Student Writing

A Poem that has been Titled: “Adage to a Cabbage”

-or-

“Why Cabbages are Dumb!”

Way back near The Beginning, there was a simple plant

that grew weary of simplicity, and sat beneath The Olive Tree

to await the Great Ghost Gardener, and spin for Him this rant:

“O Ghost that rules most Holy, O grower of great greens,

I have noticed that, in recent days, some men developed strange new ways

to differentiate themselves, and I wish to share their scheme,

so give to me a blessing: a title, grand and bold,

that all the world will hear it and be stirred within their spirit

and swoon upon the spot to hear my title being told!”

So now the Great Ghost Gardener, whose wisdom has no end,

set aside His spirit spade to listen to the plant’s tirade

and wonder what approach to use, how best this plant to tend?

“When something has a title,” the Great Ghost Gardener spake,

“it can be a blessing or a curse, so mind you don’t make matters worse

demanding such a burden that you’re not sure you can take!

For titles have their meanings, all unto themselves,

and titles can at times betray, and lead their hearers far astray,

for titles at the surface can change how their hearers delve!

To give you an example, there are those who love to learn;

but of course there are some others, who if they had their druthers,

would pass on education and take leisure in their turn.

But every father wants a daughter with a wise and cunning brain,

so every couple sends their child off to school to be beguiled

in the hopes that secret knowledge, though unsought, they will attain.

Now look! you gentle plant, and hear this truth that i will tell:

it’s shallow and imprudent to call each one of these a ‘student’

when so many of them cower from the chiming schoolyard bell!

For when teachers think of ‘students’, the anti-studious come to mind,

though the term does not describe them, to make them learn means beat or bribe them,

and so ‘student’ much more often means ‘the anti-student kind’.

To be a student is to study, and that’s a thing that most will hate,

so this simple seeming title, in its overused recital,

has come to be confusing at a very rapid rate.

See, some are truly students, and some are truly not,

but over time, association bred mutation of connotation,

and has led the word astray so that it stands for neither lot.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” cried the sprout, getting agitated now,

“I want no common title! Now pay heed, for this is vital:

I need a title grand and bold enough to make people weep and bow!

I want to be respected! I want to be adored!

I’ll not have my greatness stifled by a title base and trifle;

such things as ‘student’, ‘farmer’, ‘doktor’, are far too simple, and what’s more

they don’t evoke the sense of awe that is central to my nature.

Now give to me my blessing, a verbal cloak and dressing,

a unique and striking title, no common nomenclature!”

And now the Great Ghost Gardener grew solemn and decreed

“Your words are filled with arrogance, and i shall now reward your greed.

I shall let you have a title, but it shall not come from me;

for i know your truest nature, your inmost self i see;

and if i picked a title, and in my power spoke,

it would bind you to that meaning, and could never be revoked.

So i’ll let the humans find you and decide your verbal yoke,

let them look upon your being and see what words the sight evokes.

And one last gift i’ll give the world: i’m silencing your voice,

just so your lofty, harsh demands won’t change the humans’ choice.”

And then the lowly plant was struck, and found it could not speak;

its arrogance all burned away and left it feeling weak.

But silently it prayed, and the Great Ghost Gardener heard,

as the plant admitted that this curse was one it well deserved;

and it begged the Great Ghost Gardener for mercy from His hand,

but of course the Great Ghost Gardener had masterfully planned,

had known from The Beginning that He’d face this fool’s demand,

and now revealed a little more of His strategy most grand:

“Men give me many titles, but not one is My Name,

so now i give this gift to you, that you will be the same:

the titles people give you will reflect just what they feel,

but since you will not like their words, i’ll make with you this deal:

if ever all the humans forget to love their lives,

if ever all the happiness i’ve given to them dies,

if ever each and every one sells truth for worthless lies,

all the earth will then resound with the power of your cries,

for i’ll teach you My True Name, and your tongue will be untied,

and i’ll reveal your own True Name to humble humans in their pride.”

With that the Great Ghost Gardener picked up his spirit spade

and went to tend His garden, and the plant who once had strayed

thought about the Great Ghost Gardener, and the deal that He had made,

and when people finally found the plant, the plant was not dismayed,

even when they dubbed it “cabbage”, a strange and funny word,

the plant did not complain at all, for every title is absurd.

---

So now you know the reason “Why Cabbages are Dumb!”;

i did not mean they’re stupid, though i did intend the pun;

and now you know, “The Reader”, why titles i use none,

except in this one poem, to demonstrate for fun

why i feel, for my own work, that titles are too dumb.

by gabe edmondson, second year medical student