Monday, August 1, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Teaching Metaphor
Although accounting for only about 1% of the total of the world’s total water supplies, fresh water is undoubtedly the single most important resource we have available to us. It is the water we drink, the water we bath in, the water we grow our crops with and it’s natural power, when harnessed properly, provides a large portion of the electricity we use on a daily basis. How we utilize and distribute this severely limited resource has long been a point of contention and will continue to be so (if not in a much more extreme sense) in the future.
Recently, while on a sight seeing tour with an uncle of mine in the Snake River Valley, it struck me in a way that I had never realized previously, how difficult and complex the process is to get water out of my tap, and to the fields that grow the crops that I eat. My uncle works for the Twin Falls Canal Company, and has a crucial voice in deciding how the areas water supplies are used. The needs of the people, the needs of the farmers, the needs of the corporations, the needs of the future are all things to be considered and weighed in turn.
While it may seem at first glance that my uncle holds the power in this situation, one is mistaken to view it in this way: the true power here is held by the water itself, and the natural energy and balance provided by its chemical makeup. With or without my uncle, the water will move forward and forge paths, destroy and create in equal measure. My uncle’s job is simply to understand how the water works and direct it in the path of which it will do the most good, as opposed to doing damage, or by misuse or misguidance, the path which might render it effectively useless.
It stuck me that this could make a rather useful teaching metaphor. If one views students as this valuable and powerful natural resource with a natural propensity to move forward, one can orient themselves and their teaching practices to harness or maintain the power rather than create it from scratch. In this metaphor the student’s natural curiosity and desire to master any number of different crafts and subjects represents the innate momentum of the water. As evidenced by the number of hours a young boy or girl will dedicate to master a videogame, fingerings on a guitar, or putting a ball into a hoop/net, for the sure satisfaction that comes from of doing something well. A teacher that is able to recognize this and focus the energy and curiosity on knowledge or skills of consequence, helps the student reach for their potential and gives them a set of tools that will help them continue forward progress after the teacher is out of the picture.
This metaphor is also useful in that it not only allows for all the good a teacher can do for a student, it shows how one can stilt or misdirect a students natural movement and energy. A teacher can damn up the students progress in any number of ways; he/she can try to do too many things with the stream, go too many directions, thus stretching it too thin rendering it powerless; the teacher can intentionally or unintentionally direct the stream towards those that will misuse or pollute its natural purity and balance.
Ultimately it is a teacher’s duty to help a student realize their natural potential to create or destroy, or in a less abstract sense, to help them see themselves as an integral part of a larger community in which they can choose to better their own lives as well as the lives and those around them. By helping students realize and utilize their own unique talents and directing them in the way consistent with their natural drives, he or she gives the student their greatest opportunity to become a constructive part of the ever-expanding world around them.
Recently, while on a sight seeing tour with an uncle of mine in the Snake River Valley, it struck me in a way that I had never realized previously, how difficult and complex the process is to get water out of my tap, and to the fields that grow the crops that I eat. My uncle works for the Twin Falls Canal Company, and has a crucial voice in deciding how the areas water supplies are used. The needs of the people, the needs of the farmers, the needs of the corporations, the needs of the future are all things to be considered and weighed in turn.
While it may seem at first glance that my uncle holds the power in this situation, one is mistaken to view it in this way: the true power here is held by the water itself, and the natural energy and balance provided by its chemical makeup. With or without my uncle, the water will move forward and forge paths, destroy and create in equal measure. My uncle’s job is simply to understand how the water works and direct it in the path of which it will do the most good, as opposed to doing damage, or by misuse or misguidance, the path which might render it effectively useless.
It stuck me that this could make a rather useful teaching metaphor. If one views students as this valuable and powerful natural resource with a natural propensity to move forward, one can orient themselves and their teaching practices to harness or maintain the power rather than create it from scratch. In this metaphor the student’s natural curiosity and desire to master any number of different crafts and subjects represents the innate momentum of the water. As evidenced by the number of hours a young boy or girl will dedicate to master a videogame, fingerings on a guitar, or putting a ball into a hoop/net, for the sure satisfaction that comes from of doing something well. A teacher that is able to recognize this and focus the energy and curiosity on knowledge or skills of consequence, helps the student reach for their potential and gives them a set of tools that will help them continue forward progress after the teacher is out of the picture.
