Tag Archives: teacher as transformer

Where I’m Headed

Posted on January 20, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

It was an excellent first part to the retreat. We have a short session on Sunday, but already I feel replenished. I take prodigious notes at these events and do very little talking. I figure I talk enough in the classroom that this is a time to step back. I always have multiple notebooks on the go and the one I grabbed was quite well used. I glanced through it and found this from several months ago. It hibernated and is out for an early spring, I guess.

Where I’m headed

No planned routes

Markers do not set out a path

My GPS is non-digital.

This is adventure

Being lost has panache

A flair

It exhilarates.

I discover wonder

The I don’t knows fill life

They summon me

They make me whole.

4 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments, Sabbath and tagged creativity, eloquent questions, Mindful Practice, poetry, spirituality, teacher as transformer, Where I'm Headed. Bookmark the permalink.

Replenish

Posted on January 19, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I head to a retreat tonight and I hope that it replenishes my creative spirit. These are the lyrics to a song by Claudia Schmidt. The poem has a nature theme, but the idea of replenishing one’s self is strong, natural, and metaphoric in this case.

We go on, we go on,

Canoe under the hot sun,

The upturned paddles guide liquid to our

dry mouths.

Water within us, water surrounds us,

A great mystery our becoming dry at all.

Replenish, replenish, all must be replenished.

The water within and without.

All that fills, all that surrounds us:

The great whistling pines,

The tenacious beaver,

The ancient loon,

The rush of the young eagle’s wings as it

dips low over our canoe.

Replenish!

The eyes bathed in this delicate solitude,

The trembling eternity,

Called back in mid-sweep only to be

assessed by green parched eyes

Replenish!

Each shriveled heart

Which has its moments only at events set

aside for its song,

But cannot fly for the connection

Between the rock and the human body,

The heron’s wing and the hope in our souls,

We go on,

We go on.

Our paddles dance with the lake water to

the music in our throats.

We will grow dry again

Perhaps leap into the water

A small and symbolic celebration of a great

and endless task

Which gracefully undertaken,

Might allow us to go on, and on, and on.

15 Comments

Posted in Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged Claudia Schmidt, creativity, Mindful Practice, nature, poetry, Replenish, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Poem Against the First Grade

Posted on January 18, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

When I read this poem, I do so with care. George Venn wrote it in the voice of a six-year-old, but I can easily imagine anyone so excited about learning that they trip over their words and speak so fast words just run together. The poem reminded me of the way small children or a learner of any age, stops in mid-sentence and makes pronouncements in ways that do not always fit the conversation, but seem so right.

What a marvel when I do not worry about the need to be expert or proficient. I can just be in that moment a small child excited by the newness of my life.

Alex, my son, with backberry jam
smeared ear to ear and laughing,
rides his unbroken joy with words
so fast we let him get away
on the jamjar without clean cheeks first.

He spills frasasass
tea with milk and honey;
a red-chafted schlicker
beats our cottonwood drum.
Thumping the pano keys
like a mudpie chef,
he goes wild with words
at the wittle wooden
arms inside, a hundred
Pinoschios to singsong.
If he can’t wide byebye
bike to the candy store,
where he is Master Rich
with one penny, words turn
to tears in his mouf. Once
in a while, he walks home
with pum-pum-pumpernickel bread
his nose twitching so fast
a wabbit would love him.

Now this language is not taught in first grade.
Alicia, his tister, knows this fact.
But he juggles it around all day
until she makes him spit it out like
a catseye marble or a tack. “Ax,” she says,
“that’s not right.” She’s been among giants
who wipe off the dialect of backberry jam,
then pour hot wax on each bright mistake.

I hope for a bad seal on Ax and tister,
encourage the mold of joyous error
that proper sad giants, armed to the ears
with pencils and rules, all forgot.

12 Comments

Posted in Education, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged creativity, education, George Venn, learning, Mindful Practice, Poem Against the First Grade, poetry, school, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Birdfoot’s Grandpa

Posted on January 16, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

A student read this poem today as part of their Language Arts and we discussed the underlying meaning of the poem. It reminded me of a story I heard several years ago. I am unsure whether the story is true, but the underlying idea is one teachers should consider.

A long-time teacher went and sat in a small park next to her school each day during lunch. One day a colleague asked why she spent every lunch break in the park quietly by herself. Her response was “I ask myself whether I want to go back and continue to do what I do. So far, the answer has always been yes.”

Joseph Bruchac’s wonderful poem reminded me of this story. Similar to the toads, each student we come in contact with has places to go to too. It is what should motivate us each day to return to the classrooms we teach in.

The old man
must have stopped our car
two dozen times to climb out
and gather into his hands
the small toads blinded
by our light and leaping,
live drops of rain.

The rain was falling,
a mist about his white hair
and I kept saying
you can’t save them all,
accept it, get back in
we’ve got places to go.

But, leathery hands full
of wet brown life,
knee deep in the summer
roadside grass,
he just smiled and said
they have places to go, too.

13 Comments

Posted in Education, Leadership, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged Birdfoot's Grandpa, education, Joseph Bruchac, leadership, Mindful Practice, poetry, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

When Someone Deeply Listens to You

Posted on January 16, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

John Fox wrote this beautiful poem. He is part of an organization called The Institute for Poetic Medicine. When people feel deeply listened to they feel cared for, cradled lovingly, and able to speak their truth. When we listen to each other this it is magical and peaceful. I know I feel wanted.

When someone deeply listens to you
it is like holding out a dented cup
you’ve had since childhood
and watching it fill up with
cold, fresh water.
When it balances on top of the brim,
you are understood.
When it overflows and touches your skin,
you are loved.

