Retirement

How can it be that a colleague from MCTC is retiring? I was there when he was hired, Steve Kaufman my office mate and friend, father of Maddy and Chloe who're the same ages as Stefan and Zoe.

Tonight's gathering to honor him with energetic English instructors made me long for the days when I was younger, linked to the boundary-pushing folks who had a campus full of diversity, unlike my own campus where I'm the oddity, extremity, weird one.

Meeting folks I'd heard about for years was another plus: Morgan Grace Willow, Michael Seward stayed until the almost-end. And of course I saw pals Kathleen Devore, KateLynn Hibbard, and Linnea Stenson. Bonding over bourbon makes for "buy in" doesn't it?

But reminiscing is fine, too: remembering the old guard, angry and bitter, gone to make room for the twenty-first century. I'm glad we're in the new millennium.

"Apostrophe to Man"

For some reason, this Edna St. Vincent Millay poem is on my mind.
(This photo is of her gravesite at Steepletop Cemetery in Austerlitz, New York.)

Apostrophe To Man

(on reflecting that the world is ready to go to war again)

Detestable race, continue to expunge yourself, die out.
Breed faster, crowd, encroach, sing hymns, build bombing airplanes;
Make speeches, unveil statues, issue bonds, parade;
Convert again into explosives the bewildered ammonia and the distracted cellulose;
Convert again into putrescent matter drawing flies
The hopeful bodies of the young; exhort,
Pray, pull long faces, be earnest, be all but overcome, be photographed;
Confer, perfect your formulae, commercialize
Bacateria harmful to human tissue,
Put death on the market;
Breed, crowd, encroach, expand, expunge yourself, die out,
Homo called sapiens.


I guess my student Matt is right: I should prepare and teach a seminar on Millay.

Another Good Book

Louise Erdrich's new novel, The Plague of Doves, is getting good reviews. I heard her read from in on Friday at Birch Bark Book's reading space, Lake of the Isles Lutheran Church -- powerful and intriguing.
While waiting for her to sign my book, I watched her gracious greeting of every person: a kind professional.

Not New, Still True

And funny! I've posted this video before: The The Impotence of Proofreading by Taylor Mali.

Facebook Surprise

Today I found out that my brother-in-law, who teaches art at Mercyhurst Prep in Erie, PA, has a Facebook group devoted to him: it's called "I have a shrine to Dr. Borowicz in my closet."

Pretty awesome.

Good Book

Friday night's reading at Birch Bark Books: Nine of the 21 contributers to Riding Shotgun: Women Write About Their Mothers. The book's edited by a community college colleague and pal, Kate Kysar, who's done a marvelous job bringing together lots of Minnesota writers, many of whom I've met either as acquaintances, teachers, colleagues, or because I've read their work: Jonis Agee, Barrie Jean Borich, Taiyon Coleman, Allison McGhee, Heid Erdrich, Wang Ping, Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew, Morgan Grayce Willow.

I love them

That's all I can say about this batch of students: I plain love them. Quintilian would approve: he says good teachers love their students.

Tonight was the last class meeting, turning in reading journals and final essays, having a discussion about what should be on the final exam (I keep telling them my philosophy about exams, that they're opportunities for them to show me what they know -- so I ask for their input about what they'd like to be asked), having a "wrap up" discussion.

The discussion went well, prompted by a listserv debate going on right now about the value of a literature survey course (the kind I teach): one fellow thinks they're a waste of time. I asked the students what they think, which is that a "buffet style" as I like to call it allows them the chance to find folks they really connect to and read further. Plus, as one student said, she now knows the answers to some Jeopardy questions!

This semester, I modified my "closing activity" so that it didn't involve matzo. Instead, we used tickets (everyone took 32, the number of students and me) and wrote their names on the backs. Then I asked them to go around the room and say something to every single person, something they remembered or noted or got from this person. Then exchange tickets. As my Somalian student said, "I didn't understand why we were doing this, then I got it: we're saying goodbye." Yep, and thanks.

