"The Faerie Queene" by Edmund Spenser

I've been re-reading Book 3, Canto 2, about how Britomart fell in love with a handsome soldier she saw in a magic mirror made by Merlin. It's a wonderful story, written in Spenser's most musical rhythms, and one of the best aspects of it is the loving friendship shown between Britomart and her nurse, Glauce. In mesmerizing cadences, Spenser spins a mystical tale for the reader -- a tale I could re-read again and again.

WALKING BEFORE DAWN

They have plenty of light
in the early mornings.
There's the lamp
giving its golden gift
as they lace their shoes,
and there's the flashlight
that goes with them
like a willing worker.
There are stars in the sky
standing guard,
and there are thoughts
thronging around them
like sweet-tempered flames
as they walk with each other
under the soft shine 
of the streets' own lights.

LOST AND FOUND

Sometimes my students come to class looking like lost souls – like sheep searching for a little safekeeping and reassurance – and it’s my hope that they can occasionally “find themselves” in English class. It’s not a pipe-dream, actually, since I’ve seen it happen, at least to a degree, day in and day out over my many years in the classroom. A student comes to class wondering where in the world he is in this universe, and, in a few minutes, finds a strange sort of answer by simply stating the central meaning of a short story the class had been brooding over for days.  Suddenly there’s a look in his eyes that says he’s found exactly where he’s from and where he’s going. It sometimes happens instantaneously, as suddenly as a storm can stop and the sun start shining once again. A girl can give you the feeling she’s gone over the edge into a personal wasteland, and within seconds, after reading to the class a striking sentence she had written, she is smiling like someone who has stumbled upon who she really is.  Perhaps, under Mr. Salsich’s English Class, this sign would be suitable on my door: Lost and Found.  

ALL THINGS MEET AND MINGLE

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of Heaven mix forever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single,

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, in “Love’s Philosophy”

I came across this quote yesterday, and it immediately struck me that Shelley is sharing sound advice about teaching. The truth that “Nothing in the world is single” is something all teachers should keep in mind, especially in this world where singleness, separation, and struggle are accepted as daily realities, if not everlasting truths. It’s easy for teachers to fall into the convention of seeing themselves as solitary warriors fighting the battle for the hearts and minds of their students, but the facts are very different. As the poet reminds us, “all things […] meet and mingle”, including all teachers, all students, all ideas, and all feelings. We’re never alone in this process of education, because all things “mix forever”. I often use the analogy of a river: the scholars and I are part of a vast and shoreless river composed of all the ideas that have ever been. Like bubbles in a stream, we don’t propel and pilot ourselves, but are irresistibly carried along by the eons of learning that have come before us. We don’t each, by ourselves, have to “make” the current or force it to go in a certain direction, for the great rivers of learning are more spacious than the sky. As teachers and scholars, all we have to do is trust those rivers and stay sharp-eyed and easygoing. In this way, both teaching and learning can be relished “with a sweet emotion”, and no one need ever feel alone.

EVERYONE LOVES AN ANTIQUE

Everyone loves a piece of antique furniture, but I wonder how we feel about an antique teacher. How do the parents of my students feel about walking into their child’s classroom and seeing a teacher who looks older than their parents – a teacher who has as many wrinkles as students? Is there room in this educational world for a teacher who started teaching before the parents of his students were born? Is there a place for a teacher whose voice has become part whisper, part whistle? As I think about it, I realize that there actually might be some advantages to being an old and well-ripened teacher. Perhaps I can sometimes appear as stately as the antique furniture I used to see in my grandmother’s living room. Maybe visitors will come enthusiastically down the hall hoping to see the rare antique who teaches English. Is it my imagination, or does antique furniture seem more stylish and august as the years pass? As a chair gets older, does it sometimes become a better chair, as it so often seems to? Could that possibly happen to me, the very old and old-fashioned teacher in Room 2?

SITTING AND WAITING

He was sitting and waiting
for wonderful things to happen,
so he paid no attention
to the traveling clouds in the sky,
or to the shining skin of the apple
on his table, or to the turning
of the earth beneath him.
Heaven was here in his classroom,
but he was sitting and waiting
for something else, so he didn't notice
the newness in his heartbeats
or the holiness of his thoughts
as they stood up in his mind
surrounded by soft lights.
He didn't see
the signs of miracles
in the butterflies moving outside,
or in the fresh afternoon 
unfolding across the fields.

GREAT LIGHTS

Driving to school on these early fall mornings, I often see the sun starting to shine on Stonington, and the brightness of it occasionally makes me think of my students in English class, and the vividness with which they sometimes shine. The sun presenting itself in the east each morning is something magnificent, for sure, but – and I’m always surprised by this realization – it’s no more magnificent than the shining ideas my students show up with day after day.  The intensity of the sun’s light is astounding, but so – to me, anyway – are the thoughts the students share in our discussions.  They speak in uncertain and simple ways, using commonplace, unembellished words, but the thoughts behind the words might dazzle me if I could see them as surely as I see the sun suddenly shining above the trees as I drive to school.  

PERFECTION

At school yesterday, everything seemed especially peaceful, almost as though life was poised in a state of complete perfection. I don’t mean that everything happened exactly the way I wanted it to happen – just that whatever happened, whatever I heard or saw, whatever I felt or thought, seemed to be appropriate and proper. The universe seemed to be satisfied with itself yesterday. The trillions of years of existence had slowly spun around to September 25, 2012, and produced a day that could be nothing else but what it was. I saw this most especially in the look and feel of the air outside my classroom. Partly because of the constant, undisturbed music of the September insects, there was a sense of serenity in the air. It was as if an orchestra was playing one of Debussy’s softest melodies, right outside my room or wherever I happened to be. Whatever concerns or worries I had disappeared as soon as I turned my attention to the serenade of the insects. But it was more than just the softness in the air that made the day seemed so flawless. Somehow, throughout the day, all things seemed to be working together for good. Every word I spoke to my students seemed to be the picture-perfect one for that moment, and every word they spoke to me seemed full of a peculiar kind of wisdom. Even commonplace things appeared to carry surprising significance – a sailing leaf, a scrap of paper by the side of the walkway, a book left behind by a student. At school yesterday, an unspoiled light seemed to be shining around  everything, and I was blessed to be there to see it.