A poem for today (for me, just because)

54

by E. E. Cummings, from XAIPE

maybe god

is a child
‘s hand)very carefully
bring
-ing
to you and to
me(and quite with
out crushing)the

papery weightless diminutive

world
with a hole in
it out
of which demons with wings would be streaming if
something had(maybe they couldn’t
agree)not happened(and floating-
ly int

o

—————

With three daughters it is easy for me to understand the poet’s supposition – that a child’s hand is a thing of creation, offering to us a world that could, just maybe, be a papery, weightless wonder.  And imagine, what it might be like if something had not happened to stop the demons…

Image from flickr member lrargerich

 

“All that is not my soul…”

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul. — Walt Whitman, Song of Myself, section 3

End of day two of the 2008-2009 academic year. Yesterday almost proved too much for me. The Thursday schedule is brutal in the morning, and there was the added layer of stress getting out the first issue of the school paper. We were having problems with page exports, and it did turn out that there was a problem with a linked jpg file that was crashing Acrobat and InDesign. But I did my very best Lady Macbeth imitations, getting crazier as the day went on.

A sample of my email to techhelp:

at 10:22 We are having export difficulties with the Weekly – We are currently logged in in my class, but I’m teaching until 11:15. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobe…

At 11:16 Adobe Error

Can you read my mind??

At 1:19 Arrgh!! Now as I have waited (im)patiently for the log in to scan in my room I have the finder problem that we were having with my log in so I can’t get to the group shared folder (or any finder window).

at 1:42 – Export failed on my log in: I have to go eat something before I eat the computer – but it failed on my log in. I’m stumped!

I did not eat the computer, and I did finally figure out what the problem was (this morning) after a good night’s sleep and thinking aloud to my favorite Mac man.

Clear and sweet was the arrival this afternoon of the school paper. A back to school issue out the first week of class for the first time in years. We are posting to moodle now as well, and it is so satisfying to see it in color on-line (we print black & white on newsprint.)**

Clear and sweet were also my students. We started with Chapter 1 of The Scarlet Letter today (all page and a half of it), and looked at Hawthorne’s naked themes that he tosses out without any apology (nature, decay, artifice, edifice, death and punishment, youth, age, weeds and flowers). Fifteen students – three girls and a dozen boys thinking about shame and sex and ratting out your friends. For all that is clear and sweet as well.

Time for the weekend.

**I have to shout out to my printer, the able folks at the Law Bulletin who take our pdf by 9:00 AM and deliver printed folded newspapers by 1:00 PM. Astounding, and they make me look good!

 

Flowering from within

Well, thinking about poetry and teaching again, I looked at my class rosters and I realize that I have a couple of students who take a lot of my courses.  One girl that I taught in seventh grade and again last year in American Literature is taking both of my senior electives next year and is one of those anxious students who never feels her work is good or her ideas have merit.

Last year she wrote a really amazing essay and I emailed her tutor (a former colleague of mine) because it was so well developed.  I’m ashamed to say I thought she had help with the essay.  But no.  It was hers.  After her tutor explained to me what process they had used to work on the essay, she told me that the young writer remembered a time in seventh grade I had said that she was a good writer, so for me she was.  This is not to say that the essay was flawless, but it showed growth and depth and real connection to the book we were reading.

So as I approach the beginning of the year, I have to remind myself two things:

• The last students that I taught were at the end of their year.  This year’s juniors will be at the beginning of that hard but important year.  This year’s journalists will be new to this.  This year’s yearbook staff has FRESHMEN!  These seniors are worried.
• Dale Carnegie said, “Give a man a good name and he will live up to it.”  We all want others to like our work (even I am not immune), and it is our job as teachers to see the scholar and writer and nascent adult in our students.

So another poem comes back to me.   No, I don’t think of my students as pigs, but each one needs to flower from within as they are, not as I want them to be.  All are beautiful in their own awkwardness; each one will be their own person.  They just need to be reminded.

St Francis and the Sow
by Galway Kinnell

The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as St. Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of
the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking
and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.

And this is the truth of it.

 

Spinning

I’m writing senior recommendations that serve as a cover letter for a student’s college application. I’ve got seven to write this year and it always feels like both a privilege and an insurmountable challenge. It’s so hard to describe these students in a way that will serve them well. I have found that it easier when I have an enormous affection for them. They are like my own kids; it doesn’t matter how often the mess up, I still like them and can see their good qualities.

