ADVICE

   Almost 32 years ago (November 18, 1967), I had a poem published in The New Republic. It was definitely “a 60s poem,” but I still have a fond feeling for it, because I think it captures something of the tensions between older and younger generations, with the older generation often focusing upon annoying sand superficial forms of the young rather than the depth of their content. I remember showing this poem to my older headmaster (I was a 30-year-old English teacher at the time). He looked at it, handed it back without comment, and told me the English faculty was not washing their coffee cups properly...So here is that poem. 

Advice

Oh Father, my Father, Oh what must I do?
They’re burning our streets and beating me blue. 
“Listen, my son, I’ll tell you the truth; 
Get a close haircut and spot-shine your shoes. 

Oh Mother, my Mother, my confusions remove
I long to embrace her whose hair is so smooth. 
“Now listen my son, although you’re confused,
Cut your hair close and shine all your shoes.”

Oh Teacher, my teacher, your life with me share
What books ought I read? What thoughts do I dare?
“Oh Student, my student, of dissent you beware
Shine those dull shoes and cut short your hair.”

Oh Preacher, my preacher, does God really care?
Are all races equal? Are laws just and fair?
“Boy—here’s the answer, no need to despair.
Shine those new shoes and cut short that hair.”