Pedagogy Poetry with Glenda Funk
Welcome to Day 1 of the February Open Write. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on, if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poems in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Open Write.
Glenda is an NBCT with an MA in English literature. She taught English and speech 38 years and worked as an adjunct instructor for Idaho State University and the College of Southern Idaho before retiring in August 2019. As part of the NEA Better Lesson Master Teacher Project, Glenda developed a full-year curriculum for teaching seniors, which is free on the Better Lesson website. She’s thrilled to call herself a published poet with poems featured in
Bridge the Distance and Rhyme & Rhythm: Poems for Student Athletes, for which she owes Sarah a huge debt of gratitude. Glenda blogs at https://evolvingenglishteacher.blogspot.com
Inspiration
I’ve been thinking a lot about pedagogy and the ways we both learn and teach since seeing a FB post where Sarah asked her friends to name different types of pedagogy for a class she’s teaching.
In his 2020 collection Owed poet Joshua Bennett includes the poem “Owed to Pedagogy,” a poem he says is “for 1995,” perhaps as a nostalgic nod to childhood and what we learn and teach as children, as well as what we owe our children. Phrases such as “like a system” “pouring over formulae,” “words like quantum & quotation / mark, both ways of saying nothing,” and “give all our best language / to the void” remind me “this too was a kind / of education.”
We humans love to construct paradigms by which we order the world, and even though we may not ascribe a learning pattern to the umbrella of pedagogy, we grow from “child philosophers” to philosophers of education with preferences for how we teach and for what we expect from learners.
The day I read “Owed to Pedagogy,” (or here) I began reading Richard Powers’ novel Bewilderment. The narrator’s son is “on the spectrum,” so to speak, and the father says, “aren’t we all?” when a well-meaning educator wanted to label the child; this is a reminder that we are human, that we’re each unique, that we have our own ways of making sense of the world, that often our teaching methodologies are bound by limitations born of our own limited understanding and knowledge of the myriad ways of constructing pedagogies.
What do you owe to pedagogy? Today I’d like us to consider this question and compose a poem in which we explore an idea related to pedagogy, the methods by which we teach, the methods by which we learn. The poem does not necessarily have to be about school. Simply think about teaching and learning as a global phenomenon.
Glenda’s Poem
Somewhere
somewhere there is a woman
giving birth to life
and a man taking life
from the birthed
somewhere there’s a man
playing santa
holding the future & making
promises he won’t keep
it’s tradition this
annual holiday ruse
somewhere there are men
unwrapping merry
tied with mother’s
blood-red ribbon
more female labor for a
man-babe cradled center stage
somewhere someone scrolls
through digital postcards
of families in ugly sweaters
robed in matching pajamas
pastiche norman rockwell
idyllic americana scenes
somewhere seekers
gorge on eggnog
sing deck the halls
wish peace on earth
from one side of their mouths
as they whisper post-holiday
denialism for the new year
we dwell in somewhere
on this mother earth
the literal embodied female
abused and bound by
the go forth and conquer
pedagogy of patriarchy commanding
seeking dominion over
domineering & dominating
thus it is and has always been
in the days of old
in the here and now
in the paradigm shifting
somewhere
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Will you participate in #VerseLove 2022?
April is National Poetry Month. The Ethical ELA community creates a celebration of all that poetry does for our hearts and minds by offering daily writing inspiration and a supportive space to discover what happens when we write poetry all month long.
Writing
The chair.
The desk.
The blank page.
Patterns patterns patterns.
Letters letters letters.
If you just write something will come.
You must have your routine.
All good writers have their routines.
Don’t you have your routine?
So, I sit in my chair– focused
and ready to begin.
My desk is clear and so is
the journal upon it.
Maybe a more detailed routine would help.
Romanticize it. You
only have one life.
So, I sit
On that hard plastic
that keeps me here.
I sit at the brown
and black fake wood desk,
cleared from any and all distraction.
And the page in my
black leather covered journal
sits free of ink and empty.
Just put something on the page–
even if its “I don’t know what to write.”
As if that solves the problem.
I can’t even pick up the pen.
Pedagogy Poetry
Research-Based
Learning Objectives
State Standards
Texas TEKS
Student Expectations
Phonological Awareness
Phonemic Awareness
The Science of Reading
Balanced Literacy
Quick Writes
The Writing Process
Writing Across Content
Graphic Organizers
Thinking Maps
Math Strategies
Automaticity and Fluency
Hands on Exploration and Discovery
STEM and STEAM
Learning Management Systems
Technology Integration
Gradual Release
Differentiation
Response to Intervention
Data Driven Instruction
Professional Learning Communities
I’m sure I could add more to this list…
buzzwords and catch phrases
designed to guide how we teach;
how they are supposed to learn.
But what does it all really mean?
Authentic Pedagogy is redefined
with every single new group of students.
But, this may be one teacher’s humble opinion.
I completely agree… redefined with every single new group of students!
Donnetta, you nailed it both w/ this list and that closing argument. All these buzzwords rarely get to the heart of teaching.
Glenda – Your mentor poem here is a powerhouse piece. Your voice roars in this. My favorite of all the images , each which I totally loved, is the Mother Earth caution of how we are crapping our own nest. Dang! You nailed this. The rage … I feel that. The contrast of how we play Santa and in the same breath destroy what’s under our feet. Heaven help us all. Hugs, Susie
Glenda,
What power you have shared in your images and your thought-provoking post and process. These lines had me nodding my head in agreement:
Wow. Thank you for hosting today. I had a really busy day full of making mistakes and bad decisions. The day is almost finished, so I’m here with a haiku just to be here.
I call myself the
chief learner, but how is it
I seem to not learn?
Denise, I’m happy you’re here, and I love your haiku. You remind me of how ai often felt like an imposter during my teaching years. I hope tomorrow is better, my friend, and I hope you’re settling in to California living once again. Enjoy those gorgeous sunsets for me.
Love how the time difference works out so well – last on the board at the end of her day is the first in the morning I read! I love haiku in all shapes and forms! This one is so perfect because my initial thought was, “Yup, we are all learners in our practice.” And then realized how the BEST teachers are the ones who self-assess, self-reflect, and self-improve. So, ta-daaa! That means you ARE the chief learner. Nicely done!
Oh, wow, Glenda! Your poem is a FORCE. Your use of Christmas images created line after line of powerful contrast. This line (and your attention to sound) was my favorite: “somewhere seekers
gorge on eggnog”
I wrote two poems in response to your prompt. The first is still a work in progress. This is the second, a skinny poem.
How to teach English
read
write
discuss
repeat
stretch
move
eat
repeat
listen
share
feel
repeat
relax
try
rise
repeat
err
flop
laugh
repeat
ask
wonder
doubt
repeat
welcome
name
hear
welcome
name
hear
welcome
name
hear
repeat
Allison, the repetition is perfection! I think Susan’s poem and yours give voice to our students who should appreciate “err/flop/laugh/repeat.” Are you teaching online? The last stanza reminded me of Zoom teaching. I love it!
No, I am not teaching through zoom now, but I appreciate how you noticed the application here! My last line was my reminder to myself to greet each student (welcome them), put their names on my lips (name them), and listen with my heart (hear them) when they speak.
Allison, your skinny poem is a perfect distillation of the most important role of an ELA teacher. I’m particularly fond of the repetition and emphasis on recursive nature of what we do.