Many students complimented each other in a way that was heartfelt, I think, and I got a chance to say something positive to everyone as we departed. Also, students commented positively on the class structure (and me, which was nice to hear). One said his parents were both English professors, and this course was one he learned the most in. Another thanked me for "keeping it light." Another said I was the best reader of his writing he'd ever had in college. Another said she *wanted* to come to class every week because of how it was run. Another claimed to have never thought English was "for me" but now wants to read a book a month.

And then some folks went to Gabe's for food and drink and more discussion of the course texts (Arthur Miller's "The Crucible" and Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and Joyce Carol Oates's "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been" all struck nerves). Josh came, too, our guest speaker who made a good impression on a sizable minority of students. The fellow who's off to Iraq in June bought an appetizer platter and wished us all well, hugs and handshakes all around.

What a good bunch.

Cross-College Colleagues

I spent the afternoon yesterday with a couple of tremendous people: Steve Kaufman and Kathleen Devore over at Minneapolis Community and Technical College. Kathleen graciously allowed me to sit in on a class -- and even chime in with a story of my own, no matter a bit off-topic -- and observe her teaching, her students, her milieu. I learned about a book I'd never heard of: Contemporary Plays by Women of Color.

These kind of conversations and collaborations are absolutely essential, I think. It's so easy to get caught up with the issues on our own campuses, with our own colleagues, in our own classrooms. A simple visit to another college, to another colleague's classroom opens that trap we'd been "caught up" in.

It's risky, though: most of us don't like the idea of someone else observing our space, our interactions with our students: why is that? The ever-present fear of evaluation? Most of us have been graduate students where evaluation was personal, or so it seemed, and had serious ramifications. Others of us have been observed by deans and supervisors, folks whose job it is to grant us better or worse working conditions. Others of us are just private, I suppose, although a truly private person probably doesn't go into teaching much.

The biggest thing I learned, though, is something I keep learning over and over from my colleagues: that good teaching and learning happens in so many ways, through so many small and serendipitous events/acknowledgments/comments, with so many different kinds of people/artifacts/questions/constraints.

One teacher's plea re. plagiarism

"Plagiarism at Uni: An open letter to students by English teacher Suzanne Linder" by Katherine Allen.

Suzanne Linder teaches English at University Laboratory High School in Urbana, IL. She writes calmly and sensibly to ask students to quit plagiarizing, to think for themselves and create original work. What good ideas.

Be sure, too, to follow the comments thread: more good ideas there, especially about the limits of certain kinds of assignments and the benefit of consistently re-examining our pedagogical practices. Also, click on the audio link to hear Linder explain what prompted her to write the letter.

I received the link to this article from Jennifer Veltsos's message on a wonderful listserv I read, TECHRHET, a space/place I've mentioned before, a place/space for great discussion about technology and teaching composition/rhetoric. It's a list hosted by InterUniversity.org.

Join the discussion. Find colleagues. Educate yourself and others.

Period Trick

I found this trick on Steven Krause's teaching blog (found to the right on my higher ed. blogs), entry for April 8, 2008.


http://view.break.com/232903 - Watch more free videos

Perhaps this lesson will be a "public service" to my colleagues and a reason NOT to specify page-lengths with essays/papers. Word counts might be a better way to let students know how much depth you want them to go into.

What I did . . .

. . . last night so that everyone could contribute something to the discussion when not everyone had read everything:

I asked each student to read aloud from one piece they'd read for class (they'd had some choices about what they could read).

I gave them some time to choose 100-150 words (a paragraph or two, a stanza or two), and then we simply went around the room (in alphabetical order based on their middle names) hearing everyone's voice.

I asked each reader to tell us page numbers so we could follow along, author's name, and selection name. After each read, I asked them to explain why they chose this passage, this author, this selection.

