I Teach, Therefore I Inspire

Don't you wish that were the motto of every instructor we encounter during the course of our and our children's lives? It's not, of course; I can name a lot more boring and mediocre teachers than I can inspiring ones in the nearly fifty years I've spent in my own and my sons' classrooms. Isn't that sad? On the other hand, the good ones are so life-changing that they almost make the dull teachers worth enduring.

This week on my Your Daily Poem website, I featured a poem by Edwin Romond, who taught English in Wisconsin and New Jersey for 32 years before retiring. The first time I read it, when Edwin submitted it to YDP for consideration along with several others, I cried. I cried because the impact and sweetness of his memory are so profound. I cried because this poem brought to mind my own life-changing moments in school--passing blips of activity or conversation, seemingly insignificant at the time, that nonetheless buried themselves in my brain and still resonate half a century later. I cried because I fear today's students are missing out on these moments because teachers are so burdened with covering what's on THE TEST (pick one; they seem to be endless) that they can't spare an unscripted, serendipitous hour to gush over the gossamer art of butterfly wings or discuss why a rainy day makes us feel so melancholy. They certainly wouldn't derail the day's syllabus to sing beautiful ethnic ballads; most schools don't even have music class anymore and if they're lucky enough to still have a music teacher, there's probably some law in place by now that says you can't sing ethnic songs because it might offend somebody. . .or if you sing one ethnic ballad, you have to sing them all. (But then, chances are, today's students don't know any ethnic ballads anyway because their music education is coming from iPods and "American Idol," but I think that's a blog for another day.)

In any case, I wanted to share Edwin's wonderful poem with you (see link below). And I want to encourage you to appreciate those teachers in your life who give inspiration along with information; if you have any pull with legislators, please remind them that the classroom should be a place for learning, not memorization, and certainly not simply for prepping to pass a test. Being well educated encompasses soooooo much more than being able to diagram a sentence, dissect an earthworm, or determine a square root. It's being able to identify and savor special moments in life, connect with and care for our fellow man, spawn new ideas and create works of art born of nothing more than ingenuity.

Here's a suggestion: next time you need to give a teacher a gift (and June is just around the corner), instead of the ubiquitous Starbucks gift card, give Edwin Romond's wonderful book, Dream Teaching. Poetry book not your style? Here are some other wonderful books that recognize and celebrate extraordinary teachers:

• Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt
• The Thread that Runs So True: A Mountain School Teacher Tells His Story, by Jesse Stuart
• The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life, by Parker Palmer
• Mentors, Masters, and Mrs. McGregor, by Jane Bluestein
• Extraordinary Teachers, by Fred Stephenson, Jr.

It's important that we reward outstanding teachers--by buying their books, praising them to their superiors, giving them thoughtful gifts, thanking them--frequently--and recalling their magic long after their tenure has ended. And remember: it's never to late to tell a teacher how he or she made a difference in your life.

Here's a review of Edwin's book by George Mason University instructor Erica Jacobs, and here is Edwin's beautiful poem, "Everything About Egypt." (If you cry when you read it, it's okay; you're one of many!)

Want to share a life-changing classroom moment of your own? I'd love to hear about it here!

Saying Goodbye to Lucille Clifton

My heart, and that of many others, is aching today over the death of poet Lucille Clifton. I received a poem from Wisconsin poet Bruce Dethlefsen Saturday night that made me gasp and think, "No! Not Lucille!" but couldn't find any news headlines to validate my fears. Today, however, her death has been confirmed and I share Bruce's poem with you in tribute to this wonderful woman who gave birth to six children, twenty children's books, and eleven poetry collections during her lifetime.

Tiptoes
(for Lucille Clifton)
by
Bruce Dethlefsen

I’m not here to speak louder
you’re here to listen harder

someone asks the windows open
so the overflow can hear

black faces white
stretched above the sills
brown heads rest
their cheeks along the ledge

she reads
I hear my mother speak
the church breathes in and out
each sound each word
a coo a hurricane inside my ear

a threat of rain
the father with the black umbrella bends
to kiss his daughter on the lips

the daughter slumps
her water breaks
when she hears her mother’s dead

she reads
my eyes are shut and with permission wet
we lean against the church

the soft applause
and then it’s done

I raise my head from my mother’s lap
I rise to stand
with the listeners on tiptoes at the windows
to stand until miss clifton passes

From Breather (Fireweed Press, 2009)
Used here with the author's permission. (Thank you, Bruce!)
Written after hearing Lucille read in the old church at
the Dodge Poetry Festival, on a very hot day)

I have two favorite Lucille Clifton poems. The first is "Homage to My Hips," which, to me, offers up a prime example of her wit and sass. The second, "Sisters," packs so much in its lines and flat out nails the sister relationship.