Indeed, Allison! The poem marches with a solid educator voice. These words might be in this “skinny,” but the are truly replete with guidance and nurturing! You oughta paint these on the walls of your classroom and have your students illustrate (in words or visuals) what each word means to them. I love your “skinny”! Susie
Ohhh, I so want to share this with my students! While at the same time this is an experiential poem they could relate to – as we keep impressing to them WE ourselves are writers and struggle with writing. At the same time, it is words well crafted to convey exactly that shared experience and so shows the skill level in hitting the right words so precisely. I love your explanation of that last stanza of repetitions. I was sorta thinking along those lines – like welcoming them to share their writing and really listening to each of their unique writing voices.
I love this… pretty accurate and not a bad life when you list it out!
Thanks for the prompt and the model poem, Glenda. The prompt itself reminded me of one of one of my favorite classes from college. The one that made me most excited to become a teacher.
Sitting second in the queue
with her phone battery dangerously low,
the English teacher can’t help but to cycle
through lesson plans for the upcoming week.
She loathes it, but daily she scribbles
something on the whiteboard like
students will be able to
employ alliteration effectively.
There’s nothing particularly poetic
about it, she thinks. It is what
she is told to do. She does it.
Students learn and show mastery
of this skill over time. It’s the accepted
praxis.
Her phone buzzes. She’s now
first in the queue.
Is she another cog in the wheel? A
hoop to jump? A fate gatekeeper?
She had imagined her classroom differently–
not necessarily better, though.
The objectives there,
were much less measurable.
More engaging.
More student-driven.
More open.
More transformative.
Will the teacher be able to
employ her pedagogy through practice
(with plenty of patience)?
A woman’s voice calls. It is her turn.
Rachelle,
I like your voice in this–we can all relate to the feelings of doing what we’re told to do and wondering if we could be better. I’m old and stubborn and perfectly happy to have “no objectives posted” on every observation. Again though, nice window into the mind of a teacher.
Rachelle, your poem intrigues me on several levels. I feel the tug between wanting to “please” and listening to your gut/heart. When I wrote my poem tonight, I thought about how what I do/know/trust in my classroom is something far deeper than prescribed content. Your poem reflected that back to me. <3
Rachelle, Reading your poem I recall a time when teachers did not have to write objectives on the board in the stilted language we all know so well. It’s a tribute to your teacher that she engaged the class well despite have to jump through hoops. The repetition of “More” echos as a reminder that these stilted paradigms must not take priority in classrooms. I was pretty lucky to have administrations that quickly tired of their role in hoop jumping required of teachers and soon returned to leaving us to our own pedagogies.
I am intrigued by the storyline around this of waiting in a queue. I’m not quite sure I understand that, but it adds a layer of humanity and reality to the speaker’s life. Is it a teacher multitasking in her day? Is it a larger, more ethereal “call to teach”? And those dang Outcomes and Objectives. Funny because I actually read through those with my students, and even I will sometimes just feel buzzy in my head, wondering what the heck are we really going for here? Somedays I wonder, Why can’t we just write? Love “fate gatekeeper.”
I think the 3rd person works great in this poem!
I also really like your last line “A woman’s voice calls. It’s her turn.” What a delightful edge to end your poem on!
I’m participating a little late, but here is my piece.
A Teacher’s Rant
Teaching is an art,
Follow the curriculum.
Then why do we always restart?
Follow the curriculum.
Teaching is a science.
Follow the curriculum.
Then why the noncompliance?
Follow the curriculum.
Teach to the test.
Follow the curriculum.
Is that how kids learn best?
Follow the curriculum.
But what about play: recess and brain breaks?
Follow the curriculum.
Is our logic really raising the stakes?
Follow the curriculum.
What did the research say?
Follow the curriculum.
We are leading kids astray.
Follow the curriculum.
Do this or our funding is cut,
Follow the curriculum.
We’re being controlled by a wing nut
Follow the curriculum.
I don’t think I can do this anymore.
Follow the curriculum.
My idea was left on the cutting room floor.
At my wit’s end, my last hurrah,
Follow the curriculum.
Throw the curriculum in the trash
Jessica — seems like we approached a similar struggle in our poetry. How do kids really learn best? How have “best practices” come to be that way? The repetition of the “follow the curriculum” is as bothersome in the poem as it is in real life. Thank you for writing today.
You’re very welcome. It took me a minute to get my thoughts together. So many questions with answers no one wants to hear, lol. But yes, the dreaded curriculum! Let’s just keep the baby and only throw out the bath water.
Jessica, the struggle is real! And you captured this frustration perfectly in your poem. We, as teachers, are often pulled in contrary ways in service of “the curriculum” (which may, in fact, as you suggest, need to be revamped). Thanks for writing and sharing!
You’re welcome. And thank you for your insight. We as the experts are constantly ignored because of various reasons, but in the end, we are the ones who pull it together and make things happen!
Jessica, I’m applauding g the push back in your questions and cringing at the rote “follow the curriculum” no doubt a mantra from some “wing nut” for whom the Peter Principle applies. I love how you break the march at the end by breaking the rhyme,
Thank you Glenda! I wish we can be free to do what is best for our students and not have to face backlash because someone didn’t want us to uncover the truth and face the facts or we wanted to be “politically correct” by hiding the truth, or just cater to a specific people because of whatever reason, they felt that they would benefit more. My last line, I felt, was my best rhyme. It’s like the truth is finally coming out!
Wow. This has such a heavy, militant feel in that repetition. The movement is from questioning the dictates to lamenting that losing battle we all play against the system and the machine. Who (once the honeymoon is over) hasn’t felt that desperation of “I don’t think I can do this anymore” – ? The “my last hurrah” line reminds me of those who are retiring – I see their whole offices emptied with a big trash bin of their life’s work waiting to be hauled away. At the same time, perhaps, for those who stay, this can wind back around to the earlier question, “What’s with all the noncompliance?” Some irony in that! A solid tact through this reading. Nicely done!
This is all great insight, Denise. The militant feel is just how I feel our schools are becoming. A Drill Seargent yelling, soldiers scrambling, and blood, sweat, and tears poured into something so loved, yet damaged. It’s funny how you mentioned the trash can. My father retired the year before COVID and he was talking about how he had a huge trashcan and chunked just about everything! He taught art for 30+ years. I can only imagine what history he got rid of.
Thank you for the prompt, Glenda. I went a different direction with it.
I’m not sure what
To make of you.
Day in, day out,
Your body occupies
The seat I assigned you.
But the earbuds betray you.
Your playlist is your muse.
And what level
Have you reached
In the game you play?
You must be a grandmaster
By now.
You skate by,
You pass,
You make it,
But will you wonder
What happens to
A dream deferred?
Will you ask where
Is God now
From within
Camp with Elie?
Will you suggest like
Simon that, maybe,
The beast is us?
The least you can
Do is laugh
With Puck
At what fools
These mortals be.
I love the literary illusions! How will the next generation fare not learning what we did?!? I suspect they’ll be okay, but it’s something to think about. Nicely done!
Katrina, I HEAR you! And I have that student(s). I love how you wove lines from classics so deftly into your poem. Your final stanza, asking for “the least” made me want to applaud. Your poem showed both your frustration and your empathy for “the body” that occupies the assigned seat. Thank you.
