Swan-Road

     I actually really enjoyed reading some of the history behind English writing in the Williams article.  Besides the fact that I think historical influence on writing are intensely interesting, I really enjoyed seeing an example of what we might write in "modern Anglo-Saxon."  After reading Beowulf and getting to see that kind of language and some of the stylistic devices used in old pieces of writing, it got me thinking about how language has changed and how it keeps changing.

     Some of the devices used in Beowulf encouraged me to see what I could pull back into my own writing.  As a specific example, the use of kenning was something that really intrigued me.  Being able to replace "ocean" with "swan-road" or something similar really sparked my imagination.  There are so many ways of incorporating devices like this into modern writing, kenning is not so different than metaphor (although I think it is capable of something so interestingly different.  You can make the language so powerful and compact by giving your reader "swan-road" instead of saying the ocean looked like a road for swans.  One way the language falls flat, but by having the ability to quickly describe a metaphorical relationship and move on, an author can make it work.)  That was a longer tangent than I expected, so I'll get to a point:  if we consciously consider our language we can find so many ways of making it new and exciting, and that is something that as a teacher or a student, is hard to pass up.

Memoir

Maybe not this much, but a lot.

I think I've finally gotten my memoir where I want it.  Looking over all the different drafts and activities and the reflection (which is just about as long as the memoir itself), I'm struck by how much thought and effort really has gone into this best draft.  With most projects, I can get away with dashing off a quick first draft and turning that in, but even with those, there is a lot of thought that goes into my work that remains off the page.  Being able to feel the different drafts and activities and include the reflection really helped me to get a sense of just what accomplishing this draft really means, a perspective I don't often get.  Although I may be bordering on straight-out-of-the-book kind of hokey, I think this sense of accomplishment that is separate from the grade is something really worthwhile that we can pass on to our students.

An Invitation, More Than Anything, Really

  Whenever we talk about the outrage of good teachers, it can be intimidating.  I can see wanting to do your best and give your students every possible advantage, every opportunity for high level learning, but sometimes I find myself thinking, What if I don't have enough of that passion, that teaching fire, to make me into one of Taylor Mali's miracle workers?  What if I fall into complacency, content to just do my job and survive the daily grind?  Maybe I haven't yet gotten completely comfortable with the idea that I am somehow capable, somehow privileged enough to be able to teach these kids anything.  Who am I to say what's important or what they should know?  It's hard, being expected to have all the answers, especially as someone who's just figuring out their own life.  Thoughts like this get me into trouble.  Sometimes I feel like I might not be able to muster up that desire to teach students for their own sake.

Caliban

  Tonight, though, some thoughts connected, their vaporous ends drifting together and then hardening into ideas.  Maybe I shouldn't worry about teaching them for their own sake.  Not every Terry or Sam has to know everything when they leave my class.  The end of their year with me doesn't mean they will be thrown into the unwilling arms of the world.  I don't have to fan a classroom full of sparks into bonfires, consuming information like kerosene.  I don't have to make every single one a lifelong learner, I can't.  I can show these students my passion for stories, for prose, poetry, and the written word.  I can invite them to walk onto the page with me and together, crunch through that crisp white field like snow, trailing our fingers against the wrought iron letters until worlds erupt from beneath that icy surface and Caliban and Harry Potter stroll among us.  This more than anything is what I think will keep me going.  Really, I'm teaching myself the joys of writing and coaxing them to follow.

Anyway, here's a poem: Teacher Answering Young Radicals - Stephen Dunn

Expectations and Tools

This has been a hectic week, already.  One thing I've tried to glean from the rushing around and flurrying fingers over the keyboard, is that it's important for teachers to remember what it's like being a student.  I think teachers could benefit from not only remembering the experience of being a student, but also from relishing that memory.  We should strive to remember the chaos of different classes and assignments, the difficulty of multiple deadlines, and even the pull of social lives.  What I've gotten from this is a desire to retain my sense of understanding.  This understanding seems to breed honesty and respect within the student teacher relationship and it's important not to lose either one.

On another note, camping at lake MacBride this weekend was an incredible change of pace even if I end up paying for the relaxation later.  Tip for the wise: remember a flashlight.

Nothing

So after spending close to half an hour surfing the internet and trying to come up with something to write about, I decided to write about, dun dun dun, not knowing what to write about.  It's a frustrating feeling.  I remember in high school I would often have the same feeling with assignments that were open ended.  I was always ready to try and satisfy the requirements of a given assignment, but when those requirements where so loose, I got lost.  I'm not saying I wouldn't try and make assignments my own or that I wouldn't be inspired by my teachers; I would, but all while working within the guidelines.

One of those lazy days.

I have this vague childhood memory of falling asleep in a pool.  I remember floating on this hot summer day, sunlight pouring from the sky and cool water pushing me up.  In my mind, it seems like one of those lazy days where the long arduous journey up to the kitchen is unthinkable until your thoughts, like scattered sheep, are gathered together by your snarling stomach, snapping at them from the end of its intestinal chain.  I remember cracking my eyelids and letting my eyes fill with sunlight until they opened completely on their own.  Then I realized I was floating.  In the deep end.  My arms chopped the water, my legs tornadoed around aimlessly beneath the surface, and my heart ground straight from first gear to fifth.  I made it to the side of the pool, got out, and didn't tell a soul.  Now, I'm not even sure if it happened, but that feeling of being asleep and adrift stuck with me, sluggish at the idea of possibilities whether they are for what to do on a summer day or what to write about.  Maybe this anecdote doesn't have more than a spider's thread connection to working with open guidelines, but I like it anyway, so it stays.  Besides it has got more to do with that topic than this: Awkward Family Photos.  That's all folks.