Searching and Digging for Meaning (Poem in Your Pocket Day 2017)

(borrowed from https://apps.carleton.edu/humanities/events/poem2017/)

It's been a while since I've posted, but I couldn't miss Poem in Your Pocket Day. It's been a nice tradition to start (and perpetuate) here at my school, something that several faculty members look forward to...as long as they remember to do it, that is.

This year, my mind has been all over the place--metaphorically, not literally, as too many of my students overuse. And I've pondered until I was weak and weary, not over forgotten lore but philosophies and core beliefs and deep educational mumbo jumbo like that, a little to do with writing, but more do to with thinking and what I believe, and where my loyalties lie. It might have something to do with completing the doctoral degree and facing new chapters in my life, but it could also have been the enchiladas I had on Tuesday. Regardless of the cause, I've had rumblings.

Regardless, this year, I chose two poems, as I could not settle on one, both with a common strand: small simple details. I've written about the importance of the small and simple before, but it's come back to me again. So, here are two poems by Billy Collins:

“Searching” by Billy Collins

I recall someone once admitting
that all he remembered of Anna Karenina
was something about a picnic basket,

and now, after consuming a book
devoted to the subject of Barcelona--
its people, its history, its complex architecture--

all I remember is the mention
of an albino gorilla, the inhabitant of a park
where the Citadel of the Bourbons once stood.

The sheer paleness of him looms over
all the notable names and dates
as the evening strollers stop before him

and point to show their children.
These locals called him Snowflake,
and here he has been mentioned again in print

in the hope of keeping his pallid flame alive
and helping him, despite his name, to endure
in this poem, where he has found another cage.

Oh, Snowflake,
I had no interest in the capital of Catalonia--
its people, its history, its complex architecture--

no, you were the reason
I kept my light on late into the night,
turning all those pages, searching for you everywhere.


...and here's the second one:

“Digging” by Billy Collins

It seems whenever I dig in the woods

on the slope behind this house

I unearth some object from the past—

a shard of crockery or a bottle with its stopper missing,

sometimes a piece of metal, maybe handled

by the dairy farmer who built this house

over a century and a half ago

as civil war waged unabated to the south.

So it’s never a surprise

when the shovel-tip hits a rusted bolt,

or a glass knob from a drawer—

little hands waving from the past.

And today, it’s a buried toy,

a little car with a dent in the roof

and enough flecks of paint to tell it was blue.

Shrouded in a towel, the body of our cat

lies nearby on the ground where I settled her

in the mottled light of the summer trees,

and I still have to widen the hole

and deepen it for her by at least another foot,

but not before I stop for a moment

with the once-blue car idling in my palm,

to imagine the boy who grew up here

and to see that two of the crusted wheels still spin.

I'm trying to get my students to notice the smaller things, the details, for they are often the overlooked important moments/situations/people in our lives. There is a joy in the small and simple things of life--those moments when you ponder and savor the connections with life, with the world, with ourselves, and with God.

I know this ramble is choppy, but so is my mind right now.

For previous poems that occupied my pocket, check the label on the right-hand side.

Small Celebrations

Today's thought is stolen, or rather borrowed, as I am giving credit where it is due (unlike a handful of students whose essays I graded over the weekend). There's not really much more to add to these concluding words from the book I finished this morning. Well...maybe this: take some time to read professionally...whatever you do. Find or create ten to fifteen minutes every day to better yourself by living vicariously through someone else's real experiences. You can avoid a few mistakes and discover a few new tricks. That said, here is what I found today about celebrating writers. I also think it applies to all aspects of life:

(taken from “Closing Thoughts” in Celebrating Writers: From Possibilities Through Publication by Ruth Ayres with Christi Overman)

            “‘…You have the power to decide if the day is going to be pleasant. It is completely up to you. You can make choices that lead to a pleasant day or choices that lead to unpleasant consequences. Either way is up to you.’

            “The same is true in our classrooms. There are many things we cannot control. We cannot control educational mandates. We cannot control fathers drinking and mothers leaving. We cannot control standardized writing assessments.

            “But we can choose joy.

