Here is the offending poem, seems about a "compassionate" white liberal professor who can't handle it when her own (adult) daughter dates a Mexican. I think the poem is right on.
Professor White
In New Haven she taught, a liberal city,
Famed for its doctors and dirty drug dealers.
Dr. White who had seen it did ponder and pity
How blacks were oppressed and seen as such stealers.
This professor protested with a grand pithy,
Being well known as a sensitive feeler,
How there could be such a blatant division
Between stinky reality and kind vision.
Her department was English, a liberal art,
Where the halls did moan when Bush won again.
She hated economists who said, “Liberals aren't
Qualified to accuse Bush of zero sum games.”
Those economists were enemies, she hated to heart.
“To quantify feelings is a profession so lame!”
Kerry was plastered on her new tan office.
She was his lover as well a true fan of his.
She taught prose and poetry, her students were liberal
Who wrote about feelings and kisses and tears
One day came a student, and with him his libro all
Tattered. He sat and awakened her fears.
He had riddling eyes that invited a brawl,
And a stinging voice that shot to her ears.
His name was Juan after the artistic saint,
He came from art, he got in trouble for paint.
A talented artist, a genius at best,
He painted a Muslim and religiously dressed her
in a black burka, but he embossed her breast.
The art teacher was jealous and started to pester
Juan to submit this art at her behest.
That tart creature hid in her office and caressed her.
She got too excited and made a wet dent,
Then insulted poor Juan and away he went.
So in poetry class, a poem they read,
That made Gringos greedy, and Mexicans martyrs.
Juan Diego protested of this hatred that was fed,
“The Gringos just did things much better and smarter.”
White called him a racist, her face went all red.
Juan thought of this challenge and how next he can
smart her.
“She wants me to hate Gringos,” thought clever Juan
Diego,
“But tables will turn, Señora tan ciega!”
By well made chance , Juan Diego found out,
That in the same dorm and down just one door,
A beautiful girl, with a squishy round snout,
Slept every day. He could hear her snore.
One night she walked by, her blue eyes funned out.
She bumped into Juan, just a night shirt she wore.
“My name is Snow, my mother is White”
Juan's brown eyes widened, his pants grew tight.
It seems to be custom, here in the States,
That after a girl loves a boy for just one night,
She brings him to dinner, though her mother hates
The sight of new boys with smiles so bright.
So Juan was invited to the White estate.
He rang the door bell and held Snowy tight.
White opened the door and there was a great swap.
As one face lit up, the other face dropped.
White became livid and worked up her panic
To think that her daughter infringed and corrupted
The purity of this boy of culture Hispanic.
She ripped out her hair just like an eruption
And started to think a variety of antics.
She could put Juan on the run by shoring up shun.
She told the professors that Juan must go,
And that he was not welcome, they must show.
The next day in class, they had one more fight.
Over a sestina that whined about diction.
“The English are invading the Hispanic right
To own their language, race and tradition!”
Declared Dr. White with Juan in plain sight.
Juan Diego did answer about such perdition,
“I don't care about tradition or whatever,
I just compete for a life that is better”
That was one punch but Juan had a second.
He took the sestina, and copied though be a
Flipped around version from his vision fecund.
“White, blue eyed, bubble gum” phobia
Were such lines that Juan had succumbed
To, “dirty skin, brown eyed, chili cornucopia.”
The Bilingual Sestina assumed national pride;
His Biracial Sestina proved racial divide.
White tried everything as an instructor
To drive away Juan from English afflictions
She told him to shut up and not to disrupt her.
In order to confuse him, she gave contradictions.
His poem she read, and that day it struck her
How she could bring her plan to fruition.
She took the poem to the board and the Dean
And said, ”Juan is a racist, vicious, and mean.”
The Dean read the poem and thought Juan sincere.
He missed the sarcasm or so he pretended.
“This student hates Mexicans, he cannot be here!”
And so Juan's adventures in education were ended.
Then what happened next was just as Juan feared,
He was sent back to Mexico, to the farm that he
tended.
“That boy is farming and it feels so right,
That I saved his culture.” Exclaimed Dr. White.
Then White and her daughter went on a vacation
To frolic the sights and sounds of Cancun.
They visited Juan who worked his vocation
His eyes were dejected like a sad buffoon.
“You farm in the tradition that befits your nation.”
Congratulated White as her ego ballooned.
“I don't care for tradition,” Juan Diego repeated,
“I aspired for life, but now I'm defeated.”
They stripped down and tanned under the sun
While Juan continued to toil and sweat.
