Werewolves

It is the full moon and George Szirtes' Transylvanian heritage is stirring. He is angry. I am not surprised - he has been to a meeting. A meeting about funding.

He wanted to say:

Poetry has been with us since the dawn of time, and it will carry on being with us until we die out. I don't care about your money and your surveys and your evaluations, this is not flower arranging or Disneyland (though flower arranging is an art too) it is a core human instinct and no one should apologise for it or go begging and, furthermore, it's a proud high craft and one of the greet deep pleasures, and I myself am proud, and you neglect poetry at your soul's peril.

But didn't.

Lets do some word substitution:

Adult education has been with us since the dawn of time, and it will carry on being with us until we die out. I don't care about your money and your surveys and your evaluations, this is not flower arranging or Disneyland (though flower arranging is an art and a really popular course too) it is a core human instinct and no one should apologise for it or go begging and, furthermore, it's a proud high craft and one of the greet deep pleasures, and I myself am proud, and you neglect adult education at your soul's peril.

It is the universal plaintive cry of those who care to those who fund.

I had an email the other day from a semi-retired adult educator who is busier than ever, working outside the system with voluntary groups. Adult education survives because it has to, we have to. Learning is what we do and what we are. Yet he also despaired that a national system that opened the door to everyone and anyone is shrinking.

Though they try and kill us off, we survive. We are the undead and should wreak revenge, roaming the night tearing out the uncaring hearts of bureaucrats, chilling the blood of strangers with our howls of revenge. But we don't. Instead, we go to meetings.