Secrets of the good recommendation:

• Honesty – There is usually a good reason for blips on the radar. If it’s all flat line, there is probably a reason for that, too.
• Reality – meaning concrete. When push comes to shove it always helps to show, don’t tell. What do they really do?
• Hope – every diamond needs to be cut and polished. We keep hoping that this is the year they shine.
• Affection – I don’t always have to offer my highest recommendation, but I always offer my heartfelt recommendation.

I’ve got more to do, but as I’m in the thick of it, I wanted to capture this before it slipped away. I’m reminded of a poem by Wyatt Prunty about teaching and letting go:

Learning the Bicycle

for Heather

The older children pedal past
Stable as little gyros, spinning hard
To supper, bath, and bed, until at last
We also quit, silent and tired
Beside the darkening yard where trees
Now shadow up instead of down.
Their predictable lengths can only tease
Her as, head lowered, she walks her bike alone
Somewhere between her wanting to ride
And her certainty she will always fall.

Tomorrow, though I will run behind,
Arms out to catch her, she’ll tilt then balance wide
Of my reach, till distance makes her small,
Smaller, beyond the place I stop and know
That to teach her I had to follow
And when she learned I had to let her go.

 

Writing and Revision – to Re-see

Thanks to Clay Burell for asking me to consider finishing this entry.

As part of our Community Connections work this year we published an anthology of student writing. The anthology included the writing of every member (but one) of the junior class, and each student was asked to revise a piece of writing until their teacher/facilitators (or I) thought that was ready to publish. We did not have any standards in place for what was publishable besides these:

• Each narrative was in three parts.
• Each part reflected a different perspective of an experience that they had in their work on a social justice problem or initiative.
• The narrative was to be free of spelling, punctuation, and grammar errors

For background, the Community Connections assignments and reflections are here.

There were some interesting things that this assignment showed me.

Working with colleagues: while the assignment was based on the style of Dos Passos or Steinbeck (we all read Grapes of Wrath), we had different ideas about what exemplifies the intercalary voice. I think that asking students to write in “the style” of Steinbeck is fine, but as to criticize them because they are not “Steinbecky” enough leaves me puzzled. In addition, we are deeply divided about whether or not grades are a motivating factor for student writing. I argue that students want to look good in the eyes of their peers and that publication is a public enough forum to raise the bar on student performance. In addition, the conversations that I had with students (using Google docs) about their writing was intense in many cases. I made the conscious choice not to ask students to “rewrite” but to “look again” at their writing. (Thanks to my colleague George Drury for the linguistic connection of rehearsal – to re-hear something and revision – to re-see it.)

Some of the group leaders were not satisfied with the narratives until the students did exactly what they asked for in a revision. “You still haven’t done what I asked,” or “You didn’t make the changes that I want,” were comments that I saw on more than on occasion. I think that this was less than helpful to student writers trying to find their voice.

As the only member of the team that read all of the submissions, I can say that part of the problem with the “Steinbecky” nature of the assignment is that some students were/are not developmentally ready to see the Big Picture. They can not extrapolate from their experience to understand how it is an example of a larger issue. Some of them could not understand why they had to be outside on a cold day. Others are ready and able to empathize and make larger connections to the city and the world beyond the school borders.

A couple of examples of those that have reached beyond concrete-operational in their development.

Regarding women in the world: “The women’s battle in the 21^st century therefore is not one against the government, rather against a way of thinking. For example, in the case of Democrat Hillary Clinton, a woman that has gotten involved in what has formerly been a male dominated race. Though the fact that a women running for president is a wonderful idea as it shows the remarkable progress America has made, the ridiculous criticisms she receives regarding her actions as a woman are what truly show America’s inability to rise to the occasion of having a woman as president. An ice queen or an emotional wreck, Clinton is continually ridiculed. If Americans could only think of women in a brighter light, as an integral part of our society that adds depth, strength, intelligence and so much more to our American character, then maybe the women’s fight for equality would no longer be a fight but instead a reality.”

Regarding class and the drug war : From his spot on the other side of the glass, the zookeeper watched the lion pace about the cage. Its steps were regal and grave, its golden mane brilliantly catching the light as it surveyed its territory with a haughty air…. Gradually their eyes were drawn together, their gaze made mutually contemptuous by familiarity. Both blamed one another for the glass wall, believing the other to be the causer of its existence while wanting nothing more than to smash it into a thousand shimmering flakes.

The lion averted its honey-flecked eyes and stared at the translucent wall, as did the zookeeper. Both hated the thing. It was an illusion to create a sense of nearness when they knew all it did was divide, its transparency the only difference between it and the fences and chains. The lion hated the wall for its denial freedom. The zookeeper hated the wall for its perceived necessity. Both hated it as a surrender to the belief that they could not live peaceably together.

