Professor J's Place

Last month, my dear friend Bluebird  asked me to read some of my poetry on an evening celebrating national poetry month. I was glad that I could say I was just too sick to participate. That should have been a red flag for me. Then, my sweet friend scoured the web to find my poetry. Last night, she asked me where I keep my poetry. And I told her the truth. I have no idea where the bulk of my poetry is. I knew I had kept folders in my computers over the years, and I knew I had several printed out. But I didn't know where any of it was. Why? I'm afraid of it. I'm ashamed of it. This morning, I finally found a few of the poems I had printed out -- ten or twelve of them. Some of them feel unfinished. Some of them are self-indulgent. Some are just no good. But a few of them are good. And I wonder what would have happened if I had continued writing regularly. Oh, I still occasionally sit down to write a poem--when nothing but a poem will do. But I have stifled my voice....

This morning at Upward Bound, we were doing revision workshops on the personal statements my students are writing. One of the young women began to read her essay. I stopped her. You need to speak louder and read slower. Your words are gold. She looked at me quizzically. You need to read as though what you have to say is important, precious--not "this is just some shit I wrote." And then I remembered. High School.  These kids are in high school and I'm talking like a sailor. Of course, R--, the boy who wants to become a writer, giggled and said, "I love you Miss Jensen." But I should behave. Back to the girl. Her words were gold. Her story inspiring. And she could barely read for the fear and the shame. Gah! The return of the fear! I don't know how to teach against the fear. Except to keep saying, "your words are gold, they are precious; you have something to say." Lucy Calkins is talking to children in this video . Let's...

617 N. St. Mary's Ave Yesterday, the wonderful Joy Harjo posted this on Facebook: Yesterday I hosted my fears. I allowed them to eat everything in the house, fart and burp and take over the tv control. When I finally saw them for who they were, I told them to get out. They blew into nothing, disappeared. Joy Harjo . Today, my wonderful friend Bluebird posted this on her blog: Before you start climbing down that first hill, I want you to halt, sit down and listen. I know you have jobs/responsibilities/children/health issues/money problems and I know that you aren’t sure what to do next/are feeling as though you’re shirking your “real” responsibilities/are hitting that point where self-doubt has got you by the neck and is asking you, with stinky cheese breath— “How DARE you?” And you’re tired. And you don’t know where this leads. And it was more work than you thought it would be. And you don’t know if your stuff is any good. Bluebird...

My darling friend Bluebird at Bluebird Blvd. was writing about poetry recently. It's something she often does, bless her heart. It got me thinking, as her posts are wont to do, and I wrote to her about the first poem I memorized. We decided it would be fun for both of us to write about the poems of our childhoods, so that's what we're doing today!   This is the book I grew up with. First published in 1959, The Golden Treasury of Poetry was compiled for an audience of children, but not once did it talk down to its audience. With delightful illustrations by Joan Walsh Anglund and poems that ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime, this book was my introduction to the joy and music in language. When I teach poetry, which I seldom do, I talk about how we are hard wired for poetry. What do children like to read and have read to them? Poetry! It's the heart beat, I think. The rhythm in our blood.   I, like most children was first attracted to poems that rhyme....

Excerpt from student paper today: Being politically correct is a way that we speak here in America so that we don’t offend any whining babies. Only pathetically weak people that don’t have the balls to say what they feel and mean are politically correct [idiots]. Society and the media have made it to where people are now afraid to say what they actually mean. Comedians are now the only people who actually speak the truth about society. Except now even Saturday Night Live wont put anything that is not politically correct for fear that some left wing idiot will throw a fit a make NBC apologize. At this point in her reading of this cogent argument, my boss said, "does he realize you will be reading this paper?" Oh yes. And it gets better! Today’s society has become way to obsessed with how things need to be right and to make people feel better. The correct term these days for garbage man is a sanitation engineer. No, a garbage man is no kind of engineer he has no college degree...

Well, I wrote all about this in my Christmas letter, but since most of my bloggy friends aren't on my list, I thought I would go over some of the main events of 2007 as I prepare to enter into a new year with new hopes and dreams. So, here goes. 2007 began with the usual fanfare at the usual time. I wanted more than anything to continue moving forward in my relationship with Susan and to continue to improve in my job/career. To start things off with a bang I got fired decided to make a career change in February. I should mention here that I wasn't really fired, I was just informed that I would not be offered a contract for 2007/2008. There's a big difference. For one thing, I still had a salary. Nice thing, that. And I had some time to plan. Also nice. I was the chair of the developmental writing program at a local university. I was teaching many (7) sections, supervising other people, and attending meetings around the clock regularly. It was really a drag. I was especial...

