I have made a commitment to three things: finding time for Blue Space (beach, sky), Green Space (earth, woods), and the responses I have to poets & writers. I seek to discover the art of being.
A poem oddly inspired by Billy Collins poem "Fishing on the Susquehanna in July" in which he writes about never having actually fished on the river, but instead stood in front of a painting of a man fishing on it.
It started with a memory of doing "13 Way" poems based on Wallace Stevens "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." I thought it might be a cool culmination for my 6th grade advanced readers to do after we finish Talking Earth. (We are in a unit about survival, and the 6th grade is taking a trip to the Everglades, so I thought it would be useful for them to know about the Seminole people, since I have found any knowledge of Native Americans is severely lacking in our students.) I knew I had assigned this type of thing in the past, and I thought I had created a guide for it. That is what I went looking for in my document folder.
What I found was something I forgot all about, and haven't seen in years. It was a poem using the "13 Ways" model that was to reflect some aspect of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. This was their final assignment when we studied the novel in Junior English.
I think you will recognize the name of the author. Since back then most work was submitted handwritten, I typed it out because I knew it was a keeper. I did not find any other "13 Ways" poems, nor did I find the guide I had assumed I made. But no matter. This was a gift from the past. And #9 really got to me...
Back when I was a salesperson, I knew it was a numbers game. I was inspired by another sales rep who gave us the suggestion to add one more cold call to our day when we were ready to quit. She did the math -- how it would add up to so many more calls a month, and how that translated to sales. She was quite successful, and I took her advice.
As time has gone on, I've started to realize everything is a numbers game. Here are three on my mind.
The Arithmetic of Music
Anyone who has studied music has come across the "Circle of Fifths" -- a teaching device using mathematical ratios to learn the order of key signatures. Yeah -- I'm still learning as well.
This week when I met with my music teacher to try to figure out how to approach writing music for some lyrics, we referred to the Circle of Fifths. My music teacher can do all this in his head (as he should!) Me -- charts and graphs are my saviors. It will be a while before I feel comfortable understanding this chart, but it is a prime example of how math underlies music.
The Arithmetic of Reading
I've always been a reader, but the truth of the matter is that there have been whole swatches of time that not much reading got done. I felt I didn't "have time."
Last summer when trying to figure out how I would motivate young readers, I came across an idea that, with some modifications, I thought could work. I created the goal-setting bookmark. It's deceptively simple: read for 10 minutes, note how many pages you read in that time, multiple by two (arithmetic!), and there you have how many pages you can read in 20 minutes -- a reasonable amount of time to give to personal reading, right?
Ahead of schedule on Susan Orleans book!
Student bookmarks from third quarter
I tried it out, and found that it worked much better than I ever could have imagined. I could chart out how long it would take me to read a book at that pace. Reading ahead is an accomplished feeling. Under pressure to get books back to the library, I can determine exactly how much time I have to put in each day to complete -- for instance, recently I read Barbara Kingsolver's new book Unsheltered. I had waited several months to get it from the library, and I knew that there were still patrons waiting. I needed to get through the 461 dense pages within two weeks, in between working, traveling, and other obligations. When I completed early, I was ecstatic. In the past it would have been an epic fail. More than once I've taken popular books back unread because I just couldn't figure out how to get the reading done. Now I know.
When I introduced this to my students, one of the first complaints was "This isn't math class." Ha ha. Little did they know the arithmetic of reading! Most students latched on to this right away, and some still find it particularly helpful. For others, it helped establish a reading habit, even as they abandoned making the bookmark.
Ever since I've committed to this process, I've been reading more than ever. I find I DO have time to read. I completed 38 books in total last year, and I thought that was pretty good. I set a public goal on Good Reads to read 60 books this year -- a number I felt was a stretch. At the beginning of March, I was already nearly one third of the way to my goal. I've upped it to 80, but even that will probably be too little.
And here is the thing -- I am more calm and relaxed than ever. I suppose this is for a number of reasons, but I have come to believe my commitment to reading has a lot to do with it. Usually by this time of the school year I'm stressed to the max, but not this year.