This metaphor is also useful in that it not only allows for all the good a teacher can do for a student, it shows how one can stilt or misdirect a students natural movement and energy. A teacher can damn up the students progress in any number of ways; he/she can try to do too many things with the stream, go too many directions, thus stretching it too thin rendering it powerless; the teacher can intentionally or unintentionally direct the stream towards those that will misuse or pollute its natural purity and balance.
Ultimately it is a teacher’s duty to help a student realize their natural potential to create or destroy, or in a less abstract sense, to help them see themselves as an integral part of a larger community in which they can choose to better their own lives as well as the lives and those around them. By helping students realize and utilize their own unique talents and directing them in the way consistent with their natural drives, he or she gives the student their greatest opportunity to become a constructive part of the ever-expanding world around them.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A couple random things
Skyping/video chatting guest speakers.
Guest speakers for a class would be not only much more convenient, but could occur much more frequently if done via some form of video conferencing software. Just think if a public official, or local business person could take 15-20 minutes off 2 or three times in a day rather than take off an entire workday to talk to your class about something. Then the teacher and the individual also need not worry about the awkwardness of having the guest speaker around the rest of the day (having to deal with meals, what to do with them before/after they speak etc.)
I would think in my English class, it would be particularly useful to have a number of different professionals in a variety of different fields talk about how they use language/writing in their workplace. Have them elaborate on the expectations of their employees/clients/co-workers on their communication skills and level of professionalism (as well as visa-versa)
Rather than making these visits big, difficult to arrange events, a teacher and a speaker could much more easily manage to clear out 30 minutes of time to create an authentic, engaging educational experience.
ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT NOTE-
I was thinking about the importance of the word convention to an English classroom and decided that this is a term/concept I would like to introduce early on in my classes and come back to again and again to re-enforce it’s significance in language studies. It is applicable in units/lessons on language usage (formal standard English, vs. non-standard varieties), spelling/grammar, writing structures, genre, originality/creativity in writing, avant-garde/experimental writing, culture/community rites and rituals, etc.
I started thinking about this issue because I was reading from one of my grammar books, and a particular passage caught my attention. The passage reads:
The idea of “the cost” of not following convention is what is particularly intriguing to me. This is not something that just applies to language usage/variety, but really any paradigm one may choose to apply it to: work, culture, film, writing, education, sports, politics, dating, sexuality...you name it. Deviation from any well developed cultural standards, or acceptable practices can be slightly dangerous (with varying meanings of danger) to the rule breaker in question. The tricky thing here is, that while I think breaking those standards is one of the most important things a person can do, understanding and appreciating them is enriching and ultimately imperative to function within any society.
Guest speakers for a class would be not only much more convenient, but could occur much more frequently if done via some form of video conferencing software. Just think if a public official, or local business person could take 15-20 minutes off 2 or three times in a day rather than take off an entire workday to talk to your class about something. Then the teacher and the individual also need not worry about the awkwardness of having the guest speaker around the rest of the day (having to deal with meals, what to do with them before/after they speak etc.)
I would think in my English class, it would be particularly useful to have a number of different professionals in a variety of different fields talk about how they use language/writing in their workplace. Have them elaborate on the expectations of their employees/clients/co-workers on their communication skills and level of professionalism (as well as visa-versa)
Rather than making these visits big, difficult to arrange events, a teacher and a speaker could much more easily manage to clear out 30 minutes of time to create an authentic, engaging educational experience.
ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT NOTE-
I was thinking about the importance of the word convention to an English classroom and decided that this is a term/concept I would like to introduce early on in my classes and come back to again and again to re-enforce it’s significance in language studies. It is applicable in units/lessons on language usage (formal standard English, vs. non-standard varieties), spelling/grammar, writing structures, genre, originality/creativity in writing, avant-garde/experimental writing, culture/community rites and rituals, etc.
I started thinking about this issue because I was reading from one of my grammar books, and a particular passage caught my attention. The passage reads:
“One cannot overestimate the importance of being sensitive to these perceptions (the potential of Standard English to be oppressive/discriminatory) and to the admittedly complex issues surrounding Standard English and its usage conventions. But it also is important to recognize that there always is a cost involved when one fails to follow a convention.”
