Time for Poetry

Maybe it's because I've been reading Romantic poetry for the past month and I find these guys (Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Keats and Shelley) fascinating or maybe it's because I can relate to this poem. Or it could be that I like it because I understand it and its inspiration--he saw a storm approaching, watched it, and finally wrote again, marking the end of his grieving period for his 3 year old son that had recently died. No matter what, I like these two sections of this poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley.  

from "Ode to the West Wind"

IV.

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

 

The impulse of thy strength, only less free

Than thou, O uncontrollable! if even

I were as in my boyhood, and could be

 

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,

As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

 

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed

One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

 

V. 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is;

What if my leaves are falling like its own!

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

 

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!

And, by the incantation of this verse,

 

Scatter, as from an extinguished hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

Be through my lips to unwakened earth

 

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

your dose of poetry for today

I've rediscovered Lucille Clifton. I forgot I had her book and I forgot how much I liked her.

photograph

my grandsons
spinning in their joy

universe
keep them turning turning

black blurs against the window

of the world

for they are beautiful

and there is trouble coming

round and round and round

wishes for sons

i wish them cramps.

i wish them a strange town

and the last tampon.

i wish them no 7-11.

i wish them one week early

and wearing a white skirt.

i wish them one week late.

later i wish them hot flashes

and clots like you

wouldn't believe.  let the 

flashes come when they

meet someone special.

let the clots come

when they want to.

let them think they have accepted 

arrogance in the universe,

then bring them to gynecologists

not unlike themselves.

Old Dominion
Robert Hass

The shadows of late afternoon and the odors
of honeysuckle are congruent sadness.
Everything is easy but wrong. I am walking
across thick lawns under maples in borrowed tennis whites.
It is like the photographs of Randall Jarrell
I stared at on the backs of books in college.
He looked so sad and relaxed in the pictures.
He was translating Chekhov and wore tennis whites.
It puzzled me that in his art, like Chekov's,
everyone was lost, that the main chance was never seized
because it is only there as a thing to be dreamed of
or because someone somewhere had set the old words
to the old tune: we live by habit and it doesn't hurt.
Now the thwack... thwack of tennis balls being hit
teaches me and it is the first sound of an ax
in the cherry orchard or the sound of machine guns
where the young terrorists are exploding
among poor people on the streets of Los Angeles.
I begin making resolutions: to take risks, not to stay
in the south, to somehow do honor to Randall Jarrell,
never to kill myself. Through the oaks I see the courts,
the nets, the painted boundaries, and the people in tennis
whites who look so graceful from this distance.

long stuff, man.

we chug on through the poetry unit. I've finally finished reading "Julius Caesar" (or should it be Julius Caesar?) and I'm full of ideas for that unit. I'm actually ahead!
Last week, I said I would post the imitation/response poems some of my kids wrote. I lied. I'm doing it today. I'll put the original first, then the kids's versions.

The Red Wheelbarrow (William Carlos Williams)
so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Oops! (my version)
so much depends
upon

that essay you
started

but stuffed into your
folder

now tattered and
forgotten.

The Hot Pink Socks (Samantha M.)
so much depends
upon

the hot pink
socks

stitched with thread
so hot

beside the lime green
undies.

The Softball (Danielle F.)
so much depends
upon

a softball

lonely on the
softball field

beside the
dugout.

The Street Life (Tory C.)
so much depends
upon

the way of
life

a street life

glazed with money, power,
and respect

beside the killing,

people love the fame that goes with
street life.

The Silver Bracelet (Dean W.)
so much depends
upon

a silver
bracelet

glazed with crush
diamonds

beside the gold
watch.

The Black Car (Peter P.)
so much depends
upon

the black
car

glazed with fresh
paint

beside the confused
cop.

Gold Diaper Bag (Nycolle t.)
so much depends
upon

a gold diaper
bag

glazed with milk, wipes,
and pampers

beside this 6 pound, black, pretty hair
baby.

The Gray Bellybutton Lint (Bryan O.)
nothing at all depends
upon

the gray bellybutton
lint

splashed with spaghetti-o
juice

deep inside your
bellybutton.

