Monday, August 24, 2015

Backpacks and cyclists

I receive a weekly email from a blog about effective classroom management. A few weeks ago the post was entitled:

How A First-Day-Of-School Lesson Can Improve Classroom Management For The Rest Of The Year


The idea was to model an entrance routine for your students exactly the way you want them to do it, every day of the year. The more highly detailed the routine the better, to allow the students to master something done specifically to standards and practiced to mastery. 

Reading the blog prompted the question - how do I want the students to enter the class? 

"I'd love to have backpacks against the wall, rather than under the desks." I wasn't sure I could introduce this expectation, since it is not the norm at the school. I doubted my twelfth graders' willingness to learn new tricks. 

Today was the first day of school, and I modeled entering the classroom and putting my bag against the wall before gathering my English materials and heading to my assigned seat. There was some eye-rolling, and some students who decided to keep their bags with them the first time we practiced, but by the time we started class all bags were against the wall, and I saw no snacks, no phones, and no unrelated textbooks all class. Tomorrow we'll practice again.


Tomorrow during my HL class I'll introduce this poem by Louis MacNeice:


The Cyclist

Freewheeling down the escarpment past the unpassing horse
Blazoned in chalk the wind he causes in passing
Cools the sweat of his neck, making him one with the sky,
In the heat of the handlebars he grasps the summer
Being a boy and to-day a parenthesis
Between the horizon’s brackets; the main sentence
Is to be picked up later but these five minutes
Are all to-day and summer. The dragonfly
Rises without take-off, horizontal,
Underlining itself in a sliver of peacock light.
And glaring, glaring white
The horse on the down moves within his brackets,
The grass boils with grasshoppers, a pebble
Scutters from under the wheel and all this country
Is spattered white with boys riding their heat-wave,
Feet on a narrow plank and hair thrown back
And a surf of dust beneath them. Summer, summer —
They chase it with butterfly nets or strike it into the deep
In a little red ball or gulp it lathered with cream
Or drink it through closed eyelids; until the bell
Left-right-left gives his forgotten sentence
And reaching the valley the boy must pedal again
Left-right-left but meanwhile
For ten seconds more can move as the horse in the chalk
Moves unbeginningly calmly
Calmly regardless of tenses and final clauses
Calmly unendingly moves.

We are working on commentary writing. I instruct students to discern a) what the poem is about, b) what the feeling of the poem is, c) what stylistic elements are important, and d) what theme I will explore in my commentary.

Here goes:

a) The poem portrays a boy on a bike on a hot summer day as he rides with frenetic energy through the heat and dust of the countryside.
b) the poem conveys the intensity of this boy's independent adventure, where he is at once alone and unsupervised and keenly aware of everything in his environment. Unfettered by parental supervision or school, he "grasps" summer with a determination to test and display his strength. The feeling is that of being momentarily freed from the restraints of boyhood, symbolized in the sentences the boy constructs while seated at school. As a witness to his momentary escape the reader feels his desperation to exert his freedom while he can by stimulating his senses to the fullest extent. 
c) This poem gains its strength from its high impact diction and surprising, sometimes disturbing imagery, which combine to create a sense that this summer bike excursion pulses with the young boy's violent energy which soon enough will be tamed by the classroom, and beyond that, real life. 
d) The poet successfully contrasts the explosive energy of a young boy's bike ride on a summer day and the calm regularity which characterizes life in the "grown-up" realm.

Here's my attempt at a paper 1 written on this poem.

"The Cyclist" paints a high-intensity portrait of a boy's summer bike ride. There is a feeling of escape from parental and societal constrictions. This escape energy fuels a powerful, even violent outburst of activity during which the boy can explore what magnificent actions he is capable of. The poet explores the contrast between this moment of undeniably dynamic life, and the calm normalcy which characterizes the boy's life during the rest of the year, causing the reader to consider how conventional life fails to honor true potential.

In the first stanza, the poet establishes both the boy's freedom from outside authority and the intensity of his energy level. He is "freewheeling," away from parents or babysitters, and the wind created by his own swift movement "cools the sweat of his neck." He is "one with the sky," implying that he is as limitless as the celestial dome, almost as if he is, in this moment, god of his own universe. The heat of the sun is matched by the alliterative "heat of the handlebars", generated in friction against his hands, where he "grasps" the summer. The word"grasp" shows his total control and dominance of his environment in this moment, since grasping is a decisive and powerful action. There is a sense, however, that this freedom is an unusual break from the routine. Today the boy's freedom extends to the ends of the earth: he is contained only by the "horizon's brackets". That large domain is often limited by the barriers of home, school and responsibility. This moment of freedom is contained within "parenthesis" which distinguish it from normal life, described in the "sentence" which "waits to be picked up later", presumably when school begins. In this moment of energetic release, the boy's intensity is mirrored in the dragonfly who wastes no time on a fancy take off, but executes a determined and focused "horizontal" "take-off", like the boy does when smoothly exiting the more controlled realms of his life, about to take flight himself.

