(Originally published 5/1/13)
Thirty-two
years ago, in the waning days of my freshman year in college, I authored a
short poem entitled, “School’s Out.” What is memorable to me about this piece
is not that I got an “A,” but that I made the cut and landed on my esteemed
English professor’s august mimeograph sheet. After our myriad poetry
assignments were turned in, he would select what he deemed the best works from
his two freshman-year poetry classes. Previously, I had found myself on the
mimeograph sheet—uncredited this time—with a poem the professor used as
Exhibit A to point out glaring errors in execution. And I liked that one a
lot better.
With the honor of being on the mimeograph sheet came—unfortunately from where I sat—a live reading. The poem’s author was asked to read his or her poem aloud in class, unrehearsed, and await a critique. I somehow pulled it off on this day in May. When my professor said, “Mr. Nigro, you read that very well,” I beamed internally in my guise as “poet laureate for a nano-second.”
As I
further thumbed through my collegiate ephemera on a recent trip down Memory
Lane, I was struck, foremost, by the general pedestrian quality of my writing—uninspiring
and unmemorable. And I got the sinking feeling I was not always giving it my
best shot. Although I look back fondly on my four years at Manhattan College, I
nonetheless wrote a poem about being happy when the school year ended. The
punch line: “Three cheers for this day…In May.” On the other hand, I was not in
the least bit fond of my high school days, but I suspect, “Three cheers for
this day…In June” would not have gotten me on that prestigious mimeograph
sheet. A great honor, but no poetry anthology forthcoming.
(Photos
from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)