When someone deeply listens to you
the room where you stay
starts a new life
and the place where you wrote
your first poem
begins to glow in your mind’s eye.
It is as if gold has been discovered!

When someone deeply listens to you
your barefeet are on the earth
and a beloved land that seemed distant
is now at home within you.

41 Comments

Posted in Community, Leadership, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged community, creativity, John Fox, leadership, love, Mindful Practice, Poetic Medicine, relationships, spirituality, teacher as transformer, When Someone Deeply Listens To You. Bookmark the permalink.

Children Will Listen

Posted on January 15, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I tell people when I facilitate workshops we do not teach human qualities, we model them. Good sportsmanship, integrity, and kindness, to name a few of those qualities, are prime examples. We seem to live in a world of “do as I say, not as I do”. Children are observant and intelligent and see through this so easily. They know when things do not add up and are inconsistent. In a world that changes so rapidly, adults need to be vigilant, authentic, and careful about the modeling they do.

Stephen Sondheim wrote this song for the musical, Into the Woods. I enjoy songs with deep meaning in the lyrics and this one is a prime example

How do you say to your child in the night?
Nothing’s all black, but then nothing’s all white
How do you say it will all be all right
When you know that it might not be true?
What do you do?

Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you for which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say “Listen to me”
Children will listen

Careful the wish you make
Wishes are children
Careful the path they take
Wishes come true, not free
Careful the spell you cast
Not just on children
Sometimes the spell may last
Past what you can see
And turn against you
Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen

How can you say to a child who’s in flight
“Don’t slip away and i won’t hold so tight”
What can you say that no matter how slight Won’t be misunderstood
What do you leave to your child when you’re dead?
Only whatever you put in it’s head
Things that you’re mother and father had said
Which were left to them too
Careful what you say
Children will listen
Careful you do it too
Children will see
And learn, oh guide them that step away
Children will glisten
Tamper with what is true
And children will turn
If just to be free
Careful before you say
“Listen to me”

29 Comments

Posted in Education, Leadership, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged Children Will Listen, education, Educational Leadership, Into the Woods, leadership, Mindful Practice, poetry, school, Stephen Sondheim, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

Stone

Posted on January 13, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

I spent today catching up. Most of it was digital. It is interesting how much email built up, but I was productive today. This poem by Charles Simic spoke to me. Children wonder and hold the world in awe. Adults lose track of the beauty of mystery. I am not sure what next week holds. Perhaps, I will write poetry. Although I relied on the words of others, noted that many of these poets were new to me and that was transformative. I spent time wisely.

Go inside a stone

That would be my way.

Let somebody else become a dove

Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth.

I am happy to be a stone.

From the outside the stone is a riddle:

No one knows how to answer it.

Yet within, it must be cool and quiet

Even though a cow steps on it full weight,

Even though a child throws it in a river;

The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed

To the river bottom

Where the fishes come to knock on it

And listen.

I have seen sparks fly out

When two stones are rubbed,

So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;

Perhaps there is a moon shining

From somewhere, as though behind a hill—

Just enough light to make out

The strange writings, the star-charts

On the inner walls.

19 Comments

Posted in Education, Mindful Life, Poetry, Sabbath and tagged Charles Simic, creativity, education, learning, Mindful Practice, sabbath, Stone, teacher as transformer. Bookmark the permalink.

A Note

Posted on January 12, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

Well, I made it to the finish line this week and had a good day today. I ran out of steam after lunch, but afternoons have been kind this week. We are writing Fractured Fairy Tales and students get into this activity. I find opportunities to work 1-on-1 with students who need a little extra help. It is a great unit plan and can be modified for different ages.

Wislawa Szymborska wrote this poem. It fits with recent reflections about the extraordinary nature of ordinary life. My father-in-law, Bill, used to ask, “Who has more fun than people? More people do, of course!” I recalled his quirky, wise sayings as I read this poem. It is simple things, often overlooked, that give life its fullest meaning.

Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything it’s not;

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes;

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held with the lamp switched off;

and if only once
to stumble on a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;

and to keep on not knowing
something important.

14 Comments

Posted in Humour, Lesson Plans, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged A Note, creativity, education, learning, Mindful Practice, poetry, school, teacher as transformer, Wislawa Szymborska. Bookmark the permalink.

To Look at Any Thing

Posted on January 11, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

It was a busy day. I was alone with the students. Usually, I there is a parent, but today the schedule was unfilled. We were still productive and covered challenging material.

The Grade 7 class is building scenarios and predicting what if learned experience is used in new situations. The Grade 8 class is exploring differences between authority and power. The Grade 9 class is taking and defending positions on the Canadian youth criminal system. Like all good things, learning takes time.

John Moffitt’s poem speaks about a way we learn the world. We should savour it, not consume it.

To look at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long:
To look at this green and say,
‘I have seen spring in these
Woods,’ will not do—you must
Be the thing you see:
You must be the dark snakes of
Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,
You must enter in
To the small silences between the leaves,
You must take your time
And touch the very peace
They issue from.

15 Comments

Posted in Education, Leadership, Lesson Plans, Mindful Life, Poetry, Reflective Moments and tagged creativity, education, John Moffitt, learning, Mindful Practice, poetry, school, servant-leadership, teacher as transformer, To Look at Any Thing. Bookmark the permalink.

Dreams

Posted on January 10, 2013 by ivonprefontaine

It was a long day. I feel tired and I was not as close to 100% as I thought. Despite that, I had an interesting conversation and, on the way home, I wondered if many children’s dreams have exploded? Do children dream like I did when I was a child? Do some children while others are afraid or unable to dream? I turned those questions over and they reminded me of Langston Hughes’ wonderful poetry. What is my role in holding their dreams with them?

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.