Intensity builds in the second stanza, as the boy exerts his powerful influence on his environment. Repetition of "glaring" in the first line again implies the high energy contained in this moment. The heat glares, the boy glares, even the "unpassing" horse is prompted to "move within his brackets", as if responding to the boy's glare. The disturbing image of grass boiling with grasshoppers and the sharp diction of "scutters" to describe rocks which shoot from under his tires also contribute to the zinging tension which reflects the boy's desperate release of energy which is usually held in by the brackets of organized life. His self-mastery and likeness to a deity is strengthened by the image of him as one of a group of boys "riding their heat-wave", a fantastical image which makes him larger than life and rather mystical. Here the poet implies that boys all over the country use these hot days to exercise their freedom usually curtailed by normal life; the boy we see is representative of many others like him. His "thrown-back" hair also portrays him as at ease, in control, and most important, far from the influences which usually demand combed tidiness. 

The diction reaches a fever pitch in the third stanza, evoking the summer season and the boys' freedom, before the energy declines steeply as the end of this ride, and the eventual return of school and responsibility, looms near. The boys of summer ride the "surf of dust" which is emphasized as "beneath" them, the word choice reminding us of their emotional and energetic high in this moment. A series of images convey the boys' frenetic attempts to fully experience this wondrous summer: they "chase" it (futilely) with a butterfly net, "strike it into the deep" while playing ball, even try to "gulp" it. The verbs convey the violence and desperation underlying their actions, while at the same time emphasizing their powerlessness to make the summer last. Their desperation seems rooted in their knowledge that this bliss will end, and they savor each sip "with eyes closed" as if willing the (school) "bell" not to sound. The briefly-"forgotten sentence" is reintroduced, and the boy "must pedal again." Suddenly the image is of a laborer, even a slave, rather than a god in the ecstasy of power. The left-right-left motion of his pedaling mimics the bell, just as at school his individualism is forced to mimic someone else's plan. As the final "ten seconds" of summer tick down, the boy's actions slow to an "unbeginningly calmly" pace which seems to imply a pace at which nothing significant can be initiated. That calm, that characterizes student, and later adult, life, moves with a regularity "regardless" of emotions or powerful stimuli, like the freedom of a summer day. The boy's summer adventure will die in a return to calmness which continues regardless of "final clauses," seeming to imply without end.

MacNeice's poem effectively conveys the energy, violent outburst, and self-realization, contained in a boy's summer bike excursion. The reader gets a clear sense, through harsh, high-impact diction and provocative imagery of the contrast between a boy's free existence during the summer and his contained, "punctuated" life under the control of parents and teachers. The contrast is drawn between the boy's true, glorious nature, expressed on the bike, and the dishearteningly calm activity which characterizes the rest of his life to which he must inevitably return. MacNeice uses this snapshot of summer to lament the tragedy that young boys must submit themselves to systems that demand compliance and self-control, rather than the self-actualization available in moments of uninhibited energy, like the boy finds in biking.

Monday, August 17, 2015

The Pastoral Symphony

Last night a group comprised of German and Palestinian youth performed Beethoven's sixth symphony, the pastoral symphony, in the Old City of Ramallah.


The best thing about it was watching the Baladna Ice Cream man walk around with a battered, duct taped cooler full of ice cream bars, croaking out the announcement of ice cream the way they do here, and bending down to let eager little hands grasp their favourite flavour.

The outdoor concert was well attended and refreshing after a 36 degree day.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Now playing at the Audio Visual Hijab

My new roommate Elaine arrived yesterday, and over dinner I learned the phrase she gives to the combination of accessories which acts as a buffer for women in the streets of Ramallah: headphones and sunglasses. She called it the audio-visual hijab, the head-covering replacement for western women. I gave it a try this evening on the way to a concert at the Danish House, and it worked swell.

Especially when used to pipe The Wailin' Jennys into my ears. I had a delightful audial reunion with this band last weekend while driving in New England, when A Prairie Home Companion came on. Garrison Keillor is not one of the voices of public radio I pursue via podcast in Ramallah, and this hokiest of all hokey episodes reminded me why. But the show was saved when the Wailin' Jennys came on and sang "Prairie Town" in beautiful close harmonies. Here is the hijab (and me singing along with one of the Jennys), and here is the song.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWUdU5gx0XE

Friday, July 10, 2015

A hike

Today's hike, which was blessed with at least partial clouds and reasonable temperatures. I love these hikes because of the arabic practice they give me. Each time I go I understand more word and more phrases. Though my fellow hikers need not yet fear that I can understand enough to properly eavesdrop. The juiciest thing I fully overheard today was "My friend's wife lives there." "Friend" and "wife" are new for me this week. 









