CELEBRATING

 

For her, every second

is the time and place.

She just wants

to wake up gladness.

She sends up her life

like a flare

only for you.

Would you be willing

to feel as wonderful

as you actually are?

Then ask about your life,

and her answers

will spread out before you

like newspapers

with the happiest headlines. 

Teaching Journal

Day 146, Monday, May 18, 2009

 

     Yesterday, the thought came to me that I should spend the last few weeks of school reviewing – actually retracing the steps – of the entire year, and today the idea came to fruition in a gratifying way. In the 8^th grade classes, I put on the screen the lesson and assignment for the day, as I always do, but before class I had customized the blogs so I could scroll down in a matter of seconds to the lesson and assignment for the very first day of school – Monday, September 8. So, after going over tonight’s assignment, we zipped down past 8 months and 144 lessons (it took about 5 seconds) to that Monday in September when we met for the first time. As we looked at the first lesson and assignment of the year, I must admit I was surprised by how interesting – even exciting –  it seemed to be for the scholars. They obviously enjoyed looking back so many weeks, remembering what they did in English class in September and how it felt. In fact, their enthusiasm spilled over to the point where I actually had to raise my hand and do some ‘shushing’, which I almost never have to do in my classes. It was apparently a captivating experience for them, at the end of the year, to start back at the beginning again and see where they had traveled. We looked at some early assignments, and the kids became eager to talk about them. They even asked permission to go to their lockers to get their binders with old homework assignments and essays – and a few of them actually rushed back to the room. (Wait a second -- they rushed back to English class???) We spent the entire period looking at essays from the first few weeks of school, examining ‘class notes’ folders from back then, and going over early reading journal assignments. Many enjoyed reading aloud paragraphs they had written then, and we all had fun recalling some of those first lessons and assignments. All in all, they were stimulating classes for all of us. After hiking the long and sometimes precipitous trail of 8^th grade English for 8 months, we were looking back down the trail from our high springtime vantage point – and liking what we saw.      

THE CHOSEN

 

She feels it in the park

when breezes single out her skirt.

She sees it when the sunshine

stays on her shoulders.

There’s a sure sign of it

in the way the evening

veils her sadness

and shows instead

the peace of the stars.

At night, if she makes a trip

to the bathroom,

she knows the nightlight’s glow

is given only to her. 

 

COMPANIONS

 

Two books on a desk,

two pens resting side by side,

two hands fastened together in friendship,

two clouds carrying rain,

two streets he can follow

for coffee and a paper,

two days of dreams come true,

two hours when help is all around,

two moments of mighty power. 

Teaching Journal

Day 145, Friday, May 15, 2009

 

As I was scanning a favorite teacher blog this morning, I came across a post about how useful YouTube can be to an English teacher – and very quickly I understood why. In no more than ten minutes, I found at least a dozen excellent videos about everything from paragraph development to the poems of Rilke to the functions of participles. They were short, organized, informative, and entertaining – and, of course, completely free. I gave a little shout and a clap of the hands as I sat on the couch at home and discovered one helpful video after another. It was just a small discovery, I guess, this YouTube gold mine, but to me it felt like a huge door had just swung open. Luckily, a lot of those doors seem to be opening for me lately. Perhaps I’m simply turning the doorknobs more often.   

BY A STREAM

 

Over this silver water

two trees are whispering

under the sun’s love,

and one dove is doing

its sympathetic call.

Don’t go yet –

two cows are coming closer,

and a deer in the distance

is back in its summer mist.

Overhead, a jet is happy

just being high

CATCHING WORDS

 

You can chase them

with your pencil.

On silver nights

you can see them

settle on your arms.

You can seize them

and set them in a jar

beside your desk.

You can

let them loose

in sentences

or put them

in the prison

of a poem.

 

Teaching Journal

Day 144, May 14, 2009

This morning, during an 8^th grade class, I happened to notice that a student had put his head down on the table, and I reacted quickly and sternly – and I think appropriately. I rarely raise my voice in class, but this was a situation that deserved stronger words than usual from the teacher. By putting his head down on the table, the boy was telling his classmates and me that he no longer cared to listen to us – a serious breach of good manners that needed a vigorous response from me. He – and the class – needed to be unequivocally reminded that some rules may not ever be broken, one of them being respect for others. I simply said his name and then, in an uncompromising and somewhat strident tone, “Sit up straight.” The class was stunned. They had never heard me speak in that manner. There was silence for about 10 seconds as I let the scholars appreciate the seriousness of what had happened. Then we proceeded with the business of English class -- with the offending boy sitting up as straight as a fence post.

