Being in the spotlight

From a young age I enjoyed being in the limelight. We, local children, devised back garden concerts and I recall singing "Tulips from Amsterdam" aged about 6, wearing a rather too small flower girl dress. Finally after many years of pleading I was taken to Donald's ice rink in Aberdeen. I had to have an outfit just like Sonja Henie's, as I'd seen her wearing in a movie. Full of confidence, and thinking I'd glide effortlessly across the ice, I launched myself. It didn't work like I'd seen in the film! A couple of years later and I was competing. My mother remained a nervous wreck, whilst I took it all in my stride. So it was that entering competitions or taking tests became second nature.

Failing my 11 plus I went to a Junior Secondary School. However the education I received there was superb. Encouraged to sing, I had lessons and was an active member of the school choir. Gleefully taking part in operettas and once singing solo in St Machar's Cathedral. The English teacher encouraged us to debate, and I took part in inter school debating. She also involved me in plays, giving me major roles. The Duke Of Edinburgh Award scheme was in full swing in this school and I was asked to attend a first aid course where the Duke of Edinburgh himself was to attend. I was elected to tell him what was taking place. I left that school with 5 "O" grades and 1 "0" level...that being in oral English (an actual 'English' qualification, as there was no equivalent ).

At college I was elected as class representative , taking any issues to the rector and staff.

As a teacher I thought of my work as rather like acting...giving tuition, encouragement and maintaining discipline. Front of house...so to say. I was not averse  to taking part in many extra curricular activities, and displaying interests other than those of being 'teacher'.

I returned to ice skating and took up ice dance with a partner and we competed for Oxford in the Southern league. So this was a form of being in the spotlight once more.

Giving up teaching after 20 years and moving house, with a new husband. I was suddenly propelled into more limelight as he was such an exuberant and outgoing person. Together we formed an ice skating club in Elgin, giving tuition and organising shows...taking part ourselves too, thus encouraging youngsters and adults to take up skating.

It was then that I took up dancing. My husband was very keen on ballroom dancing and rock and roll. We liked to join in 1940's and 50's events...dressing in the era and letting our hair down. Never phased at being the first on the floor, trying to get people to join in and have fun. Fancy dress events were looked forward too and eagerly planned for and organised. Yes. We had a good life together.

After his death I returned to skating after two years absence taking care of him. Two weeks in, at Blackpool Arena, I was invited to do a solo programme in a charity show to raise funds for "Help for Heroes". So aged 60 I was the oldest participant and I featured in a figure skating magazine.

Those early days paved the way and made me a confident, energetic person, willing to embrace life ...be a participant and not an audience member. It's not for all, but it's stood me in good stead. I don't mind being in the spotlight....

   This morning I sat down and quickly drafted this piece....

                    Places, Lights, Action

              Places, lights, action.
              No camera required, yet.
              This dear child, is life.
              The cameras come later
              When you're cleaned and wrapped.

              You are in the spotlight -
              On the stage for life.
              No shying away.
              No return for you.
              Face the world, little mite.

              Places, lights, action.
              First day at school.
              Be a leader or be led.
              It's up to you -
              In the spotlight, or the shadows ?

              Take part, or sit back -
              That's your only option.
              Follow your dream,
              Stand in the beam,
              Or fall by the wayside.

              Places, lights, action.
              First day of work.
              Climb the ladder or stay at the foot.
              You're here for the duration.
              Shine in your work - your choice.

              The spotlight dims- the audience silent.
              Curtain slowly falls.
              You've taken a bow - a final exit.
              So how did you do ?
              Places, darkness, stillness.......CUT !


       Thanks for reading, Kath
             

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What you seek is seeking you.

There's a strange circularity to learning and teaching.  Just as my daughter discovered that she would retain more information for her pending exams by teaching that information to someone else, I feel that I have learned more about poetry through teaching it to others.  It's as if there's a survival mechanism built into knowledge that ensures it will exist beyond a single mind.  In order to retain details in the long term we must, ironically, give them away.

With this in mind, I have decided to teach you about something because it's something I'd like to learn.  I have chosen Ecstatic Poetry.

The Greek ekstasis, from which the word ecstasy is derived, translated as 'standing outside oneself'.  This, to me, means that when you enter an ecstatic state, you step outside your normal framework and experience and are transported to a state which is separate from that state of mind, however temporarily.  This needn't be as extreme as a Bacchanalian frenzy, or a drug-induced stupor.  It can be that small shift in pace coupled with a flash of perspective which forces you to pause and re-read that last line, while your world moves a fraction to the left.

Bacchanale by Lovis Corinth (1896)

Paul Valery, in Edward Hirsch's How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry, is quoted as saying, "A poet's function- do no be startled by this remark- is not to experience the poetic state: that is a private affair. His function is to create it in others."  There are a range of poetic effects at our fingertips to invoke this ecstatic state in our readers.  These tools are similar to those used in traditional prayer and hymn: the incantation of a poem in its rhythm and music, the momentary pause brought about by paradox, or the displacement of words, their rearrangement, that gives a fresh reading to a familar phrase. 

The Sufi Poets are perhaps the best known of the ecstatic poets.  And of the Sufi poets, Rumi is perhaps the most famous.  His work has a transcendental, mystic quality to it but it is grounded in nature.  In 2007, he was named the 'most popular poet in America,' - not bad for someone who was writing in the 13th century on the other side of the world. 

Having done a little research now, I find I am quite fond of Daniel Ladinsky's interpretation of Rumi's The Way Things Should (2002).  You can read the full poem online here.  Here is the part of the poem which I find induces a feeling of ecstasy in me:

Love so needs to love
that it will endure almost anything, even abuse,
just to flicker for a moment. But the sky’s mouth is kind,
its song will never hurt you, for I sing those words.

