Poetry 102

I may have to change my description as a reluctant poet. Seems as though since I have been exploring poetry to teach it, I have been thinking in those terms, too. On Friday, the morning after I presented my teacher workshop Introduction to Slam Poetry, I was listening to a radio news story about a 2-year-old Chinese girl who was run over by two cars. Video of the accident created a furor because it shows 18 people driving or walking past without helping the girl. The latest news in the story was that she had died. Immediately, what flashed into my head were the lines: "She was only 2. They were 18." And I continued writing lines in my head as I drove.


Later that morning, I was in a workshop led by slam poet Taylor Mali. (See my interview with him in a future post.) I wanted to continue working on the piece, but he gave us a separate prompt. He wanted us to describe something that had happened to us, something true, and to write it as one sentence. Near the end of the 5-minute free write, he asked us to include three adjectives in a row. A minute later, he asked us to add a rhyme. I never thought I could write within those parameters, but I quickly decided that I could adapt some of the thoughts from my morning drive. Then I found myself wanting to share it when Taylor sought audience volunteers.

I thought the highlight was winning a rock-paper-scissors contest that Taylor made another male teacher and myself battle to be the last presenter. Or getting a critique of my poem/presentation from Taylor. But it was actually having people come up to me afterward saying how they liked it, how it touched them, and I had requests for a copy of the poem.

So here it is, the unedited rough version of the 5-minute free write, followed by the DVD extras of "Behind the Scenes" of the Poem and an Alternate Poem (or a rough draft of the original poem developed on the morning drive).

ROUGH CUT:

ODE TO TAYLOR MALI AND A TWO-YEAR-OLD FROM CHINA,

or HEY WORLD, WAKE THE F*** UP

This morning, before my wife and two little girls woke up

and I got to kiss them goodbye

and wish them a fantastic day,

as I went off to meet a poet who has inspired me –

me, an admitted non-poet

or a “reluctant poet” within the mixed company of my English teaching family –

and tell him how he’s gotten me to think in verse,

I heard a story on the radio

about a 2-year-old from China

who laid on the ground for several minutes

after getting run over by two cars

and 18 people drove or walked past her

not a single one stopping to help,

and she died today,

and all I could think was

how uncaring

how unseeing

how desperately oblivious

we – as a society –are today

to watch one single child die,

and we say goodbye

to a child

a future

an innocent life,

but hopefully we can use this as a lesson,

and I am glad I kissed my girls today

and wished them a fanstastic day.

DVD EXTRA #1
Behind the Scenes of the 5-minute Free Write Poem:

Phew! What may or may not be obvious to audience members at the workshop was how nervous I was, shaking in my chest and in my legs, even though I am used to being up in front of people. What no one there knew was that my use of profanity (the "F-bomb" in the title) is something that is part of the spirit of the piece, and not a word that I'm used to using. And what Taylor couldn't know, as he commented post-poem that he is not necessary in the piece, is that it wasn't a sucking-up or patronizing tactic, but rather was an actual part of the story, keeping it true.


DVD EXTRA #2
Alternate Poem

When I got home, I shared the story with my wife and kids. And then I went to finishing the original poem I was thinking in my car. So here is that one:

ROUGH CUT: 

SHE WAS ONLY TWO

She was only 2.

They were 18.

She lay bleeding and suffering on the sidewalk.

They drove or walked by, unblinking, unseeing, unhelping.

She was only 2.

They are 1.3 billion.

They are evolving to a fast-paced, consumer-driven economic power full of hope.

She was evolving into a beautiful life, as any toddler, full of hope.

She was only 2.

We are 7 billion.

She, like any child, looked at the world with searching eyes.

We race through life, seeing only the next thing we “need” to do, the next thing we “need” to buy, the last thing we did, the last person who screwed us, and a hundred million other pieces of f***ing nonsense.

Our children are our future.

But they are also our teachers, teaching us

how to slow down

how to enjoy,

if only we will watch and listen

with open eyes and a caring heart,

not pass them by

without a second look.

She was only 2.

Poetry 101

I have always described myself as a reluctant poet. I never really thought about the actual words. I meant to call myself a non-poet, but the reluctant part implies that, subconsciously at least, believe there is something of the poet inside me. And after exploring this side of myself over the past couple weeks, and at the urging of a few people, I decided to publish some rough drafts of my own poetry.

The origins of "How Long Does It Have To Be?" come from a writing prompt the first time I presented a teacher workshop on the non-poet's Introduction to Slam Poetry a few years ago.