Teaching Journal

Day 143, Wednesday, May 13

 

     Today one of the teacher’s assistants (a student who helps me conduct the class) behaved in an exceptionally dignified manner. In my classes I occasionally remind the scholars about the importance of dignity, and this girl has obviously heard the message . Dignity has to do with self-respect, seriousness of manner, and a sense of worthiness, and she showed those qualities as if they were an inborn part of her. She started by saying a firm and heartening “good morning” to her classmates, and then proceeded to lead the class through the initial steps of my lesson. She spoke with self-assurance and poise, and seemed to enjoy being the person in charge. She sat up straighter than usual, as if her life had suddenly taken on some special importance.

 

     We spent most of the class time today going over the students’ annotations on the class blog. This is new software that I discovered on the internet, and it’s proven to be very effective. We were able to see the page projected on the screen, and by moving the cursor over different sentences and clicking, we could see and study the annotations the students made at home last night.  It was academic collaboration at its best – a productive way of examining a text together. 

BUILDING

 

He constructs a house

from each day’s materials.

When the sun sets

he carries each shining experience

and sets them out like stones.

The floor could be blue

with his best actions.

Something wild

could make a wall,

and all the surprises

could be the steps between floors.

A wish could be a window

to see out of,

his feelings could flow

through the faucets

like life-giving water.

The roof could be the realization

that stars stay

where they are forever.  

BOOKS

 

The words in some books

are small shining pieces

resting on the page.

Delays are possible then

as he sorts through

the dazzling nouns,

the polished prepositions.

Sometimes he celebrates 

single sentences

by closing his eyes

and visualizing 

their shining appearance.

His life seems magnificent 

when he finds

these glossy words in a book --

faces flash,

streetlights shine like moons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BEING TOUCHED

 

He isn’t sure

if it was the satisfying air

of the summer day,

or a sociable breeze

that passed through Westerly,

or perhaps the smile

the girl at the coffee shop gave him.

Was it a word

that one of his students said,

a simple word

that softly brushed against him?

Was it a thought

that let itself into his life?

Was it the sandwich

that sat in his lap

as he drove through the countryside

in the sunshine? 

BACH BESIDE A RIVER

 

She loves to listen to Bach

beside the singing river

on evenings that fall like confetti.

She loves Bach

in those blessed moments

when thoughts stroll through her life

like shining men.

She loves Bach because of

the beautiful shirts of starlight

the houses are wearing tonight.

Teaching Journal

Day 142, Tuesday, May 12, 2009

 

     This morning before school I began thinking about the phrase “don’t take it personally”, and I realized, as I often have, that it’s very good advice for a teacher. One of the mistakes I still make is to think of myself as a separate ‘person’ who is engaged in presenting educational material to other ‘persons’. According to this way of thinking, it’s me over here and the scholars over there. What this leads to, inevitably, is one of two feelings: either I’ve been successful as a teacher, or unsuccessful. Either way, I’m taking teaching ‘personally’, which inevitably leads, at least occasionally, to disappointment and discouragement. A better way is to realize that education is not a limited, orderly, and logical enterprise between two people, a teacher and a scholar, but rather a vast and enigmatic whirlwind that involves innumerable forces and has no beginning and no ending. What I do in my classroom with my scholars is one infinitesimal aspect of the limitless process called education. It’s not a ‘personal’ project, but a universal one. Its success doesn’t depend on little ‘me’ in a small classroom in a small town in Connecticut. It depends, rather, on the success of the entire universe, and the universe has been enjoying success for about 15 billion years now. Taking my work ‘personally’ would be like a wave in the ocean taking its work personally – trying its best to be the best wave it can be for the betterment of the ocean. A wave, if I can put it this way, needs to remember that it’s part of a boundless and already perfect ocean, and I need to remember that I’m part of a process without end called teaching and learning.  

"Northanger Abbey", by Jane Austen

Catherine badly wanted to dance with Mr. Tilney, but he wandered off with another woman. Not a lot happening ...