Why? (Janae F.)
Why did you choose to write about a red wheelbarrow?
If you was that bored, you should've slept 'til tomorrow
You could've made a cake, a pie or a meal
But noooo! You wanted to write about a red wheelbarrow.
------------------------------

This Is Just to Say (William Carlos Williams)
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

You See, What Happened Was (my version)
I have forgotten
to grade
your journals
that were in your folders

The ones
you wrote this morning
and were waiting
for me to comment on

Forgive me
I thought you wouldn't notice
they were so quickly
jotted down
and finished

Thank You (Tyler P.)
I have eaten
the ice cream
that was in
the icebox

And which
you were probably
saving for
the picnic

Thank you
they were so
creamy
so sweet
and ice cold

This Is Just Something You Might Not Need To Know (Bryan O.)
I have farted
in your face
last night when
you were sleeping

and which
you probably
did not know
you sleep so hard

Forgive me
the timing was
so right
and so sweet

I Didn't Do It (Logan S.)
I didn't eat
the leftovers
in the microwave

I know
that you were going
to take it to work

but Uncle Jeff
probably ate it.

This Is Just To Clay (James D.)
I have eaten
the apples
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for lunch

Forgive me
they were so delicious
so sweet
and so chilly

Response (Cleo A.)
Why did you eat
the plums
there were in
my icebox

in which
I saved for
my
wholesome breakfast

I shall not forgive
you
for you have
ruined my
Raisin Bran

Just To Say (Peter P.)
I have stolen
the car
that was parked
in the garage

The one you
were probably
saving
for you child

Forgive me
it was fast,
too bad that
I crashed.

Dis is Just 2 Say HA! HA! (Dominic C.)
I have eaten
all the fried chicken
that came from KFC

and which
you were probably
saving
for supper.

Don't forgive me
I did it on purpose and
the biscuits
were hot and
fresh.

This Is Just To Say (Christina C.)
I have eaten
the meatloaf
that was in
the icebox

and which
you were
saving
for lunch

forgive me
it was repulsive
I wish I didn't eat it.

How Dare You (Caylan E.)
How dare you eat my plums,
and every lase one!
I hope you get sick off
of everything you won,
you sick fat hot, bragging that way,
about how you ate my plums
early in the day,
I hope they rot in your stomach
and give you gas,
so you'll never eat my food
again, when you think of the past.

You Shouldn't Have Said (Janae F.)
You ate my plums? Oh my, oh my!
I was using them to make my triple plum pie
The ripest in the state
Those were the ones you ate
the other ones are out of date
I put them in a special place
I entered a contest called "Pie, Pie, Pie"
Now I can't compete! Oh my oh my!


Hope you got a kick out of some of these. I have a few more I'll post later for "How Do I Love Thee?" and "After a Death". These kids blew me away with how much they enjoyed doing this and how funny some of them were.

quick update:

This week was pretty good. I had this great feeling of belonging and being a part of the school. Not that I didn't before, but for some reason, this week it was really there and really strong.
We had the first meeting of Legasy (Leading Education of Gay and Straight Youth) on Thursday, it went really, really well and next week should be even better. I hope to bring younger kids there because it's mostly 11th/12th graders. I told a few of my 10th graders who will (hopefully) make it next week and Jerilyn is going to mention it to some of her 9th graders. I think it would be interesting and beneficial for those 9th/10th graders to see older students who are out and also the opposite--older students helping younger students.
Last night we went to Pints and Pipes. I was really impressed, David and I agreed it's definitely a bar we would hang out in. Plus, they have a Canadian flag in one of their rooms-- so, I'm obligated to like them. They were also playing hockey games along with the basketball game on, which is not something I've seen down here.
Big news hit Williamsburg today: Pres. Bush visited. Apparently, as NPR reported, the Democrats chose WBG as their retreat and Bush came down to address them. It wasn't open to the public and it's probably already happened, but it would have been funny to see all those cars come through the small streets of downtown WBG.
Later today or this weekend, I'll probably post pictures of the "Poetry Is..." quilt/collage that my students made and also some imitation/response poems they wrote the past two days--some of them are hilarious! I'm really glad a majority of my students enjoy or tolerate poetry. I only have a few that hate it. One of the poetry haters admitted to me he thinks he hates it because the poems they put in the textbooks are boring/not very interesting to him, I told him he's probably right and one day he would find the poetry that suited him. So far, most of them seem to be enjoying the poetry packet I made, since I didn't find much to work with in their textbooks. I wish I could teach poetry for longer than only 3 weeks. I'm probably just dreading what's coming after it: Julius Caesar and a research paper... ugh.