Hatred is an affair of the heart; contempt that of the mind. And so the lion paced and the zookeeper watched, both hungering for the day when the fury of their hearts could join to shatter the barrier and undo the divisions of their minds.

A couple of writers who are not there yet:

On meeting with the city about homelessness: We walked off the train and were met with gale force winds. While the walk was only five minutes or less, it felt like an eternity. When we finally arrived, a man who seemed like an assistant of some sort welcomed us. It was a sort of surprising atmosphere, not quite what I would expect from a city of Chicago politician. She had some people in her office before us, and we filed into the narrow hallway outside her office. Why was everywhere we went so small? Not long after we arrived, we were told to enter. Her office was similar to the conference room we were in all morning; there was a table with chairs surrounding it. There weren’t enough chairs, so we gave them to those who intended on talking, while the rest of us hugged the walls.

On learning about AIDS and GLBTQ issues: After we had gotten the conventional questions out of the way, he talked on tangents about anything and everything for the two hours or so we were there. This is quite literal, from designated drivers to how it’s possible to catch an STD in your bum. But I digress. Eventually we had to leave and grab some lunch, but on the way out at least he explained the mural even if I can’t remember it now as I write this.
We stopped for Mexican food (which would come up to my dismay later on), but at the moment it was just what everyone needed. In the background of the restaurant there a TV that played incredibly strange programming, Spanish soap operas, and incredibly weird music videos, none of which I had the slightest comprehension of. For the first time in my life I had authentic horchata, and it was possibly one of the most delicious drinks which helped when it took us so long to find the guacamole, and all the chips I ate were topped with hot sauce. Lesson learned from the day however is, don’t be negative if your original plans go astray, and never eat burritos and rice milk if you have to spend the rest of the day with other people.

So we asked a lot of them, and for the most part they gave us their best work. Some students were only able to write about their experiences in the concrete – what I did/ate/saw – and others were able to look at how what they did connects to what we all do. It was impressive to read all of their narratives. We published the anthology as a paperback using the amazing folks at WordPro in Ithaca, NY. I called it Common Air, taken from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman:

17
These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they
are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to
nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are
nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,
This the common air that bathes the globe.

And you know what? Each student got a copy, and I didn’t find ONE in the trash.

 

First Post

Today one of my poetry presenters did not show up, so we had some unplanned time. The amazing synchronicity of the following events led to a collaborative poem.

Yesterday, one of my students brought us Jim Carroll, and his 8 Fragments for Kurt Cobain, and Carroll was in the company of Robert Frost and recent Pulitzer Prize winner, Bob Dylan. Today another student reintroduced her classmates to Wallace Stevens. There were 15 students in class today, so each wrote their own stanza regarding the stapler. Here is the result. You can hear Stevens and Carroll in the work.

15 ways of Looking at a Stapler

1

A bind brings satisfaction,

it is valued with a sense of stability.

There is reassurance and tranquility in a staple

but with one tear, it could all be undone.

2

The stapler sits there

dull, lifeless,

and rarely ever used

but not useless.

3

Lonely boy moves from his corner

Greeting his trusty new metal companion

Its gleaming teeth disperse

pair by pair

An injection of serenity

4

Oh, thin men of Parker

Why do you imagine blue staples?

Do you not see how the stapler

Staples around the bagpipes

Of the colonel about you?

5

A bullet punctures the flesh

A fast moving objective

While the staple’s soul breaks through the paper

6

Among the piles of paper,

the only thing keeping order

the stapler was holding it all together

7

The monkey lies

Stapler kisses aren’t so sweet

but at least

pierced knuckles are sexy.

8

Among a mountain of messy papers

A stapler lies still

9

A man ponders the stapler

what to think

only that its job

is to seal papers

10

Click

The sound of marriage

The honeymoon

Is the teacher’s desk

11

A pen and a pencil

Are one.

A pen and a pencil and a stapler

Are one.

12

Among papers, pencils, and other things

silently sitting is the solemn stapler

still and motionless, it sits

13

Loose paper flying all around

Trying to find each other

Trying to become one

But at last they are lined up

Binding to each other with one quick staple

14

Conjoining sheets that have no interest in each other

Pierces through them for all eternity

Like pasta at a wedding

15

Among the aisles of office supplies

lies the stapler

the lone predator of the cubical-classroom universe

ready to sink its teeth into

unsuspecting victims

they say paper beats rock

I say stapler conquers all.

With great respect to Wallace Stevens and a shout out to Jim Carroll