            “This is the heart of celebration. We choose joy about the excess periods in a student’s writing, because a month ago there were none. We choose joy about the three meager lines of writing, because yesterday there were crushed pencil points and tears. We choose joy about the misspellings, because all of the sight words are accurate.

            “In the face of so much need, we can make a choice to celebrate. There will always be an error, a refusal, an inadequate paragraph. Student writing will never be perfect. We live among the mess. We can choose to wallow in the doom. Or we can choose joy.”

Book Connections:
1. Let the Celebrations Begin by Margaret Wild (Julie Vivas)
2. The Table Where Rich People Sit by Byrd Baylor (Peter Parnall)
3. Touching Spirit Bear by Ben Mikaelsen

We'll see if anyone gets the connection with the picture:

(Taken from http://hazyoasis.deviantart.com/art/Happy-Happy-Joy-Joy-290665440)

Great Lessons Come in Small (Mongoose-sized) Packages

This is the story of the great war between good and evil. Well, kind of. It starts in a much smaller package,  a simple metaphor that 7^th graders always bought into when we read Rudyard Kipling’s “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi” (1894), even if they did so unknowingly. 

(taken from http://www.mysteryplayground.net/2013/12/rikki-tiki-tavi.html)

I was first introduced to this story many years ago as an elementary school student—perhaps third or fourth grade when I devoured Kipling's The Jungle Book (not Disney) and Just So Stories. Soon after discovering the story of the mongoose, I was lounging about trying to avoid the Las Vegas heat on a Saturday afternoon, when to my surprise, Chuck Jones’s animated version of the story,(narrated by Orson Welles) came on. My Looney Tunes and Grinch addictions had already established my Chuck Jones obsession. Like a bird transfixed by Nag, I was glued to the TV.

Fast forward 30 years and my students were equally hooked by this story of deadly snakes and little Rikki. Most students admit they like it, even if they pretend not to pay attention. One of the last years I had 7^th graders, I asked one class—the majority of them reluctant readers—why they liked this story so much. Predictably, many of them said that they liked snakes or the fighting. One girl, Cecilie, shyly spoke up and said she thought the story was an embodiment of good versus evil.

Wow! Where did that come from?

As I’ve thought about that particular conversation, and discussed similar themes with my (new) science fiction and fantasy literature class this semester, I know she’s right. This theme of good triumphing over evil is a universal draw for kids of all ages, even if they parade as adults; it’s a story so old it’s the essence of our existence. Well, at least some people think so. 

(lifted from http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/the-emperors-new
-groove/picks/results/554659/whos-sholder-angel-devil-like-better)

Regardless, it really makes for great classroom, boardroom, or break room discussion. My personal favorite literary battle of good over evil is Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings because of its simple complexities: small and simple and good upsets the suffocating reaches of evil. However, I think that a mongoose fighting to defend “his people” from the pure evil nature of these cobras Nag and Nagaina and the brown snake Karait is the same basic story on a simpler scale. And when it comes to external conflicts, it’s one that just about everyone can get behind. Whether you are talking about dark lords, whaling, video games, cowboys, or playground bullies, everyone roots for the “good guy,” right? It’s only natural.

P.S. Watching snakes is pretty cool, even if they give you the heebie jeebies. On a 7^th grade field trip to the London Zoo, my friends and I witnessed two king cobras attacking and then dining on a handful of white rats. When it’s evil vs. evil, nobody involved wins…except possibly some 7^th grade boys snickering behind protective glass.

"Hope Where I Least Expected"

I was digging through some old writer's notebooks that had collected on a corner of my desk--a special spot where I deposit things to sift through later. The Internet went down the other day, and so Later came sooner, and I explored the stacks, finding various projects that had been started, a few brainstorms of others that I'd like to start charging up, and even a few partially-worked pieces. One of those was this Bring Me poem that 7th grader Tyler C. asked me to help him shape after selecting an object from the field behind the school. He asked me if I could share the creation with others. That was about four or years ago, I think; he's at the high school now (for now).