Katrina, I’m thinking about those students who confounded me over the years. I, too, love the literary allusions.
Katrina – Truly a teacher’s musing… I’ve wondered too about those students who choose muses that might seemingly guide them to places I don’t know, places mapped in those earbuds. And you remind us of the power of those stories thru Puck and Elie and Simon. I love that weaving in your poem. Susie
Both hilarious and sad. I teach college. That student is still there with earbuds in! Still gaming. Still tik-toking. Still youtubing. Not surprisingly, it’s mostly the remedial students who are so glued to their tech. In standard comp and especially in second-year students, there are far fewer as addicted. Indeed, either they mature into understanding what they need to prioritize, or they haven’t made it that far and have been “weeded out.” So, from the college perspective, “what fools these mortals be” is evident.
Thank you for the thought provoking prompt.
Twenty-six years ago
I had no idea what I was doing.
So I collected ideas
from all corners,
worksheets, activities,
study guides,
classroom tested tropes.
All of the methods classes
and student teaching
and even subbing
never really prepared me
for my own classroom.
I have one class
I’ve taught now for
twenty-one of my years
in the same school–
and I can track the changes.
No more do I pack the
time with worksheets and
what I now feel are stifling
activities without room
for independent thought.
Just as I have found
my own voice in life
I yearn to awaken the
voices of the students
I call my children, too.
They may be 16, 17, or 18,
but they have opinions,
good and bad, and they
need to know how to
articulate them confidently.
Just this week, a student
hesitantly offered a take on
the topic at hand, and another
quipped conspiratorially,
“Are you thinking for yourself?”
Let the youth find their
voices, for they are the future.
They’re ready, we just have to
give them the room to run.
They’ll take it from here.
Cara, your poem took me to my early teaching days. I felt lost, too. I’m glad I discovered NCTE’s “Notes Plus.” That resource helped me tremendously and helped me hone in on a teaching philosophy. Like you, I abandoned the worksheets and settled into a way of teaching that centered students more and actually made prep much easier. It also made teaching joyful in new ways. Thanks for helping me remember and reflect today,
Cara,
I love how you talk about subbing not preparing you for your own classroom. I remember feeling unsure and a bit nervous my first day working in our space. Even though I had been a sub for three years.
Cara, your poem captures how so many of us learned to teach better. I love how your students are thinking for themselves!
Cara, you remind me of some of my most favorite teachers with the thinking for yourself emphasis. I like how, with this poem, you take us on your educator path, I enjoyed traveling with you over it!
I can relate to this! Your last stanza, especially this part: “They’re ready, we just have to give them room to run” means its time to stop hindering our students, playing it safe. Let them learn from their own experiences and let us encourage them to go for it!
Cara! Ahh this last stanza is where I want to be as a teacher. Thank you for giving me hope that it is possible!
“They’re ready, we just have to
give them the room to run.
They’ll take it from here. “
Experience
We learn by experience
The school of hard knocks.
We learn by doing
Experience rocks!
An inquiry constructed.
Find an answer, a plan.
Integrated items from
Experience. Yes, I can!
With others a collaboration
of events, reflected.
Through gains and digression
experience expected.
Life gives us a ride
climbing pedagogical blocks.
Land wiser on our feet.
Experience rocks!
Love the repeated thread of experience! It’s truly the foundation of teaching. And learning.
Susan, I’ve attended classes in “the school of hard knocks.” I have a vision of a Schoolhouse Rocks type video reading your poem. It’s a fun ride!
Very motivating! Teaching Rocks – so let’s rock on ?! And life is a cool ride!
Susan, I appreciate your words in your poem because so many times we forget that experience is one of best teachers. Though it can be a challenge, we must continue “climbing pedagogical blocks!”
MY LEARNING PEDAGOGY
When I asked,
“How’d you come to know that?”
he spat,
lifted a brow,
looked at me with one eye,
put off by my question,
as if I were taxing
his truth-o-meter.
But in my learning pedagogy,
everything is about asking,
lingering in the space
for probing why and how…
a place to test the waters,
observe, ponder, poke,
follow weedy pathways,
screw up, rethink, recalibrate, try again —
that’s the fun part.
I fight off the hubris
of needing to be right,
though it’s a battle some days
when sage Sir Wright
and all his fancy clothes and sugared candy
would feel so delicious,
slide like elixir down the hatch.
It is not that I doubt you;
only that I want to wander
down your pathway,
see what you saw,
hear what you heard,
touch what you touched,
through my eyes,
past my ears,
on my fingers,
and watch my own journey
detour through the briars,
along the loamy soil between my ears,
tease away the thatch
and find the ambrosia of a hallowed answer,
for another ratiocination
is perched on a limb,
preening her iridescent feathers,
waiting.
by Susie Morice, February 19, 2022©
Susie, you sent me to the dictionary with “ratiocination,” and I’m so glad I took the journey necessary to learn this word as it is the key to unlocking your gorgeous poem. There’s always another question, another path, something more to see, to hear, to touch. I wonder if your mind like mine trails off into the “briars” before finishing one trail. I’m scatterbrained like that, especially when deciding on all the trips I’ll take in my quest to learn and see more. I simply love this delightful poem. It speaks to my heart.
When I grow up, I want to write like you, Susie. You really painted quite a picture in your first stanza. I had to go to the dictionary, too. Thanks for a new word!
Susie,
“I want to wander down your pathway…” What a beautiful reminder of what it is all about.
Oh MY OH MY!
“everything is about asking,
lingering in the space” was the first line I highlighted to note as oh-so-satisfying.
What you said here:
“a place to test the waters,
observe, ponder, poke,
follow weedy pathways,
screw up, rethink, recalibrate, try again —
that’s the fun part”
is central to how I (try to) guide my classes.
Your “Sir Wright” made me grin out loud!
xoxo,
Allison
Susie, I missed reading last night, long and busy day. Glad I had this morning to find your poem, yet another gift. This caught me and made me pause:
I love the kindness of this wandering/wondering/questioning.
Love “ratiocination” and marvel at how you chose “perched on a limb/preening her iridescent feathers” to express your own journey of understanding. Or at least that’s how I interpreted it.
If only we all could live with this kind of compassionate wandering!!
?
The Well
By: Emily Yamasaki
Put yourself last
Ten feet below
To be exact
The further underground
The prouder you should be
Please others
Feed others
Compliment others
Help others
Hold up others
Serve others
And when you collapse
From equal parts
Exhaustion : frustration
You’ll look up towards the surface
Just in time to catch
her slight nod of approval
You did your ma proud
Emily — The title is perfect. The sense of going down and deeper really captures the quest for that “slight nod of approval.” Oh my…visually, I am seeing that earnest face looking for approval. Very poignant! I think your poem puts you first and very far from last today! You have written a very beautiful and real poem here. Approval is a tough nut…wanting it and always struggling to have that come easily…alas…not easy. Hugs, Susie
Emily, this is a very visual poem and beautiful Its sadness fills me in that we most often have to exhaust ourselves and wait until we are dead to get appreciation from others.
Emily, my heart sank into that well as I read and recalled the elusive approval we women seek from our mothers. Mine didn’t show any until she was dying from lung cancer, and I had a stepmother, too, who had the same effect on me. I just read “Last Night at the Telegraph Club,” a novel that echos your poem. You’ve given us a gift by so beautifully articulating what many feel. Peace to you.
