Tag Archives: Writing

I Want The World To Know

At the end of every year, I select five students who I have had a profound connection to and give them a copy of Letters To A Young Poet by Rilke. I know the book is over most of their heads, as I usually teach Middle School; I didn’t discover the book myself  until I was well into my twenties, but there is something about the simple passages that I feel resonate with the big ideas I try to convey in my classes. If you are not familiar with the book, here is what Wikipedia has to say:

The letters were originally written to Franz Kappus, a 19-year-old student at the Military Academy of Vienna, of which Rilke was an alumnus. Discouraged by the prospect of military life, Kappus began to send his poetry to the 27-year-old Rilke, seeking both literary criticism and career advice. Their correspondence lasted from 1902 to 1908. In 1929, three years after Rilke’s death, Kappus assembled and published the ten letters.

I share this book with the five kids who have shown some appreciation for art, learning, and living life to the fullest. They are not necessarily the “best” students or the most academically successful, but they get “it.” I think it takes a special person to understand passages like this:

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”

I woke up today to a very pleasant email. One of the students who received a book from me last year was James. James is an interesting story. Let’s just say he had/has a difficult time being a “good” student. He reads well beyond his grade level and can contribute some of the most insightful ideas I have ever heard at his age in class discussions, but ask him to sit still, write something down, work on one thing for a long period of time, or to simply calm down-forget about it. He is all over the place, off the wall; if you are into letter clarifications he probably has a few A’s, D’s and H’s somewhere in his file.

At the beginning of last year, I saw something in James. I saw that he was smart, curious, and hungry to learn. His problem was that school was not the place where he could do these things. I knew instantly that his inability to play the school game would be a challenge for him and his teachers. I sat him down early and talked to him about what the year might look like.

Throughout the year James would come into my room to chat during break, we sometimes had lunch; he would tell me personal details about his life and what he was thinking. In short, we built a relationship based on trust and respect.

I was open, honest and frank when it came to my frustrations when he got in a fight over a girl, but I also commended him on getting the lead in the school play. James had a fantastic year in my class. But what did that mean?

Did he score well on assessments? Not really, he continued to skate by with mediocre work. Did he learn a list of skills and new knowledge? Maybe, but nothing compared to how some of his peers performed throughout the year. So how I can I claim he had a great year? Because he went from being a socially awkward seventh grader who couldn’t care less about school or grades to a person who wrote me this:

Hi Sir,

First week of school is done and i am ready to go on holiday. You know that book that you gave me last year i have fingered out what “it” is. Well to start “it” is different in every person. So “it” is the driving force of life your soul your DNA the molecules the seed that starts your life. “it” is with you your whole life even after and before life. You will never find out what “it” is. “it” can hide itself in you forever in your body. But “it” will be somewhere so simple you will just look over it. Now i know that this is a very simple description but i am going to find where “it” is and what “it” is and tell you cause i see this as a mission, a mission that i will complete whatever it takes. this is cause i want to know i want the world to know. And most of all cause you gave me the idea and i am thankful to every thing that you gave me last year and will give me in later on in my life.

Buy for now hope to hear from you soon.

You may be asking yourself, who this kid’s English teacher was. Sure the paragraph could use some love and editing. Yes it would score very low on a rubric, but my point is that sometimes school should be a place to ignite the lingering passion in young people. So many times we extinguish every ounce of excitement these kids have with our curriculum and assessments and grades, when all they really want is for someone to listen to them, respect who they are, and help them find “it.”

I have shared this post with James, and want to ask him at this time- if you are here and reading James, let me say thank you. I am so glad that you are here and alive and connected and curious and searching. That was the whole point of the book, my class, my life. Life is beautiful and perfect and always looking for people like you to join and move the parade forward. Please remember that, I am an email or a blog post away. Let me know how else I can help you. The classroom is not the only place we can learn from each other; we have the whole world. Have a great year and keep in touch. How is our garden doing by the way? You may need to start a new plot! Do it now before it gets too hot. There is interest, but ideas need leaders, and there is no reason why that can’t be you.