I guess I should keep my promise:

"Hope Where I Least Expected" by Tyler C. (and Joe Average Writer)

(http://www.alamy.com/stock-photo/dead-dandelion.html)

Dying Dandelion,
shriveling up like a 
hopeless twig in a fire
stubbornly striving to thrive
where others left you
for dead,
forgotten and forlorn,
spread
and spring up new
despite field of hate
and despise;
bring me a sign
that life goes on.


(Maybe there's a metaphor for what I found as well.)

In the Dark

I need to start by saying that I have amazing colleagues. I learn from them every day, and once in a while, they allow me to share with them, too. That said, here is a short social media post I stole from my friend (and colleague) Rillene:

“Last Friday the power went out before school. Imagine a junior high full of 1200 hormonally charged pubescent "darlings" cruising the dark halls of school. Excitement doesn't even begin to cover it.

(Borrowed from Rillene's post)

“I was preparing for class AND for an administrator evaluation--in the dark. But was I deterred, distraught, or disturbed? Well--yes, of course I was. It was DARK! PITCH BLACK in my classroom. Then I dug out a little battery powered lantern I had in my cupboard. I grabbed myself by the shirt-front and said, ‘Remember Rillene--the pioneers held school in freezing one-room shacks with light coming in through maybe one puny window. You can do this!’

“So I turned on the lantern and began writing the lesson on the white board. We would play pioneer school and the students would copy the assignment from the board. To my surprised delight, when student started entering my room they seemed pretty excited to play.

“Well, about three minutes before 8, the power comes back on. My students are sooooo disappointed! Whining commences. "Why can't we have class with the lights out?!" they cry.

“So we did. They were so engaged!! We went through our lesson on sentence combining and introductory prepositional phrases by lantern light. They copied everything from the board. No goofing or messing around--just learning. Happy, happy learning.

“We did turn on the lights during our second hour together when the principal came in for evaluation--the kids understood. The real kicker was when my next bunch of sevies came in for their two period class, the first thing they said was, ‘Did Pod 1 really get to have class in the dark? Why can't we?’

“So we did. And today, after the weekend break, Pods 2 & 4 wanted to have their lesson ‘the pioneer way’ too.

“Maybe I should write an article--Teaching in the Dark Leads to Student Engagement.”

Another colleague (and friend), Jaimie, posted her musings as well: “Starting the school day in the dark... #nowindowsinmyclassroom #creepy #whatdoIdonow #Icouldhavesleptin”

(Stolen from Jaimie)

At the time of the power outage, I didn’t really worry too much about what was going to happen during class because I currently have a good student teacher (Thanks, Georgina!), and I had been working on finishing my dissertation (all 150 pages). My main duty that crazy morning was to check on everyone and make sure they had lanterns or flashlights and to deter any idiotic behavior in the hallways. It wasn’t too hard—only a few morons being obnoxious—not really any mischief to speak of.

            However, several less-experienced teachers stopped me and asked what to do with their classes. Many had prepared technology-based lessons, pouring their hearts and souls into yet another PowerPoint, placing their faith in a montage of YouTube clips. I reflected and shared with them some of my experiences when my students were literally left in the dark.

The worst power outage I navigated occurred several years ago when a car collided with a power transformer a few blocks away and took out the lights from 2^nd period through 4^th periods, and the administration decided that the students should just stay in the same class until everything was sorted out.

Yes, chaos ensued in some parts of the school. However, I took a different tack. I had an extremely large class of 37 squirrely seventh graders, including two of the most challenging students I have ever had in my seventeen years. I also grabbed a few knuckleheads who had been haunting the shadowy halls and screaming or moaning randomly, pretending to be the spirits of previous students who hadn’t endured the torture of junior high. Their pre-pubescent giggles were a dead giveaway. No one was fooled, and I hauled the wannabe hooligans into my room so they wouldn’t add to the mayhem.

I quickly scratched a sign by light of cell phone to hang outside my room warning others that we were busy learning, and I closed the door. The dimness that emanated from the emergency lights in the hall was completely blotted out.

Cue seventh grade scream.

