Rainy day poem: Elizabeth Bishop

The sky is raining cats and dogs down on Southern California today. Here’s a reflective, even romantic rainy day poem, back from the college days:

It is marvellous to wake up together
At the same minute; marvellous to hear
The rain begin suddenly all over the roof,
To feel the air suddenly clear
As if electricity had passed through it
From a black mesh of wires in the sky.
All over the roof the rain hisses,
And below, the light falling of kisses.

An electrical storm is coming or moving away;
It is the prickling air that wakes us up.
If lightning struck the house now, it would run
From the four blue china balls on top
Down the roof and down the rods all around us,
And we imagine dreamily
How the whole house caught in a bird-cage of lightning
Would be quite delightful rather than frightening;

And from the same simplified point of view
Of night and lying flat on one’s back
All things might change equally easily,
Since always to warn us there must be these black
Electrical wires dangling. Without surprise
The world might change to something quite different,
As the air changes or the lightning comes without our blinking,
Change as our kisses are changing without our thinking.

-Elizabeth Bishop

writing is thinking

As I am neck-deep in grading finals, I am coming upon distressing problems in my students’ writing. I’m not interested in minor issues like apostrophes and articles, but in the overall problem of expression. Some of these kids have writing skills that are so bad that I can’t even guess what they were trying to argue.

If a student lacks the technical skills to write, they will never get more than a B-range grade (at BEST!) in any humanities or social science (or even some “hard” science) class. I grow weary of students who shrilly point out that this is a history course, not a literature course. Yet often they turn a deaf ear to my response that poor writing skills impair the formation of ideas and arguments. Also, I have the sneaking suspicion that poor writing skills relate to poor reading skills. By reading I don’t mean ABC stuff, but rather the ability to pick up on nuance in writing, such as irony, style, etc. If you can’t read historical documents and arguments, how can you understand history at all?

The difference between students at this huge public university and the tiny liberal arts college that I attended does not lie  in the quality of students. I have been impressed by their ability to articulate thoughts in discussion and in one-on-one conversations, yet some of those same students end up with F’s and C’s on their assignments. Not, I think, for want of doing the assigned reading or desire to do well, but because of their inability to write.

I know that the UCs have writing requirements, but I suspect that small liberal arts colleges tend to see writing as a much more essential skill. At D, one could not possibly survive without getting some semblance of writing competence beaten into one’s skull. (My friend from Wesleyan corroborates this; her small lib. arts school also insisted on writing, writing, writing.) Perhaps it’s the UCs’ vocational side that permits students to pass out of writing courses (thanks to AP credits, etc). I must say that AP scores are a poor substitute for a college level writing class.

I think that this institution offers motivated students substantial opportunities to improve their writing. However, not every student is motivated to work on their writing. Maybe more GE credits should be allocated to writing courses.

Most importantly,  I feel that the ability to express one’s thoughts and feelings on a basic level is essential to a person’s happiness. Therefore, some level of competency in writing is essential to  human happiness; in an age where texts have become enormously important (think internet!), it will not do to avoid the issue.

Writing is thinking. If we fail to teach students how to write, we fail to teach students how to think.

hyperextension, and notes on ballet

***More detailed information in this more recent post!!!***

My ballet teacher told me yesterday that I have hyperextended legs, which makes it difficult for me to close my feet in fifth position.

See how their legs bend back at the knee? This is good and bad. It’s good in that hyperextension is considered aesthetically pleasing in that it elongates the line of the leg, and like having beautifully arched insteps (which I sadly do not also possess), it’s part of what gives ballet dancers that ballet “look.” It’s hard to find a professional ballerina who is not hyperextended. However, it also means that it’s much easier for me to injure my joints because they’re naturally extra-stretchy.

It’s good to know also because it explains why it’s so damn difficult for me to keep my feet in fifth position. And I thought it was leg chub this whole time.

Must be more diligent about warmups now. A girl snapped her achilles in class the week before last. You could hear the loud pop! and then a heavy thud as she crashed to the ground. Once you snap your achilles, that means surgery and 8-9 months of no dancing. And no walking without crutches, for that matter.

Overall, though, I am very pleased with my progress so far. Most people at the studio now assume that I had danced intensively as a child or teenager. But the greatest pleasure I’ve been getting out of ballet lately is the fact that it’s not academia. In reflecting on my what–3rd full year? in ballet, I realize what a relief it’s been as a stress reliever. Dancing is a wholly separate system of thought; it uses completely unfamiliar parts of the ole noggin. I can focus solely on breathing, movement, muscles, and music; there’s none of the achey immobile processing that rules most of my day.

It usually takes 3 hours for me to get to ballet, dance, and go home. I enjoy every second of the process, from the moment I climb onto the bus to my teacher’s corrections (“do it again”) to climbing off the bus a few hours later. Next term, I hope to up classes to 4 a week, with pointe preparation classes.

I realize that I will never be “good enough” at ballet. To some degree, I will always suck. But it’s a refreshing reality check, because I don’t have to worry about perfection, as I do in my writing and academic work. Since I’ll never be good enough to be a professional, I can really just enjoy the challenge without the massive expectations of my adolescence (which hover now over my graduate studies).

Vive la danse!