For years I looked at books and thought "Someday." Now I look at them just to decide which will be next for goal setting and completion. It's the arithmetic of reading that has made all the difference. The Arithmetic of Compassion
I have been slowly making my way through Joan Halifax's book Standing on the Edge, where she dissects what she calls the "edge states" -- altruism, empathy, integrity, respect, engagement, and compassion. Today I read about "the arithmetic of compassion," which actually motivated this entire blog post. Without getting into a lengthy explanation, it goes something like this:
When faced with helping one person, we tend to respond. But once we know there is more than one, we are less likely to even help the first one. Paul Slovic, Ph.D continues the explanation:
Meeting that need no longer felt satisfying. Similarly, when the need for assistance is describes as part of a large-scale relief effort, potential donors would experience a demotivating sense of inefficacy arising from the thought that the help they could provide was just a 'drop in the bucket.' (232)
This is actually called "pseudo-inefficacy" -- the sheer numbers making a person feel ineffective, even thought that isn't reality. It's the perception that we can't really help that is a powerful de-motivator. This mental shutdown is literal. Joan says,
I have little doubt that our constant access to bad new today, via social media and online news sites, contributes to the psychic numbing, moral apathy, and a deficit of compassion. (232)
I know this to be true.
This caused me to think about our country, and how divided we are. I thought to myself, what is the face of the country for me? How can I stay focused on 'the one' so I don't get overwhelmed?
The answer was quick and obvious: it is my daily work with young people. My heart and soul filled with gratitude that I can do something every day that might have an influence. Every choice I make in my classroom matters to at least one of them. I believe that. I also know that many of the issues in our country, the choices being made now that I don't agree with at all will affect them much more than they will affect me. After all, global climate changes are said to begin to really show up in 2050 -- I expect to be long gone by then. But that 12-year-old in front of me will have to contend with it.
It's the Arithmetic of Teaching, I suppose. We won't reach them all; but like the extra cold calls made by a salesperson in order to increase chances of a sale, the more I focus on what I can do every day to help them be reading and writing literate, as well as socially literate, I'm doing a lot. If I do it with purpose. With love.With compassion.
P.S. And as I finished, this song came on my iTunes list -- an overlooked song of the 60's someone put the perfect graphics with. Even though it's a love song, it seems to fit. Enjoy.
Well, it has been a long time since I've sat down to post the poems. Best laid plans said I'd get it done this week. Ha! Lots of poems to post -- this is only about a quarter of them, but this is all the time I want to donate right now. The gorgeous weather is calling me for a walk, and my mandolin is calling me to play.
SMOOTH
Seemingly without tension
Moving through everything effortlessly
Centered on task always
On point without fail
Tyler glides through the day
He makes it look so easy
WINGS
For Ashley
"Welcome to my world" she seems to say
In the way she looks at you
Never giving everything away
Growing and gathering, holding her
Superpowers close, waiting to take flight
The Future Speaks
Say you are incredibly gifted,
that the world around is
far from form-fitting,
in fact it can be downright uncomfortable.
The way Josh moves tells me the
Future speaks to him now
and he listens
and moves accordingly.
PROMISE
Perhaps it's the way he
Rests easy wherever he is;
Others gather around.
Maybe it's his singular focus,
Intense and determined.
Safe to say, Lex has promise,
Evident in everything he does.
BEGIN
Both clever and courageous, and
Easy to like, Victor
Gains favor with his peers,
Imagines a future for himself,
Numbers the triumphs to come.
FOREVER
Feathery light and poised
Open to going beyond
Roundabouts don't confound
Even-tempered and solid
Veracious and vivid Natalee
Ever moving forward and up
Reaching for the higher place
The Center
Standing in the middle,
turning by degrees,
Sam is the center.
The full moon, round, white blaze
quiet, unhurried spin;
wheel and compass,
axis and reel.
**Inspirations**
"My Heart" by Billy Collins
"Autumn at Blenheim" by David Whyte
"Watching the Perseids" by Twyla M. Hansen
"Ailey, Baldwin, Floyd, Killens, and Mayfield" by Maya Angelou
"He Sapa Four" by Layli Long Soldier
"Karen, David, and I Stop Across the Street from the Pitti Palace" by Barbara Hamby
"Center" by Billy Collins
We are traveling the American
Southwest, discovering a land of reds
and browns and rocks and utter dryness. The
rental car radio is on, and for
some reason the song "West End Girls" plays
over and over again. The beat of
the song drifts through my mind, connecting it
with the landscape, as we drive the road
to Shiprock and Four Corners and Valley
of the Gods. The sheer vastness of the land
astounds me over and over, makes me
feel lonely, much like the mood of the song.
I'm feeling like an alien in this
environment, lack of green and water.
It's not Ohio. Shiprock stands under
storm clouds, we take a picture and move on. II. Looking into the heart of light, the silence
What I read about Shiprock was that it
looks like a clipper ship, and was a sign
to migrating pioneers they were on track.
I did not read about the Navajo
mythology, and probably did not
even realize we were on their land.
Just now learned the legends and stories, the
spiritual and historical meaning
this place has for the people. Creation
rests on its peaks, closed now to climbers
"absolute, final, unconditional"
according to Navajo law. The owl
and the eagle are part of the myth, and
the story of women and children left
to die when lightning struck and sheered the cliff.