It was hard to tell if the boys or girls were pitched higher, but the noise died immediately when I clicked the switch of my flashlight. I perched on my stool at the front of the room, the light hovering directly under my face. In a ghostly whisper I directed everyone to a seat. Students flicked their eyes back and forth at each other, wondering what was happening.

Without another word, I opening a ponderous tome of not-so-forgotten lore and began reading:

“TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

By the time I finished the first paragraph of Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” the crowd was captivated. Now, I pride myself on being an engaging oral reader, but this was an all-time best. Not a student stirred. Not a sound came from within the four walls of my domain. Muffled din came from the hallway, but my audience was hooked.

(Lifted from https://www.tes.com/lessons/qvmo-UKUj
5McYA/tell-tale-heart-by-edgar-allen-poe)

            When I finished about twenty minutes later, we had a discussion about mood—an element we had discussed earlier in the year—and identified elements that made a difference in the telling of the story: the dark, the skills of the reader, the attention of the listener. We discussed Poe’s craft: his sentence structure, his vocabulary, his tone.

            When that discussion ended, I asked them what they wanted to do next. Unanimously, they begged me to read more to them. I don’t remember what we moved on to, but I think we did some more Poe and maybe another short story or two. I do remember a couple students ask if we could read something that wasn’t so creepy. Then just before the decision for the cafeteria to begin preparing cold lunches was announced, the lights came back on, and the day went forward as normally as possible.

            Opportunities like this are rare, but they need not be a total waste of time as Rillene demonstrated. Every day presents an opportunity for learning. Students sit metaphorically in the dark all the time. However, the light a teacher can provide only lasts so long. Eventually those batteries need to be changed or a new wick needs to be lit. Taking every opportunity to spark a student’s own interest in learning is where the real light of education happens.

            During the power outage, I could have wasted time, but I created an experience, one that never happened again, one that the students will always remember. About a month ago I ran into a former student from that class at a restaurant. She asked if I remembered the day I read “The Tell-Tale Heart” in the dark. Of course I did. It became a shared bond between the 40 or so of us who were in that classroom. It was a jumping-off point for other learning to happen. When we talked about author craft, I used it as a model, as many of my students wanted to write about characters going insane. I illustrated how as a junior in high school, I meticulously poured over Poe’s narration and how it served as a mentor text for me when I wrote “The Ultimate Sin” during Mr. Bainter’s history class (not a bad story for a sixteen-year-old), showing them how I purposely shortened my sentences as the narrator lost his mind, similar to Poe’s protagonist.

Sharing that experience sparked more interest in writing and publishing. I think “The Ultimate Sin” was the only short story I ever got paid for ($20) including it in a student-run literary magazine. After the class decided to approach “The Cask of Amontillado,” we revisited writing creepy settings and using symbolism—topics students usually try to avoid more than back-stabbing friends. By the end of the year, thematic discussions about perfect crimes and guilt always came back to “The Tell-Tale Heart.” I even had a few advanced students asking if they could borrow my copy of Crime and Punishment. None ever finished the Dostoyevsky, but the point is that it created a spark. They wanted to know more. Was it on the lesson plan that day? Absolutely not. Most of the best learning deviates from the plan a little. It happens when students become intrigued by a side note, or their interest is piqued by one of the non-required readings, or an anecdote told during work time tickles their inquisitive bone. Rillene, Jaimie, and most of my teaching colleagues around the world know this and exploit this teaching tactic on a regular basis.

(Taken from http://karlsprague.com/strangers-
sparks-stecchino-bistro/)

Students construct their own learning (APA-style Constructivist citations deliberately left out today), but it is up to the teacher to create an environment where sparks can fly. Some students choose to remain in the dark, and we can loan them a little light, but it can only last for so long. Getting to know students and where their interests lie provides a little tinder. Helping them make meaningful connection scrapes the flint against the steel. And pretty soon the flames shine brightly, and you pray that no one or nothing (like a standardized test or something like that) douses the flame of curiosity, leaving them in the dark once again. However, rest assured that once a student has tasted that spark, has seen the light, felt the glow, or whatever other heat analogy you want to throw in here, she will always remember what it felt like, and will hunger after it. Most of the time, you just need a little fuel and the right conditions. And I repeat, it’s up to the teacher to cultivate prime conditions to burn.

