Teaching Poetry

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
Emily Dickinson

I love teaching poetry. It makes this job worth doing. Every time I open a textbook or anthology, I feel a sense of wonder. I feel like a mage opening a tome of wisdom. And when I spin out the words, say them and hear them, I feel the magic of them unfold like a sparkling woven mantle wrapping me snugly.

Meanwhile, the kids are rolling eyes, printing misspelled slogans on their notebooks, and praying for the bell to set them free. I can't understand them. They are Other. Yet, not all of them have built those walls. Even some who are firmly entrenched may find that the power of the words slips through a chink, a bolt hole they forgot to secure, and touches them.

I will spend money on books, especially good poetry anthologies, faster than any other item. I bought one yesterday, and I bought another today. (If you're looking for a good anthology, I recommend the Garrison Keeler collection Good Poems for Bad Times. ) I love the feel of the covers in my hands. Paperback, hardback, clothbound, or rare, rare leather, it doesn't matter. There is luxury in the weight of it, the heaviness of ideas contained within. Every new poem and every old, familiar one demand and deserve my attention.

I sit in my new chair in my 70's paneled living room, and I open the pages. The words tumble out like a treasure chest of jewels spilling across the crocheted afghan in my lap. This is true luxury. I may never own the best or most modern of things, but as long as I have these words, these shards of their writers' souls, then what more could I ask?

Tomorrow, I will go back into the classroom full of enthusiasm. I will fight the gnawing void I find there and stand guardian over my poor, broken-winged student-doves once again. Maybe a few of them will see the vast wealth that beckons. If I can share even the tiniest glimmer of the magic, then I suppose it will have been a good day.