Poems
I'm not what you could call a literature buff, in any sense of the word. I do thoroughly enjoy reading, but half the time I much prefer books that I can also recommend to my ten-year-old students. I very rarely see the deep, hidden meaning in those great writers, and I'm fairly certain that I could only understand Shakespeare when I had guides. These guides came in the form of teachers: wonderful, passionate people who had the ability to piece together all of those little clues and decipher exactly what the author was trying to tell us.
Often times, the short poems gave me just as much trouble as the books that took me hours to read. Some poems might as well be a foreign language to me. Mrs. Tuohy, my eighth and twelfth grade English teacher made us memorize a poem each day. And yes, I said "made" because at the time, I loathed the thought. Like many other things though, she truly knew what was best. Mrs. Tuohy had a gorgeous Irish accent, one that lulled us all as we listened to her read classic tales like Othello and Catcher in the Rye. She had an amazing gift for language, capturing and commanding it.
Over time, I began to realize how truly grateful I was to her for those hours of memorizing poems. I cannot recite any of those poems, but every now and then, I come across one of the poems I memorized half-my-life-ago and smile. I hear words or phrases that I at one time knew by heart and it brings a smile to my face; it makes me feel more intelligent, more worldly.
When I began teaching, I saw the value once again of poems, and for almost every day in my fourth grade classroom, I've started the day off with a poem. Most of the poems I share are ones written for children, not ones that require much thought or interpretation. But they are a wonderful way to share. Students look for patterns, find new and interesting words, create pictures in their minds, and work on fluency. With my schedule here, I have found it very difficult to find the time to share poems with my class, and I didn't realize until today how much I had truly missed it.
The year 5 pupils have been studying short stories and today, I decided to open our class time with a short story in the form of a poem:
Often times, the short poems gave me just as much trouble as the books that took me hours to read. Some poems might as well be a foreign language to me. Mrs. Tuohy, my eighth and twelfth grade English teacher made us memorize a poem each day. And yes, I said "made" because at the time, I loathed the thought. Like many other things though, she truly knew what was best. Mrs. Tuohy had a gorgeous Irish accent, one that lulled us all as we listened to her read classic tales like Othello and Catcher in the Rye. She had an amazing gift for language, capturing and commanding it.
Over time, I began to realize how truly grateful I was to her for those hours of memorizing poems. I cannot recite any of those poems, but every now and then, I come across one of the poems I memorized half-my-life-ago and smile. I hear words or phrases that I at one time knew by heart and it brings a smile to my face; it makes me feel more intelligent, more worldly.
When I began teaching, I saw the value once again of poems, and for almost every day in my fourth grade classroom, I've started the day off with a poem. Most of the poems I share are ones written for children, not ones that require much thought or interpretation. But they are a wonderful way to share. Students look for patterns, find new and interesting words, create pictures in their minds, and work on fluency. With my schedule here, I have found it very difficult to find the time to share poems with my class, and I didn't realize until today how much I had truly missed it.
The year 5 pupils have been studying short stories and today, I decided to open our class time with a short story in the form of a poem:
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| I can in no way take credit for this poem, but I cannot locate the author! |
It is nothing all that fancy or difficult to understand, just a fun, short story with a few "good" words scattered about. However, it made me realize just how much I had been missing my daily time of poetry with the kids. I've already got another poem planned for us for tomorrow!
While I certainly do not have it memorized in its entirety, I do find myself, as I wander through ruins of ancient castles, repeating lines of a poem I memorized fifteen years ago: "'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings, look on my work ye mighty and despair.' Nothing beside remains, round the decay of that colossal wreck boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away." And when I find myself repeating these words aloud while walking through ancient ruins, I laugh to myself, then think of Mrs. Tuohy and smile.
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