They got thirsty and paid some children to run
And bring one of Juan's melons, juicy and wet.
“We really are envious, your life is so fun!”
said White, and said Snow, “So really, don't fret.”
White gave him ten dollars and patted his head.
Then they got in their van, and away they sped.
The more I read the poem, the more outrageous this whole thing seems. There is just no way one could see any kind of threat in the poem.
WOW! I can't believe that the Professor, after reading a line like this still stupidly takes it to the Dean:
She told him to shut up and not to disrupt her. In order to confuse him, she gave contradictions. His poem she read, and that day it struck her How she could bring her plan to fruition.
I can just see this professor. "See, we like lesbian socialist Hispanics who will write about the victimization of womyn, but everyone knows that a Hispanic simply CAN'T be conservative! It's against the Constitution or SOMETHING!"
Wow. That poem is *gold*. I can understand why she screeched "threeeaaaat!". The libs always consider themselves smarter, better educated, more elegant, and more rational than we the unwashed, and in those departments she was soundly beaten, outsmarted at her own game. So she pulled a Hillary Clinton vis-a-vis Rick Lazio, painting the "evil man" as threatening the "poor, defenseless, woman" in an effort to save face and defang his (obvious) argument.
This guy pegged her perfectly, painted her just for what she really is, a swollen headed liberal who thinks she knows whats good for everyone else and how they should live but is completely wrong about it all, and a racist.
He deserves an A+ for this, and extra credit for a prophacy that came true.
Thanks for posting that. Unfortunately, it's all too common. A lot of teachers/instructors/professors just can't handle students who are smarter than they are.
After reading the poem, you know the teacher is insane and/or paranoid.
Another outrageous story about how the left runs (ruins?) education in this country.
What really bugs you is that this fellow is being accused of making threats, a crime.
Just reminds you that the Nazis were leftists.
Politics aside, it's a pretty bad poem.....
Bolles said the poem's interracial affair symbolizes white America's feeling that Mexicans are corrupting their culture.
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That wasn't what I got out of the poem. I got that Mexicans are trying to become Americans and liberals won't let them because they want them to keep their 'hispanic culture'. I read it through twice, is this not right?
Is this guy being misquoted?
Hilarious that the teacher would find a 'threat' in this poem. She should be the one taken for the psychiatric eval.
That whole sequence is sad and spot on. I'm a black woman. I often have the funny feeling that some liberals want to keep us "authentic" because in reality they are racist and don't want us to join them. Keep us poor and uneducated and unable to speak English. Keep us thuggish and sluttish and dying young. We can entertain them but not run the businesses or aspire to high political office. All so we're not corrupted by the "greed" and "intolerance" of Western culture. But in reality, it keeps a wall up.
On April the eighth, two thousand and five
Ed Bolles was accused of a crime
His poem was a threat, Prof Ritter had claimed
(To rub his nose into the slime)
The PC she taught had gone overboard,
He’d thought, as he penned his light verse
But as he was kicked out of class for two weeks
He realized the old witch was worse
Mr. Bolles was well known for his tiffs with the prof
And well known as conserv’tive at heart,
But while intelligent ‘nuff to recognize slough,
He’d missed that whole liberal part
For liberals may ‘toil’ at a college and claim
That they do the good work of a teacher
But as we all know, that isn’t the truth
A liberal is more of a preacher
Instead of spreading the good word of God
A liberal will sell you on Marx
Any student who has a lick of good sense
Avoids them and simply embarks
But Bolles was not savvy, or else, even worse
The class was required, he was stuck
He couldn’t get out, all he could do was just shout
At the liberal lies and the muck
However, a liberal yells best of all
For yelling is simply hot air
To yell requires little of logic, or sense
And so liberals you should beware.
Notwithstanding this fact, Bolles got into scrapes
And with liberal Ritter held fast
That she had now a claim filed against him, he thought
Was not karma biting his ass
But now you should know—tell the rest of the world
That if you encounter prof Reds
You’re wasting your time trying to argue with them
You’ll only end up butting heads
Drop out of that class; don’t bother with that
A class with a Red is a waste
Go to some other school, like Hillsdale, you fool,
A college with professorial taste!
If you go to a school like SoConnState
And expect you’ll be getting much smarter
I got news for you, boy, you’ll be singing the blues
If you write of a professor’s daughter.
So learn from the story of poor Mr. Bolles
And don't blow a wad on State U
Send your children instead, to a school that ain't Red
And your kid won't be crying boo hoo.
Not the most skillfully written poem, but I still like it because of the point.