This is a place where evil is lurking.
III. What are the roots that clutch, the branches grow
"Too many shadows whispering voices"
Back in the day I did not hear them at
all. My world was much smaller, sheltered, bound.
I go back to the road to Shiprock when
I hear the Pet Shop Boys sing, there again
feeling lost and disconnected to the
land and the music as well. The hip hop
soundtrack was "The Message" things were changing.
I was so unaware. My roots elsewhere,
my branches clipped. Did I have a "heart
of glass or a heart of stone"? I don't know.
Now I can see at age thirty I was
ignorant of the questions being asked
"If when why what how much have you got?"
I was close to the edge and never knew
how it was or what it could mean to fall.
IV. The faint moonlight, the grass is singing
What is the use of dynamiting the
past, looking at all the things I did not
know? Why do I find myself here on the
road to Shiprock, opening awareness?
It was one line in a poem, and led to one
song from that year that led to creation
stories and epic poetry and the
changing music scene. I follow these threads
because I have to, it's what I do, it's
how I live life now. I missed so much back
then, but over time I could read the signs,
know if I was on track even with the
rock and no water and sandy road.
Grounded more firmly, wisdom comes with age. These fragments I have shored against my ruin.
Lost and then found,
on the Road to Shiprock.
How this poem came about...
On Thursday I read a poem by Layli Long Soldier that contained the fragment "road to Shiprock." It made me think about our trip out west, and I wrote what would be a part of what ended up in section I.
I became a bit obsessed with the idea, so I pulled out my five packs of pictures from our Southwest trip of April 1986. I retraced our steps, figured out exactly what the trip itinerary was. I was not journaling then, so don't have any actual records beyond my photos and memory. I do know that the only thing I knew about Shiprock was how it was named for a white man's creation (the clipper ship), and that it was a beacon to white settlers. Nothing about indigenous people.
Researching Shiprock, and learned the many versions of the Navajo creation story, the legends that surround the rock, the people who tried to scale the cliffs, some to die. This monument is found in the Navajo Nation and they control it. The quote about the law against climbing is directly from them.
I also researched the lyrics of "West End Girls," learning it isn't about prostitution as so many thought, but rather the struggles of inner city life and issues related. The beat is directly from Grandmaster Flash's "The Message," which is fitting since his song is about the same things. (I give a nod to Grandmaster with the words "close to the edge".) It was also inspired by T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," and even refers to a historical event from World War I at the end.
Once all the notes were made, I knew I needed a form. I felt I could just end up rambling into eternity if I didn't find the right form. Leave it to Rafael Campo to provide it. On Saturday I came upon his poem "Quatrains for a Shrinking World," which contains several sections of 10 syllable lines in a 4 X 4 format. Perfect.
I also checked out the Eliot poem, and pulled specific lines from it for the section titles. When reading the poem, the quotes in italics are from Eliot. The "quoted" text is from "West End Girls."
I had three Eliot lines pulled for a three section poem. As I got to writing, I realized I needed a fourth section, as I hadn't quite come to a conclusion -- in fact, I still don't think I fully knew what I was even writing about. I went back to "The Wasteland" and found a couple of lines I liked, and ended up deleting one of the original lines I had, the opener, "April is the cruellest month."
It is true the fragments came together as I weaved my way to finding some kind of personal meaning here. I think coming upon photos of myself at 30 really had an impact. More than half my lifetime ago. How different I was.
I think of travels through my life, and I know they are connected to specific times of my life. What enriched my experience here was learning all the poetic and literary and musical connections that were lurking beneath the surface of that day in April 1986 when we drove the road to Shiprock. I'm glad I know and see those connections now. It has been a gift I gave myself.
Finally got my creative writing class outside yesterday to observe and write about nature and anything else that was in front of us. We did the 360 degree poem, where we moved like a clock and wrote a list of what we saw. Then we fashioned poems.
Here is mine.
What I See
First, it's my class
White shoes
Striped shirt
Morgan smiling
Ashlyn writing
Then, a few scrawny palm trees
then more skinny palms
Palm tops that look like Easter lilies
A bushy palm
Sunlight shining through the fronds.
Then, the feathery cloud floating in a sea of blue sky
The ibis poking along the fence line.
The wood stork soaring overhead.
Then, my class again.
They write.
The cool breeze ruffles our pages on an inviting March morning.
My spirit smooth and silky.
Today I taught extended metaphor poems in my Creative Writing class, and decided I'd better write one of my own. I'm deeply involved in Barbara Kingsolver's new novel Unsheltered, so I wrote about one of the main characters.
