Tag Archives: Poetry

Power of a Whim

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Some teachers plan meticulously, then reflect exhaustively. I am not that kind of teacher. I like to plan with broad brush strokes– set a destination (assessment), decide what we must see on the way there (criterion, objectives) and take a map (rubric). I have been know to start a trip without the map, but I like to check in on it every once in a while. Once my unit is planned, I often improvise and go with my gut. Sometimes I will think of an idea minutes before class, and I’ll take a risk and run with it. Sometimes this helps, sometimes we get lost. Sometimes getting lost helps us get closer to where we want to be.

We are starting a poetry unit in grade seven, and I have been teaching middle school kids poetry for long enough to know it ain’t easy and/or cool. Problem is I love the stuff. I love the idea of the stuff. Throughout my career, I have tried different techniques to approaching poetry, but I seldom start with text or the word poetry.

I want students to understand that poetry is a way of life not a skill set. I will write more about poetry soon, this was meant to be a short post highlighting the power of whim.

Today was the first day back from break and after the initial- how was you week chit-chat– I told the kids to put their laptops away and read these words, which I projected on the wall:

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.

This is what I said:

I will put on some music. I want you to grab some paper, some crayons, color pencils, whatever you want and draw these words. There are few rules. Please remain silent and in your head. Then just draw. You are not done until the time is up, even if it feels like you are. Fill the whole page and take your time.

Then I turned on my iPod, put it on shuffle and we all started to draw. We listened to the Beastie Boys, Nirvana and Miles Davis.  For an entire hour every kid, head down, drew. Not a word. No clarification, no griping, no nothing. Just music, poetry, and drawing. I wasn’t sure why asking kids to draw poem would be a good idea, or where it would lead us, when I started, but as I listened to the saxophone jazz and stained my fingers with pastel oils, and contemplated what actually does depend on the red wheel barrow, a funny thing happened–my brain began to work. Ideas began to grow. Flames flickered. Poetry became clear. I noticed the word glazed and I drew it. I created the world where this wheelbarrow lives. I could smell the depleted storm. I heard the chickens. I thought. I felt.

Then I got up and walked about the room. I could not hear the student thoughts, but I could see by what they were drawing that something powerful was happening in there. I let them continue for the entire class. Tomorrow we will  explore the worlds they drew. We will ask questions about what they chose to draw and what they left out. We will discuss what they were thinking as they created their world. Then I will tell them that a poem is merely a door into a world they already know. A door intro their mind, their heart…

I start WWI poetry with grade 10’s tomorrow as well, and I will start the same way. We will draw:

Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.

You’d think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they’ve been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.

by Siegfried Sassoon and we might listen to this.

A Larger Sense

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Social media and in a larger sense the Internet for me is:

a soapbox, a confessional, a journal. It is a stage, a radio station, a blank canvas and a pew. It’s a gallery, summer festival, and a critical friend. It’s a warm embrace and an atta boy. It’s a mirror and a disco ball. A promise made and kept. A vow and a practice squad. The process and the product. It’s spiritual, organic and digital. Real and virtual. It is surreal and three dimensional. Collaborative and selfish. It is a parade, and a long lonesome hike.  A drum circle and job interview. It is a mediation hall and recording studio. A resume and field journal filled with scraps of poetry, tweets, and cosmic contemplations. Myself turned inside out and presented to you with open arms. A photo album, a debate and an intimate conversation. The magnification of a drifting thoughts dressed as philosophizes and manifestos. It is the ability to exist outside oneself for all to see. It is open and free and allows me to say these things to you.

Stones

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Sometimes it’s the simplest stories that have the most meaningful impact. I outlined the fledging collaborative project that has begun with some SLA students in Zach Chase’s class in Philadelphia in the letter I wrote them.  A look at the comments could prove useful for context of this post. As promised, I have taken the nuggets of poetry from their comments on my Flickr Set and set them to song.

Here you go SLA, my song to you. What will you do with it? Download it. Remix it. Add your voice to it. Set it to images. Create a video. Rap it. This version is only a draft and is not even close to being “done.” Tear it up!

Stones by intrepidflame

Here is another version by a teacher in Canada:

Stones by Bryanjack

Looks like NoiseProfessor in California has added his take to the mix. Take a listen here.

The nature of art in the twenty first century is that it never ends and doesn’t belong to any one artist. We are in this together…your move!

stones

sometimes I wonder how many stones
there are in the world.
i found a light in your simple “Hello”
like the way grass dances in the breeze
Choosing between clashing vibrancies
she sings ohh how she sings

i can erase what i choose to forget
we fear the pen because it leaves a stain
like the lives of rocks and flower,
that tell the story of the world.