I have read some complaints on other people's blogs about posting responses to Blogger in recent days, and I have become concerned. I recently got this blog because Yah**'s blog sucked was experiencing problems, and now friends may have trouble commenting on my new site! Poop! And then this morning, I received this email! Prof J. I've tried to comment on your blog, but the comments section is different than it used to be. I've tried using the "Open" feature as Idon't have a Wordpress (or any other) identity featured. I'm so bummed. Anastasia Beaverhausen If the lovely, talented, and soon to be employed Anastasia Beaverhausen cannot comment on my lowly blog, I'm steamed! I went to my blog control and found out that (although I had previously said anyone could post) the stupid thing was no longer set to allow annonymous posting. So I changed it again. Of course, if my name were as awsome as A. Beaverhausen, I would not want to reply annonymously. I ...

I have not posted every day this month. However, I have posted twenty-five times in nineteen days, so I don't think I will be drummed out of the corps. Nevertheless, I find the compunction to post daily is a bit onerous. (Can you tell I've been playing at f reerice.com ?) So, I have put a new link in my side bar to replace NaBloPoMo. I have really enjoyed writing and reading more blogs. Indeed, I now have enough links to keep me away from work for hours at a time. Yea! So here's to making it through November, my bloggy friends! I have great hopes that you won't all quit posting the moment the month is over.

I am sitting here while my Composition I students struggle over an in class essay on the wonderful " Everyday Use ," by the glorious Alice Walker . They are having such a hard time. I know they will do their best. I know they will come to an understanding of the different values of the sisters. I know they will love Maggie and her mother. I have yet to have a student really identify with Dee. This surprises me, because I did. I don't mean that I totally disrespected my mother and my sister(s), although the sisters might tell a different tale, but there were times when we spoke a different language. There were also times when I was so full of myself and my grand ideas--so full of my feminist struggle--that I did not give credit to the woman who raised three girls by herself--to the women my sisters had become. I certainly gave them lip service, just as Dee has appreciation for the "folk art" her grandmother had quilted. But I neglected to accept what they we...

Well, it's November First. That means it is time to start daily postings (although now that it's required, the ideas seem to have dried up). It also means that I give the dogs their heart worm preventative, and I go help Susan hang her new show (more about that later). I held class last night, although only a handful of students decided to come and see me rather than go trick or treating with their children. Where are their priorities?! Actually, I quite understand. I think I'd rather be combing the streets for candy with an eight year old,too. It was fun, though. I created private blogs for both of my classes and signed up the students who attended. I am not sure how well that will work, but it seems a good way to communicate with them. Let's face it--I've gone mad for blogging. My new friend Mental Mosaic has suggested that we nominate St. Cassian as the patron saint of both of the november writing fests. I like that! Even those of us who suffer from bl...

One of the neat elements of National Blog Posting Month is that you are able to join groups of like-minded bloggers . I have joined a group of teachers, one of feminists, one for writing prompt suggestions, and I just joined one for people who write about writing. And then I realized, I don't write about writing very much at all, which is odd for a writing teacher. I suppose that I talk about writing all day long, and when it comes to blogging, I'd rather post photographs of dogs in clothing. One of the reasons I joined NaBloPoMo is to give myself a reason to write everyday. I don't want to just post photos of dogs or links to photos of dogs (although you may find that I cheat occasionally). I want to use this as an opportunity to actually write something other than marginal notes on my students' essays. And that is I what I want to think about today. Why is writing--something I think of as vitally important in my life--such a chore? Why do I have to give myself...

Okay, about this time of year, writing instructors start talking about errors. We'll say: "Listen to this!" and read a particularly egregious (or amusing) error for our officemates. We send emails with malapropisms around to each other. I have heard it argued that it is not okay for us to make fun of our students in such a way. But here's what I think. We are usually just as willing to make fun of our own errors (today I wrote to Susan about her palate when I was talking about the board she puts dabs of paint on--and I'm willing to own up to it), and we never mention names or make fun of anyone publicly. Does that make it okay? Probably not. But laughing at mistakes (not students) prevents us from doing what my friend Mark talked about today (stabbing people in the eye), so I think we're going to continue the practice. Check out "Just for fun" in the right-hand column. I really enjoy the " unnecessary " quotations blog. I always g...

Well, today is blog action day. This means that thousands of people will be blogging for millions of readers about the same topic: the environment. I'm a little bit intimidated by this topic: what could I possibly have to say that is new? As a writing teacher, I know that this is a ridiculous concern. I don't have anything new to say. Nobody has anything new to say. It is just that I write in my own voice to my own audience, and perhaps that will make a slight difference to one of us. I was reading a blog this morning that suggested 50 ways to help improve the environment. As if to prove the last paragraph, there was very little new in this blog entry (turn off the lights, take shorter showers, walk instead of ride). But it occured to me that at least one of these ideas fits in with what we also know about taking care of ourselves--If we walk or bike short distances instead of driving and we take the stairs instead of the elevator (I don't think this was listed in the blog...

These exercises are designed for the creative writer. More later about that designation, but I thought these were worth sharing.