Homage to My Hips
by
Lucille Clifton

these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

From Good Woman (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1987)

Sisters
by
Lucille Clifton

me and you be sisters.
we be the same.
me and you
coming from the same place.
me and you
be greasing our legs
touching up our edges.
me and you
be scared of rats
be stepping on roaches.
me and you
come running high down purdy street one time
and mama laugh and shake her head at
me and you.
me and you
got babies
got thirty-five
got black
let our hair go back
be loving ourselves
be loving ourselves
be sisters.
only where you sing
i poet.

From Good Woman (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1987)

If you know Lucille's work, I leave you this to mourn her loss with a smile. And if you don't know her work, I hope it will inspire you to find to go find one of her books before this day ends!

Lucille reciting "Homage to My Hips"

gO Canada!

Kudos to Canada for including poetry in their celebration of the 2010 Olympic Games! Shane Koyczan did an outstanding job cataloging his country's sundry qualities in his poem, "We Are More," a piece he wrote for the Canadian Tourism Commission back in 2007. Not as dignified a performance as some might have liked, not as lofty a poem as others might have written (Canada abounds in excellent poets), but I thought the presentation was hip and from the heart and exactly right for the the occasion--which had more warmth than most of the opening ceremonies I've watched. Unlike a song, where the music gets in the way, and unlike visual art, which lacks the words to define the moment, poetry marks an occasion like no other art form. My hat is off to whoever deserves credit for making a noble occasion truly memorable.

In case you want to know more about Shane and his poetry--and I hope you do--check out his website.

Time to Swing the Bat!

WHERE did the last decade go? No matter; I won't miss it. There were some good things--watching my sons grow into men...publication of two new books and new editions of two older ones...reuniting with a couple of cherished old friends...getting to know several new ones--but there was a lot of loss and sadness in the past ten years, and a heap of struggling. I welcome 2010 with open arms and high expectations, and hope you do the same!

Here's an opportunity to get this new decade off to a great start: The Tennessee Women's Theatre Project is accepting submissions for "Women's Work," their annual festival and celebration featuring the work of women playwrights, poets, musicians, essayists, painters, filmmakers, dancers, and photographers from across the country. For three weekends in May (May 7 through May 23), Women’s Work will showcase the talents of creative women at Nashville’s Z. Alexander Looby Theater; submissions are being accepted now through April 5th, but why wait? If this is the year you're determined to get back in touch with your creative self, or acknowledge the creative self you've been ignoring or trying to deny, this is a terrific way to dive in. Get out that camera, dust off your oboe, belly up to the barre, or dig out that manuscript from the bottom drawer: it's SHOWTIME! Click here for details about TWTP's big event, and check my blog often because I'll be posting other opportunities to celebrate your fabulous self as I come across them.

Because here's the deal: life is short and every day counts. Don't miss out on the joy (and there is joy in every day)because you're too busy, too shy, too modest, too broke, too embarrassed, too fat, too short, too clumsy, too disorganized, too overwhelmed, or whatever other excuse you keep using to keep you from becoming the Woman You Were Meant To Be. Grab this year by the horns and go after what you want! As somebody once said (and if you know who deserves credit for this quote, please let me know!), "You can't hit the ball if you never swing the bat," so START SWINGING!

P.S. Attention momwriters and wannabe momwriters: this just in! Katherine Hauswirth (http://www.katherinehauswirth.com/) is offering an "Hour of Solidarity" writing challenge on January 10th--a perfect opportunity to stop talking about writing and actually DO it! Sign up and get details here.