The idea of “the cost” of not following convention is what is particularly intriguing to me. This is not something that just applies to language usage/variety, but really any paradigm one may choose to apply it to: work, culture, film, writing, education, sports, politics, dating, sexuality...you name it. Deviation from any well developed cultural standards, or acceptable practices can be slightly dangerous (with varying meanings of danger) to the rule breaker in question. The tricky thing here is, that while I think breaking those standards is one of the most important things a person can do, understanding and appreciating them is enriching and ultimately imperative to function within any society.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Short Story
My cousin and I wrote stories to read at the next 1st Thursday (Cole Marr Coffee house has a great little poetry/short story competition)and I figgured I'd post my entry for anyone to read who is interested as well as to get some feedback...Let me know what you think.
DIG
Brown blood oozed slowly out of the nearly-severed body; the two seemingly identical ends curled in agonizing spirals. Stephen stopped, then set the dull shovel aside, bending down to examine the collateral damage done by his aberrant stroke. He sat puzzled for a moment, deciding how to pick up the small, slimy creature without doing further damage. A thin layer of skin, like the twine his dad used to bind the chickens they sold, was all that connected the two squirming ends of the worm’s body. It was a very small worm Stephen thought as he looked down on it, just a baby really; he had almost not even seen it it was so small. He had been coming down for another strike with the shovel when he had seen the pitiful, injured creature and stopped before he hurt it beyond repair.
He gazed at the shovel: the evidence of his murder was slight--a tiny splat of wetness against the dirt-claude cliff on the shovel face. No one would know it was even there unless they were looking for it. He turned his attention back to the worm. Slowly, carefully, he picked up the wounded digger. His small, soft hands--now covered in earth and stinging slightly from the newly formed blisters—delicately handled the worm’s thin, weak tissue, making sure not to sever the only remaining connection. The faceless body squirmed, and squeezed and oozed in his fingers.
Stephen wondered where the worm had been going before he stuck it: home? His friend’s house? To get food? Or was he going to China too? How long had it taken him to get as far as he did? Minutes? Hours? Days? Stephen had been digging for what seemed like hours now and wasn’t even past his waist, but the worm he figured was much smaller than him and it would take him much longer. He touched his finger to the thin flap of skin. It felt like watery Jello--solid, yet somehow not. He wondered if the worm would still be able to continue his journey now that he was nearly split it two.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asked startling Stephen out of his remorseful reverie. “Why did you stop?” Stephen turned to see the outline of his brother through the semi-wrecked wood wall. The barn was old and had begun to rot and fall apart in certain places, although much of the damage had been done by the boys themselves, who liked the idea of secret passages: places that only they knew about and could pass through. Kyle held a small pile of something in his hands, but the ever-increasing darkness kept Stephen from being able to make out exactly what it was. He clambered through the wall and moved towards the hole Stephen had been digging.
“Why aren’t you further? We should be like… at least half-way there!” Kyle said in exasperation. He set down what now showed to be a small pile of mixed leaves on the ground.
“Leaves?” Stephen asked.
“Money.” Kyle said. “Stuart Smith told me they don’t have trees in China, so I figure if we bring leaves we could tell them it’s American money and they’ll never know the difference. We could live like kings over there if we bring enough of this stuff!”
“Kings?” Stephen asked puzzled.
“Yeah!” Kyle said, projecting all the safety and luxury they were about to enjoy in his one word reply.
“Oh.” Stephen said.
There was a short pause before Kyle remembered that he had pilfered something else in his raids. Out of his pocket he drew a small candle and a book of matches.
“I thought we could use some light once we got deep down in there. It’ll be dark once we get near the center of the earth.” He snapped off a small match and bending the book backwards, struck it effortlessly. They both admired the small fire for a moment. Kyle lit the candle and moved closer to the hole. Looking down he saw that Stephen was carefully cradling a delicate secret in his hands.
“What is that?” He demanded changing tones instantly. “What are you hiding?”
With Kyle’s sudden arrival, Stephen had almost forgotten about the worm and now the feelings of guilt came rushing back. “I think I killed it.” He said and slowly raising the still-twisting worm into the candlelight for Kyle to see.
“What do you mean? It’s not dead. It’s still moving isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but...”
