Poem of the month

I think the first half of January is the hardest part of the schoolyear for most upper secondary school teachers in Norway. Within a week term grades for all students in all subjects must be ready and a lot of us still have quite a few papers to mark before we cross the finish line. Still, I had to take some time for one of my new year's blog resolutions. My plan is to share one poem every month here on my blog in 2010. January's poem is a very traditional choice, but there are good reasons why this particular poem is read again and again by English students all over the world. I think it is especially suitable right now since at the moment Norway is covered in beautiful snow. Please enjoy Robert Frost's "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening":

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

For information about the poem as well as a video of Frost reciting it, see here: Poetry everywhere

The photo is taken from flickr: when snow arrives out of the blue

Longing for summer

Today is the last Sunday I will spend marking papers (well, today I am marking my pupils' blogs from Norwegian class) this schoolyear. The weather outside is lovely and according to various mobile network operators I should be able to take my laptop and my work to the park due to the wonders of the wireless world. However, I have not yet encountered a laptop with a screen that can cope with sunlight, so for one more Sunday I am forced to remain indoors, and this poem by Jon Stallworthy is the closest I will get to parklife today. Enjoy:

Picnic

Those daisies know too much!
Seeing that kiss, and now
touching what they touch
ought to have made them bow

their heads. You, pressing her thigh -
because you dared to look
your rival in the eye -
shall be pressed in a book.

Jon Stallworthy

Photo from flickr: Margaritas

Poetry lessons

In tomorrow's English lessons (five lessons in a row) I will be talking to groups of pupils about The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. While some pupils are talking to me about the novel, the others will have to work independently in the classroom, and my colleague LK and I have made this lesson plan for them to work on: Poetry lesson plan The plan includes study questions on poems by Emily Dickinson, Margaret Atwood, Robert Frost and Leslie Marmon Silko as well as a task where the pupils are to follow a recipe in order to write their own poem. I have tried to find good readings of the poems (see lesson plan) on youtube, but I didn't really find anything I was very enthusiastic about. Instead, I'd like to share this reading of "A dream deferred" by Langston Hughes:

I think my brain is coming out of my ears...

My colleague Liv Kristin recently wrote a post about late nights spent marking papers and how this made her think of Frost's lines "and miles to go before I sleep". I can certainly relate to this and reading what she wrote made me think of a poem that often comes to my mind when I have too much to do and feel like there just isn't room for anything else inside my head, namely Luke Yates' "I think my brain is coming out of my ears". I first encountered this poem on the London tube in 2001 as a "Poets on the underground"-poster and I just had to take it with me, so I took a quick photo of it that has been on my fridge ever since. The poet was only 16 when he wrote this and in 2001 he was acknowledged by The Poetry Society as one of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year. In these busy end-of-the-schoolyear-days I felt it was worth sharing:

I THINK MY BRAIN IS COMING OUT OF MY EARS

* Found a pink wet thing

like a prawn on my pillow this morning

felt it, smelt it, looked at it under the microscope

and I could see memories, rumours and dreams

scrawled in my handwriting over the surface.

I keep my bit of brain in a jar, feed it marmalade, call it Fred.

* Frightening to think what might be missing -

unexplained chunks of life.

(I can't find the remote). Tonight

I sleep, orifices stuffed

and my ears glued to the sides of my head.

Luke Yates

Bridget Jones of Camelot

Ages ago (in 2001) I took a course in Narratology studies at Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam. The course was taught by the excellent Professor Christien Franken. Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones was at the height of her popularity, and when given the assignment of turning Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott" into a story, I decided to unite the two literary heroins. Perhaps similar assignments could trigger the imagination of students and make them consider old verse from new angles? Read my chick lit version of Tennyson's poem here: Diary of a solitary weaver.

Illustrations from flickr: Che pasticcio, Bridget Jones! and Lady of Shalott