of something gently rapping, rapping from my calc-u-tor.

“Tis the processor,” I muttered, “humming in my calc-u-tor –

Only this, and nothing more.”

*

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak semester,

And each student council member cast their dreams upon the floor.

Sadly I had dwelled in sorrow; - vainly I had tried to borrow

From my friends surcease of sorrow – sorrow for my calc-u -tor –

For the aged and decrepit machine which I brought through the classroom door –

Broken here for evermore.

*

And the token timely ticking of each minute hand,

Shocked me – filled me with timely terror never felt before;

So that now, to still the ticking of my clock, I sat repeating

“Tis some concept revised at home before –

Some quaint concept learnt before; -

This it is, and nothing more.”

*

Presently my hand grew stronger; calculating ever longer,

“Calc,” said I, “or Tor, truly your assistance I implore;

But factors I was mapping, and so gently came your rapping,

And so faintly was your tapping, tapping in my calc-u-tor,

That I scarce was sure I heard you” – here I opened back the door; ---Batteries there, and nothing more.

*

Deep into those batteries peering, long I stared there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams that Euler had dared to dream before;

But the batteries were unbroken, and the answer had not spoken,

And the only number there outspoken was the whispered word, “It’s four!”

This I wrote, and the battery murmured back the word “It’s Four!”

Exactly this and nothing more.

*

Then over the page turning, all my mind within me churning,

Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely this is something from some apparatus;

Ignore this, what it will be, and this math test I’ll explore –

Let this noise be soft a moment and this formula I’ll endure; -

‘Tis a beaker and nothing more!”

*

Suddenly the door did shudder, when, with much of noise and flutter,

In there stepped a teacher from saintly days of yore;

Not the least delay made she; nor an instance stopped or stayed she;

But with grace of lord and lady, walked she across the math room floor – Searched within a box of papers near the math room door,

Searched, and sat, and nothing more.

*

Then this reverent teacher beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the brave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy marks bear scorn and scathen* thou,” I said , “art sure no craven,

  Ghastly grim and ancient maven wandering through the math room door,

Tell me what thy lordly name is when this test is nevermore!”         

Quoth the teacher; “Outside door”

*

Much I marvelled this woman to hear her hoarse voice so plainly,

Though its demand little meaning – little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no effervescent being,

Ever yet was blessed with denim ghost beside his classroom door –

Blurred high priest upon the paper box above the classroom door,

Who’ll threaten take my calc-u-tor.

*

But the teacher, working lungs up for another gust, spoke only

That one phrase, as if all her anger in that phrase did she outpour. Nothing further did she utter - not a titter or a mutter –

Till I scarcely more than uttered, “Your colleagues have been shown before, as to the content of their dresser drawer.”

Quoth the teacher “Outside door”

*

Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so simply spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what I utter is worth nothing any more.

Rules wrought by some old headmaster who said children are disaster,

She followed fast and followed faster – so, her mind would not allure, my stern despair returned, instead of the sweet hope I dared adjure –

When again I heard sad answer; “Outside door”

*

But the teacher still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Down I stared to the ravaged paper in front of me, my answer four;

Then upon the answer sinking, I betook myself to linking

Cubic unto cubic, thinking what these ominous graphs of yore –

What these grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous graphs of score

Meant to evoke by square root four.

*

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the teacher, whose fiery eyes now burned into my sequence score;

This and more I sat defining, with my pen at ease with writing,

On the papers black ink lining that the teacher gloated o’er,

But whose purple denim lining was the class-light floating o’er,

She shall press, ah, “Outside door!”

*

Then methought, the air grew denser, poisonous smokes by unseen censer,

“Damn”, cried I, “my step has bent thee -- by this dropping I have set free,

Rapping – rapping and tapping from my sainted calc-u-tor!

Scoff, yes scoff, I with drop have sent thee to thy doom,

My sainted calc-u-tor!”
Quoth the teacher; “Outside door”

*

“Teacher” said I, “thing of evil! –- teacher still, if man or devil! –

By the heaven that stays above us - and by the math we both adore –

My soul is entirely with sorrow laden, for the utter decimation, Decimation the angels say is the destruction of my calc-u-tor”

Quoth the teacher; “Outside door”

*

“Be that phrase my sign of parting, man or fiend!” I shrieked, up-starting --

“Get thee back into thy classroom thy one I do deplore!

Leave no denim as a token upon your thigh, remain unbroken!

Leave my math test unspoken! – quit thy-self above my desk!

Take thy shadow from out my form, and take thyself right off this floor!”

Quoth the teacher; “Outside door”

*

And that teacher, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,

On the box of papers just before the classroom door;

And her eyes have all the scheming of a teacher that is screaming,

And the clock-sound o’er her reverberates around the classroom floor;

And my paper from out that ticking flutters to the floor,

And shall nay be completed -- by my calc-u-tor.

* * *

*  Scathen  – The word “scathing” used with minor poetic license.

* * *