Emily,
oh man, this causes an ache and a groan: “and when you collapse from equal parts frustration: exhaustion”
But also your first 5 lines sure hook me! What an excellent job engaging your reader (this one for sure!) and pulling them in!
This is very thoughtful. So many times we wonder why we put ourselves last. Well now I see that is because we need to push everyone else forward. That nod of approval is just the extra we need to continue pushing!
Oh my. This gutted me. Your metaphor is heavy and right. Thank you.
Of the bazillion ways my thoughts could have gone today, please don’t ask me how this happened. I will definitely be revisiting this prompt in so many different approaches. Thank you for this keeper, Glenda!
I Might Hate You, But I Will Respect Your Life
What were we supposed to learn
by running over junebugs on the sidewalk
with our thickly treaded bike tires?
That little black shells of exoskeleton
go crunch into a million tiny pieces
the same way glass shatters
when it falls from the cupboard to the floor.
That guts squished from the inside to the outside
look the same as eclair custard filling
only with a little green and brown mixed in.
That even the smallest in our tribe
has the power to take life away
simply because it breaches our level of disgust.
But I learned that the joy of destruction
is not without its own weight of guilt
when I saw that greasy patch roll round
and round again as I rode away triumphant.
That tiny tarsomeres, tibias, and tarsal claws
reaching lifelessly from the tire treads
are as much the stuff of nightmares
as the little tank’s lumbering crawl.
I learned I do not have the capacity to take a life
no matter how much I might hate that it lives.
I learned to turn my bike around and ride the other way
to keep my tires clean and sleep soundly through the night.
Denise, I’m glad your mind took you down this path as it’s one I’ve contemplated over the years. The opening sentence sets us up for the argument inherent in the poem, and it illustrates how seemingly innocuous decisions we make as children impact our choices later in life. I think these lines hone in on that best: “Ilearned that the joy of destruction / is not without its own weight of guilt.”
Aw, Denise — I love this poem. From the first stanza…the sound and subsequent cringe I have right here at my desk brings this to life immediately. You bring such important observations forward…”even the smallest in our tribe”… yes, even little ones face this decision to save or to squash a life. I love the ending reflection…turning that bike around…and I’m cheering you… I know some might think “hey, a bug’s a bug” but I totally appreciate the learning that happens in this tiny speck of your past. I really like this! Thank you. Susie PS Now, I’m going to have “nightmares”… oh dear!
Denise, I love this journey and the choice you made at the end. Your details throughout the “ride” are spot-on!
However it happened, I sure enjoyed this! I felt curious and captivated, and then satisfied at the end. Thanks for sharing!
Oh, what a strong poem of sensory memories. You took me on an immediate dive into squashing army caterpillars under my Schwinn tires that summer…
Serendipity would have it that I listened to a session this morning about Black leadership and the focus was Leading While Black. My heart aches because my school has a new principal who is lacking in leadership skills and we are feeling it. However, what she won’t do is steal my joy or interfere with my practice. My poem was inspired by the webinar and my work with Dr. Gholdy Muhammad and Cultivating Genius over the last two years.
Pedagogy of Equity and Empowerment
19th century Black literary societies
Cultivated a love for reading, writing, and speaking
Gathered to engage and enhance the world
Their meetings, called intellectual feasts,
Nourished minds, hearts, souls
And the future
Today, I sow seeds of equity and empowerment
Water them with Black genius and truth
Where sunshine opens petals of joy
And creativity and passion
Fall like rain in spring
On my little scholars’ gardens
365 days of the year
Not just 28 days in February
©Stacey L. Joy, 2/19/22
Wow Stacey, Your lines: “intellectual feasts” and “water them with Black genius” stick out with magic and beauty. I also appreciate the consistent pedagogical power that you share in your words and that you will not let some changes “steal my joy.” Thank you for all you do and for sharing today.
Stacey, I love the way you nourish and grow young scholars. I love the way you show them a rich history on which they can build a foundation of learning. Last night my neice whose daughter is black and I talked about how Black History Month must be every month, that she owes her daughter this, and frankly, white teachers must make black history a normal part of learning throughout the school year and “not just 28 days in February.”
Thank you, friend! I wish I could find an old poem we recited back in the 80’s that was all about 28 days for Black History not being enough. If I felt like digging in my file cabinet it’s probably there waiting. I’m glad you’re sharing with your family and helping teach what must be taught.
Yes, Stacey — You bring such “genius and truth” to kids and us every time you write. Your kids sure are lucky to have you sowing those seeds! I love the historical perspective in the first stanza…the “intellectual feast”… you bet! Abrazos, Susie
So, I didn’t really land on pedagogy but more on how I’m noticing that kids who are really “good” writers often don’t have much to say or original ideas while the kids who have a lot to say and have genius ideas are “bad” writers.
We Learn by Failure
Rich writing comes from wisdom
and wisdom comes from experience
and experience comes from doing and screwing up
and doing again and screwing up
and doing again and doing something differently
and reflecting on mistakes and consequences.
Most kids of privilege today don’t screw up
their parents don’t allow it.
Or they screw up in the cyberworld
behind a translucent shield of identity
blurry and hidden from adult viewing or knowledge
so the consequences don’t come.
So they don’t risk
and they don’t fail
and they don’t develop wisdom
so their writing is bleh
lacking any depth
lacking any heart
lacking any soul.
Then the wise students
who have tried and failed
and lived in less-than-comfortable
homes,
have less-than-easy
lives
have the meat to create . . .
though the mechanics
are weak
and executive functioning
to follow instructions
and turn it in
are often lacking.
Picture perfect bleh work
disguised with bells and whistles and bows?
Or messy, sloppy, honest, wise, wonderful work
that may never get seen or appreciated
because they didn’t turn it in?
~Susan Ahlbrand
19 February 2022
Susan,
I would love your last stanza repeated and weaved all over, so lovely and what a promotion of the power of drafts…is our life a draft? Thank you for sharing.
Susan, you nailed this moment in learning. The cause/effect relationships are spot on. I’ll take the “messy, sloppy, honest, wise, wonderful work,” please. And I know you make room for this in your classroom. I see that in your poem. Bravo!
Susan — You and I were on similar pathways today. I love that! You just can’t over blow the power of screwing up! Amen! When I was in the classroom still, I think this is one of the things that made me so frustrated:
That unwillingness to risk! Yikes! We need that fertile field for embracing the error! “Bleh” indeed! And I love that you hit the word “honest” at the end…being honest really does bring it home. Cool! Susie
Susan, thank you for bringing voice to those often pushed behind, for reminding us that voice makes writing strong, for sharing a voice most important. “Picture perfect bleh work” – meh. I’m here for the tries and fails and less than comfortables.
Susan, I can imagine what this is like in secondary levels. When I’ve had those prolific writers in 5th grade, they’ve always been the ones who just spit it out. You are so right, and let’s hope we get more of the “messy, sloppy, honest, wise, wonderful work.”
??????
Glenda,
This is a wonderful inspiration that I can see coming back to. I spent the morning going down the rabbit of hole of pedagogy, looking for somewhere to land. There are soooo many different directions people could go with this rich prompt. Then, I had a commitment to go to. I came back home and resolved to just write rather than dig and gather.