*********

"Heart of Darkness", by Joseph Conrad

However, there is much happening in this book. Marlow is telling the story of his journey along the coast and into the jungle. I loved many passages, but these two were special:

"Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you-- smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, `Come and find out.'" 

... 

"The voice of the surf heard now and then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a brother. It was something natural, that had its reason, that had a meaning."

AT SCHOOL

 

He saw a boy raise up his arms

like someone shouting.

He heard the humming of strong hearts.

There was a girl

giving a smile to a boy,

and three girls sharing sunlight

with each other.

Outside the whole world

was singing at the windows.

Brother and sister trees

were swinging in the wind,

and the name of our street was shining.

Everything everywhere was free

and grazing on great hills.  

 

 

AT STEPHANIE AND ELIOT’S WEDDING

 

In St. Louis, there was devotion

at the door of every house,

hands of kindness across the yards,

words of delight on all the lips,

the sun in its blue sky

like a boy, then the stylish moon

moving among clouds, then thousands

of blonde leaves letting each other alone

as they beautifully fell to the grass.  

AT 4:55 A.M.

A few melodious words

rising on wings

from the pages of a book

could carry her all day.

The kindness of friends

would be there to moisten her face

in the strife of sadness.

There would be dozens of shades of green

in the woods beside the school,

and storm clouds that loomed

would look like reasons

to rest in happiness.

Her life was heading west.

Her passionate hands

praised and clapped.  

Teaching Journal

Day 141, Monday, May 11, 2009

 

     I introduced some new technology in my classes today (a way to do web-based text annotations), and it led me to think about the actual meaning of the word. My etymology dictionary tells me that the word 'technology' comes from the Greek word teknos, meaning “system” or “method”, and this helps me understand why technology has been so helpful  this year. It’s been a way to better systematize my teaching, a way to make the overall ‘method’ (or plan) of my teaching more visible to the students (and to me). Technology has not been merely frivolous ‘bells and whistles’ for me; it’s been more like master-planning than doing tricks. Because of the technology tools I’ve employed this year, I’m a more orderly and structured teacher. Technology has unleashed far more discipline in me than creativity. It’s given me more organization than trickery, more methodical techniques than decorative gimmicks.   

This morning I found this quote in "Northange Abbey", referring to Mr. Tilney's sister, whom Catherine has just met at a ball:

"Her manners showed good sense and good breeding; they were neither shy nor affectedly open; and she seemed capable of being young, attractive, and at a ball without wanting to fix the attention of every man near her, and without exaggerated feelings of ecstatic delight or inconceivable vexation on every little trifling occurrence."

She sounds like a Buddhist!

MOZART, STONES, AND TREES

 

He wanted to play

a Mozart violin sonata with someone,

but since he couldn’t play the violin

and didn’t know a pianist,

he went outside

and walked among stones and trees.

He saw the stones sitting precisely

where they should be,

and the trees taking each other’s hands

as breezes blew by.

He held his hands out

and they folded together like friends,

and the trees and stones

stayed where they were,

and the time of day

was just what it must be. 

WHAT HE DOES

 

He doesn’t surf or skateboard,

but he does hear wisdom

when it cries out.

He doesn’t run

with the best and the bravest,

but he does see simplicity

shining in a spoon

or in someone’s shirt passing by.

He doesn’t go forth

with fire in his eyes,

but he does leave sorrow

standing at the starting line.

He doesn’t always

attack his work with industry,

but he does have

a shining appearance

when snow is falling.

A MORNING FOR A BIKE RIDE

 

It didn’t exactly get his heart beating

when it started,

just a hesitant summer morning

singing its inconsequential song.

There wasn’t much to praise,

wasn’t much to raise

a rosy smile to his face –

just a silver morning

with its gift of easygoing light,

just a quiet day coming his way.

just geraniums shyly standing

in gardens beside the roads.

The 17th installment of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (delivered via email by dailylit.com) revealed, for the first time, the subtle irony -- even satire -- in the writing. Austen makes the story sound like the saga of a valiant heroine doing daily battle against the enemies of the human race -- when, in fact, all Catherine Morland is doing is trying to deal with the disappointment of not being asked to dance at the regular evening ball at Bath, where Catherine is vacationing. In this episode, the mysterious Mr. Tilney re-enters the picture (he comes to the ball) with a woman on his arm. Catherine hopes it is his sister, not his wife.  

