Tag Archives: poetry

Marriage

Posted on May 22, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I don’t do this very often; probably not often enough. This poem is for Kathy. It is our anniversary and, in some ways, we are an unlikely couple. I tell people it is me who has to endure her idiosyncrasies and meandering along life’s path. In truth, she was the perfect soul mate for me with patience galore while she waits for me to grow up.

A couple of weeks ago Renard Moreau Presents presented this wonderful poem and I knew I would use it today. Kahlil Gibran wrote Marriage. It is self-explanatory. There are so many remarkable lines and words that say what I cannot.

Then Almitra spoke again and said, ‘And what of Marriage, master?’

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

46 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged Anniversary, creativity, Khalil Gibran, Marriage, Mindful Practice, poetry, spirituality, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

The Road Not Taken

Posted on May 21, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

Several asked asked several times what I would do after the end of the school year. There is no set plan, but we spent a fair amount of time on the weekend beginning a website and some design of a logo for my next adventure. This is an opportunity to continue with several loves: learning, writing, and try make a difference, albeit a small one in the world. There is no certainty of where it takes us. Unlike the bureaucracies I tangled with my entire adult life, this is an opportunity to, as Robert Frost said, “take the road less traveled.” Where I go will not be planned out, but will be an opportunity to make a mark on the trail that others might find and follow.

I get to do this with Kathy. She is much sharper than I am when it comes to the details of a website, planning a logo, and setting the direction the first steps need to take. I get to combine a number of things I love deeply in this new adventure.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

26 Comments

Posted in Education, Leadership, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged creativity, education, learning, Mindful Practice, poetry, Robert Frost, teacher as transformer, The Road not Taken, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

I walked a mile with Pleasure

Posted on May 17, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

This is a difficult post. I started it this morning and let the day unfold around Robert Browning Hamilton’s poem. I sensed it would be a day of both pleasure and sorrow.

I resigned from my teaching position. I won’t go back next year. There is nothing calling me back now. My heart has a special place for Stony. It is not a school. It is more, a community where people meet, greet each other, and learn together. That faded and I leave while I still hold the goodness and richness I found there; my narrative untarnished.

I walked a mile with Pleasure;
She chatted all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne’er a word said she;
But, oh! The things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me.

I learned the most about who I was and about what was important to me through loss. I almost resigned a year ago, but Kathy, with her uncommon common sense, convinced me, for various reasons, to return. I am glad I did. I looked forward to work each day and learned with this small group of students. I completed grieving about the loss of a one of a kind school, “but, oh! The things I learned from her/When sorrow walked with me.” Last year was the wrong time to leave. I would have remembered only the bitter and not tasted the richness of the fruit this journey bore.

John Kabat-Zinn said, “Find a Job with a capital J. Stop doing other people’s work.” I would add one small caveat: complete the journey before you exit. Leave nothing behind and look back only at the good that came of it. Know you served well those you met on the path. Hold your head high.

75 Comments

Posted in Community, Education, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Uncategorized and tagged community, creativity, education, I walked a mile with pleasure, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Mindful Practice, poetry, Robert Browning Hamilton, teacher as transformer, uncommon common sense. Bookmark the permalink.

Elegy in the Classroom

Posted on May 16, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

Anne Sexton wrote this wonderfully provocative poem. I am unsure of her context for the poem, but an elegy is a lament or a mourning for something past. As with anything, when we grow past the love and passion for what we do and the compassion for the people we do it with it is time to take our leave. I want to be remembered as ‘gracefully insane’ or eccentric. I love learning with my students and their families the second greatest reward I can receive. The first is learning with my family. I think, in both cases, I could be called somewhat ‘disarranged’.

Teaching is a place of great creative for me and fills a whole in the hole of my soul.

Oh my, Anne Sexton discovered and chose great words for teachers.

In the thin classroom, where your face
was noble and your words were all things,
I find this boily creature in your place;

find you disarranged, squatting on the window sill,
irrefutably placed up there,
like a hunk of some big frog
watching us through the V
of your woolen legs.

Even so, I must admire your skill.
You are so gracefully insane.
We fidget in our plain chairs
and pretend to catalogue
our facts for your burly sorcery

or ignore your fat blind eyes
or the prince you ate yesterday
who was wise, wise, wise.