Melted

Last month, I decided to try out a collaborative poem project using Twitter and Flickr. The process was simple:

  • Send out a request on Twitter for participants.
  • Create a Google Document.
  • Find an image from Flickr (Make sure to pick one from the Creative Commons)
  • Wait.
  • Wait some more.
  • Start to write.
  • Leave your poem as a comment on the original page.

Well, we were at it again. This time we decided to use an Etherpad:

Cut and paste this link to view the photo, and then work together to create a poem inspired by the image. This is live and we can see each other create. Don’t be afraid to type over the work of others. Click “unnamed” on the right, to add your name and choose a color. Open the chat to chat with the group. Here is what it looked like:


We had about eight people show up. I don’t think the final product is what is important, but more so the process. It is interesting to see how attached we become to our own language. The connections through words, ideas, and imagery is what makes this idea powerful.

While it may feel a bit forced at times, the idea that a group of people from around the world are working in real time to try and give expression to a shared reality is fascinating. After all isn’t this connection, this expression the purpose of art, language, are common humanity.

Maybe I am reading too much into this. Anyway come join us next time:

MeltedSearching
They sent me here
Siberia
Nothing
nothing.
I asked for pain
They gave me blue
Nothing but blue

The ceiling is moving
Another evaporated horizon
no moon, no sun
There’s a rhyme somewhere
maybe irony
Would it be a sin to laugh out loud?
I’m thinking of jumping
above and beneath the glass
lifeless.
What is life?
Ice.

her soft voice singing
postcards
songs about postcards
funny
would she even read it?

Or would it be pinned by a butterfly magnet
to her popsicle-stained fridge?
their tiny fingers
long gone

Fridge.
This place is ice, no warmth, no red,
Blue. Nothing but blue
periphery
Frigid blue – frozen loins push forth no new life here.

I stretch out my tongue
Seeking wind
Something to cut, or freeze
To feel
Something
Like the rip of the tongue from the metal flag pole
torn flesh so tender
and the rest gone

The bottle empty. Fire going out.
Does it matter?
Nothing can taste warm here.
Tongue is useless.

but begs to speak, to sing, to be heard
to connect.
frozen flesh forcing meaning
where none should be.

Scream at the sky, lunatic!
Drown your puny voice in this everlasting lake.

But then I feel
I yearn
to drink?
to pee?
ruled by the body
my eyes deceive

her eyes deceive
more failed tissue
how do you expect to experience
with nothing more than
blood, muscle, and bone.
eyes, tongues, useless
out here, in there.
you are everyone, everywhere.
I am in you let me out.

the bottle lies
it always does
I’ll drown in a sentence
in a lake of Curacao
in the land of Vodka, czars,and Lenin’s ghost
his dreams lost too
in this blur

Baikal is not big enough to encompass these lies.
What lies beneath? Lies.
They sent me here.

Live Poetry

Earlier this evening, I was trying to get more out of my social networks by engaging in more artistic collaborative projects. I hatched the idea for the “live” poem. The idea is simple:

  • Send out a request on Twitter for participants.
  • Create a Google Document.
  • Find an image from Flickr (Make sure to pick one from the Creative Commons)
  • Wait.
  • Wait some more.
  • Start to write.
  • Leave your poem as a comment on the original page.

Ideas for next time:

  • Set a time limit
  • Take a screencast of the process so as to watch the “growth” of the poem
  • Look at something like Etherpad.