These are the years in which life is beautiful.
Each and every day a miracle.
A tiny person in a large world
filled with intrigue and wonder.

a warm orange flower rests against my skin
sweet serenity full and wide
I grab the spoon of your smile and dig
in these moments we forget ourselves
we breathe the ecstasy of golden silence
heaven has not been that far off after all
we just had to open our eyes
we just had to be open

These are the years in which life is beautiful.
Each and every day a miracle.
A tiny person in a large world
filled with intrigue and wonder.

I don’t watch television much anymore
but whenever I do I can feel it on my hands
the dusty residue
from carrying fistfuls of stones.

lonely I lay flat
Among dull gray stones
I want to go home

I want to go home

lonely I lay flat
Among dull gray stones
I want to go home

They Were Poetry

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Last week, I began to sketch out the current poetry unit I am teaching in the seventh grade. I am still not ready to share the “paper work.” You now the objectives, essential questions, assessments, and criteria. I have it all planned out, but I don’t feel the need to document that part of the story on my blog just yet. I want the story of this unit to be like the work with my students; we are still trying to pry ourselves away from the literal. English is not their first language you see, so they are having a difficult time allowing language to set them free. They still cling to what they know and write exactly what they see. They cannot see that poetry is the key that will free them from the shackles of language acquisition.

Yesterday, we spent some time playing with metaphor, simile, and personification. We returned to the shared Google .Doc we created last week and began to explore the phrases we found there. I did not teach a lesson on figurative language or literary devices; I didn’t want to confuse them. I simply showed them how to do it and let them practice. I am starting to think this may be a better approach. There is no need to know what a simile is to write one, so why not practice first, get the hang of it and then say, “Oh by the way, what you just did there- comparing two things using the word like is called a simile, or see how you made the sun drink and laugh? That is called personification.”

We played on the document for about forty minutes. “Find a nice spot on the document and carve out your space. Take an idea and give it some life. Describe the flower or give the bee  a personality.” They are getting really mature about using a shared space like Google .Doc. At first there was a lot of giggling and erasing words and what not, but now we are all business. “We are not doing anything with this document for a while. We are not writing poetry. We are just describing the world. Don’t be afraid to take chances and be weird. Weird is good. Write what you think and let it flow out of you. Don’t think so much” I don’t want them to get caught up in the concept of poetry. I just want them to do it.

The next day, I handed out some photographs from a box I have called Poetry Starters. They are provocative sensory rich images, but nothing one couldn’t create from Flickr, and told them to practice what they did yesterday, which was to write freely using sensory language as well as personification, simile and metaphor. Of course, they do not know that is what they are doing. Most struggled. Many of them simply wrote exactly what they saw.  We  work on. I have done this before and know that it is a long haul, but we will slowly take one step at a time.

image by theilr

Next, we started a book called Love That Dog,

Love That Dog is the story of Jack, his dog, his teacher, and words. The story develops through Jack’s responses to his teacher, Miss Stretchberry, over the course of a school year. At first, his responses are short and cranky: “I don’t want to” and “I tried. Can’t do it. Brain’s empty.” But as his teacher feeds him inspiration, Jack finds that he has a lot to say and he finds ways to say it.

We just started it.  There is a a section early on when he is discovering rhythm and rhyme. As we read it lifelessly, I had an idea. A spontaneous revelation hit me,  so I ran with it. “I want this half of the class to read lines 1, 3, 5, 7 and this side to read 2, 4, 6, 8. Ahh come on you can read with more life and energy than that. Can’t you feel that? What is that called? Yes! Right! Rhythm, now feel it and read like you mean it.” We went back and forth, each time reading with more intensity. “Now follow me.” I started tapping out a beat on the table. They followed. “Come on louder! Don’t be shy. Beat that table. Feel that rhythm.” We were groovin’ now. “Good now read the poem and tap. Feel it don’t read it!”

It was awesome. They were smiling, laughing, reading, tapping. They were poetry. I quickly hit record on Garageband and recorded a take. Next class I want them to play on Garageband and experiment with beats, until they can record a nice tight little passage. Next we right a few lines of our own to read, sing, rap over the beat. Poetry is not a skill set to be learned and assessed. It is a lifestyle to be lived. We are on our way…

To Instigate Similes

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After writing a few reflections on the units I covered last term, I realized that summative reflection could become a tedious chore that doesn’t serve much of purpose. This term I would like to work on writing shorter more formative reflections to help me stay connected with my units, and that will hopefully illicit some useful feedback from you, dear reader.

This term I am working on a unit of poetry with my grade seven Language B class. Two other teachers are working on a similar unit and we are co-planning the big ideas and objectives, but choosing to “get there” on our own. I will share unit overviews, assessments, and objectives in the next post. I wanted this initial post to be a bit more organic and free-flowing.