What will our children do in the morning
if they do not see us
fly?

The shift, for me, from a traditional, inspiring verse to something which is ecstatic comes with the words 'the sky's mouth'.  The words sink in up to that point but at this moment I pause.  The voice becomes not that of the poet, but of a universal humanity.  It's an invocation of universal love, or God.  In that moment, when I sense the shift from the poet's voice to something bigger, that attempt to channel the universe, I feel my own heart lift.  It's as if the poet's intention has travelled those 800 years to find me, right where I am, and remind me that I am loved.  The directness of the intention directly affects my emotional state.  This is Rumi.  This is ecstatic poetry.  I stand outside myself.
 

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Tasting the Glass

 by Ashley Lister

 As part of my job I sometimes teach poetry to people with learning difficulties.

Maybe that’s the wrong way of phrasing it. Teaching sounds like too grand a title for some of those classes. And learning difficulties sounds like a catchall misnomer that borders on being insulting. Also, with poetry, I firmly believe that you can’t teach poetry: you can only facilitate the education of poets.” However, if someone asks me what I do with my Thursday mornings, I usually say I’m teaching poetry to people with learning difficulties.

And the taste of each experience is truly satisfying.

Last week one learner, new to the class, decided he didn’t like me. In any other class, when a learner doesn’t like me, they might smile more with a grin that never touches the eyes. They might scowl when my back is turned. They might make harsh comments to their peers about my lack of professionalism, or my obvious absence of academic competence etc.

This learner simply fixed me with a glower and said, “I don’t like you.”

“You’re not the first person to say that this morning,” I said blithely, trying to make light of the social embarrassment. I gave him a winsome grin to show that I was unoffended by the remark.

“But I really don’t like you,” the learner insisted. “I think you should fuck off.”

It wasn’t particularly pleasant but the honesty was surprisingly refreshing. It was so refreshing I was tempted to do as he asked and simply fuck off.

In another class, as I struggled to explain the concept of considering opposites in poetry, I urged one learner to think of pertinent contrasts that might work for a piece of writing. “Think of extreme opposites,” I said, “such as black and white, night and day or home and…”

I left a pause for him to make a suggestion.

“Home and a gun,” he said obligingly.

In a different class another poet produced a beautiful sonnet called ‘Window Lickers’.

The term window lickers is a cruel pejorative aimed against those with learning difficulties. Because of his condition it was a term with which the learner was painfully familiar. The metre of the poem was flawless. The rhyme scheme was structured and orderly. The sentiment (that the ‘window lickers’ in the poem’s title are treated with scorn and contempt by the rest of society) was stunning in its eloquence and imagery.

In a lot of those classes the most important topics for many learners tend to fluctuate between conspiracy theories and religion. A more cynical writer might try to draw parallels between those two subjects. Personally, I figure that any writer producing material in which they are emotionally invested is a writer writing from the right place.

Conspiracy theories and religion might not fire my interests but as I said at the start of this blog, I’m not telling learners what to write: I’m facilitating the education of poets. And it really does produce the taste of satisfying poetry. 

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Important Lessons

 by Adam McCance

 This is the second time I have been asked to be guest blogger for the Dead Good Poets and I’m just as underwhelmed as the first time.

I’ve been reliably informed the theme this week is ‘Important Lessons’, a rather vague term which I intend to use something of a circular belief system upon to apply to my current circumstances.

I used to teach. What did I teach, you ask? Children, I say. Those snivelling, snotty-nosed, tiny humans who need constant care and attention yet are lumped into classes of thirty others with only one adult to provide said care and attention.

I loved it.

I just didn’t like the system.

So now, I work in the Emergency Services. I get 50% off at Dominos at all times. If you cannot see the Important Lesson within this tale, you’re either stupid, not fat or both.

Note: Although I find I’m constantly apologising for my length these days, it is appropriate here. In the past seven days, I’ve moved from a city to a town, into a new house and started a new career. And I’ve measured (several times) – I’m definitely average. 

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Gagging Order

By Ashley Lister

Q: What do you call a fish with three eyes?

A: a fiiish.

I used that gag in an English class I was teaching this week. I used it for three reasons.

1) It’s a good gag so it deserved to be aired.

2) I wanted to get the class relaxed and bonded and I knew the communal groan from that one would help them start working together.

3) It simply and effectively illustrates a disparity between spelling and pronunciation that is often the cause of most difficulties with written communication. From this springboard I was able to discuss sound/spelling anomalies and even able to tangentially link the subject to homophones.

Using gags in the classroom is one of my guilty pleasures.

Perhaps part of this is relatable to having a father who worked on the stage as a stand-up comedian. Aspirations to emulate parents can form deep-rooted motivating forces.

Or maybe it’s because I desperately crave the affirmation of laughter? Hearing people laugh with me suggests I’m liked and indicates I have met with societal approval. Perhaps I crave that? What do you think? Please write something nice in the comments boxes below to let me know which you think it is. Please.

Q: What’s long brown and sticky?

A: a long brown stick.

Again, this one gets aired in the classroom for three reasons.

1) It’s funny.

2) A class that is laughing together will work better together and achieve communal goals more easily: an opinion supported by Banduras’s ideas on Social Learning Theory, Reciprocal Determinism and Social Cognitive Learning.

3) Again, it simply and effectively illustrates the mutability of word classes with the differentiation between ‘sticky’ as a verb (meaning something to which things can adhere) and ‘sticky’ as an adjective referring to the identifiable qualities of a stick (which is then shown in the punchline in its noun form).

Cracking gags is one of many guilty pleasures in which I indulge. And, if there’s anyone reading this who feels willing to share a gag in the box below, please rest assured that the good and clean ones will be stolen and shared with deserving classes.

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