the Art of Poetry
never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
world between the covers of books,
sandstorms and ice blasts of words,,,
staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
such and so
many blinding bright lights,, ,
all over the pages
million bits and pieces
which were words, words, words,
and each of
which were alive forever
in its own
delight and glory and oddity and light.
Poetry is a
have at heart.
It is to
have or nothing.
A lion, an
ox in his breast,
To feel it
its blood, not spit.
In the body
of a violent beast
are his own...
sleeps in the sun.
going to cry all the time
nor shall I
laugh all the time,
prefer one "strain" to another.
the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a
sleeper, but also the big,
first-run kind. I want to be
at least as
alive as the vulgar. And if
aficionado of my mess says "That's
Frank!", all to the good! I
brown and grey suits all the time,
do I? No. I
wear workshirts to the opera,
want my feet to be bare,
I want my
face to be shaven, and my heart--
plan on the heart, but
part of it, my poetry, is open.
High-Toned Old Christian Woman
the supreme fiction, madame.
moral law and make a nave of it
the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
conscience is converted into palms,
citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in
principle. That's clear. But take
opposing law and make a peristyle,
the peristyle project a masque
planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
epitaph, indulged at last,
converted into palms,
like saxophones. And palm for palm,
are where we began. Allow,
that in the planetary scene
disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
their muzzy bellies in parade,
such novelties of the sublime,
and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
may, madame, whip from themselves
hullabaloo among the spheres.
make widows wince. But fictive things
they will. Wink most when widows wince.
motorboat man asked me to love him
for the no-more-boyfriend feeling
precipice contains ice (practically twice)
from the engines—so hard of hearing—his hands always so hot
first winter—I’d clung so long to the dock
he had to
crowbar my fingers off
cracked so cleanly
say they break like icicles? I asked sweetly
I knew I
was nothing! But if I could sustain one song—
I is, I is,
I is I is I is
Sex on the
bathroom’s cold marble counter was best
sculpting my legs, said
I named her Cecily
like iced lily
For pure, I
ocean, I said brine
vacation; for flowers, edelweiss
But when I
said (only of late, late!) I choose ice
broke behind my syllables
Antarctic crust blanketing us
driveway to any kind of house
iceberg-ridden Northwest Passage
you were to
translate it as
something and there’s no reality to it. You can’t inject it with any kind of
reality. You have to be patient and keep going, and then, one day, you can feel
something signaling to you from the innermost recesses. Like a little person
trapped under the rubble of an earthquake. And very, very, very slowly you find
your way toward the little bit of living impulse. - Deborah Eisenberg
habits of learning (like “sticktoitiveness”) that the arts foster.
tangibility of the arts: the presence of a something that was not there before
the artist/student created it. From this emerge the learning outcomes of
imagination (possibilities that the student invents and/or considers) and
agency (the student’s central role in effecting these ends).
A focus on
emotion, out of which students learn about expression (giving shape to their
own feelings) and empathy (recognizing the emotions of others).
Ambiguity: the arts deliberate delivery of multiple meanings from which students learn
about interpretation (making sense) and respect (for others’ sense making).
struggle in reading seem able to memorize all their lines for the play.
arts are included, more students show up at school and furthermore, they stay
have left high school show up at community art centers and direct shows.
give students the opportunity and courage to express their inner lives.
ensembles give students a sense of community and mattering.
dramatic role enables students to experience almost first hand the suffering of
a grieving friend.
haven that students find in the arts classroom and the difference they
experience between arts teachers who treat them like colleagues who can make
their own choices and non-arts teachers whose expectations are set and
from childhood to adulthood is both thrilling and perilous and at this
challenging time of life, these students find that arts learning helps them
with the pressing agenda of self-discovery.
The arts teach
students to think in important ways that other subjects do not - beyond the
right answer to critical analysis and interpretation.
beyond measure often has the most value - imagination, agency, emotion,
learning’s more authentic often holistic means of assessment: just as it seems
laughable to reduce our estimation of expression or imagination to a numerical
score, we need to be more mindful of the injustice we do to all learning areas
by restricting them to the playing fields of right or wrong - math and science,
like the arts, are fueled by good questions (not just right answers).
more of us would be able to participate as makers and audiences in the timeless
and particularly human conversation that the arts perpetuate.