Fiddler Jones

Sometimes it's hard for me to get my work done because I've got too much else to do. Too much FUN stuff to do. I'll sit down to do some work, and then a friend will call to meet for a drink at The Burren, or a classmate will want a slice of pizza at The Upper Crust, or a neighbor wants to go for coffee at the Diesel. Or my roommates will want to carve pumpkins, or the New England leaves are changing colors, or I haven't played my guitar in awhile, or I want to call a friend in Chicago, or a comedian or a band or a play is in Boston that I want to see. What to do? It's easy: always choose them over the studying. Yes I'll study, yes I'll do well enough, but should I ALWAYS choose sitting inside a library and hovering over books, when something is calling right outside the window, just a block away?

Which is why "Fiddler Jones" by Edgar Lee Master's is one of my favorite poems. It's in his book Spoon River Anthology, where every person/character in town gets a page to talk about themselves. Most are petty, greedy, transgressive, or dishonest in some way, but a few tell us how to live. And Fiddler Jones is one (and for my money, the center of the book). He's a farmer who makes enough money to get by, but never gets ahead because, dammit, there's too much fun to be had. And he dies without "a single regret." Here's the end of the poem:


How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill--only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle--
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.

Some Quotes About Art

"There are only three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, nobody knows what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

"If I could say it, I wouldn't have to dance it." - Isadora Duncan

"I used to draw like Raphael, but it has taken me a whole lifetime to learn to draw like a child." - Pablo Picasso

From Tonight's Neuroscience Lecture

"One digital day for teens contains more data than one 19th-century lifetime."

Of course the question is, are we better off?

My opinion? No. No way. All that data swirling around and bumping into everything begins to neutralize itself . . . nothing is particular anymore, deep meanings have a tougher time emerging. Too much data leaves us depleted and exhausted, swimming in white noise and we can’t break the surface to just breathe. We need more time, we need to slow down, to have fewer choices, take things in, fully enter them and be present, deeply.

Stand, and Unfold Yourself

I love this line from Shakespeare, which seems like it would be a good quote to have up on a wall in an English class, or to read to students before you ask them to do some good, thoughtful, exploratory writing. It's a short quote that comes at the very beginning of Hamlet. Francisco enters and says to Bernardo, "Stand, and unfold yourself."

Isn't that a cool quote? Maybe a teacher could ask the students to stand and unfold themselves in their writing, throughout the year.

Or, as my professor wrote: "It is about moving away from a sleepy, protective posture of being folded up, or folded into oneself, and moving toward a tall, open, awake, graceful stance."

Mary Wollstonecraft Is the Bomb

That Mary Wollstonecraft had got it going on. Of course she was instrumental in the fight for women's rights, but I just read some of her work on education and it's not only wise beyond her years, it's still wise beyond OUR years. She called for nationally financed public education, which would help correct the gross inequity in our current methods of funding education. She wrote of the importance of a good home as a precondition for good education. She warned of the dangers of schools trying to sell themselves, of being nothing more than a PR machine, instead of actually educating the students. She warned of the superficiality of busying your mind without ever thinking deeply (internet anyone? video games anyone? YouTube anyone? multitasking anyone?). Heck, she even throws in a bit out having a moral relationship with animals.

And all this was very, very radical for its time. For the late 1700's.

Too radical for her society. Still too radical (or makes too much sense) for our society. We don't suffer innovation very well, to which Ms. Mary W. would say:

"But the fear of innovation, in this country, extends to every thing.--This is only a covert fear, the apprehensive timidity of indolent slugs, who guard, by sliming it over, the snug place."

Yo-Yo Ma Comes to Town

Yo-Yo Ma is here at Harvard for the week. Everyone is going crazy about it.

I don't really know anything about Yo-Yo Ma. I didn't even know he was a cellist--but I think I knew he played classical music. And I suppose I knew he wasn't a white guy, though I might not have guessed Chinese.

Since I'm in the Arts in Education program, a lot of my musician friends can't wait to see him. I don't know. I just can't get up for it. It's not like Chuck D is here or anything.

But my professor/program director knows him personally, so it's kind of funny when he refers Yo-Yo Ma by his first name, as in "I just spoke to Yo-Yo today on the phone . . . ."

It's Really, Really Hard

Writing is really, really, really hard. It's hard to do well. It takes hours and hours to revise. It's frustrating. The vision you have in your mind never quite gets down on paper, though you claw and scratch to get it just a little closer. And even though it took two hours to get it "just a little closer," you'll spend another 3 or 4 or 5 hours on it. And that's just for today. Then you'll return to it tomorrow.