I worked on it a little more before my latest workshop on it. Good thing, too. When my technology cut out on me at the end, leaving me without the slam poetry video clip I meant to end with, or even a secondary choice, I had to do something to avoid ending on such a down note. So I got out my notebook and read this poem. It's still rough, definitely needs some work, but I had a request to share it. So here it is:

 

Rough Cut:

“How Long Does It Have To Be?”

You know the feeling,

you work long and hard

developing a writing assignment that will challenge students

to think

to inquire

to reflect

to perspire.

Painstaking efforts go into drafting and describing it.

You are excited; you know the students will be excited.

And as you’re about to fire the figurative starting gun

to let them go off to the races,

a single innocent hand arises:

“How long does it have to be?”

The question stops you for just a second.

You recover with the well-prepared answer:

“As long as it takes.”

The expression of the students who owns the hand

turns from question to exasperation,

infecting a few faces around him.

 “Why does every freakin’ English teacher say that?”

A million thoughts flash through the teaching mind,

sorting through the chaff,

discarding the hugely inappropriate,

looking for that perfect “teaching moment” answer.

“Is that true? Does every English teacher say that?

Have I used that on this class before?

When’s the last time I used it?

Am I repeating myself?

Am I … gulp … unoriginal?

No! You’re the unoriginal one.

Every student asks that.

Why don’t you trust yourself,

Write til you’re done?

Why not avoid being lazy and ask the exact length

so you can write to the minimum word count and end exactly there,

sometimes in mid-sent…

Why does every freakin’ English teacher say that?

Could it be because it’s true?

Is it just a conspiracy designed to brainwash all students?

Is it in the text Everything You Wanted to Know About Teaching English, but Were Afraid Someone Would Ask?

Am I just pure evil?

Are you in hell?

Am I?

AYKM (Are you Kidding Me)?

OMG?!”

The agape mouths in the classroom audience tell me

as an expert reader of young minds

that what I though was a masterful display of teacher “wait time”

was not.

I withheld my last question for myself alone:

“Did I say that out loud?”

The original unoriginal student is the first to blink.

He slumps back into his desk, crosses his arms

and asks one final thing:

“Are you just gonna keep asking questions?”

I recover quickly.

“Of course. That’s what I do.

As long as it takes.”

Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish

To be great is to be misunderstood.               

                                                                                   -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

_________________________________________________________________________________

Thank you, Steve Jobs.

I was driving to work today, puzzling over how to best help students navigate Ralph Waldo Emerson’s language to the themes in his 1841 essay on “Self Reliance,” when I heard a modern interpretation resonate clearly through my radio’s speakers.

An NPR story was memorializing the Apple founder, and included a valuable snippet of his 2005 commencement speech at Stanford University.

I had the answer I was seeking. So, in class, I stepped back from my usual talk and let Mr. Jobs explain Emerson to my students in his own words:

“Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

The message of trusting yourself, trusting your instincts and following up on them, seem to resonate through his speech and his life. It’s a message I want to instill in my own kids, which includes my students.

I had been following Jobs’ career for several years, especially his innovations and leadership that led to the resurgence of Apple. But that was just business news. I didn’t know about the challenges he overcame in his youth, and even the challenges he faced when being fired from the company he founded. And how he faced these challenges head on, never giving up, never giving in, but rather persevering and growing even stronger.

Unfortunately, it took his death to make me appreciate his life.

So thank you, Steve Jobs. Thank you for modeling the way we should face adversity, the way we should fight the tempting pulls of conformity and foolhardy consistency, the way we should rely on our selves to be great. Thank you for inspiring me to scrap my initial lesson plan in the face of something better. And thank you for passing on a message from your own youth: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.”

I think I just gained a new screensaver message.

To check out the speech yourself or for your students, click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1R-jKKp3NA and you can get a text of the speech at http://news.stanford.edu/news/2005/june15/jobs-061505.html.

Listen, love it, live it.

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Thank You, Taylor Mail

Education is the miracle, I’m just the worker.

--Taylor Mali, from "Miracle Workers"

_________________________________________________________________________________

Opening Day Eve has passed, as has your free time to watch movies. The time for inspiration is over; it’s school time! Any “free time” now is most likely spent planning, grading, sometimes even getting an uninterrupted night’s sleep.

But if you want a quick breather and to put a smile back on your face, especially on a difficult day, I recommend a quick hit of YouTube to the tune of Taylor Mali. Taylor is a poetry slam champion, a passionate advocate for the joy of teaching, and a wonderful performer who will make you laugh, challenge you to think, and then make you laugh again.

“What Teachers Make” is the most obvious choice from his catalog of poems. This rant against the audacity of a party guest asking about a teacher’s salary, as if that is the big draw to the profession, has made the rounds of teacher chats and blogs.

This was one of my first YouTube finds and has remained one of my favorites. It never gets old, and if you haven’t seen it, you’re in for a treat.