Results? What a fabulous discussion we had, and I heard extended speech for the first time from a couple of very shy students who almost never say more than six or seven words. The whole exercise took about an hour with my 28 students.

One more (unexpected) benefit: Many students chose the same selection (Adrienne Rich's poem "Power" came up more than once, as did Audre Lorde's poem "Power," Joyce Carol Oates's "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been" and John Updike's "Trust Me")

This repetition, hearing variously accented student voices, allowed listeners to find/hear different things in each new reading: for example, the Power poems became incredibly powerful when read by a range of readers: middle-aged white male, young African American female, young Asian American female, not-so-young white female.

I will definitely do this activity again.

What to do . . .

. . . in class tonight: too much reading to "cover" adequately because we cancelled last week's class meeting. Students have prepared something for their "facilitation," but I fear it'll consist of "here's research we did" rather than any real facilitation of learning.

And then there's next week's class, the last one, originally scheduled as the final exam. But I think I'm going to make it a required meeting to tie up loose ends, come to some closure, and make the final a take-home exam.

Thoughts?

More Morrison

It's a complete cliche to say that Toni Morrison's novels stun and jolt and amaze the reader -- I mean, she's a Nobel Prize winner -- but it's completely true: the early two, The Bluest Eye and Sula, are teachable (and frequently show up on reading lists, in online paper mill repositories, in Cliff/Sparknotes) because they're more-or-less chronological, focus on young people, and have a clear, if unsatisfactory, ending.

The next two, Song of Solomon which I read in college and Tar Baby which I reread last week, are less . . . what: I wrote "tidy" and realized that's not accurate, then "packaged" which gets at what I mean a little bit (they're not "coming of age" novels in the way the first two are), but ultimately the next two are not as concerned with youth. And I like that: I'm tired of the first two, having read each at least four times so that I can teach them well each semester I teach American Women Writers. But let's see Morrison's progression as an artist.

Then we get to Beloved, the novel that knocked me out for two days after I read it; I was such a wreck emotionally that I'm afraid to read it again, but I suppose it'll impact me differently this time since I don't have young children any more.

To follow Morrison's chronology, Jazz is next, which I just finished this week for the first time. What a perfectly-named novel. And I'm thinking I'd like to teach it in conjunction with Gatsby: same time period, basically; same city (Harlem vs. Long Island); same iconic American story, author, genius. I should have paired them this semester, but I didn't know Jazz. Next time.

Next is Paradise, which I'm currently rereading having forgotten I'd read it, a lovely set of chapters like beads on a chain but brutally broken. Brutally. Then I see her next novel is called Love, and then this year's A Mercy. If these titles are any indication, we can expect more intense emotionality. Pathos in spades.

Listen to her read - and to her friend the poet Reynolds Price - at Duke University. I heard her speak once at the U of Minnesota, in Northrup Auditorium. She wasn't sweet, was strong and brave and irritating. She made us uncomfortable and energized. We need these voices.

Media/Genre

I've been thinking about the difference between media and genre ever since Friday, when Geoff Sirc mentioned the distinction at a workshop I attended. He was making a point about digital literacy, that digital writing may be a different genre of writing altogether, not simply writing with new media.

I'm going to have to think about this distinction, one Satrapi mentioned last week, too, when she insisted on being known as a cartoonist, someone who creates comics, not a graphic novelists: her medium is ink, and her genre is comics.

What's the relationship between genre, media, and then the electronic interface with with we readers/consumers engage with words/images/ideas/others? These things all blur/blend/bleed more quickly and widely now that the speed-and-reach of the Internet is here. (How can anyone even articulate anything without the virgule these days?)

Marjane Satrapi

Last night, heard Marjane Satrapi at Century: what a treat.

She's such a wonder, such a good speaker for our campus: intelligent and funny, worldly yet approachable, creative and opinionated. She sat and talked to us, a ready-made "speech" delivered extemporaneously with grace and good humor, genuine thanks.

