Poetry Slam!

So, tonight I competed in the second annual Poetry Slam at the high school. I had so much fun! Sharing wonderful poetry, laughing and reflecting with great people, and being overly animated (aka making a scene)...good times. :) I was thoroughly impressed with the students and their unique voices, and how they so courageously stood in front of their peers to show everyone their thoughts and feelings. Awesome.

Here are the three poems I shared tonight (yeah, you read it right -- I got to the third round!), in the order I shared them. Hope you enjoy.

From Behind the Big Desk

From behind the big desk,

I can see you texting.

From behind the big desk,

I can see you doodling on your notes.

From behind the big desk,

I can see you typing notes on the graphing calculator and showing your friends.

From behind the big desk,

I can see your mouth move as you “don’t talk” to your friend across the room.

From behind the big desk,

I know I’m not the only teacher who asks for your ID.

From behind the big desk,

sometimes you hurt my feelings.

From behind the big desk,

sometimes I can’t wait for the weekend, either.

From behind the big desk,

sometimes 809 is the last place I want to be, too, but I’m still working.

From behind the big desk,

sometimes I can’t wait until you graduate, too.

From behind the big desk,

I can see when it doesn’t make sense,

and I do all I can to reach out to help you,

but I need you to reach back,

to bridge the gap between you and me, behind the big desk.

What I Want for You

Four times now,

I’ve stood before 100+ students

for the first time,

their names still crisp on the Skyward roster,

my voice steady, poorly camouflaging my butterflies.

Four times now,

these students have become my kids,

Mine.

Some like me; some don’t. That’s not required.

Over nine months or so,

we get to know one another, the good and the bad,

and the crazy woman up front

develops not only expectations for you –

but hopes for you as well.

This is what I want for you:

To know how nice it feels to hear someone genuinely ask how you are today.

To learn how you’re wired, so that you can use your strengths and improve your weaknesses.

To always, always, know there is room to improve, to grow.

To live life full of joy and find ways to pass it on.

To respect everyone, even (perhaps especially) those you don’t like.

To realize you are more than capable of success, and to see that the effort really is worth it.

To find your passion, what makes you want to get up every morning, just as I have found mine.

 

Ode to Spell Check

How I love thee

When I write letters to send home to parents

And emails to my boss.

How I wish, though, that you could recognize my dyslexia

And tell me when I’ve typed “put” instead of “but.”

"I'm aiming to be somebody this somebody trusts..."

Ok, so I'm repeating my earlier idea of blogging about a concert on the premise that her words were the driving force behind my desire to see Sara Bareilles in concert (again). The woman is an amazing writer. Really.

I started listening to Sara a few years ago when her first album Little Voice came out, and I've been rather obsessed ever since. During my first summer in the apartment, I'd turn on her album around 10 AM when I started working on lesson plans and just let it play in the background on repeat all day, sometimes late into the night as I stayed up facebooking and IMing. Some of the songs still conjure up very specific memories of that summer, certain conversations, certain places (including, but not limited to, a flight to WA state), certain people. I still love how she sings about finding her identity and finding love (or, let's be honest, maybe just chasing a little lust), dealing with hope and loss and confusion and pride, all with equal portions of sassy attitude and vulnerability that we'd usually rather keep hidden. And yes, I meant to say "we" and not "she" -- because that's how she writes her songs, in some magical way that makes me feel like I wrote the words when I'm belting them out at the top of my lungs in the car. I feel like her lyrics are strong, inspiring -- like "I'm aiming to be somebody this somebody trusts...there's only one thing worth trying to be, and it's love..." (from "Bottle It Up" -- check out the lyrics, it's chocked full of great lines). So it was awesome Tuesday night to hear her sing more of those songs that pulled me back two summers and reminded me, then and now, that somebody out there might feel something like I do (which, if you haven't noticed, is what I look most for in great writing).

So then last summer when I found out she was playing for free in St. Louis, I nearly fainted. Tina and Em and I arrived freakishly early and got the best seats possible, and I was completely entranced the entire time she was on stage. The whole concert was like a conversation; somehow I felt like we were all sharing something with her instead of simply listening to what she had to say.