I read a little in Austen’s “Northanger Abbey” today, and as I often do with her writing, I focused more on the style of the sentences than on the plot. Her stories are not especially stirring or gripping, but her sentences are some of the finest I’ve ever read. Whether she labored over them or whether they simply flowed effortlessly from her pen, her sentences, one after another, are small works of art.

As for the story, Catherine Morland and Isabella Thorpe are vacationing in Bath, and have met the ladies’ brothers are striking up a friendship.

"Peak", oil on panel, by Cooper Dragonette

Teaching Journal

Day 140, Friday, May 8, 2009

     Our Skype video conference today with an English class from a suburb of Chicago didn’t work as well as I had hoped, partly because of my less-than-satisfactory preparation. For some reason, I didn’t lay a proper foundation for the conference – didn’t go over the poem carefully enough with the scholars, didn’t assign topics to specific kids, and – most importantly – didn’t prep them for how the conference would work and what I would be expecting from them. (It was this class’s first Skype conference.) As a result of my incomplete planning, my scholars were confused by what was happening, which led to a lot of sighs, puzzled looks, and silence. Getting them to contribute to the conversation was almost an impossible task. Of course, not surprisingly, this led to some embarrassment on my part. Like most teachers, I wanted to ‘show off’ how smart my students are, and all I succeeded in doing was showing off how poorly a lesson can be planned. My chagrin was probably visible as the Skype class slowly came almost to a standstill. This new technology is a wonderful tool, and it can bring significant benefits to my classes – but the necessary groundwork needs to be laid. On my end, that didn’t happen today. 

"Berries 'n' Blue", oil on masonite, by Roxanne Steed

Teaching Journal

Day 139, Thursday, May 7, 2009

 

     Today, in the middle of a 9^th grade class, an odd feeling of distance, or vastness, came over me. I was there in my very small classroom with my 12 young scholars, but I suddenly had a sense of what I can only call the immensity of the situation. Yes, I was in a tiny school in a tiny town, but I was also on a huge continent on an enormous planet in an immense galaxy in an immeasurable universe. A very clear feeling of being part of something enormous came to me, and, in the middle of a complicated and sometimes stressful English class, it was a good feeling. It helped me see, if only for a few moments, that I was a participant in something so vast that it could comfortably contain any situation that might arise. In the biggest picture of all (which I was briefly seeing), nothing that happens in English class is of any over-riding concern. Kids’ behaviors, low grades, parent complaints, disastrous lessons – none of this was any more important than anything else, and all of it could be soothingly held by the measureless universe we’re part of. It gave me a momentary feeling of utter security and assurance, as if I couldn’t do anything really wrong. After all, in a cosmos this big, any so-called mistake is quickly swallowed up by the easygoing and endless distances of the universe.  Later, I came across this passage in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and it sounded strangely similar to the feeling I had in class today. Marlow is talking about his preparations for heading into the jungle as captain of a steamboat: 

"After this I got embraced, told to wear flannel, be sure to write often, and so on--and I left. In the street--I don't know why--a queer feeling came to me that I was an imposter. Odd thing that I, who used to clear out for any part of the world at twenty-four hours' notice, with less thought than most men give to the crossing of a street, had a moment--I won't say of hesitation, but of startled pause, before this commonplace affair. The best way I can explain it to you is by saying that, for a second or two, I felt as though, instead of going to the centre of a continent, I were about to set off for the centre of the earth." 

As hard as it is to explain, I sometimes feel like I am "about to set off for the centre of the earth" each time a new class begins.

A VOICE

 

 

He spoke the same way

stars shine.

His words were winds

that gave you the feeling

of godliness.

His statements

held you steady in a storm.

His voice waited silently

in his heart, and spoke

when we wanted something imperishable,

something that stretched forever. 

THIS POEM

 

Today the wind is sleeping

in the trees and grass,

the sunshine is sweeping the streets,

friends are worshipping friendship,

eyes are as silver as stars,

thoughts are guests at a palace,

and this poem

is silently sitting here. 

THOUGHTS

 

In the morning his thoughts

are as light as feathers.

He feels them floating

just above him

as he sits at his desk.

Each thought that comes to him

floats effortlessly up

to join the others.

He keeps typing

and thoughts keep rising.

They stay with him

all day long,

these hovering thoughts,

now and then

raising him up

just off the classroom floor

as he’s teaching.