That must be why most people say they don't like to write. It's not that they are opposed to the actual activity . . . in fact, it seems pretty integral to being a human. People don't like that it's so hard. So they avoid it. As I often do, to my own diminishment.

The Wisdom of Johnny Unitas

Since I've been at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, I've thought about Johnny Unitas a lot. Well, I've thought about something he said.

As the story goes, the Baltimore Colts were in the locker room before a big game. Various coaches and players were standing up one by one, giving their best rousing speeches--pumping up the team, helping them get their game faces on, etc. After the speeches, someone turned to Johnny U. who was leaning by the door and asked "Anything to say John?" To which he replied "Talk is cheap. Let's go play."

Sometimes that's what the Harvard Ed school is like. There's lots of people standing up and talking: what research they've done, what articles they've written, what programs they've studied, what curriculum should be used, what should be happening in classrooms, etc. Big name people in the field with big name reputations, making a good chunk of change doing it. And yet, it sometimes feels like it's a whole lot of swirling rhetoric that can keep everyone occupied, because doing the real work of education, actually stepping into a classroom, is HARD. So it's a nice enclosed system; keep talking about education, do it under a school's famous pedigree, build up your prestige so no one expects you to ever leave, and you can avoid true work--teaching students.

About once a day I imagine Johnny Unitas leaning against the wall of the classroom or lecture hall, and after listening to some expansive, eloquent speech on education, he says "Talk is cheap. Let's go teach."

(And this Johnny Unitas metaphor can be extended even further. Johnny lived what he said; he didn’t talk a lot, and he played a lot of football and played it HARD. He wore his body out doing it. In old age he couldn't even grip a pen regularly to sign his autograph--he had to stick it between his fingers that were locked in a claw shape to write at all. Which means when you do the real work of football, or teaching, and you try to do it well, it could break you down. I figure I did the real work for the past 15 years, and here I am at Harvard just to take a break, to recover a bit of myself and my interests and my energy. Yes, teaching wore me down. I'm not complaining or apologizing or regretting, I'm just explaining.

I suppose that could be the story of some of the professors, here . . . they put in their classroom time, spent themselves, and then shifted to the university to at least stay in the field. So I don’t begrudge them if that’s their story. I may even do it myself.)

King of Office Hours

I would like to think that I'm the king of office hours. I believe I've gone more than anyone else on campus. Really.

I have a notebook. And in that notebook I write down any question that ever comes to me that relates to my four classes. And those four classes comprise some pretty broad topics: arts, education, philosophy, the brain, and poetry. Once I get four or five questions in one class, I schedule some office hours with the professor, I sit down, and we talk. And talk. And I keep them for far too long. I refuse to leave. I let them force me out the door with a swift kick in the pants.

I figure that I'm paying a LOT of money for this year, and I've only got nine months, and this is one of the best education institutions in the world (or so I hear). And I've got four professors that are amongst the very, very best in their fields. Think of the opportunity. How could I pass it up?

So I GET to sit with an expert and make them talk to me. And these office hours are even better than class, because I am asking the questions, I am choosing the topics, I am following my bliss, I am keeping us focused on what interests me the most. Not what I think I should know, not what might get me a job next year, simply what interests me in the moment. For no other reason. I'm a kid in a candy store. I've awakened on Christmas morning.

Now That I Have A Cell Phone

Now that I've had my first cell phone for about 3 weeks, I've realized that it prevents one from getting lost. GPS, calling a friend, calling 411--they'll all help you get found.

And that's too bad. Sometimes it's good to get lost.

One Reason Why We Need To Dismantle Capitalism

The grounds budget of the Harvard Business School is larger than the entire budget of the Harvard Education School.

Living Up To Its Name

In a past journal I wrote about those wicked smart undergraduates in my poetry workshop.

They're even smarter than I'd realized.

In that class, Harvard truly lives up to its name.

In my years as a teacher, a student comes along every five years or so that’s a genius. They’re beyond the smartest in the class, beyond honors and AP, beyond the valedictorians (interestingly, they are never the valedictorian). In another orbit; playing a game with which we are not familiar.

Again, once very five years. Here are mine: Kate Guarna, Sam Cocar, Katie Williams. Three in fifteen years.

In my poetry class, all thirteen kids are of that ilk. All of them.

It's kind of amazing to watch. We'll be working on our poems, and one of them will raise their hand and say something perfect, articulate, penetrating, insightful. I'll be struggling with the vagaries of my own mind, trying to figure out what is happening in the poem and what needs to be done, unable to put it into words, and then this 19 year old will raise her hand and cut right to the heart of the matter, and speak improved sentences that sound like they were written by Obama.