When her second album Kaleidoscope Heart came out last fall, I stayed up late (on a school night) to buy it on iTunes and then listen to the whole album while reading along in the booklet. Obsessed, right? The songs were very different from the first album, and yet I felt like she finally put to words what I'd been feeling for weeks, months perhaps. It was like the stars aligned, and the fates said, "Having trouble finding the right words? Here you go -- hers might do the job, and she even put them to a nice little tune." I listened to her album day after day on my commute home -- even on the way to work every now and then, which is usually a treasured, silent 45 minutes of my day. At Tuesday's concert, I got goosebumps when she (we -- all of Kirkland, really) sang "Uncharted" and "Let the Rain." I loved hearing the background stories for songs, especially one that I only halfheartedly connected with before. She sang one song that I often skipped on the album, and I realized two things: first, that I started skipping it because it hit too close to home, and second, that it no longer did (yeah!).

Now, switch gears for a minute with me. I'm totally impressed with Ms. Sara because she writes her own songs, which isn't always the case in the music industry, and that makes it feel like the songs are that much more powerful. With that said, she also covered other people's songs -- including "Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons, which I love, again at least partially because of the lyrics. Realizing that this wonderful wordsmith likes a song that I like, well, that was just the icing on the cake. (Side note on this song -- she wasn't "allowed" to curse during the show, so she had some audience participation to determine what words she would use as substitutes in that song. Fun little activity, but it royally pissed me off that she was censored. That's a topic for another Words blog, though.)

I feel like this blog is particularly rambly and a bit cheesy (I feel a little like a little kid who met her idol, running back to her family saying, "Did you see her?! She was right there!"), but I'm just not sure how to convey how awesome it is to hear someone else say exactly what I've been thinking. I'm all about being unique individuals, but connecting with others like that is sometimes the only way I feel like this life has any focus. So check her out, listen to some of her music and see if she resonates with you, too. Or, if you know she doesn't already, spend the afternoon listening to someone who does, and tell me who it is. Maybe I'll find a new obsession.

"I made up my mind when I was a young girl, that I've been given this one world, and I won't worry it away..." from "Many the Miles"

Following a book

Today I finally finished Geraldine Brook's novel People of the Book. The novel traces the story of a real Jewish book called the Sarajevo Haggadah, giving fictional accounts of fictional characters throughout its history and telling how it survived over six centuries of catastrophe. I think it is brilliant -- I love stories with multiple narrators, with many different nooks and crannies in the plot where characters' thoughts, emotions, and actions can attempt to hide. The narrators each had unique voices, and their stories were more than believable; they drew me in and made me think about the atrocious events in the Jewish people's history. Sadly, many (if not all) of those events were hatched and carried out in the name of my own faith -- although I cannot understand how people could twist a faith based on love into such torturous claims and actions. I loved how, in the grand scheme of things, the book was a mere bystander in six unique stories of understanding identity, accepting diversity, and conserving individuals' personal histories.

After reading some pieces of their stories, I felt like I needed to put the book down and let what just happened soak in a bit. Violence occurred again and again, but the plot kept moving at such a pace that I felt like I hadn't given the characters enough of my time, my condolences perhaps, before moving on. Brooks' ability to foster that kind of feeling is amazing -- because that is what truly happens in reality -- horrible things happen, and the clock keeps ticking. People might stop to reflect, to cope, but time keeps moving, and sooner or later, we're forced to pick the book back up and see what happens next, whether we're ready to or not. I'm very impressed with Brooks in that regard, and I wonder if she even realizes that her story can have that kind of effect on her readers.

Brooks also wrote two more books I'd like to read: March, the Little Women story told from the father's perspective; and Year of Wonders, a story about the plague in Europe. Brooks won the Pulitzer for March, so I'm sure I'll enjoy them as much as I did People.

Next up, though, is a book my students read for World History and a recommendation from one. I'm also working on my 3+ poems for the annual JHS poetry slam, which is in two weeks. I'm trying to decide if I want to keep my topics funny or make them a bit more serious. Probably funny. My kids really want me to read the "Ms. Arnold-isms" poem, but I keep telling them that people who don't have me in class wouldn't understand how often I really say those things. They're really excited about adding new lines to that poem that I missed last year.