I spent a day resisting.
"Need to prep, need to prep" said the little voice in my head. My granddaughter wants me to come to her class to "teach poetry" which means I'm about to do what I swore I'd never do again - teach middle school.
In the past fifteen years I've taught fifth-grade-to-college-age students about this thing I can barely name. Of those, the middle schoolers were the toughest sell. What did poetry have to do with popularity? And the subject matter of many poems is so difficult. I didn't want to resort to Shel Silverstein.
Shel Silverstein is great but not who I want to teach...and every middle schooler has read him (or been forced fed him) to death. Oh, those safe subjects and quick laughs. They won't make anyone uncomfortable.
But I want to give them that gift - being uncomfortable. It can be risky. Sometime principals veto great poems because they might upset a parent who heard we were reading them. Sometimes students stare at me with garage-door-eyes as they disappear into themselves.
Thus, my resistance to prep but time's a great motivator. The day came when I could not put it off. Where to go for help? The books on my shelves, the minds of you other poets, Poetry 180 (though even it must claim it is for high school, not middle school) and finally my own love affair with this language art, this grasping after the unutterable.
Who knows how this will go with the kids, but for me it's meant days of meditating on what I love and that's rich. It's meant re-reading poems I can't use with them, but finding more than enough that may work. When I was twelve I already had a secret "grown-up" mind that thought deeply about the enigma we call life and what felt like a hurtful mystery -- death -- so I am hoping one of that-kind-of-kid will be in the room. Because I'm taking the plunge. I'm going to read them Gunter Eich's "Inventory" from "Valuable Nail." I'll keep you posted...
"Need to prep, need to prep" said the little voice in my head. My granddaughter wants me to come to her class to "teach poetry" which means I'm about to do what I swore I'd never do again - teach middle school.
In the past fifteen years I've taught fifth-grade-to-college-age students about this thing I can barely name. Of those, the middle schoolers were the toughest sell. What did poetry have to do with popularity? And the subject matter of many poems is so difficult. I didn't want to resort to Shel Silverstein.
Shel Silverstein is great but not who I want to teach...and every middle schooler has read him (or been forced fed him) to death. Oh, those safe subjects and quick laughs. They won't make anyone uncomfortable.
But I want to give them that gift - being uncomfortable. It can be risky. Sometime principals veto great poems because they might upset a parent who heard we were reading them. Sometimes students stare at me with garage-door-eyes as they disappear into themselves.
Thus, my resistance to prep but time's a great motivator. The day came when I could not put it off. Where to go for help? The books on my shelves, the minds of you other poets, Poetry 180 (though even it must claim it is for high school, not middle school) and finally my own love affair with this language art, this grasping after the unutterable.
Who knows how this will go with the kids, but for me it's meant days of meditating on what I love and that's rich. It's meant re-reading poems I can't use with them, but finding more than enough that may work. When I was twelve I already had a secret "grown-up" mind that thought deeply about the enigma we call life and what felt like a hurtful mystery -- death -- so I am hoping one of that-kind-of-kid will be in the room. Because I'm taking the plunge. I'm going to read them Gunter Eich's "Inventory" from "Valuable Nail." I'll keep you posted...