It's pretty amazing. I guess I should be a little intimidated and embarrassed by all this. These kids are half my age and they routinely kick my intellectual ass. And my insecure past would predict that I should just shrink and cower in such an environment.

But it's actually pretty cool. Once you accept that you're NOT like them, and you'll NEVER be like them, then all that's left is to enjoy and appreciate. It's exciting to walk into class and know that every single comment is going to expand your mind in some way (and even more so with my professor). We've all been in classes where someone will begin to speak, we'll register their relative ignorance, and then think to ourselves "well, my mind won't be going anywhere for a little while, I'll just have to wait this person out before we get moving again." That never happens in my poetry workshop.

When I was studying for the GRE, I needed a little extra tutoring, but I made the mistake of going to a cheap company and a low-priced tutor. Within minutes of sitting down with her, I realized that I knew much more than she did, even in math. I felt like the four walls of her tiny office were closing in on me, and I knew for the next 89 minutes or so, my brain wouldn't be going anywhere. It was a real claustrophobia. (I'm making a case FOR tracking in schools here, since honors kids who are in low-level classes might feel this way. And it doesn't feel good).

But when I'm in the poetry workshop class, the walls fall away immediately. My brain has too many places to go, and it's trying to get there too fast. Not only do the walls fall away, but the student comments blow the roof right off the building too. And it's a big, heavy building.

How To Write A Good Philosophy Paper: Write It The Way My Dad Eats A Pear

Well, my first philosophy paper is due in a couple of weeks. It's a critique of Plato's banishment of the poets in The Republic. It's gonna be hard.

After talking over the paper with my philosophy professor, I realized how philosophy is done. You start with an argument. Then you interrogate it. You break it down into all its parts. You think there are ten parts to it? Try again. There's probably thirty. Then you take each part and start hammering away it. See if it holds up. Ask all of the counter arguments. Wring it dry, exhaust it. And that’s only one part. You have twenty-nine to go. And you have to make sure parts one and two work together. Then one, two, and three. Then look at three and one. Then on to four. And so on.

When you're done you should have taken your argument and squeezed it for all it's worth. Made sure it stands up to anything and everything. When you think you've pursued and defended one line of thinking, think again. It can go further. And further.

Which is a lot like how my Dad eats a pear. Most of us just take that pear, start with one big bite, work our way around, head towards the tops and the bottoms, get most of the fleshy deliciousness out, look at the remaining in-tact core, then throw it way.

Not my Dad. He's from the old country. He fled World War II, came here as an immigrant 60 years ago. And for folks like him, you bring your hunger with you from the motherland.

So when my dad eats a pear, he eats EVERYTHING. Everything. You'll be at the dinner table with him, you'll glance up and the back of your brain will register that he's eating a pear, and then the next time you look over at him, the pear will be gone. On the plate will only the brown stem, and that little prickly start shaped bark from the bottom. That's it. All the rest has been eaten: the tough inner core, the seeds, the bitterest parts. Hey, those are good calories in there, how dare you let them go to waste.

So I've got to write this philosophy paper and take on Plato, and when I'm done, I better have left nothing but the stem and the tiny star-shaped bark from the bottom. On my plate. On the page. In my brain.

Education Quotes (Thus Far) For My Colleagues Jim, Lori, Jen, and Diane

"[T]he most immoral thing one can do is have ambitions for someone else's mind." - Robert Irwin

"Keats speaks of 'negative capability' as the rare gift of being able to hold several contradictory possibilities in mind without jumping to a conclusion. Schools, with their encouragement of the first student with the right answer, do little to build up a tolerance for this sort of creative tension." - Phillip Lopate

"Whatever organizational principles hold together the poems of Rilke, Pound, Garcia Lorca, Vallejo, Eliot, William Carlos Williams, Apollinaire, Roethke, Mayakovsky, and so many others, the wonderful poets of this century, they are of a subtler and less mechanical nature than those we were teaching children to follow." - Phillip Lopate

"I remember . . . looking at them, touching them, feeling them from the outside and from the inside, wondering about them because there was wondering to be done, not because there were answers to be found." - Jane Smiley

"[I]t is relatively easy to observe technical proficiency according to objectively established criteria. Unfortunately, the development of technical proficiency is often taken as a proxy for other forms of development, and, following the educational truism that what's assessed usually ends up what's being taught." - Resnick and Wirt, 1996

"[I]n the case of the mind, no study, pursued under compulsion, remains rooted in the memory." - Plato