How much of the stuff that they make you teach us
Do you really want to teach? He asked
What are you talking about? I reply.
I LOVE this stuff!
We’re passionate about our subject,
glory in the possibilities,
long to share wisdom!
Do you know how many years I studied this stuff?
I adore it all!
Oh,
how wonderful when we connect students to our subject
so they are empowered by it, too.
She studies his torso,
surveys lines and curves,
tracks
sinews
. and
. flesh,
melts,
wishes she was butter:
s p r e a d o u t ,
simmering,
glistening
in those crevices,
turning into warm caramel
within his embrace.
Some of the most brilliant, creative people I know did not do well at school. Many of them didn’t really discover what they could do–and who they really were–until they’d left school and recovered from their education.
Sir Ken Robinson in The Element
I am doing my Masters in Education at the moment. Specifically, I’m on campus at University of British Columbia Okanagan taking two courses, each three hours a day, for three extremely intensive and exhausting weeks. As I write, I am exactly half way through my degree. In another week and a half I will have completed 6 of 9 courses. I am presently trying to determine what I will do for a project to reflect the research I do around my question which explores passion-based learning and teaching in a high school.
I come to this research because since I have fulfilled my passions as an author and poet, it has completely changed the way I teach. I am happier. I believe my students are happier because of it. I suspect they learn better because I bring my outside passions (as a writer) into my class room.
Unlike the people Robinson knew, I did do well in school, in the classes I loved like English, History, and Choral, at least. I didn’t do as well in math and sciences. I knew I wanted to be a writer even back in high school. I was in the yearbook (publishing a book each year!), newspaper (publishing a column each month!), as well as musical theatre (applause!). Back then, all three of those were extra-curricular activities. How great would it have been to have been earning English and art credits for all that learning? Our kids today do.
I was so jealous of Sue Hinton who’d written The Outsiders while she was in grade eleven! Consider: she failed English that year. What a travesty! Next year, I have 2 students who are planning to do Independent Directed Studies writing novels (or perhaps novellas) for credit. Sue Hinton would have loved English in my school.
I may have known my passion, but I didn’t leap in and start (well, finish) writing that novel in my head until 25 years after leaving high school. That’s a long time to have a fire smoored, awaiting the flash of flame and burning of achievement!
How about you? What’s your passion? Is it smoored or burning? Did formal school help or hinder development of your passion?
On her blog @SarahDoughty prompted:
Tell me a story covering three things:
This was my response. Not exactly a story, but you know, brevity is an art! 🙂 What’s your response? Go check out her blog and leave a thought.
.
.
POETRY LESSON:
I feel like I need to take this moment to point out what is going on in this poem, because while there are only 3 lines and eleven words, they are woven tightly using a variety of poetic technique. First, while each line responds in order to Sarah’s 3 prompts, they also read as one sentence, so there are overlapping meanings. Secondly, there is a pattern of 4-3-4 words. Thirdly, repetition in the first line is quite emphatic, but provides a rhyme that tightens the ending with you.
Fourthly, I get seriously carried away with the sound devices assonance and consonance, binding each component of the words to their fellows. There are three vowels sounds repeated, the only out-lier is the ‘o’ in stories. e.g. I, I, my; do, do, you; release, stories, dreams; the, of. (Reminder: assonance is repetition of a vowel sound, NOT a letter). The consonant sounds also repeat with do, do, dreams; release, stories, dreams; release, stories, dreams; my dreams. The the and of are both *fricatives, and so while not exactly the same sound, the brain hears them as ‘close enough.’
Finally, that leaves only the ‘l’ is without a partner, except visually–because I,I,l look the same, don’t they? And of course, the lonely o from stories, visually matches the o’s in do. In other words, every component of each word is tied somehow to the rest of the poem. Absolutely everything fits like a tight puzzle.
Did I do any of this intentionally? No, actually. I just responded to the prompt, tidied it up until I liked it, and then when I copied it here, I noticed how tight it was.
*Fricatives in English are f,v, s (both s/z sounds), th (both θ and ð).
I am
caught
between breath,
hovering within a moment,
alive in every cell,
dying a small death
until I’m inhaling
you
me
infinity.
She searches
for
words,
music,
assurances.
His tongue
writes
her poetry
and she sighs
on the harmony
of their song.
I want you.
Despite all the objections,
inspections, rejections,
imperfections,
my predilection
is you.
.
.
.
Just think all the things the poet could be addressing here. Is the ‘you’ a lover, a baby, a puppy, a great pair of shoes…? 😉 What is your predilection?