Your poem–as always–is pure genius. The words, the sounds, the ideas . . . they all work for such a perfect poem. I especially love
Glenda, I really enjoyed your poem! Thanks for sharing it as our mentor poem, and thank you for this opportunity!
What I Remember
I try on
different pedagogies
for size.
Some are stiff
like jeans dried on the line
until I’ve moved around
in them a bit.
Some are like
a silk kimono, light and airy
with sleeves that catch on desk corners
and smudge drying ink.
And then I consider
I never noticed nor remember
The theories of my former teachers.
Maybe because they wore
their pedagogies as naturally
as their sweaters, plaid shirts,
and button down dresses.
What I do remember is
Mr. Behr-Bailey, pale complexion
taking on a ruddy glow,
pacing the isles, dissecting passages
with us, as if he too were discovering
their secrets for the first time.
I remember Professor Santini
Who sliced up two of my freshman papers
with red ink
until every last comma splice
bled out.
And RC, as she allowed us to call her,
beaming real pride at me
delivering my monologues in
Advanced Theater
making me feel
as if
I really could
do
something
wonderful.
Emily, what meaningful metaphors in this pedagogical fashion show. How do we get all students to feel that “pride”? Thank you for sharing.
Emily, this is wonderful. I love the metaphor, the comparison of pedagogy to clothing. Your descriptions of three teachers illustrate the comparison beautifully. I can’t help but think of the Maya Angelou quote about how people will remember how we make them feel. Your poem makes me feel wonderful.
I love the metaphor and similes of the clothing. We do try things on, but I think at the end of the day, our pedagogy is almost like our skin . . . a part of us.
I love the opening stanzas about trying on pedagogies like clothes and then realizing you never stopped to consider how your previous teachers’ selected their pedagogies. It really got me thinking about my own previous teachers.
Emily,
I love how you hearkened back to your own teachers! I wish I’d done that–I had so many teachers who were SO instrumental in making me the teacher I am now. I love your metaphor of teachers wearing their styles like clothes. Very nice!
Emily, your observations and understanding of each teacher speak to the importance of SHOWING our students more than just skills but love and care. This resonated with me:
Grateful for teachers like RC!
Emily,
I loved how you compared your pedagogy to the clothes people wear. I can actually visualize the stiff jeans hung on a line to drive.
The images you conjure up in your writing are vivid and beautiful. From the clothing to the specific anecdotes. Each teacher is uniquely themselves. I loved the stanza about Mr. Behr-Bailey “discovering” the passages “secrets for the first time”
I love the description of pedagogy using clothing, How perfect!
Nice shift from cloth to the colors of ruddy and red ink and then the beaming of pride. Enjoyed this!
Did anyone
even think
to ask
the monkeys
if they
wanted
in the
study?
___________________________
Today’s poem/question came from a confluence of passages from two of the audiobooks of which I am currently listening: Frans de Wall’s Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? and Frances E. Jensen and Amy Ellis Nutt’s The Teenage Brain: A Neuroscientist’s Survival Guide to Raising Adolescents and Young Adults.
“Almost every week there is a new finding regarding sophisticated animal cognition, often with compelling videos to back it up. We hear that rats may regret their own decisions, that crows manufacture tools, that octopuses recognize human faces, and that special neurons allow monkeys to learn from each other’s mistakes. We speak openly about culture in animals and about their empathy and friendships. Nothing is off limits anymore, not even the rationality that was once considered humanity’s trademark” (Wall 4).
and
“After eleven months of heavy drinking, the production of neurons in the monkeys’ hippocampi was slashed by more than half, and what neurons remained looked damaged” (Jensen and Nutt 134).
Scott, back in the early ‘80s I heard a speech about the commonalities between humans and pigs. That began my curiosity about how we and animals are more alike than different. I’m adding that animal book to my TBR pile. And I love the question poem that pokes at our learning paradigms that often move forward w/ little regard for how and why and at whose expense we’re learning.
Scott, such a thought-provoking poem inside a question. You always make me think and today is no exception. I keep returning to this. And to contemplating.
Scott — I LOVE where this took you today. I am soooo into these examinations of the critters that we have ignored or relegated to some “lesser” evolution. There’s a whole world of cognition out there that is deeply fascinating and real. I appreciate the references you shared. Powerful bits of wisdom here! And that’s no monkey business! 🙂 Susie
Thank you, Scott. So profound and has me laughing.
Scott,
You always–ALWAYS–have a way of presenting things so uniquely, so succinctly, and I am always left in awe.
I’m not sure that this is what you were thinking, but when admin presents certain scenarios, I tend to say, “Why don’t you ask the kids? They likely have some good insight.”
So many of the practices I’ve been required to do meant more work and less time to plan and create engaging material. Basically we just want to teach, right? Also, does anyone else have students with tremendous emotional needs?
Owed to Society
“They need skills
They need practice
They need homework
They need drills and exercises and activities
that REINFORCE the standards
and learning targets
and benchmarks
and ACT scores,” so we
outline lesson plans envision projects incorporate technology copy worksheets
When teens ache for
role models
hugs
a mom
a dad
boundaries
an “I’m proud of you”
someone to make sure they’re ok
Love.
“Your school report card shows improvement!
Academic Achievement D+
Single Parent Homes A+
Graduation Rate C+
Rate of Anxiety A+
English Language Prof. C-
Rate of Depression A+
Overall Grade B-“
So students, what again is an adverb?
Does it really matter?
Love them is my only lesson plan.
Cariann, the love in your poem is being felt by your students AND they will thrive in the warm of you compassion. As Maya Angelou says, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” You make they feel love and they will love learning with you.
Carriann, you’re spot on in your assessment of the Education Industrial Complex that has creeped into teaching the past couple decades. It’s so disheartening. The system is so obsessed with what is “owed to society” that it often fails to consider the humans in the desks. I love your lesson plan: “Love them is my only lesson plan.” I hope you’ll share this poem w/ your colleagues and others because it’s important and brilliant.
Cariann,
Thank you so much for this powerful commentary through verse. The letters and plus and minus marks are symbolic of the ways schools conflate and measure all that defines such measurements. The word “love” needs to be amplified, and let’s not forget teacher love, too.
Peace,
Sarah
Carriann,
This is marvelous. Loving them being your only lesson plan . . . isn’t that really the foundation of it all. I started down that path with my poem then switched gears. “They don’t care what you know until they know that you care” is truly my mantra. I may not be the strongest technical teacher, but they know that I care. And right now, that truly seems to be what they yearn for more than anything as you state so beautifully with these lines:
Yes, love them! Imagine a world where love for our students is centered! I’m sure your classes love you right back!
Glenda, I am in awe of your poem. I wrote a poem awhile back that was sort of along this line of thinking, but more about how women are silenced too often. Your “abused and bound” line strikes a chord with me, but I especially loved your final lines: “in the paradigm shifting/somewhere”.
My poem is about growing up in a stressful environment. I wanted to put some personal anecdotes into this, but it was too difficult so I had to keep it more abstract. Perhaps I will work on shaping this into something more concrete for my own healing.
In the House of Horrors
we learn to stick together
to hold our breath
interpret nonverbal clues;
swim dangerous seas
we learn life isn’t fair
to step with care
fight with tenacity;
break from reality
we learn to protect ourselves
to suffocate our pain;
bury wounded hearts;
then each other
Barb, I know these words have myriad layers of stories and understand the emotional labor it takes to write them. Indeed, “we learn” isn’t always followed by positive affirmations of growth, but are often filled w/ survival lessons. “bury wounded hearts / then each other” underscores both lessons and the stories awaiting your pen. Sending peace and comfort to you.