Friday, March 27, 2015

The last bag of pita

Last night when I left the house to go to Laura and Adam's house for dinner a warm and thrilling wind was agitating trees and trash. I fairly bounced along, peering down side streets at bakeries where, during the week, pitas tumble down steep conveyor belts and are stuffed, still hot, into bags. (The other day one overeager pita overshot the landing bay and leapt to the ground. It was swept up and immediately eaten by the pita-packer.)

It was Friday, and the usually-lively bakeries were silent and shuttered. I was almost through town when I passed a tiny grocery store that often has a wooden box outside it with bags of pita. Lo and behold, there was one bag left. I bought it for three shekels and continued my jaunt to Laura and Adam's house.

I was so charmed by this quest, by the fact that it was warm and windy, by the fact that there was only one bag left, by the fact that I could buy the pitas in Arabic, and, (this accounts for the bounce in my step) the fact that I didn't have school the next day. This moment made me feel satisfyingly settled.

The big event of the day was going to Bethlehem to watch Sam and Olivia run in the Right to Movement 10k race. Here they are in front of the separation wall.


Friday, February 20, 2015

Pathway

Last week the Ministry of Education closed schools on Thursday because of inclement weather in the forecast. Thursday was beautiful. I felt that in that moment I learned something essential about the way weather threats are regarded in by officials. 

So this week, when people warned about thigh-height snow, I raised an internal eyebrow. 

Friday morning looked like this:





Elizabeth called me and asked if I wanted to take a traipse through the town to Jean's house. Yes, I did. So on went the plastic bags inside my polyester black boots which water soaks but doesn't ruin, and went out to the street to meet her. 

Huge tractors were driving past, manned by exceedingly pleased-looking Palestinians, who were shoving snow around in no particular pattern. (On the way back from Jean’s we saw that someone had been doing donuts in the parking lot which is usually crammed with buses going to Jerusalem and the villages.)



We ploughed our own path, leaving some of the first footprints in central Ramallah where the only establishment open was a coffee cart, whose operator emphatically and with much gesticulation entreated us to “go slowly, slowly”. 

I feel as though I need to take that advice to heart in my mental and spiritual life as well. It shocks me how easy it is to run ahead of the present day, seeking answers about what will happen long from now - what subjects will I be teaching? What will I do this summer? What will be the next thing after Ramallah? Will I be a teacher all my life? Will I live abroad for longer, or return to the U.S.? 

Slowly, slowly.

Yesterday the morning Daily Word reading spoke to my condition. 
“Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.” - Proverbs 3:17

I know I’m taking this verse wildly out of context, but the feminine pronouns seemed to refer right to me, reminding me that God will lead me on ways of pleasantness, and that every pathway open to me is a path of peace. I cannot make wrong decisions when I’m paying attention to where I can be of the best service today. 

Elizabeth has proper boots and hat.


I have to say, I love that being of service today involves reading up on Albert Camus’s relationship with Algeria, in preparation for class discussions of The Stranger this week.


I’ll be treading more paths through snow today, trying to remember that I don’t need to see where my foot will fall meters or miles hence. 

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Reeling the boys back in

Last week we finished Laurie Halse Anderson's Speak in the tenth grade. It's a story about an American girl who gets raped at an end-of-summer party before her freshman year of high school. Melinda's sarcasm and candour create a poignant narrative which ... did very little to keep the 15-year-old boys' attention. 

Monica and I figured this might draw them back in:











The ten minute opening of Baz Luhrmann's film adaptation of Romeo and Juliet worked magic, real magic, on these boys. The image of their faces during the viewing should go in the dictionary next to the word "rapt". 

Lest they think they're in for another quarter of discussing feelings, (widespread misconception: "R&J is purely a love story") Monica thought to start with a shoot-out at a gas station where the frame showing a close-up of Tybalt's face as he says "Peace? ...Peace?", as if trying to remember when and where the concept was ever relevant, fairly wraps a hand around the back of the viewer's head and jerks it toward the screen. 

They loved it. 

Thank goodness again for Monica, because I have never read Romeo and Juliet. (I hope the students don't know just how sincere I am when I tell them: "You don't have to understand every word in Shakespeare - just appreciate the beauty of the language!!") The play is required reading for all ninth grade Britons, so Monica has taught it dozens of times. 

Once again, I am thrilled, thrilled to be a teacher in this day and age, when I can buy this film on Amazon Instant for $9, and use it next period from my computer, and take screen shots of key moments (the images above) and print them for the students to analyse during group work. 

I simply can't imagine how teacher taught this text for the past 400 years....

What happened on Sunday: Pastoral Care

 Portland Friends organizes faithfulness groups -- clusters of three or four people who get togehter outside of worship to  - socialize - bu...