“Well then it’s alive.”
“It is?” Stephen looked closer at the worm. It dawned on him that if it was still alive it was probably in tremendous pain. If he listened hard enough he thought, he would probably hear it screaming. He put his ear as close to the worm as he could feeling a little bit of the worms wetness attach itself to his ear lobe.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asked beginning to get angry.
“If he’s still alive he’s probably in pain. He’s probably calling out for help.”
“You’re stupid.” Kyle said. “Worms can’t scream, or yell, or even talk!”
“How do you know?” Stephen asked.
“Everyone knows that! Why are you so dumb?”
Stephen didn’t answer but looked down at the worm. Was it still alive, or was it like the chickens he had seen his dad kill? They always looked like they were still alive, but dad swore they were dead. Kyle and Dad always laughed, but the way they ran around had always terrified Stephen. He imagined them running right at him even though they didn’t have a head. He imagined them jumping on him, clawing him, hurting him, tearing at his face and eyes... Stephen shuttered at the image.
Kyle was getting impatient. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you digging?” We are almost out of time! We have to get there before... “
Stephen could not stop looking at the worm.
With a sudden viciousness Kyle stormed up to Stephen and snatched the worm out of his hands. Stephen open his mouth to protest, but it was too late, Kyle snapped the small creature the rest of the way in half and threw the carcass against the wall. The worm splattered against the rotting wood, squirmed once more and froze in position. If it was not dead before, it certainly was now.
“Get back to digging!” Kyle yelled.
“Why did you do that?” Stephen begged, his eyes beginning to well up with tears.
“Are you going to cry? Are you going to cry you little baby? You know what we do to cry babies?” Kyle raised his hand to hit Stephen.
“Kyle! Stephen!” A voice echoed out from the distance.
The boys froze. They heard the squeak of the screen door hinges, then silence.
Kyle unclenched his fist, and silently turned, walking wordlessly towards the barn door. Wiping tears from his eyes Stephen reached for the shovel and climbed back into the small hole, crouching as low as he could get.
Kyle peered cautiously through the large crack between the door and the wall. A small blast of cool fall air funneled through the opening hitting his face. He could not make out much at the house as it was cloaked in the darkling night.
He waited. There was no movement. Suddenly, the porch light flipped on and the screen door opened. A dark figure emerged from the house.
Kyle turned back to Stephen. “Blow out the candle.”
Stephen obeyed instantly, blowing out the only light source and leaving them both in almost complete darkness.
Through the crack Kyle saw the dark figure lite a cigarette, and stand smoking for a moment. The porch light illuminated the top of his head but left the rest of his face in dark obscurity. The coal burned a deep red. HE exhaled a large cloud.
“Kyle! Stephen!” the man yelled shattering the silence again.
He received no reply.
The cigarette butt flew from his hands and tumbled to a stop in the dirt yard. Smoke trickled slowly up the side disappearing in the dark night air. The cold, hard dirt crunched under his feet as he began walking towards the barn.
DIG
Brown blood oozed slowly out of the nearly-severed body; the two seemingly identical ends curled in agonizing spirals. Stephen stopped, then set the dull shovel aside, bending down to examine the collateral damage done by his aberrant stroke. He sat puzzled for a moment, deciding how to pick up the small, slimy creature without doing further damage. A thin layer of skin, like the twine his dad used to bind the chickens they sold, was all that connected the two squirming ends of the worm’s body. It was a very small worm Stephen thought as he looked down on it, just a baby really; he had almost not even seen it it was so small. He had been coming down for another strike with the shovel when he had seen the pitiful, injured creature and stopped before he hurt it beyond repair.
He gazed at the shovel: the evidence of his murder was slight--a tiny splat of wetness against the dirt-claude cliff on the shovel face. No one would know it was even there unless they were looking for it. He turned his attention back to the worm. Slowly, carefully, he picked up the wounded digger. His small, soft hands--now covered in earth and stinging slightly from the newly formed blisters—delicately handled the worm’s thin, weak tissue, making sure not to sever the only remaining connection. The faceless body squirmed, and squeezed and oozed in his fingers.