Oh, Barb! The last line is heart wrenching is the way you shift from the implications self insulation– “suffocate our pain” — to the layers of meaning in “bury wounded hearts;/then each other”. I am reading this as literal death as in the loss of connection we experience with loved ones because we are in protection mode for so long– we never allow ourselves to know the ones we share our lives with. And then, more figurative in the ways we harm one another because buried wounded hearts have greater potential to harm. So much to ponder there.
Thank you,
Sarah
Barb, those who have lived through horrors know of the depths from which you speak. All childhood learning is not idyllic. I remain caught by the learning “to hold our breath” and most especially with “to suffocate our pain.” Hugs.
Ooo, Barb, this is powerful and very real. You really hit the nail with “interpret nonverbal clues” (boy, do I remember that skill) and “step with care” (those doggone eggshells) and “suffocate our pain.” The ending two lines are just BAM! Whoof! This is raw, my friend, and spot-on! I really feel this poem. Feel it. Thank you for sharing what is clearly complex and hard to have roiling inside. Your writing gives it a proper gravity. Thank you for the honesty of this piece…it rings way too familiar. ¡Abrazos, mi amiga! Susie
Dear Barb… my first read of your gripping lines brought to mind students that I’ve worked with over the years, in my on-again/off-again role as reading interventionist. I noticed how some students labored to read to me for a one-on-one assessment in a quiet, orderly room, yet, when I sat with them in a noisy room, they picked up speed and read with less errors and notably better flow. My colleague who studies mental health points out that sometimes students are so used to disorder that they function better within it. Order is not their norm. Haunting and heartrending – as is your poem. Even without specifics, the pain echoes. Just today – like, 20 minutes ago – I read about emotional release in calling the hurt for what it is, so it can heal. Your lines feel like this to me, like an incredibly courageous step of faith. And trust. Thank you for these truths. Ongoing strength to you, for you ARE strong <3
Barb, I appreciate your poem and you for sharing what hurts. My ex-husband created so many of these hurtful experiences, and my children are still healing. I hope for your peace and healing too.
Healing will happen when we let our pain breathe.
??
Oh, Barb. I’m so glad I scrolled down to find your poem. Your final stanza hit me with full force.
I began a poem in response to this prompt (that I couldn’t finish or post) exploring your idea of the hiding/suffocating we do to refrain from opening our true selves up to potential disapproval and judgment.
You always make me think.
You always make me feel.
Thank you.
Good Saturday morning/noon Glenda! I love this prompt. I expect it’ll put me in a metacognitive space for a bit so I won’t force my poem yet. Thank you for this challenge and unique focal point.
I related to this as soon as I read it and thought about a poem I wrote last week about time. I may or may not revisit it for today. So happy to be back here with you today!
?
Wow, Glenda! What a terrific prompt. I really want to sit with this one a while. Instead, I offer you a backyard haiku.
the common redpoll
a new visitor today
brings his red-capped joy
by Mo Daley 2-19-22
Mo, this is beautiful. “his red-capped joy” You are a master of the haiku! (Green with envy!)
Mo, I’d love to watch your colorful daytime visitor. The winged friend is far less frightening than your nocturnal visitor.
Glenda, I was thinking the same thing- about the coyote(?) in reading this playful ode-haiku. We look for our cardinals every Saturday. They bring us such joy.
Oh dang, I wish you had a picture of this beauty, Mo! I want to see its red-cap! You lucky dawg! Susie
Ask and you shall receive!
Glenda, you made me giggle this morning when I thought about the various pedagogical theories I’ve been taught and some that have taught me. Here’s what I learned about learning
You learn by doing
They say
I can’t do that
I want to play
You learn by doing
Get back on the ball
No, I’ll slip
I don’t want to fall
You learn by doing
What is slippery and hard
Get back on the ball
Or get a D on your card
We learn by doing
Is really quite true
I’ve learned
Through the black and blue
I may fall off the ball
When I heed the call
But that’s okay
I’ll get better someday
And I’m learning by doing
Getting back up on the ball
Writing this poem about learning
Anna, learning by doing is exactly what I thought of when I began reading Glenda’s prompt today. What a wonderful poem to share with kids and I love, love, love the image you shared to go with it! Super sweet!
Anna, your poem captures the vital importance of play to learning. And the rhyme underscores that w/ a playful rhythm. I have two scars on my face that are the consequence of playing/learning and falling. They, like all falls, are a part of my identity, so back on the ball as I heed the call!
Anna,
It really is lifelong, Anna– learning. And with feet balancing in the now (even on uneven surfaces), we can’t know when or how that “better someday” will manifest unless we persist. Your rhythm and rhyme reminds us to embrace the flow and even enjoy the roll.
Peace,
Sarah
Hi Anna,
Yes! Yes! Yes! Reminds me of the struggles we had while teaching online. We never thought we could make it work and of course we did.
Love that graphic too!
Anna, we were thinking alike today with me learning through the school of hard knocks and you talking about learning through the black and blue. Yes, living on and off the ball is the way we finally get it right.
Thanks for opening this month with poetry about pedagogy — never thought I’d be reflecting about my teaching philosophy and approach via poems.
Becoming the Writing Coach
Can I call you Coach?
No. I’m not a Coach!
Do you hear me shouting about drills?
Do you see me with a whistle around my neck, ready to yell?
There was a time when I
bristled at being called Coach.
No, no — I’m a Teacher.
You will not hear me barking at students,
about how they are slow or weak.
You will not see me demanding they drop,
and give me a dozen push ups.
But, that was a time when I
pantomimed at being a Teacher.
Yes, Yes — I’m a Coach.
You will hear me modeling for students,
breaking writing down like it’s a play of the week.
You will see me dropping down among them,
and working out a dozen alternate paragraph starters.
You can call me Coach.
I’m your Writing Coach for the semester.
You will hear me encourage students to practice their writing.
You will see me with a pen in hand, ready to write.
Erica, I coached speech and debate part of my career, so the idea of coaching is teaching in my mind. You hone in on this in your poem as you delineate some of the writing coach’s duties, and I’m reminded of a book (title forgotten) about the parallels between teaching and coaching, BTW: I like to bring surprises w/ the prompts I share. ?
Erica, I really like how the shift in your poem an how you take us on your journey to recognize that you are a coach for your students. Modeling writing is the most fun when teaching in my opinion. Wonderful poem!
Erica,
Coach pedagogy. Yeah, I like it– especially the way you define it in your lines of verse. It’s almost like you are coaching yourself through the naming/label process and allowing us to witness the embrace, “You can call me Coach.” And then I also like the implications of the word “becoming” implying the process of being and doing Coach-work is not something one arrives at but nurtures. Cool.
Sarah
Erica, I’m an instructional coach and some of the best experiences of my career are those when teachers have invited me into classrooms to teach writing lessons – lots and lots of modeling of the entire process. There’s nothing like writing with the kids, seeing them get excited about writing and to see themselves as writers. Having said all that…the coaching role is like walking a razor’s edge sometimes. You capture it with the bristling at “coach” (and sometimes it comes from other educators who bristle AT you). Love the acceptance you convey here and the examples you give of what a coach is and what a coach is not. Howe very fortunate the students are to have you “dropping down among them” – doing exactly what you ask them to do, alongside them. Way to go, Coach – I am rooting for you and your writers all the way!