Poetry is important to me. Not as a unit that must be covered in English, but as a lifestyle. I see poetry as a vital tool in helping people live better, happier, more expressive, artistic lives. I see poetry not as a tool, but as a way of seeing, as a manner of being. Either you see the world figuratively, metaphorically, artistically, poetically, or you see it as it is.

I told my students that all children begin leading lives of poetry, but somewhere along the way we beat that imagination out of them and tell them that the sunshine doesn’t smell like lemon drops; it doesn’t smell like anything. How could it?  My job, as I see it, is to remind them that reality is only what we say it is, when we live poetically.

I know that in the next few weeks,  I will spend a lot of time giving inspirational speeches about the wonders of poetry and the artistic view of life. After our initial chat, I share a few clips from Dead Poet Society, and remind them what it means to Yawp! They are in 7th grade and don’t speak much English, but everyone can appreciate the power of a barbaric Yawp!

The next day we took our laptops outside. I am lucky enough to work on one of the most beautiful campuses I have ever seen. I created a shared Google Doc with the kids and told them to find a quiet place to sit alone and observe their world. I told them to write down words or phrases based on their sense. I didn’t ask for a poem, just basic observations.

I wanted them to take a close look at the world around them. I joked that so many times we just walk past everything and never really experience the world unless it is on a screen, and so I wanted them to enter the moment. This is a good time to stop and reflect on the use of technology in general.  So many times we spend all our time and energy thinking about the tech that we lose site of what it is we are learning. I could have easily asked them to scribble their thoughts on paper, but I wanted them to see what others were writing. I wanted the Google Doc to be the space we all met to share what we saw. I knew that it would encourage those who were stymied.We will use this document later to create a shared poem.

I watched them scatter across what we call Peace Park, and then the Google Document came to life! I wish I would have taken a screen video, as it was cool to watch, but I was ill prepared so I watched as it slowly began to write itself instead. I would add suggestions from my perch on a hill. I usually just asked for more details or added the words, “like a…” to instigate similes.

Then I walked around, took photos, talked to kids, and made sure they were on task by asking questions:

  • What does that soil smell like?
  • What would these statues say if they could talk?
  • What can that digger also be…a monster! Good, what is it doing? Eat bones! Great

I was surprised to see that nearly everyone was on task. They could have been on Facebook or messing around with games, but they weren’t. I couldn’t be bothered to be the cop; if they were off task than they would suffer later.

Next day, after I had edited my photos I showed them to the class. They couldn’t believe the way I had captured the very same things they had been looking at. I explained that poetry is the ability to look closely and share reality using language. I told them that before they worry about words, they have to learn to look at life poetically and that starts with being open to anything and getting your hands dirty. We spoke about the gardeners on campus and class and poverty and struggle. We talked about nature and beauty and fear.  We looked at photos and we talked.

Today, I shared another talk with them. It has been paraphrased, and I wish I had recorded it, as they appeared engaged and mesmerized. As I made eye contact across the room, they seemed to be understanding:

When we are children we are free and open and courageous. We let our minds and hearts dance out in the open unafraid of judgment or evaluation. (The language I used in class was much simpler, forgive me as I flex my chops a bit here.) We draw purple trees and imagine that all objects are personified and bathed in metaphor. There are no wrong answers, no lines, no rules. That is until the first person laughs at us, or the first teacher says, “Now draw within the lines,” or our parents say that is great, but there are no monsters or unicorns. At this stage usually around the age of five we begin to build a wall around ourselves. Every year, every experience that goes sour forces us to add another brick. Until by the time we are thirteen, your age, we can barely see what the world looks like. We sit alone in our newly built cells afraid to look outside. Unaware that other imprisoned children are also sitting alone in their walled cells wondering where the magic went.

Most of us never stop building these walls. Look at the adults in your life. I bet you are amazed by the size of their walls. They rarely smile, dance or create anything beautiful. They worry and argue and stress and yell. It is frustrating to live alone behind walls.

I tell you this because as a child I had many terrible things happen to me. Now is not the time to share those details, but I got really good and making my wall. I built it fast and tall and strong. I hid there alone for a long time. Until one day I found a way out! This way out is what I want to teach you. Deconstructing the wall is our unit of inquiry this term.

So there you have it. You are caught up to where we are now. Today I had them find a quiet place in the room and write a blog post based on the following questions:

We are starting to study poetry in my English class and I…….

  • What do you think about poetry so far?
  • What did you think about being outside the other day?
  • What did you think about the photographs?
  • What did you think about what I was saying yesterday about “walls?” What did you understand? What questions do you have?
  • Do you agree that people are scared to open up? How can we change that?
  • What do you hope to learn about poetry?
  • What do you hope to learn about yourself?

They wrote without incident or distraction for an hour straight. I will share what they wrote after I have read their posts. I’ll also talk more about summative assessment and more.

So tell me: How do you get middle school students excited about poetry? What tricks do you have?