Stephen wondered where the worm had been going before he stuck it: home? His friend’s house? To get food? Or was he going to China too? How long had it taken him to get as far as he did? Minutes? Hours? Days? Stephen had been digging for what seemed like hours now and wasn’t even past his waist, but the worm he figured was much smaller than him and it would take him much longer. He touched his finger to the thin flap of skin. It felt like watery Jello--solid, yet somehow not. He wondered if the worm would still be able to continue his journey now that he was nearly split it two.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asked startling Stephen out of his remorseful reverie. “Why did you stop?” Stephen turned to see the outline of his brother through the semi-wrecked wood wall. The barn was old and had begun to rot and fall apart in certain places, although much of the damage had been done by the boys themselves, who liked the idea of secret passages: places that only they knew about and could pass through. Kyle held a small pile of something in his hands, but the ever-increasing darkness kept Stephen from being able to make out exactly what it was. He clambered through the wall and moved towards the hole Stephen had been digging.
“Why aren’t you further? We should be like… at least half-way there!” Kyle said in exasperation. He set down what now showed to be a small pile of mixed leaves on the ground.
“Leaves?” Stephen asked.
“Money.” Kyle said. “Stuart Smith told me they don’t have trees in China, so I figure if we bring leaves we could tell them it’s American money and they’ll never know the difference. We could live like kings over there if we bring enough of this stuff!”
“Kings?” Stephen asked puzzled.
“Yeah!” Kyle said, projecting all the safety and luxury they were about to enjoy in his one word reply.
“Oh.” Stephen said.
There was a short pause before Kyle remembered that he had pilfered something else in his raids. Out of his pocket he drew a small candle and a book of matches.
“I thought we could use some light once we got deep down in there. It’ll be dark once we get near the center of the earth.” He snapped off a small match and bending the book backwards, struck it effortlessly. They both admired the small fire for a moment. Kyle lit the candle and moved closer to the hole. Looking down he saw that Stephen was carefully cradling a delicate secret in his hands.
“What is that?” He demanded changing tones instantly. “What are you hiding?”
With Kyle’s sudden arrival, Stephen had almost forgotten about the worm and now the feelings of guilt came rushing back. “I think I killed it.” He said and slowly raising the still-twisting worm into the candlelight for Kyle to see.
“What do you mean? It’s not dead. It’s still moving isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but...”
“Well then it’s alive.”
“It is?” Stephen looked closer at the worm. It dawned on him that if it was still alive it was probably in tremendous pain. If he listened hard enough he thought, he would probably hear it screaming. He put his ear as close to the worm as he could feeling a little bit of the worms wetness attach itself to his ear lobe.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asked beginning to get angry.
“If he’s still alive he’s probably in pain. He’s probably calling out for help.”
“You’re stupid.” Kyle said. “Worms can’t scream, or yell, or even talk!”
“How do you know?” Stephen asked.
“Everyone knows that! Why are you so dumb?”
Stephen didn’t answer but looked down at the worm. Was it still alive, or was it like the chickens he had seen his dad kill? They always looked like they were still alive, but dad swore they were dead. Kyle and Dad always laughed, but the way they ran around had always terrified Stephen. He imagined them running right at him even though they didn’t have a head. He imagined them jumping on him, clawing him, hurting him, tearing at his face and eyes... Stephen shuttered at the image.
Kyle was getting impatient. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you digging?” We are almost out of time! We have to get there before... “
Stephen could not stop looking at the worm.
With a sudden viciousness Kyle stormed up to Stephen and snatched the worm out of his hands. Stephen open his mouth to protest, but it was too late, Kyle snapped the small creature the rest of the way in half and threw the carcass against the wall. The worm splattered against the rotting wood, squirmed once more and froze in position. If it was not dead before, it certainly was now.
“Get back to digging!” Kyle yelled.
“Why did you do that?” Stephen begged, his eyes beginning to well up with tears.
“Are you going to cry? Are you going to cry you little baby? You know what we do to cry babies?” Kyle raised his hand to hit Stephen.
“Kyle! Stephen!” A voice echoed out from the distance.
The boys froze. They heard the squeak of the screen door hinges, then silence.
Kyle unclenched his fist, and silently turned, walking wordlessly towards the barn door. Wiping tears from his eyes Stephen reached for the shovel and climbed back into the small hole, crouching as low as he could get.