In the hours just after the last
quieted, she took to the IBM
at the kitchen table.
The motor warmed with a hum,
a whir of rhythm clicked the
carriage release, platen knob
turned, paper waiting the type
guide for the author’s name.
She opened my notebook.
A report for science class.
On Leukemia & cousin Ray’s death–,
he died at 12; he’d be 50 now.
Mr. G. warned, I will only accept
typed reports– no exceptions.
She deciphered my script,
a familiar shape of S, a slant
that was hers in my words, witnessing
my mind in the craft of meaning-making.
And her hands made meaning, too.
@80 wpm shifting periods for semicolons,
a dash for a parentheses, spacing my
script into mechanized font for Mr. G
so that he did not have to decipher
the hands and bodies of his students.
Tonight, the midnight IBM concert
would have a second act.
She opened Julie’s notebook.
Sarah, I can see so many mothers sitting at the kitchen table, doing the together work, the quiet work. The layering of this moment, from the clicking rhythm of words to the inherited slanted S and the rapid movements of her hands, draws us deeply in. My favorite lines – “so that he did not have to decipher the hands and bodies of his students.”
Something about this single line (“She deciphered my script”) inside this very detailed poem hung with me after the reading ….
Kevin
Sarah, this is an ethereal, haunting poem that has all kinds of memories popping into my mind and some nostalgia for those low-tech days that felt simpler. I love all the sounds, the whirring, the clicking, the humming. The image of your mother bent over the typewriter echos the image of the guitar player tuning up in that Lorca poem. It’s gorgeous.
Sarah, I have those same recollections of Mom typing for me and for Dad just as you describe, with that IBM Selectric. The second act gives my heart a pause and I can imagine after reading Alone Together what she might have read. What moments you bring to life here – I hear the motorized click click clicking of the keys in the days of corrective ribbon and Liquid Paper. Powerful! A notebook is a powerful thing.
Sarah, your poem brings tears to my eyes. I am especially curious about the end. I was thinking this was your mother typing for you, but now I am wondering if you are the one doing the typing. Either way, I love how you craft this poem. The movement from one line to the next was like watching the words being produced on a type-writer, and the underlying desire to share a heart-felt story under the constraints of Mr. G resonates. Tender, provocative, and beautiful poem!
Sarah — The narrative of this poem is carried like the typewriter carriage back and forth…there’s a sort of rhythm in witnessing this. From the quiet to the hum to the clicking. You’ve captured a fascinating bond between mom and daughter…the “hands made meaning, too./@wpm…”– an act of love, duty, mother-ing… all because a teacher “did not have to decipher” the lives of his students. Boy, what a lesson that was! The leukemia report is a whole other slice of pedagogy…focus on something that hit so close to home, you are still able to harken back to this report (so many we wrote that never stuck with us because they never connected to our own lives). I love the movement in your poem…right to the “second act” and “Julie’s notebook.” Well done! Susie
Sarah, what comes to mind on reading your beautifully fluid lines is sacrificial love. I’ve been the child listening not to a typewriter but a sewing machine whirring late into the night on my behalf; I’ve been the mom translating a child’s unique scrawl into typewritten legibility (when I was so tired I was seeing double). I never have been a fast typist though… I am captivated by Julie’s notebook being the second act and wonder if she is your sister, with mom working well past midnight…love is self-sacrificing.
Sarah,
What a keen capture of this scene. Yes, you describe the motions associated with an activity from a time gone by, but the emotion that lies unspoken in these lines is simply captivating.
And I love reading the other writers’ comments because they eloquently noted things I was struck by and they even shared things that I wish I had noticed. I love reading these comments. They help me grow as a writer so much.
Oh Sarah, I’m ready for Act 2 to learn about what was in Julie’s notebook too! I remember those days at the kitchen table with the typewriter. I wonder if the young parents today realize how easy they have it with their children using devices for everything.
You are a masterful storyteller! ?
Glenda, thank you for the passion with which you write. It’s always palpable. Your poetry is electric. And these lines in your intro… “this is a reminder that we are human, that we’re each unique, that we have our own ways of making sense in the world, that often our teaching methodologies are bound by our limitations born of our own limited understanding and myriad ways of constructing pedagogies”… this is at the very heart of some desperately-needed and ongoing PD at present. I want to write around this more. A lot more.
This, however, is the poem that came today, in reflecting on what I owe to pedagogy…
The Heart of Pedagogy
Little boy in the shop
at Christmastime
spends his money
on a gift for his mom
a matted illustration
of a bird holding a primer
encircled by a flowery heart
and these words:
A teacher
in wisdom and kindness
helps children learn to do
exactly what they thought
could not be done
-Honey, it’s beautiful!
I love it, says his mom,
even though
I am not a teacher
Little boy grins
in his snaggletoothed way:
Yes you are, Mama
She sees the bright belief
there in his face
she cannot bring herself
to diminish it
for maybe she would be a teacher
if only she had finished college
which she does, many years later.
The boy can’t attend
to see her walk across the stage
because he’s taking final exams
at the university
where he’s a history major
-What are you going to do
with that degree?
everyone asks him
-are you going to teach?
No
He’s emphatic:
I do not want to be
a teacher
No
which is, of course,
the path that immediately opens
leading him right back
to the very classroom
where he was a student
where he finds
his old AP history exams
stashed in the cabinet.
The summation of the matter:
we’ve both done
exactly what we thought
could not be done
haven’t we, Boy
for in the end
as in the beginning
teaching is about believing
then in finding
a way.
Fran, what a moment of beauty you bring to life – your love of birds surrounded by prophetic words. I, too, returned to finish college and begin teaching when my children were young. Finding a way to do what we never thought could be done seems to be a universal theme among so many who love the feeling of winning despite the odds that had to be overcome. It’s so touching that he found his old papers waiting for his return…..now that’s some history!
I am so enjoying the poetry and the readings/responses today to see the connections in our lives and the ways Glenda’s prompt and poem stir such scenes. Love this and both of you for writing in this space.
Fran, I have a Norman Rockwell image of the boy and mother and the print, yet I must read your poem against what’s happening in schools now and the efforts not to teach history. There’s an irony in this zeitgeist and the boy ending up back in the classroom finding those old tests. I’m glad this poem found you. It’s so complicated and thought provoking and gorgeous.
I love how this poem unfolds with a story revealed in each stanza. So much so that when you get to the closing lines about “for in the end/as in the beginning” you have to sit with the lessons that came to light as you read it. Gorgeous poem — I really enjoyed it!
Fran, oh, I absolutely love how your poem progresses. Your final lines “teaching is about believing/then in finding/a way.” WOW! Ain’t it the truth! I find your poem deeply moving!
Glenda, I keep returning to your opening stanza, which is strong enough to be its own piece. But the words that follow speak and re-speak that truth, beautifully.