12 Comments

Posted in Education, Humour, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Uncategorized and tagged Anne Sexton, education, Elegy in the Classroom, Mindful Practice, poetry, servant-leadership, spirituality, stewardship, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Directions

Posted on May 13, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

Several years ago, I was in a small city Medicine Hat, Alberta. I was lost and stopped several people for directions. The second half of this poem by Connie Wanek reminded me of some of the directions I received. I eventually found my way.

Today, as a I read this poem, I wondered if the second half of the poem’s directions were not the ones I need some days. Occasionally, t is nice to wander. A river that winds its way through the landscape meanders. I wonder why we don’t do that more as humans? When I got to the last line about approaching the horizon on my knees it reminded me of the things I take for granted and do not take time to just meander towards.

First you’ll come to the end of the freeway.
Then it’s not so much north on Woodland Avenue
as it is a feeling that the pines are taller and weigh more,
and the road, you’ll notice,
is older with faded lines and unmown shoulders.
You’ll see a cemetery on your right
and another later on your left.
Sobered, drive on.
Drive on for miles
if the fields are full of hawkweed and daisies.
Sometimes a spotted horse
will gallop along the fence. Sometimes you’ll see
a hawk circling, sometimes a vulture.
You’ll cross the river many times
over smaller and smaller bridges.
You’ll know when you’re close;
people always say they have a sudden sensation
that the horizon, which was always far ahead,
is now directly behind them.
At this point you may want to park
and proceed on foot, or even
on your knees.

12 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Nature in All Its Glory, Reflective Moments and tagged Connie Wanek, creativity, Directions, eloquent questions, Medicine Hat, Mindful Practice, poetry, spirituality, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Fishing in the Keep of Silence

Posted on May 12, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I crave a certain quiet and solitude each week. Linda Gregg wrote this remarkable poem about God taking a break as well. I am glad to hear that God is enjoys poetry. I suspect God takes a sabbath to renew the poetic and artistic energies required for the continued unfolding of the universe and for it to go ahead beautifully. In the silence, we fish for the wisdom that keeps our lives unfolding and proceeding beautifully.

There is a hush now while the hills rise up

and God is going to sleep. He trusts the ship

of Heaven to take over and proceed beautifully

as he lies dreaming in the lap of the world.

He knows the owls will guard the sweetness

of the soul in their massive keep of silence,

looking out with eyes open or closed over

the length of Tomales Bay that the herons

conform to, whitely broad in flight, white

and slim in standing. God, who thinks about

poetry all the time, breathes happily as He

repeats to Himself: There are fish in the net,

lots of fish this time in the net of the heart.

14 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Nature in All Its Glory, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Sabbath and tagged creativity, Fishing in the Keep of Silence, Linda Gregg, Mindful Practice, poetry, sabbath, solitude, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Dirty Face

Posted on May 11, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I was professionally developed today. I am tired and struggled to find a poem that I wanted to write or post. I perused my library and found this Shel Silverstein poem. I wonder if I had shown up with a dirty face if I could have answered with such wonderful words? And, when I got to the last line, would someone scold me? Oh, do I need to find out? Is it just that teachers just want to have fun?

Where did you get such a dirty face,

My darling dirty-faced child?

I got it from crawling along in the dirt

And biting two buttons off Jeremy’s shirt.

I got it from chewing the roots of a rose

And digging for clams in the yard with my nose.

I got it from peeking into a dark cave

And painting myself like a Navajo brave.

I got it from playing with coal in the bin

And signing my name in cement with my chin.

I got if from rolling around on the rug

And giving the horrible dog a big hug.

I got it from finding a lost silver mine

And eating sweet blackberries right off the vine.

I got it from ice cream and wrestling and tears

And from having more fun than you’ve had in years.

25 Comments

Posted in Humour, Just Because Posts, Poetry, Synchronicity and tagged creativity, Dirty Face, eloquent questions, Mindful Practice, poetry, Shel Silverstein, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Equality

Posted on May 8, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

Maya Angelou wrote this lovely poem. I think there are several ways to interpret the poem’s message. It could be a love poem, a poem written from the perspective of an oppressed people, or the way we see each other in daily life. I wonder, “What would it be like if we found ways to be equal, in our workplaces, families, communities, and the many other places humans gather? Could we each be free?”