Kyle peered cautiously through the large crack between the door and the wall. A small blast of cool fall air funneled through the opening hitting his face. He could not make out much at the house as it was cloaked in the darkling night.
He waited. There was no movement. Suddenly, the porch light flipped on and the screen door opened. A dark figure emerged from the house.
Kyle turned back to Stephen. “Blow out the candle.”
Stephen obeyed instantly, blowing out the only light source and leaving them both in almost complete darkness.
Through the crack Kyle saw the dark figure lite a cigarette, and stand smoking for a moment. The porch light illuminated the top of his head but left the rest of his face in dark obscurity. The coal burned a deep red. HE exhaled a large cloud.
“Kyle! Stephen!” the man yelled shattering the silence again.
He received no reply.
The cigarette butt flew from his hands and tumbled to a stop in the dirt yard. Smoke trickled slowly up the side disappearing in the dark night air. The cold, hard dirt crunched under his feet as he began walking towards the barn.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Science and story: some random thoughts.
What is the difference between the time-bound cause and effect nature of stories and the cause and effect nature of scientific description/explanation? The scientist asks the question: why does this happen? What makes it fizz? What is the smoke? Why does it explode? etc, and attempts to answer it through experimentation. The storyteller asks the question why did he do this? What explains this breakup? How did she achieve that? And then attempts to explain it through a dramatization.
To answer these questions, relationships have to be established and fit into a theoretical paradigm (composed of a series of assumption i.e. gravity, conservation of energy, etc for science, and love, achievement, democracy, etc. for story) that allows for those elements to co-exist and interact in meaningful ways that will lead to the inevitable conclusion/answer (liquification,explosion -- murder, marriage).
Interesting to think about how that natural human inclination to ask the question WHY? in different times/cultures or indeed individuals, leads to both story explanation and scientific explanation (think of the American Indian's earlier explanations for a sunrise versus an astronomer's).
Is that scientific explanation still a KIND of story?
To answer these questions, relationships have to be established and fit into a theoretical paradigm (composed of a series of assumption i.e. gravity, conservation of energy, etc for science, and love, achievement, democracy, etc. for story) that allows for those elements to co-exist and interact in meaningful ways that will lead to the inevitable conclusion/answer (liquification,explosion -- murder, marriage).
Interesting to think about how that natural human inclination to ask the question WHY? in different times/cultures or indeed individuals, leads to both story explanation and scientific explanation (think of the American Indian's earlier explanations for a sunrise versus an astronomer's).
Is that scientific explanation still a KIND of story?
Monday, December 27, 2010
my father moved through dooms of love
In recent weeks, I have begun to read a lot of poetry, and although I have really found a love for the form and the inventiveness of writers, none I have come across have had the effect on me that ee cummings has had. I think "anyone lived in a pretty how town" is now probably my favorite poem ever, but I just finished reading "my father moved through dooms of love," and it is right there in the runnings for sure.
Kind of interesting that on first reading of most of cummings poems, there does not seeem to be a whole lot of sense to be gleaned from them. They remind me much of some of the writings of Lewis Carol (whimsical, yet nonsensical), but as you begin to dig and get past the unusual grammar and syntax, a meaning which is more profound because of it's break with traditional forms seems to materialize.
There are a number of great passages in this poem, but a couple of my favorites are:
"his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile."
"if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow."
And the last 4 quatraines, some of the most powerful and profound poetry out there (I cant just put in a line or two, they all go together)
"then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all"
Some wonderfully scary and powerful ideas/images in there! "To differ a disease of same,""conform the pinnacle of am" "dull all we taste as bright" Fantastic stuff for sure!
Dooms of love made no sense to me on first reading, but after getting to the end, and stuggling for a short while one negins to see how difficult cummings thinks it is to live an original life and a life steered by love. The fatalistic "dooms of love" takes on a meaning all it's own, with none of the usual deadness that comes attached to lifeless cliches most other writers choose to use. Of all the modernists that I have read, I find that cummings came closest to the ideal of creating new, original, exciting forms of expression. The testiment to this is that 71 years after it's original publication date, the poem seems as fresh and as vital as I am sure it did it did on day one.
