Hyderabad Asian Waldorf Teachers Conference 2011
A Poem by Ben Cherry

Once upon a time there lived in distant Waldorf lands
A king and queen who had a son,
A noble prince called Florian,
With a head and a heart and hands.

The great queen called her people all
To come to a gala dinner ball
In the land of the Ganga, sacred and old,
With its warmth of sun and wisdom of soul.

 Now the queen had an Indian sister too,
Whose knowledge grew and grew and grew.
With her family of helpers she drew the strings
Which held together ten thousand things,
And for every problem that came her way
She found a solution and told it next day.

The captains of the many arts
Came from South, North and West to play their parts;
And among them there wafted, strong and mild,
Fairy godmothers of the little child.
Where they wave their magic wands over here, over there,
Kindergartens manifest out of the air.

The first guests arrived with wonder, the second with reverence;
The third of course brought harmony, and, regardless of expense,
The fourth they did surrender, with sacrifice immense. 

Each morning they filled their souls with song
Bomma bomma, Bakesh shalom, shalom...

The king rose up and smacked his thigh.
He opened his mouth and looked on high,
His arms hung loose and with his ‘I’
He brought down the answer from out of the sky:
‘Oh yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea, yea...
The recorder, yes the recorder: it doesn’t need to be!
Do as they do in Hawaii with the shells they find in the sea!
For tiredness is not physical, though your body reels with stress;
The answer is inside us, in our inner GPS!’

The prince strode forth with perfect poise,
His soul in quietness within the noise,
With interest on his left side, enthusiasm on his right,
And in between, the curriculum, weaving in darkness and light.
‘Speak louder! We can’t hear you,‘ the queen’s voice shook the hall,

And suddenly there stood Batman, straight and strong and tall.
Yes Dan, the Man, and he did call
And clarity returned to the gala ball.

The lights went out, the people sighed,
But the children kept chanting with joy inside -
A river of melody, cascades of sound,
In darkness as in light, flowing over and around.

The noble men and women from Korea were the first
To stamp their feet and sound their gongs
And stomach their kimchi and right their wrongs,
Until the ground was shaking to the booming of their songs.

The next group, they were quaint and queer, from Philippino isles,
With coconuts stuck everywhere, except upon their smiles,
On bum and bosom, shoulders and knees,
Bang-banging, tap-tapping, klunk-klunking with ease.
In China an Olympic medalist is racing towards the line,
To open the greatest number of schools in the smallest possible time.
Beware, you friends of Steiner, lest your school has been Made in China!
And yet, what a polarity! For see, with such serenity,
The girls sing as high as the wild swans fly
And twirl their umbrellas to show they are shy,
While their men do blush and dream and cry
And worship their lady like a goddess of the sky.

Beware as well the nasty witch that captured the dragon and stopped the rain
Until the good prince brought it all back again
In the wonderful land of Jyungko! 

The grand organizer with questions abounding
Had us settle in groups, it was really astounding,
Groups of three, not ten nor eight nor five,
And the conversation was brisk and alive,
And just as from the spirit a new thought was popping,
Oh my Goodness, it was time, it was time for stopping.

Then Singapore, like Hong Kong before,
Told their tales of ‘strungle’ in the urban jungle,
To sow their Waldorf seeds of idealism
In the soil of the city’s harsh materialism. 

The quiet lady from Nepal, she set an example for us all;
So humbly she spoke and yet so deep,
And her words found a place in our hearts to keep. 

The people from Japan so fine, they sang in harmonies divine;
They clapped their hands and brought delight,
Preparing our pathways into the night.

And then, oh my, ‘tis China again
But disguised as Indians from the Northern plain;
With their Indian guru, they thump on the ground,
Rotating their cudgels round and round.

And now a moment quite sublime, an Indian minstrel singing in rhyme,
The story of the sacred cow who kept the truth and showed us how
The fiercest beast that ever was here
Surrenders to the spirit that has no fear.

The drumbeat rattles, the spirits wail
And the Taiwanese people from the mountain trail
Burst into song with the pulse of the earth,
Bringing a world that is past to new birth.
The ground it is roaring, our souls they are soaring,
As the typhoon comes gushing and the blood beat goes rushing,
Muscles of men and the flashing eyes of women 
Wave and whirl in a dervish blur
Of white and red and feathers and fur.

All this was offered to the king and queen
And all at once the prince was seen
To rise from his seat and take his stand,
Speaking these words with outstretched hand:

‘The time is coming, my friends, to part
Let us gather these treasures deep in the heart,
Holding them there to live and grow
Until into the world they are ready to flow.
For behind all the nonsense the bald minstrel sings,
I sense a deep gratitude for all that life brings.
And among all the friends whom we welcome here on earth
Let us not forget the one who brought Waldorf to birth,
Without whom our paths might never have crossed
And this festive moment would have been quite lost.’ 

The prince sat down, the room was still
And then a voice began to shrill:                               
           Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, 
   Happy birthday, dear Florian, Happy birthday to you.

 

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