Bright Star is a Mother's Dream

Moms, if you'd like to share a wonderful, passionate, CHASTE love story with your daughters or sons, go find "Bright Star," Jane Campion's gorgeous new film about Romantic poet John Keats and the love of his life, Fanny Brawne. Unfortunately, it's only playing in select theatres, so you may have to hunt for it (go to http://www.brightstar-movie.com/ and enter your zip code to find the theatre closest to you), but it's worth whatever distance you have to drive. If you're an action movie buff, I should warn you that you may have trouble staying awake; the pace of the film makes a tortoise look manic. But if you love period pieces, lush European-style cinematography, character studies, romance, family drama, or poetry, this is two hours of bliss.

There are so many positive aspects to "Bright Star," it's hard to know where to start. The fact that John and Fanny's relationship is based completely on affection and admiration, with virtually no physical contact--an all but foreign concept in this day and age--is certainly key, but I'll come back to that. Equally as satisfying is Campion's portrayal of Fanny and her mother as strong, capable women--a welcome change from the simpering females typically associated with the early nineteenth century. Fanny's father was long dead by the time John Keats became her neighbor, so one assumes the portrayal of the Brawne women is accurate since, without father, older brother, or other male relative at hand, they were forced to be self-sufficient of necessity. Perhaps because of that need to pull together, the Brawne family had a genuine affection for one another; that affection is evident throughout the film. Though Fanny admits in one scene that her little sister can be annoying, the closeness of the family members is obvious, and they continually, and willingly, look out for one another.


Actor Ben Whishaw didn't make my heart beat faster, but I suspect teen girls will find it easy to fall in love with Campion's scruffy version of John Keats. And they will certainly identify with young Fanny's passion for clothes (forget the mall: when Fanny wants the latest fashion, she just whips out her trusty needle and thread), annoyance with Keats' boorish buddy, and frustration with strict societal rules (Keats is deemed an inappropriate match because he has no reliable income). I especially enjoyed the portrayal of this young woman's relationship with her mother, who appeared to trust Fanny's judgment to do the right thing, but stood ready to offer comfort and advice as needed.

It is the pure--literally--passion of this love affair, though, that makes this film so important for teen viewing. Hollywood has taught this generation that love and sex are one and the same, that it's inconceivable to date a boy without bedding him, that hooking up is just the thing you do. Watching the ardor grow between this young couple creates a tangible ache. When they place their palms on opposite sides of a wall each night, we feel their connection; when they steal shy kisses on a walk through the countryside, we feel their giddy joy; when they make a conscious decision not to consummate their love before what they both know, but deny, is their last night together, we ache with their grief and longing. The inevitable tragic ending will leave only the hardest of hearts dry-eyed; again, I found Fanny's reaching out for her mother's comfort particularly touching.


Unlike Shakespeare's Juliet, Fanny Brawne had sense enough to know that much as she loved John Keats, her life would go on. The film leads us to believe she spent the rest of her life in mourning but, in truth, Fanny eventually married and had three children. I think the film would be more valuable to impressionable young minds had that fact been included because at forty, you know you'll survive the loss of love, but at fifteen, you don't; moving on with her life in no way diminished Fanny's love for Keats or his effect on her life, but it was the necessary, healthy thing to do.


Meanwhile, we are all better for Keats having been in this world. His body of poetry was not large, but his impact on the world of literature is undeniable, and if you are not familiar with his work or the bittersweet, brief tale of his life, you should see "Bright Star."

Video trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFPCgXSFijg&feature=related

John Keats' poetry: http://www.john-keats.com/

Is It Poetry or Is It Prose? Does It Matter?

I've been a fan of prose poet Louis Jenkins for years. His work makes me grin--always a good characteristic in a poem. It's witty, to the point, and often does a little pointed skewering in deft, understated satire--good stuff. Thanks to the wonderful Jeanette Guinn, a longtime friend from the South Carolina Arts Commission, I found out about a grant from the Southern Arts Federation and partnered with my home county's library system to bring Louis to our fair city for a series of readings and workshops. I'm excited: high school students, adult literacy students, area writers, and the general public will all benefit from his visit to Greenville next month.

I'll confess right up front that I'm not a big fan of prose poetry. I like my poems to look like poems--nice, short lines stacked up on the page...a vertical rectangle the size of an index card is about right. Give that rectangle a 90 degree twist and, to me, it becomes a paragraph--not a poem--so I'm eager to sit at this master's feet to see if I can figure out exactly what about his horizontal rectangles constitutes poetry. What makes his paragraph poetry and someone else's flash fiction?