If you like that, try out “Totally Like Whatever” and “The The Impotence of Proofreading.”

I’ve shown the first one to students and some totally get the satiric send up of the imprecise speech and annoying verbal habits of today’s society, not just the youth. (Did you see how “whatever” and “totally” made the 2009 list of most annoying words? Anyway, at the end of the day it is what it is.)

As for the second poem, well, few things make me laugh out loud like this comical imagining of over relying on a spell checker. But make sure no one else is around while viewing it as the unintended results of a misspelling can be hilariously and embarrassingly inappropriate (we’ve all been there, right?). Guilty pleasure.

One of the most advantageous things about these gifts is that the rules of the poetry slam say that each entry can be no longer than 3 minutes. That means you can view one in between classes, if the need arises.

And it usually does. Enjoy!

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‘Are we going to watch a movie?’

Sleeplessness, sickness and other teacher Opening Day Eve rituals

To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

--Robin Williams in Dead Poet’s Society

 __________________________________________________________________________________

If you’re just starting your first day as a teacher, let me let you in on a little secret. Prepare for a restless night.

Oh, and feeling like you’re going to throw up is not uncommon either. (That morning sickness may actually continue for the first week. Bring mouthwash and a change of clothes to work.)

I’ve been teaching for more than a decade now and the sleepless, sick feelings of Opening Day Eve have not gone away yet. It took me years and a few stories from other teachers to convince me I wasn’t alone in this.

Ah, but there’s something else you should know. The first moment in front of your students. That’s where the magic begins. And all the sleepiness and sickness will be forgotten as you turn on and try to flip their “on” switch also.

Of course you’ll be exhausted and sick again the second night, but that’s another story.

Ben Franklin said that “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.” You’ve done all the lesson preparation. But have you prepared yourself for the marathon-length sprint that is the 180-plus day school year? I’ll share my own ritual to give you ideas if you don’t have one (or if you want a new one).

My annual pre-school ritual consists of studying the greats of education, or at least my greats: Charles Edward Chipping, LouAnne Johnson and John Keating. That is, a movie marathon consisting of “Goodbye, Mister Chips,” “Dangerous Minds” and “Dead Poets Society.”

I can’t recall how I came to choose these three movies, but they’re always in the same order and they never fail to get me in the right mood for the year.

Goodbye, Mr. Chips

This 1939 tearjerker sees Robert Donat playing the reserved teacher everyone calls “Mr. Chips.” During his long career dedicated solely to perfecting his craft and his students, he aspires to be headmaster of his boarding school for upper class students in WWI-era England, but is always passed over for promotions. He finally finds himself coming out of retirement to lead the school as many younger teachers – and former students – have gone off to fight in the war. He mourns with the rest of the school the daily remembrance of students and teachers who have died, and celebrates with his school as he announces the war’s end.

I always enjoy seeing the younger Chips coming to the realization, with the help of his wife, that teaching is about more than strong content and discipline, but getting to know the individuals in the seats.

This year’s viewing was especially significant in light of recent calls for school reform. At one point, the headmaster asks the senior Chips to retire for failing to conform to the new teaching methods. Chips sticks to his guns and stays on long enough to convince the headmaster that the old ways are just as valuable in molding boys into fine young men.

The movie becomes Kleenex fodder when Chips, on his deathbed, responds to people empathizing that he never had children saying that is untrue; he has had thousands. And as his life flashes before his eyes, what he sees is the long line of students he has served, punctuated by the last student he helped saying “Goodbye, Mr. Chips.” Sniff.

Alternate choice: “Mr. Holland’s Opus.”

Dangerous Minds

This 1995 movie adapts LouAnne Johnson’s book about her early teaching experiences, “My Posse Don’t Do Homework.” Michelle Pfeiffer plays the ex-Marine who finds it difficult teaching in a poor inner city high school until she employs what one IMDB.com critic called “unconventional teaching tactics”  -- like getting to know her students (see Mr. Chips) – to help them find success.

The part that always gets me is when Pfeiffer visits the mother of two students who haven’t shown up in days, only to find out the mother had pulled them out of school.

“I saw what they were bringing home: poetry and (expletive deleted),” the mother tells the flabbergasted teacher. “A waste of time. They got more important things to worry about…. I ain’t raising no doctors and lawyers here. They got bills to pay. Go find yourself some other poor boys to save.”

I don’t see myself as a savior. But this scene reminds me that our students have a life outside of school, sometimes a difficult one, and we can’t forget that as we try to teach them things from which they see no immediate payoff.

