Our poetry is informed by the here and now and also by memory and mood surrounding events past. Those memories are often quite vividly recalled due to the impact they have had upon our lives.
My year in Grade 5 all those years ago was no doubt, memorable. Memorable for all the wrong reasons though. Still, it continues to provoke the poetry within. I am grateful for the therapy it delivers. I keep saying it, but its true- poetry is about the mud and the flowers.
Be brave and consider all your rich and informative memories -the perfect and the problematic.
Beware Of Wrong Answers
In those long passed days, back in Grade 5
A lot of our time was spent
With our hands on our heads
All because our teacher, Ms Dungeon
Didn’t like fidgeting.
She taught us to be afraid of wrong answers
And to count in our heads
-never our fingers
She taught us how to write a letter
But never let us send it
-something I find strange even now.
She introduced us to subject and predicate
They sounded like the names of Roman soldiers
She told us what topics we could write about
And her red pen poked mercilessly at our nervous words.
We were ever anxious using ink
-Blots and splashes threw her into a rage.
Stuffed, dead birds from the Gould League of Bird Lovers
were brought into our classroom in small wooden display cases
Rousing Miss Dungeon’s interest
-I think she liked dead birds more than she liked us…
We survived her weekly spelling tests
And trembled over dictation
The blackboard filled with grammar exercises and too many sums.
Ms Dungeon walked between our desks with a large ruler in her hand
Using it like a sword to slice through our inattention
In Ms Dungeon’s eyes
We were tardy,
Lazy,
And lacked describing words.
Learning that year was never anything less than
serious business.
Alan j Wright.
It is once again Poetry Friday! Our host this time is Rose Capelli Rose shares a post highlighting inventive use of line breaks to add extra appeal to the poem being written.
Clearly you remember these days well, Allan. Not surprising, given the strong feelings you lived with. Your poem brought to mind a number of teachers/moments from my childhood. That ruler! (And my messy handwriting.😳 I still feel immense satisfaction in the perfection I can get from the typed word!) Those days certainly shaped my own teaching career. In a good way.
ReplyDeleteThose memories are indeed finely etched. Kat. Such moments do help to define us movingg forward. Like you, my teaching career lent heavily on moving in the opposite direction. I was clearly influenced by these events. Even at the tender age of 10 I had a strong belief that teaching would be my life's work. I was determined not to teach like this.
DeleteThis is Janice. What an impact this teacher had on you! Such detail. I remember being in school and the anxiety around raising my hand to answer a question. Your poem really brought me back though I never had a teacher quite like yours.
DeleteNo doubting the impact, Janice. You are living proof that our personal memories spark recollections in others. Fear of getting something wrong has been such an inhibitor in the classroom for too long. My year 5 teacher was certainly something else. I have often wondered how many of my fellow classmates grew up with an aversion to writing...
DeleteThank you for sharing your experience, Alan. Also for the reminder that even problematic memories and experiences can come to some good. As teachers prepare for a new school year , we can be thankful that teaching methods have changed (in most, if not all, cases).
ReplyDeleteThanks, Rose. Teaching has certainly evolved and for the most part teachers are guided by the needs of the learner. You clearly understand that all our memories are relevant- the good, the bad, the ugly.
DeleteThis is a great prompt, Alan. It brought forth memories I have of a 5th grade music teacher who got lost in Chopin --and who flew into a rage when we (purposely) mispronounced his name "Chop In". I also remember a 6th grade teacher who had anger-management issues... think throwing desks across a classroom... Sheesh! I should mine those memories for poetic therapy!
ReplyDeleteIt is quite common that the memories we share spark memories in others. Maybe some memory mining might be in order, Patricia. You have some gold already...
DeleteShe definitely, not happily, made her mark with you, Allan. Though I was not in the bullseye of one teacher, his cruelty toward others terrified me. I admire you for writing "the way it was", still on your mind. I do wonder if the name is true? If so, it's rather laughable, & sad for you & others, that she seemed to live her name, rather than thwart it.
ReplyDeleteImpactful year, no doubt about that, Linda. The name has been modified- but it's close. She presented as a person with little joy.
DeleteOh, Alan, Ms. Dungeon! Was that her real name? It could be a pseudonym; if so, it is a great one. I wonder if you knew at that time that serious business was not the best way to run a classroom.
ReplyDeleteDenise, that's not her real name- but it is close. It was our nickname for her. I very much doubt that she did much in the way of reflection about her approach to teaching. It remained consistently grim for that entire year. I have always made a point of reminding teaching to bring some humour into the classroom each and every day. I think that is what sustained me all those years.
ReplyDeleteWow! You really captured the intensity of this experience, Alan. This line struck home for me: "her red pen poked mercilessly at our nervous words" and also your terse ending of "serious business". There's also not much sadder than the line "She taught us to be afraid of wrong answers." Thanks for sharing and for the reminder of the rich poetic rewards living in our memories.
ReplyDeleteIt was such an unforgettable year, Molly. Thank you for your perceptive comments. Memories, whether good or bad can prove beneficial upon reflection, so I'm glad I went where I did with this poem.
DeleteDenise asked my question. Dungeon is the perfect nickname (it comes paired in my brain with Dragon, which seems also to be apt). You are definitely working those memories for some poetic therapy. YIKES!
ReplyDeleteDragon would have worked, no doubt about that, Mary Lee. I like the idea of poetic therapy. I feel we go to that place more often than we realize...
DeleteI think that this is a relatable poem for many, unfortunately. My comeuppance with a teacher wasn't until 11th grade but he turned me off of math for many years - because I asked a stupid question. It would be a good exercise to write a memory poem like yours. You really nailed it.
ReplyDeleteIt's memories like these that inspire everything I do as an educator. Our interactions with children linger long after our time with them has passed.
ReplyDelete