Louis says he could care less about form; he's written "line poetry," as he calls it, too, but feels more comfortable and less restricted in paragraph mode. Most of us poets seem to have a place that feels most natural: my friend Kay Day enjoys writing sonnets; Gregory Orr says what he has to say in short, sparse spurts; Keith Flynn burst into songs in the middle of his poems; ee cummings eschewed capital letters, and Emily Dickinson completely abused them. Yet each of these gifted writers creates appealing, powerful poetry.

I tend to think Louis is right; does form really matter? Isn't it the words themselves that make the difference? As with so many other areas of life, "rules" often get in the way of the experience. I almost drove myself--and more than a few others--crazy in my first crack at motherhood. I read every how-to book available in my determination to do it "right" and to internalize all the experts' "shoulds" and "musts" and "essentials." By the time I got to Child #3, I'd tossed out most of that advice in exchange for routines borne of convenience and practicality. (Undoubtedly, this is why the youngest child in most families is more laid back than older siblings; we moms eventually figure out that doing what comes naturally makes life much happier!)

Poetry might benefit from that trade-off. Less focus on form and more on fodder would perhaps make this genre not so offputting to those unfamiliar (or unimpressed) with the rigid rhyme scheme of a terza rima or the syllabic specifications of haiku. I'm certainly not suggesting we start throwing words on a page all namby-pamby, but a little more oomph and a little less oeuvre might bring poetry a few more fans.

You'll get plenty of both if you come hear Louis do what he does best on Friday, November 6th, at 7 PM in the Hughes Main Library in downtown Greenville, SC. I promise you will be entertained. And if you'd like to learn more about weaving words into a prose poem, sign up for his workshop for the nominal fee of $25 (thanks to the aforementioned grant!). It's Saturday, November 7th, from 10 AM till noon at the same place. Just contact Sandy Merrill at 864-527-9293 or e-mail her at smerrill@greenvillelibrary.org.

Poetry, Take Two

In a survey sponsored by the Poetry Foundation a few years back, researchers discovered the following:

• 94% of Americans have read poetry at some point in their life, but only 15% read it consistently throughout their life.
• Almost 85% say poetry is hard to understand.
• Almost 81% say poetry is boring.
• Yet more than 70% say poetry helps you appreciate the world around you.

I'm going to connect the dots here and suggest that, based on these statistics, if people understand a poem, chances are they'll enjoy it. That's the premise upon which I based the launch of Your Daily Poem, a website that went live June 1st with the sole purpose of presenting uplifting, easy to understand poetry to people who were not predisposed to like it. And to paraphrase and repurpose Sally Field's worn but fitting cliche, "They like it! They really like it!"

I am tickled pink...or fuschia, if we want to be more poetic....to report that, four months after its birth, the number of subscribers to Your Daily Poem has septupled (is that a word?), poets published and un are submitting wonderful work on an almost daily basis, and people are passing around featured poems like juicy gossip. It's enough to make a poetry lover giddy.

Why bother, you may ask, or who cares? It comes down to this: life's hard most days--especially these days. Whether you're a young mother struggling to make ends meet, a working stiff trying to hang onto your job, a retiree worried about health and Social Security, or a corporate tycoon just having a bad day, we all need something to lift our spirits, make us laugh, stretch our imagination, take us away, or resurrect a fond memory. Poetry can do all that. But for too many of us, poetry got a bad name because someone made us study something awful in a classroom, or we opened a Revered Poetry Journal and were befuddled, repulsed, or bored by what we found inside, or we went to a reading and were embarrassed, offended, or bored by what we heard.

So this is my plea: give poetry a second chance. If you think you hate it, go to Your Daily Poem and click around in the archives. Read Ellen Bass's account of a mid-life couple smooching at an airport. Read the condemnation of little girl's beauty pageants on July 21st ("the stench of pink:" what a great line!). Read about an Elvis sighting in the peanut butter aisle at Shoprite, or the bliss of a perfectly ripe avocado, or the smell of oregano in a grandmother's kitchen, or the feel of your beloved's curls against your pillow.

Believe me, poetry is alive and well at YDP and it's not boring. It's heartrending, and hilarious, and touching, and titillating and--big bonus!--not even remotely connected to health insurance! Come discover poets from around the world whose work will definitely help you appreciate the world around you--one wonderful word at a time.