Tenses
Piped through lines
from a time
L
O
N
G
past
(the enslaved paidagōgos
took boys to school)
Sitting within a
L
O
N
G
present
(good little boys and girls,
industriousness is your future)
Extending years into a
L
O
N
G
future
(both celled and cubicled)
Jennifer, how do you do it? Your words are a spell, so few, so precisely rendered, sending chills rolling crawling up my spine. The layout, the repetition, the parentheses are masterful, adding to the ZAP I feel in my core. Amazing. And haunting. Because of the truth. Change is hard and
L
O
N
G
overdue…
The flow here works wonders, and the last phrasing of “celled and cubicled” — wow.
Kevin
Jennifer, I concur w/ Fran. This poem is brilliant and the structure is a visual reinforcement of ideas in each stanza. The sparse wording functions as a reminder of the past, present, and future and how little we have accomplished given the long, intervening years. Amazing poem.
Jennifer, the tense mood is keen, and I feel the constriction especially through your final line “(both celled and cubicled)” Powerful poem!
Jennifer, your use of layout helps to evoke the emotion that learning takes time. Then, the closing phrase with the soft sound of the “c” and the hard sound of the “c” illustrates other options poets have to add auditory elements to their creations. You’ve demonstrated both effectively.
Jennifer,
Pure genius. Masterful.
The message is so succinct and so powerful and formatted in such a visually appealing and thought-provoking way.
Good morning all, thank you Glenda for your prompt and for introducing us to this work today. Your line “a man taking life from the birthed,” connected me to Pedagogy of the Oppressed, which then ignited my poem below.
Meeting words and theories: a praxis
shaking hands with Freire
criticality and exposure to banking
introducing me to center the learner
hugging Ladson-Billings and Gay
culturality and exposure to relationships
introducing me to prioritizing the learner
walking in thought with hooks
femininity and exposure to love in design
decentering me and demanding my
devoted transformation of
words and theories for my learners
Stefani, this is breathtaking. I am especially enamored of these lines: “decentering me and demanding my devoted transformation of words and theories for my learners…” so much rests in this. Whole worlds, in fact.
Hooks that enlighten ideas and lead to change, to transformation of thinking – the world needs more teachers just like you!
“center the learner.” Yes. “words and theories for my learners.” I love how they are yours to take care of with this nurturing.
Stefani, I love the way you honor important theorists who have transformed teaching into student-centered practice for many educators. I love the way your poem unfolds to honor their impact on your teaching and the way itself becomes pedagogy in your hands.
Glenda, Thank you for hosting us today. The first lines of your poem are hauntingly real. It’s both a beautiful and sad world we live in. I need to order Owed – what fascinating poems. You always broaden our reading horizons!
Pedagogical Travel
Pedagogical
leanings take us places to
see the world, to know
Geographical
footholds (On Clouds, size 7)
bring flat maps to life!
Cultural studies
immerse us in food, music
art, literature
Philosophical
beliefs propel wanderlust
to explore the world
Political lines
fade, humanitarian
connections strengthen
Kaleidoscopes of
understanding that far is
near, that there is here
Pedagogical
travel viewpoints empower
experiencers
Trailblazing footprints
discovering difference
is conceptual
All of this is beautiful but this stanza stood out for me:
“Philosophical
beliefs propel wanderlust
to explore the world”
Kevin
Good morning, Kim! I like this idea of being an “experiencer” – becoming the experience rather than experiencing whatever thing is before us. I’m reminded that I say Let’s walk through this together frequently with students and you’ve placed those steps for us within both footholds and footprints in our travels. Thank you for the much needed optimism.
Kim, there’s so much I love about your haiku that I feel i could give a line-by-line commentary. I will attempt to limit myself! “Geographical footholds on clouds, size 7” is utterly enchanting on so many levels, real and ethereal. The fading of political lines for humanitarian connections…this is learning for humanity’s sake and for the sake of humanity. It is a matter of learning that our stories are the story of us all, for, indeed, “difference is conceptual”. Let us follow these trailblazing footprints, ever how late in the journey, and leave our own. So concisely, lyrically, beautifully conveyed, Kim.
Wow…you were productive this morning. Look at all those perfect syllable count haiku. And, they are very thought provoking. Sign me up for cultural studies…always been my favorite way to learn. Although, I’ll take travel too.
Kim, you know you’ve tapped into my wanderlust w/ this poem. The breakdown of pedagogy into types of experiences is very cool. “bring flat maps to life” is my favorite line. I’m so excited to live your poem in the upcoming months.
Kim, others here are pointing out their “favorite” lines. Mine are
Kaleidoscopes of
understanding that far is
near, that there is here
Which remind me of the diversity we see when viewed through lenses that tilt colors together creating beauty difficult to imagine. Pedagogically, this is what effective educators do.
A kaleidoscope is an optical instrument with two or more reflecting surfaces tilted to each other at an angle, so that one or more objects on one end of these mirrors are shown as a regular symmetrical pattern when viewed from the other end, from repeated reflection.
Good Morning, writers!
Glenda, what an amazing prompt. My journal is covered in thoughts…many memories to work with. Thank you for that and the beautiful. poem above. The use of “somewhere” really works as a beat. And, the idea of shifting is powerful in that last stanza.
The first test
Is obedience
OBEDIENCE is rewarded
with the label, GOOD.
The GOOD test
once passed is
scored for SMART
GOOD = SMART
Smart runs
through its paces
round the track
no time to falter
because SMART = FAST
Correction stands in
for teaching
GOOD-ER becomes BETTER
SMART-ER
FAST-ER
TRUST is benched with honesty
unnecessary today
Did you read this poem?
You are a GOOD girl
Move to the head of the class.
ah, the tone here … works wonders …. and all those terms — if only I had a BINGO board …
🙂
Kevin
Linda,
the pedagogy of the obedient, good, smart, fast student ….and our concepts of head of the class ….you show us some “teachery” pedagogical
thinking here in these lines!
Linda, your use of capitalization works to both emphasize and command. I’m reminded of the comments scrawled across papers (GOOD job, GREAT work). I love that you circle your closing stanza back to the beginning, suggesting the obedience, all with an underlying, most definite tone.
Linda, As Kim says, “Pedagogy of the obedient…” That should be the title, I think. The tone is biting and so dang true. Your poem is ?. I love it and concur w/ Jennifer about the capitalization. It’s a WOW from me.
Somehow, the theme of pedagogy brought me right back to my first year of teaching and a course with my Writing Project, and Peter Elbow (he was a faculty member at the university where our writing project is hosted).
Kevin
Upon Discovery of Peter Elbow
Upon hearing him mentioned,
in a class in a book,
I chuckled at the sound of such
a crooked name
yet the more I discovered,
the more I read,
the deeper I went,
the more I understood,
or thought I did, about
how choice informs text,
how authentic writing informs
us all, best
and now I know he was also
speaking directly to me
– wasn’t he? –
my smile at his bent name now
in the remembering
of the forgetting
that rules may not apply
Kevin,
Names are indeed funny words that make us wonder – where did that name come from? Your last line is what I keep telling my group of sixth grade girls each week – you hold the pen! In creative writing, we toss out the King’s English crown and do what we want. No rules. No crown. Color outside the invisible lines.
Kevin,
“Bent name” is a fabulous phrase that captures Peter Elbow’s pedagogy. I love the paradox in “the remembering / of the forgetting.” And I’m a bit jealous you rubbed elbows w/ the great Peter Elbow. Wonderful poem.
Now I want to know what the name could be. You are impressive with rhyme so early in the morning. How do you do that? I like the line, “my smile at his bent name now” best.
Elbow (Peter) …