I’m also struck by the ironic reality of education when Pfeiffer asks a veteran teacher for supplies to help her challenge the curriculum, and she’s told they’re out of copy paper and art paper and low on pencils. “But we have a lot of students so that about makes it even,” the sarcastic vet says.

Alternate choice: “Freedom Writers.”

Dead Poets Society

This 1989 film was one of my favorite films before I even thought about switching careers to teaching, but it took on greater significance afterward. Robin Williams plays an energetic English teacher at an all-boys New England school who teaches the importance of the classics, but more so includes life lessons on going against the status quo and living for the moment (making the Latin phrase “carpe diem” famous).

This one has more favorite scenes than I have room to describe (for those of you who’ve seen it, I can just abbreviate it thusly: standing on the desk, ripping pages from the “J. Evans Pritchard” poetry anthology, walking in the courtyard, kicking soccer balls while reciting poetry).

But the thing that gets me fired up, and why I save this film for last, is when he kneels in the middle of the class, huddling his students around him, and telling them why we read and write poetry.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Between this and timid student Todd “sounding his barbaric yawp” with an impromptu poem in front of the class, it shows me the awesome possibilities of teaching.

Alternate choice: None. There is no substitution for this one. Enjoy it on its own.

So to all the teachers out there, good luck for a good Opening Day Eve and for a good year. And to paraphrase Mr. Keating: Carpe diem, teachers. Seize the day. Make your lives – and those of your students – extraordinary.

What rituals do you have on Opening Day Eve? Email me your story, name, school and how long you’ve been teaching at unknownteacherTU@gmail.com for possible inclusion in a future posting.

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Entering the Unknown

I sing of the unknown teacher…. She communicates her own joy in learning and shares with boys and girls the very best treasures of her mind. She lights many candles with, in later years will shine back to cheer her. This is her reward.                                               

                                                                                   --Henry Van Dyke            __________________________________________________________________________________

Quick. How many of the teachers you’ve had can you name? I’ll give you 30 seconds. I’ll wait.

(… Ms. Smith – really! Mr. Jackson. Ms. Paintin. Mr. Wright. Mr. Hopper. Mrs. Meeks. Mr. Hoke.… Drat! Time’s up.)

How’d you do? Odds are you too failed to reach double digits, unless you have a photographic memory (and probably even if you do). Give yourself more time, even 30 minutes, and you’ll probably get only a few more on your list.

Why? Let’s face it, when it comes down to it, it doesn’t really matter.

Being a teacher, I understand the natural desire to be liked and the professional desire to have a lasting impact and to be remembered. But having students remember us is not why we get into this gig. Not one lesson plan ever has a TSWBAT (The Student Will Be Able To…) for this. What we want students to remember are the things that we teach them – the skills, the knowledge, the life lessons – and the confidence in their own self efficacy as learners and as doers in “The Real World.”

In many respects, it’s like being a parent. We spend our time preparing our children for life, and then watch them go. We can brag about their accomplishments, share in their sorrows, maybe even watch them become like us. Some will come back, but some never will. And that’s okay. As much as it may hurt, ultimately it’s about them, it’s not about us.

And then there’s the time limitation. In most cases, we have them for only 180 days, and in the upper grades for no more than a few hours a week. (Of course, when I think about it, that’s sometimes more time than a parent gets working two or three jobs to make ends meet for their family.) As with your own child, every moment is valuable.

So I don’t get too bugged when a student addresses me simply as “Mister,” or even mispronounces my name.

And that brings me to my edu-blog, for which I created the nom de plume The Unknown Teacher. The idea was inspired by ‘70s comic Murray Langston, best known for performing his stand-up routine with a paper bag over his head. Reportedly, he started the Unknown Comic gimmick because he was embarrassed about accepting a job on The Gong Show.

Unlike Langston, I am never embarrassed about my job. I love it, despite its faults and shortcomings. And I realize, after more than a decade in my chosen profession, that we need to discuss what works and what doesn’t to make education better for everyone. And yet, the reality is that it is easier for a teacher to teach about the 1^st Amendment than to practice it. Everything that you say and do in such a public position can come back to bite you, especially if it runs counter to the ideas of the parents, the school administrators and/or the community.

For these reasons, plus the hectic nature of the school year, we’re left hearing most about education from those who are not – or never have been – a classroom teacher. That’s what we need to reform. We need more teacher voices in the public conversation, rather than confining them and their voices within the four walls of their classroom.

And as we teach students to be the change they want to see in the world, I decided this year that I need to practice what I teach, and use my writing voice to give what I hope will be a realistic and different perspective on the realities of education today. A teacher’s perspective.

The difference here being that I don’t put my name on it. But when it comes down to it, does that really matter? Reporters put their name on their writing every day. Take the opening quiz again and see how many of them you can name.

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