  

Insert Swarming Metaphor Here

          I'm not sure why this story reappeared in my thoughts yesterday, but up it popped, unheeded, unannounced; it just came to me. "Leiningen Versus the Ants" by Carl Stephenson was one of the first stories that I thought was actually worth paying attention to after I was introduced to the term "short story" in 8th grade. After what seemed like months of pointless garbage, Mrs. Kane, in all her beastly glory (Side note: there were days where she reminded me of a yeti.), actually gave us something worth reading. It actually kept my attention. I thought after this, English class might actually improve, despite the horrific grammar and vocabulary drills. Unfortunately, I was wrong. My opinion of her dissolved after two more stories--both of which I will probably share over the next couple days. After those, it was right back to writing nonfiction book reports. (Yes, I completely faked the report I wrote from the biography of Mao Tse Tung. So? That book was as bland as middle school cafeteria gravy, or sludge as we lovingly called it there at Lakenheath American Middle School. Go, Leopards! ...And I got a B+ on that "report.")
          Tangent diverted! Back to our good friend Leiningen. His determination/stupidity in the face of overwhelming odds can be used as a metaphor for whatever onslaught you may be facing right now: killer ants, 7th graders after gym, political "protesters," or whatever other metaphor you'd like to insert. Feel free to make your own application. Being a reader, that's part of your job.

(https://news.illinois.edu/blog/view/6367/205141)

          Regardless of my feelings for 8th grade English or anything else, "Leiningen Versus the Ants" is still a pretty cool story. (And there's no movie that I am aware of, although The Naked Jungle with Charlton Heston is supposedly based off Stephenson's story.)

Life is like...

(http://www.usnews.com/topics/subjects/lottery)

Forget the Forrest Gump-ism about what life is like. Sometimes life just resembles Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery." And when that happens, we have some choices. Our country faces some choices. The question is what are you, as an individual, going to do about it? That's not a political jab, or statement, or anything, but this is: I think the future of our country lies in the individual, and how each one of us chooses to act, how each one of us chooses to treat others, how we choose to live our own lives. That is all. Take it for what you will.

P.S. The story is not public domain, but I found a (.pdf) copy of it on a teacher site, accompanied by some decent questions.

P.P.S. Here is video adaptation of the story I found on YouTube.

"The Lie"

http://www.ictlounge.com/html/applications_in_school_management.htm

I'm not going to expound my philosophies on education and grades and what they mean and what society thinks they mean and what they should mean right now. That might take a VERY long time, and I would probably end up offending many people, and I'm trying to be positive today, so I'm going to keep my mouth mostly shut on that topic, although it does connect somewhat to today's story, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.'s "The Lie."

I first encountered this story my initial year of teaching, and I used it every year I taught 8th graders. It was one of my favorite stories of the year, but most of the kids didn't seem to appreciate the subtle truths about society and grade inflation and entitlement and "privilege" that they lived every day. Unfortunately, students' lives are often controlled by outside forces that leave them more helpless than the generation before. Helicoptering, yet another topic for another time, results in learned helplessness. Learning sometimes comes from failure...and that's where I'll leave my comments today. If you want more, you'll either have to wait until I deem myself level-headed enough to do so, or you'll need to talk to me personally. If you haven't noticed, some of my narrative posts, and the lessons I learned from my experiences, come from precarious or plain at least unsupervised situations where I had to learn for myself. I witness that many kids still make it through life the same way I did, but others just don't know how to connect the dots.

For now, please excuse me. I need to go post my final grades for the term. Read the story while you wait.

Misty Metaphor

Apparently I have shared this on many other outlets, but have failed to post it on my blog, so here is are a poem and a photograph (both by me):

There's something

poetic

about the fir in the front yard

donning a shroud

of fog and frost

at the rolling of the calendar

year—

an enigmatic omen

of the imminent year

lingering before silent snows

sweep away the veil of vapor

to reveal its

intentions before

midnight.