Here is the image and the poem:


Cerulean Tide

a wall of day
and a door to night
creaking hinges
keeping time
footsteps
shuffle
in and out

this is where we met,
the smell of brine and barnacles
moving the sea, slaves to the moon
and desire

warm smoke escaping from a door
in flux soon to close
forever, or so we thought

our eyes consumed, engaged, divorced
time peeling another layer
pushing us together
awash in the sound of
laughter and a distant snare drum

touch gave meaning
memories embrace
did we?
if we choose to believe, we did

this is not ours to keep
never was
but what is left?
closed door, new season
but still, the blue
and blue and stillness blur

choice led us here then
and again
choice parts us after we give
“I want to fall in love with a living poem,”
you said.

another couple in
another out

I laughed and kissed your serious brow
learned the tangles of your hair, left alone too long
waiting for someone to know you
your only desire
for someone to know you

this place will be different tomorrow
in the light
we will see the decay
if we choose

what is the scale for measuring moments?
I say pain
you look away and take a drag on your cigarette
can’t help but disappoint you

your eyes have moved on
I wonder if you will ever be happy
Or if you will discover there’s no such thing

will you come back?
the wall was green, yellow, eggplant
your letter will say.

will your memories lie?
it was blue
it was dark.
we’ll never really know.

The poem is average at best, but it is the process of creation we are concerned with here over product. More thoughts on collaborative art soon.

Later I received a Tweet from @jhawtin telling me about the sonnet she wrote. Here it is:

A wall of daylight met a door of night.
Creaking hinges kept time with our journey,
the drift of lazy footsteps, left and right,
wrapped in smoke and shadow, a comedy.

Awash in laughter, haze and amber pints,
eyes engaged then slipped across the hecklers.
We watched the distant snare drum catch the light.
Crowds moved on. In comfy chairs we rested.

We stayed here under summer’s scudding skies.
Photos captured tangle haired embraces,
the buoys and bikes and lobster pots you liked,
colours rich with time and salty laces.

A season ends, the colours change, and leave.
A smile still sees you here, our dark retreat.

Leave her comments on her blog, Cranky Mango.

Bloggers Must First Be Writers

A few days ago, I read the following excerpt from a post by Leila, a student, from the Intrepid Classroom. She said:

First, I have a shikayat, a complaint against anyone reading this. Currently only two people are commenting on this blog. I put a lot of work but I guess it’s going to waste. The amazing two people I’m talking about are Mr.R and Julia. Thank you both. I would probably give up if it wasn’t for you. So those of you reading comment and you two amazing people keep on commenting and please send my blog link to anyone you know. Why? Well I don’t are if they think it’s a blog by a wired girl who has an average life. Even if they think so I don’t care just get them to mention that they came; by comment.

I wrote her the following post as advice to a young writer. I think our exchange demonstrates how much writers, no matter what age want to make connections. When I had a classroom, I found it very difficult to make blogging engaging for most of my students. I was stuck in the “blog as filing cabinet for homework” stage with most of my students.

Now that I am out of the classroom and interacting with students on a purely cyber level I am realizing that not all students are ready to connect and communicate. I have assembled a small group of students from around the world and the trait they all have in common is that they understand the power of writing; they realize that it is their most powerful tool to communicate their expanding vision of the world. I am not referring to writing as a solely textual experience, but rather writing as a way to use any tool necessary to communicate and connect. To be effective bloggers must first understand the power of writing on a personal level. They must first be writers. You cannot force students to start a blog and expect them to fall in love with writing.

Leila’s post shows that although, she is not sure exactly what it is she wants to say, she wants someone to listen and respond. This is the first step in the development of a writer. It is the more experienced writer or teacher’s role to teach students that they must first find out what they want to say, show them the most effective way to say it, and then to simply write, without need for reciprocation. Once the young writer realizes the power writing has for them as human beings, they will write freely and obsessively. It is at this stage that blogging works best.

It is difficult for the writer’s ego to relinquish the need for an audience. I don’t know about many of you, but I am still learning these lessons myself. It must be pretty difficult for someone new to the game. We writers are sitting on the fence of needing to write to stay sane and wanting to communicate every experience we have with a larger audience. A blog is a great tool for any student who has come to this realization. For others it is simply another assignment or homework assignment they could careless about.