Skip to main content

The Power of Poetry & Tears

I'm in tears. (No surprise to many of you, I know.) "Calculus. Think about calculus" is running through my head. Ridiculous, yeah, but it's what I do when the giant bubble is bursting in my throat, barely holding the dam of emotions at bay. I guess that's what you expect from an English teacher - think about math, and it all goes away! Oops, my secret is out...

But why the calculus? Student work. I'm battling the response to my students' words with fuzzy memories of derivatives because I am simply blown away by their work. Remember last week's post? About my class I just wasn't sure I could reach?

This week was a different week.

It was also full of extremes. The week brought me to the edge of my tolerance, being stricter than I've been in eons in an effort to minimize disruptions and distractions. After all, I owe it to those in the group who are always on point, always on time, always on. The week saw a kind administrator and an influential coach make visits to my room. It also saw me share some personal stories and - surprise again - tears.

It started with the poem "Raised by Women" by Kelly Norman Ellis. When I was introduced to this text and its accompanying video of the author, I knew I'd use it.


Next, I shared "Raised by Fishing." Author? Me. It's my imitation of the original that I worked on over the summer. Writing it was fun at first, brainstorming all the euphemisms my daddy uses in the boat. But I couldn't resist including the forever influence of fishing with Dad that is now influencing my children. And that was the part that was tough to read to my students, so tissues were needed.


The assignment, then, was for the students to do their own imitations. Pick something they love that's impacted them in life and copy Ellis' style. Repeat the first and last lines of stanzas. Include a quote in each one. End with the title. They were off.

Two jumped right in. They always do. Two talked it out, writing a few lines for each other, and then they too were in. The quiet ones waited for a conference and a touch of confidence, then they also were in. A few still lagged. They always do.

What I thought would take a day took three. Several are still unfinished. But I collected anyway.

Wow.

These kids were raised by beautiful families and tasty food, influential siblings and strong traditions. These kids live and breathe deep roots. These kids have felt inexplicable loss and unending love. And they wrote about it in such a moving way!

This week, we're gonna publish. We'll get out the pretty paper, pick the fancy fonts, and print poetry. But better than that, I will offer them a wider audience. You, my friends. Stay tuned to this space. You just may see some poetry here soon.

Get your Kleenexes!


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dude. Be nice.

It's in the air like the scent of burnt popcorn from the teacher workroom fogging the halls. It's on our faces like thick blue cupcake icing that will never, never wash off.  What is it, you ask? The spring slide. The end of the year blues. The how-many-more-days-do-we-have weekly question. Yup, it's that time of year. It happens annually. Spring Break concludes, and it takes all of our patience and enthusiasm with it. Students go off for a week and leave any interest and motivation under the blankets where they slept their break away. We teachers leave our efforts to collaborate and abilities to reason in the pages of our reads and on the beaches of our trips. And there is just never. enough. coffee. Ever. That sad and disappointing part of the spring slide/endofyearblues is that it leaves us snarking at each other and our students. Our patience is minuscule and our tempers are pre-lit. And everyone - everyone - we encounter wears a target gleaming, waiting ...

A Fish Tale

Last weekend, I went fishing with my dad. I packed the kids in my silver mommy van, waded through the 5 o'clock Friday traffic, and arrived at Lake Fork in time to meet Dad coming off the water. He'd found the "honey hole" and snagged two - one over six pounds, the other over seven! He knew where to take us the following day. Saturday, he took out Ian, my ten year old, first at six AM. Ian going out for his first official early morning bass fishing with Pops is enough to melt my daddy's girl heart, and as expected, they had a blast. After they came in for lunch, Emily, my seven year old, and I crawled into the boat with Ian and my dad, and we returned to Lake Fork, the Big Bass Capital of Texas for another round.  Initially, we cruised around in the hot Texas October sun. We found solace in the shade of an old bridge. We "wet a hook" as Dad would say but, sadly, with no luck. Then, evening hit. Fishing frenzy time. Dad returned to the "honey h...

My Emily

One evening a few weeks ago, my almost 8 year old, Emily, was having a night. The scream, pout, tantrum kind of night. Drama was high, and I was doing my best to remain calm and avoid an explosion of anger or a fit of giggles. I'm about 50/50 when it comes to kid fights. I can never predict if I'll react in yelling or laughing. Anyway, this particular incident dealt with toothbrushing. I have come to believe that brushing one's teeth - at least at elementary age - must be akin to chewing shiny metal thumbtacks. Hearing my children protest, one may conclude that I torture them frequently with the help of Crest and Oral-B. This night was no different. Emily was NOT going to brush her teeth no matter what I suggested. Typically, she puts the paste on her brush, clicks two minutes into the timer, and off she goes. But not that night.  Her protests grew, her voice reaching higher and higher octaves as her eyes bulged and her face sizzled. She slammed her bedroom door. She th...