The Poet and His Anima

Abstract

one morning on my way to class, I saw poster on the wall of the elevator inviting all students who resided in the Three Towers Residence to free BZZR GARDEN to be held in the common lounge the following Friday, starting at 6:oo p.m. In time I would come to learn that the expressions bzzr and a certain amber fluid meant beer, and that they were used by students on posters and in advertisements in the student newspaper to get around the Canadian liquor laws which prohibited the advertising of alcoholic beverages. I had never attended beer garden before. Indeed I had never put the words 'beer' and 'garden together, and I had to admit that their meeting created the kind of poetry which is supposed to happen when such an unusual conjunction takes place. A garden seems wonderful place in which to enjoy beer, except that our lounge was no garden, unless you wanted to use your imagination and convert the few potted plants that were there into one. I decided that I would attend this beer garden to see what it was about.When it was close to six that Friday evening, two of my Canadian neighbours knocked on my door and said it was time to go down to the free beer garden. I joined them and we took the elevator down. It was the first time in my life that I was using an elevator several times each day, and I was learning the behaviour code. You stand quietly and pretend not to notice anyone as you keep your eyes focused on the changing numbers of the floors as you pass them. On the ground floor, we left the vehicle in slow orderly fashion, not in the competitive rush to get out that you would find in my country. Then my Canadian neighbours and I, in the company of the other students who had just filled the elevator, walked through the glass-walled corridor that linked our West Tower to the other two, being careful to open and politely hold the two swing doors which enclosed the exit area to the car park but kept the cold out when the exit door was opened.When I got to the lounge, I saw sea of white faces in front of me. The residence accommodated over thousand students, and it seemed as if nearly everyone had accepted the administration's invitation. Bodies filled the sunken television lounge and all the surrounding areas, including the main lounge in front of the reception counter, the space between the deli and the bistro, and the walkways to the other two towers. My neighbours led the way to the room on the left where the beer was being served. I followed their example and chose Labatt Blue, very fine tasting beer, but I didn't think it was quite as good as our Jamaican Red Stripe.I returned to the lounge and noticed that I was now alone. My Canadian neighbours had probably linked up with classmates and friends and had forgotten that I was with them. I was thousands of miles away from home, as the plane flies, and new student at university where I knew no one. This was supposed to be 'mixer' - I soon learned the term - but I didn't see any mixing going on. People stood and talked in the little groups with which they had come, or, like me, stood quietly by themselves and watched the big crowd. I wasn't comfortable where I stood, for there was constant flow of bodies in and out of the beer room, and I had to keep adjusting to the constantly changing demographics of the spot. I didn't see any other spot where I felt I might be more comfortable. I began wondering what the hell I was doing there in that big, strange country, and in that sea of unfriendly bodies. I could have been reading quietly in my room.Then I turned and saw her face. She was stunning dark-complexioned Oriental woman with shoulder-length hair. There was such classic harmony in her features it made my heart sing. She was standing on the far side, to my left, in the back row near the corner of the walkway to the North Tower, with her back against the wall of letter boxes. I found myself staring at her as if hypnotised. …