I am reminded of Martin Luther King’s famous line: “Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty we are free at last!” and Maria Montessori’s quote: “Children are human beings to whom respect is due, superior to us by reason of their innocence and of the greater possibilities of their future.”

Can I help lift the yoke that keeps others down in some small way each day, each moment? We each need moments of uplifting and the respect that flows from it.

You declare you see me dimly
through a glass which will not shine,
though I stand before you boldly,
trim in rank and making time.

You do own to hear me faintly
as a whisper out of range,
while my drums beat out the message
and the rhythms never change.

Equality, and I will be free.
Equality, and I will be free.

You announce my ways are wanton,
that I fly from man to man,
but if I’m just a shadow to you,
could you ever understand?

We have lived a painful history,
we know the shameful past,
but I keep on marching forward,
and you keep on coming last.

Equality, and I will be free.
Equality, and I will be free.

Take the blinders from your vision,
take the padding from your ears,
and confess you’ve heard me crying,
and admit you’ve seen my tears.

Hear the tempo so compelling,
hear the blood throb through my veins.
Yes, my drums are beating nightly,
and the rhythms never change.

Equality, and I will be free.
Equality, and I will be free.

16 Comments

Posted in Community, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Social Justice and tagged children, community, eloquent questions, Equality, Maria Montessori, Maya Angelou, Mindful Practice, poetry, spirituality, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Oh, my friend

Posted on May 7, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

Spring has sprung the last couple of days. I reminded myself about paying attention to the little things in life. About this time last year, I was discouraged and it was paying attention to small things, things I take for granted like brushing my teeth. I simply began to say, “Take a moment and do this.” It worked, as slowly I found myself seeing the extraordinary and underlying beauty of life. I turned in and found words which sounded like majestic melodies. Sufi poet Ezzeddin Nasafi wrote this poem about building bridges with love. I discovered this begins inside me and moves outwards, a flow and gift from me to the world.

Oh, my friend:
Love makes the world of creation a
possibility
and the ecstasy of ascension a will.
Look around yourself and see a universe
saturated by the fragrance of love.

If there was no loge and the endurance for
such longing, then who could
beautify words
into majestic melodies?

If there was no breeze to gracefully
caress the
hair of the beloved, then how could
the lover
see the revealing face of the beloved?
Such longing is to gracefully return to the
Provider, in the state of perfection.

Oh, my friend:
do not become a slave of worship, but
understand the meaning of worship;
understand the meaning of Divine, Allah,
and practice to be pious and peaceful;
become a true human being, as becoming a
true human being is the key to salvation.

Oh, my friend:
if you have chosen an inner path,
remember
that we all are travelers, our moments are
passing and we are passing with them.

Your wealth will not remain forever
and your
pain will not last, so do not become a
slave to
your wealth nor to your pain.

If you are a person of an inner path,
then you
are a person of peace, so make peace with
yourself and your surroundings.

17 Comments

Posted in Community, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged beauty of life, building bridges, community, creativity, Ezzeddin Nasafi, inner path, Mindful Practice, Oh my friend, poetry, spirituality, sufi poet, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Monet Refuses the Operation

Posted on May 5, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I came across this provocative poem today by Lisel Mueller. It reminded me life is less about certainty and more about uncertainty. Today, I find beauty and wisdom in the uncertainty that I refused to acknowledge in my youth. Then, I desired an impossible certainty in life I could not be promised. When I sat down and wrote today and post, I was certain it would be a one of my poems, but this one spoke to me more clearly. It found a space to enter my world that I would not allow for in my youthful days. In uncertainty, questions are unanswered and answers have a hazy quality similar to haloes around streetlights in Paris. What does the future hold? What a beautiful question which is only be answered moment by moment.

Doctor, you say there are no haloes

around the streetlights in Paris

and what I see is an aberration

caused by old age, an affliction.

I tell you it has taken me all my life

to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,

to soften and blur and finally banish

the edges you regret I don’t see,

to learn that the line I called the horizon

does not exist and sky and water,

so long apart, are the same state of being.

Fifty-four years before I could see