On the Road to Oxford Town

The invitation to go to Oxford was both frightening and exhilarating. When I received the invitation, a number of emotions competed in me for immediate attention. Oxford, the oldest English language university in the world and founded only a few years after William the Conqueror invaded England in 1066, was, to me, the epitome of academic study, so my first emotion was raw, unabashed awe. It was almost immediately followed by a gut feeling that they had contacted the wrong guy. I would be a fraud, I thought, if I responded by accepting. I called them more than once to try to convince them of that fact. They gently convinced me that I was the person that they were inviting. This fact was then followed by galloping insecurity. Who the hell was I? I was a middle school/high school teacher from New Jersey. As I further investigated, I found out that I would be the only one of the 45 invitees without a doctorate. That didn't help! Now what? I began to walk my neighborhood on the fall evenings that followed, debating within my head. Could I pass this opportunity up? There would probably never be another. (Hell, I was surprised at that one!) I would regret passing up this opportunity for the rest of my life. What if I went and made a fool of myself? I would be proven to be a lightweight in the middle of heavy weights in one of the most prestigious universities in the western world. What if they really wanted my opinion on bringing young people to love the literature that I loved so much for so many years. Maybe this was the opportunity to say what I have learned about teaching in a forum that would listen.

I submitted an abstract of a paper that would crystallize my beliefs on education and literature. What the hell, the worst they could do was reject it. They didn't. They accepted it, and on the morning of August 1, 2005, I was the first paper chosen to be presented at the opening of the conference, and I had the most memorable experience of my teaching career.

The following poem was written, stanza by stanza, from the time I got this invitation to the presenting of the paper in Oxford, and it chronicles all of my doubts and fears and what I learned from the experience. I wrote it in a formal style, for that is how I viewed the import of the opportunity. I don't know whether it is good poetry, but it is a good recounting of how I brought myself to participate in what was to become, for me as a teacher, the experience of a lifetime.

The Road to Oxford Town
Christopher Bogart

Wooden wheeled and dirty dusted, drawn
By thick-backed oxen from a barren barn,
I whisked the wagon, washed and strawed it down
To pack and leave my life for Oxford town.

When first I yoked the team, they gave a start
As if they wondered whether I’d the art,
Or was it merely artifice that crowned
My invitation to old Oxford town.

I piled the wagon up with baggage, fill’d
With doubts and fears to challenge stronger wills.
The wagon groaned; the wheels, a creaking sound –
Oh would I ever get to Oxford town?

‘Twas mid-morn when the pilgrimage begun.
‘Twas noontime when my hopes and doubts had run
Into the muddy ruts the wheels had found
Straight down the road that leads to Oxford town.

I tried to gain some traction on the road
But traction works the best with heavy loads
And mine was light where confidence should abound,
The confidence I’d need for Oxford town.

Why had they picked me for this awesome chore?
Were they aware what awesome weight it bore?
A weight that felt that it would bore me down
Before I ever got to Oxford town?

What kind of common clothing could I bring?
What did I have in common with these kings?
Was I, a pauper, to dress in regal gowns
To counterfeit a king in Oxford town?

The town’s so very close. I see the spires.
Their honey stones sun-baked as if on fire.
The Radcliffe Camera’s so very round.
It seems that I’ve arrived at Oxford town.

The stakes are very high. I cannot fail.
Of all the facts I’ve learned, can I avail
Myself of greater truths by which their bound,
To set before the Dons of Oxford town?

I stand before them now at Union Hall,
Armed only with beliefs long-held in thrall,
And one relentless dream that I have found
Has placed me here at last in Oxford town.

For now I finally know what I have learned,
One passion in my life for which I’ve burned –
The love of words, their meaning and their sound.
And I have found them here in Oxford town.