Chilling Tale

This morning I shoveled another six inches from my driveway (another two fell before I left for work). I think the total since Christmas hangs around thirty inches or so. As I worked under the giant fir tree hanging over my driveway, one of the lower branches decided it was too exhausted and dumped its burden down the back of my neck, the powdery cold reaching all the way down to my socks, extinguishing any exuberance I had when starting my shoveling ordeal. In that vein, I decided that the story for today would be Jack London's classic "To Build a Fire." I first encountered this tale in Ms. Ortiz's 7th grade English class--it and the poem "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert Service served as a precursor to London's novel Call of the Wild. More recently, my son read the story in his 8th grade English class, and was excited to talk about it with me. I read it several times in school and a few more on my own. If you haven't read it, you should. If you have, you will probably never forget it, even if you slept more than read in your English classes.

Illustration from story To Build a Fire. First published in The Century Magazine, v.76, August, 1908

P.S. There's a movie for this story, too.

Something a Little Different

                I've decided that I’m going to share a short story once in a while—not necessarily the entire text, but the title and author at least, and perhaps a link to it. These will be pieces that maybe I’ve shared with my class or relate to something I’ve been thinking about. Regardless of the reason, it will give you something to look up, ponder, and maybe even enjoy.

                Today’s feature is “All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury. It’s about a group of nine-year-old school children on Venus who are anticipating the brief one hour of sunlight they will see, as this phenomenon only occurs once every seven years. One girl, an outsider who actually remembers the sun, and yearns for it more than anything else, is bullied by the class just because she is different and is locked in a closet. The children only remember her after the sun has come and gone. (I have also found a movie version, but it's not quite as powerful. I'll also need to look up the citation information. This painting by Robert Henri, Wee Maureen (1926), which accompanies the story in the literature book, also captures a few points of the story.) 

                I have a few thoughts, and I’m not really going to provide much commentary today, just gonna let things hang in the open.

1.       I know that weather can affect moods and behaviors, but what do we do about it when it does? Seriously, seasonal depression is a real, diagnosable and scary monster, but how often do we let that or other factors become a crutch to lean on out of convenience? More of this dependency is prevalent in our society today? What happened to self-reliance?

2.       How often do we get caught up in the frenzy of a crowd? How many times have you been a sheep, a goat, an ass, or any other of your favorite barnyard followers?

3.       How often do we allow others to be bullied? Are we much better than the bully if we just let things happen? There are many YouTube videos about situations like this.

4.       What happens when we allow others to crush dreams (whether they are our own or others’)?

5.       Why can’t we all just be nice?

Read the story and these questions might make more sense.

                In the literature book I collected this story from, there is a poem immediately after that I like more each time I read it, and I will share that. Then you have to go read the story on your own.

“What Do We Do with a Variation?” by James Berry

What do we do with a difference?

Do we stand and discuss its oddity

or do we ignore it?

Do we shut our eyes to it

or poke it with a stick?

Do we clobber it to death?

Do we move around it in rage

and enlist the rage of others?

Do we will it to go away?

Do we look at it in awe

or purely in wonderment?

Do we work for it to disappear?

Do we pass it stealthily

or change route away from it?

Do we will it to become like ourselves?

What do we do with a difference?

Do we communicate to it,

let application acknowledge it

for barriers to fall down?

                Poetically, it’s not my favorite, but the message rings true today…at least to me. We are surrounded by differences. This morning, on a lovely late-start-due-to-snow day, my nine-year-old was extremely upset that she couldn’t draw a guinea pig perfectly—just like the one in the supposedly “easy to draw” book. It took quite a while to help her understand that it her drawing didn’t have to be perfect; it didn’t have to be exactly the same; it’s okay to make mistakes or to be different in our attempts, especially when trying something new.

                I think we all lose sight of that. Let’s let go of petty differences—I won’t unfriend you if your beliefs, opinions, or practices are different than mine—let’s look at the larger picture of humanity. So…let’s be kind when encountering differences, especially with the turmoil and upheaval our world is facing. My advice for this new year: just be kind.