Here's a trailer from her movie Persepolis made from her two books:

Day 6-of-5

Disaster struck.

Disaster stuck.

I'm both mad and sad.

Institutional processes can be, and in this case have been, rigid and unhelpful; they can, and in this case did, disallow the human contact and truthfulness that makes for good human relations and good decisions. I feel as though my hard work has been for naught: not a good feeling.

Writing takes time

We writing teachers know that writing takes time, but others don't seem to think so: in fact, they think that if we're English teachers, we must be "good at writing," which often becomes synonymous with "fast at writing." But neither is automatically true: I think I'm best at editing, actually, an activity I've spent most of the afternoon and evening doing.

The Board of Trustees Educator of Excellence Awards event is scheduled for April 16. For that fete, lots of stuff is planned: a short video, speeches, lots of handshaking and congratulations -- and a booklet/brochure with bios and photos and other praise-worthy stuff that must be written by someone (right now, my pal Ray, and I've been helping him edit). I'm also supposed to write a short paragraph about what the award means for faculty, especially since I've been on the selection committee and seen a range of excellence, which is true. But what do I write? How do I start?

It's been easier - although time-consuming - to edit Ray's work than start my own. Starting my own writing has been postponed for two other "very good" reasons: because it's easier to edit the docs from our English search committee that'll go to our college president. And it's easier to edit the proposal (and send at least six emails justifying) for the MnSCU women's studies discipline workshop. And it's easier to read Toni Morrison's Jazz.

So guess what I still have left to do before I sleep?

Day 5-of-5

We're done! We came to consensus easily - as PhiloFact said in her comment on Day 4-of-5, when you find the one (or in our case, the ones), you know it. I'm happy that the collective knew, too. What *great* colleagues we have and will have.

Bierstube time - hurrah.

The Student List

Inspired by Timna's "my steady 12," I want to list my Thursday evening wonders, but I have 31, too many to describe individually: Alaina, Angele, Cathy, Chris D, Chris G, Chuck, Cynthia, Dan, Darren, Julia, Karen, Katie, Katrina, Kristi, Laticia, Louis, Margaret, Matt C, Matt W, Michelle, Omeca, Peter L, Pete S, Rachel F, Rachel L, Rosanna, Said, Sara, Tiffany, Tina, Travis.

But there are patterns:

--the English majors who read with intelligent relish, finding authentic ways to describe and analyze texts (Tr, Da, An, Ju, RaF, Lo)
--the English majors who skim for plot details and simple metaphors, tossing out random soundbites (Ti, MaW)
--the English majors who silently nod, offering passionate, accurate analysis only in small groups (Ti, Ka, MaC)
--the full-time workers who arrive after 10-hour days, still ready to wrestle with ideas (Ka, Cy)
--the quiet sideways glancers, who often surprise me with their contributions (Ma, PeL, Kr, Ca)
--the bombasts, not afraid to look silly, often succeeding (ChD, ChG, PeS)
--the dependents, offering as their own snippets culled from the web (Sa, Ro)
--the blanks, unwilling or unable to share anything they're thinking, if they indeed are (Al, Mi)
--the steadies, not bright but not unaware (Ka, RaL, Sa, Ch, Om)
--the oblivious talkers, willing to share even if no one cares to hear (Da, La)

My favorites because they offer thought-filled, beautifully messy views: Angele, Cynthia, Darren, (sometimes) Julia, Louis, Matt C, Rachel F, Travis.

Day 4-of-5

Three unknowns this time: at least to me. I don't think I've ever been as shocked about an interview as I was today. Not just a lack of preparation (it seemed), but also a lack of awareness of what it is we do at the community college, who we teach, why we exist. Not that I have all the answers to these things, but community colleges are uniquely positioned. We're not universities yet we must provide something like it to our transfer students. We're not trade schools yet we must honor the need for work that many students bring. We must be flexible and fair, intellectually grounded and increasingly agile. We need faculty members who are, too.