Kind of interesting that on first reading of most of cummings poems, there does not seeem to be a whole lot of sense to be gleaned from them. They remind me much of some of the writings of Lewis Carol (whimsical, yet nonsensical), but as you begin to dig and get past the unusual grammar and syntax, a meaning which is more profound because of it's break with traditional forms seems to materialize.
There are a number of great passages in this poem, but a couple of my favorites are:
"his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile."
"if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow."
And the last 4 quatraines, some of the most powerful and profound poetry out there (I cant just put in a line or two, they all go together)
"then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all"
Some wonderfully scary and powerful ideas/images in there! "To differ a disease of same,""conform the pinnacle of am" "dull all we taste as bright" Fantastic stuff for sure!
Dooms of love made no sense to me on first reading, but after getting to the end, and stuggling for a short while one negins to see how difficult cummings thinks it is to live an original life and a life steered by love. The fatalistic "dooms of love" takes on a meaning all it's own, with none of the usual deadness that comes attached to lifeless cliches most other writers choose to use. Of all the modernists that I have read, I find that cummings came closest to the ideal of creating new, original, exciting forms of expression. The testiment to this is that 71 years after it's original publication date, the poem seems as fresh and as vital as I am sure it did it did on day one.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Grammar Alive! Chapters 1 and 2
We have traditionally taught grammar without appreciating the fact that they already have a full grammar system--an ability to organize language meaningfully--in their heads. Consequently, the grammar of the classroom has often seemed to students like so much unnecessary jargon they have to learn about a language they already know. (xiv)It is through instruction like this that I believe that I have such a weak connection to grammar in the classroom. I was lucky in that I was raised in a family that spoke pretty darn close to Standard English, and did not have to struggle to be able to think, or write in that voice. The terminology never seemed that important to me because I never saw a practical use for it (not having then the plan to teach English in school) and it all seemed somewhat abstract, confusing, and used names that neither made sense, or were easily remembered. In addition to all of this, as I recall, instruction on the subject pretty much stopped after about 8th grade. Needless to say, I avoided having to teach grammar lessons like the plague while doing my student teaching.
Like many people, I am not scared to admit my own deficiencies, but that is only the first step, secondly you must face them head on. This is why I have decided to better understand my foe. I don't want to continue to have an Achilles heel or, worse yet, pass my own weakness on to my students. Time to man up and take my place back in Mr. Sawyers 8th grade English class; pick up my notebook with a new-found drive to comprehend.
After joining the NCTE and ordering a professional development packet for grammar, I started reading a book included that is entitled: Grammar Alive! And thus far I have been really impressed. It looks at grammar through a different lens than I haven't ever seen through before. It is not a book set around the rules for each part of language like all the other grammar books I have ever seen/purchased in the past. In fact they recommend doing the furthest thing from that in your classroom:
Grammar, according to this book, is best taught through using authentic texts (i.e. newspapers, studied texts, student writing etc.), while simultaneously making explicit features of language that the students, and indeed any English speaker already implicitly knows.
...it is not language that is the crucial issue here; it is people, and the match between the language they use and the circumstances they find themselves in. Language is "correct" or "incorrect" depending on the circumstances. (11)
The book argues that as English teachers, we should have three primary goals in our classroom:
A.) Every student, from every background, will complete school with the ability to communicate comfortably and effectively in both spoken and written Standard English, with an awareness of when use of Standard English is appropriate.
B.) Every student will complete school with the ability to analyze the grammatical structure of sentences within English texts, using grammatical terminology correctly and demonstrating knowledge of how sentence-level grammatical structure contributes to the coherence of paragraphs and texts.
C.) Every student will complete school with an understanding of, and appreciation for, the natural variation that occurs in language across time, social situation, and social group. While recognizing the need for mastering Standard English, students will also demonstrate an understanding of the equality in the expressive capacity and linguistic structure among a range of language varieties both vernacular and standard, as well as an understanding of language-based prejudice.
Through activities that use contrastive analysis (comparing texts from multiple different genres, defining what features/conventions each asks for specifically) and an familiarity with the process of code-switching (choosing between language varieties, or dialects, depending on the time, place, audience, and communicative purpose). These kinds of activities lead students to an overt awareness of not only themselves and their own identity through language, but of the society in which they live, its values, prejudices, and peculiarities.
More to come...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)