 | NAPARIMA COLLEGE FOREVER |
Mr. Ralph Laltoo
1948-49 Class Reunion
San Fernando, 2004
— Rajandaye Ramkissoon © 2004
He entered the classroom white-clad and heavy-stepped
like a just-awakened Zeus robed in cloud
after a luncheon nap.
And we rose in silence as in homage at Mount Olympus.
Glasses, gold-rimmed and green
shaded his eyes from our tropic sunfire,
and from students peering into his eyes
for some glimpse of his approval.
A critic, harsh and caring.
he flowered us from bud to blossom as in sudden rain.
He read with syllabic beauty
veering us on Aeolian winds
to the Romantic kingdom of poesy,
even as the poets themselves had roamed —
Byron to the isles of Greece,
Shelley and John Keats to Rome.
With the rhythm of his voice
words drew images eager for our fantasy.
Even the tempting serpent became beauteous maiden,
and Paradise was regained.
He savoured the boys' pranks, the girls' discomfiture.
He perused the many lines scrawled with chalk
on the classroom's blackboard —
anonymous love epistles to a shy one.
He faked a stern stare above dark glasses
and with stifled chuckle declared
"Miss R., I see you have a paramour here —"
Miss K. froze:
Dalhousie's walls were not more cold.
His large head bristled
with stubs of hair preened to black shine,
every day, every year, the unchanging hair-style.
Hog Head!
A brave student shouted the nickname.
Lately I remembered him.
Black cats wearing by day the garb of night
watched where Keats lay —
beneath a slab of stone,
parasoll'd by pine-tree
in a Roman cemetery —
their cats' eyes like jewels slashed peridot green,
their black hair as on Laltoo's head.
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