Proxy Poem: Piano Lesson

Out of heals dug firmly in

a groan explodes

Reverberating off bass strings

Ricocheting around the house

Annoying the mother

Exasperating the father

again and again

 

Dad try hard

gives best advice

girl rolls eyes and slumps harder

 

Metronome tocks

incessant in the room

Beating out the faults

And to teach a better way

 

Mozart and Chopin

made gifts

Grace notes, runs

and Twinkle, Twinkle

 

She has arrived

to show her stuff

 

Amidst the one one five five

of odes

to better and greater ones

swelling with juvenile intensity

and students caching yawns

and teacher

raining hellfire on group class grades

bound for recycling

 

The memory

in which she trusts

while sweating

perfectly good fingering

right off the keys

goes black

preparing to demolish

whole movements

one piece at a time

 

Out there with the remains

of her broken chords

is the one

the teachers kill for

heard at a master class

cherry picked

to come

right after

PROXY POEM- ASSIGNMENT TWO (PATLA)

A Reform to Education?

I sit in my Social Studies classroom with many students behind me

Gazing through the windows that bind me,

Walls so high I cannot find me,

With thoughts so influential I know other students will mind me.

We speak about the planet and global warming as a kind breed,

Yet on every single day this seed of knowledge confines me.

Because how can we be educated,

From our seats when in reality really,

Every day we come to class listening,

To our beats that have nothing to do with info,

That informs me of the world around me,

But instead misinforms the mind that lies within.

 

We are part of a larger institution,

That sets out to free and liberate us all,

But yet, when our thoughts don’t converge they deliberate with us.

It is as if they are trying to,

Configure us, but what they don’t realize is what they,

Are really doing is disfiguring us.

In fact, we are all measured on a standardized testing scale,

According to which if we don’t memorize we are a fail.

But is the percentage on the top of my paper,

Really an indicator of my success?

Because really this is all a really big ugly mess,

Had I had another minute I could have,

Performed my best, the predictor,

Is just a test.

 

Don’t drive to school, and cut down on,

Usage of greenhouse gases, and power,

Turn off all lights when not in the room,

But then why do they not turnoff the classroom overhead,

It has been decades by now, shouldn’t that,

Have already been long dead?

I guess what I am trying to say,

Is there not another method by which we can be feed?

Because there are only so many videos I can,

Watch on good old TED,

But what does this have to do with med,

This class is so boring I would,

Rather go to bed, but instead I’ll walk home,

In my Keds, because this info has led me,

To believe, do your part or this planet will be dead.

 

Can you imagine how amazing classrooms would be if we were really allowed to breath?

Without any constraints or restrictions by teachers on how to be the lead.

Only freedom of speech and individuality,

That suits and prepares us for the world around us.

Information that really informs us about the,

Larger, social world that really surrounds all of us.

 

What I am calling for is reform,

Of an education,

That is now long outdated,

To one that is now more current.

Because it is time,

To now give the students back the power,

To take control of their,

Own education, in which they,

Promote their own interests and unique passions,

By which means they choose to live their life.

So maybe it is time that we,

Step back, and allow students to take control,

And learn in a way, in which they feel liberated,

Educated, knowledgeable, and free.

A classroom where students feel at ease, and at great peace,

Where they are not converging, but informing

That should be school.

ORIGINAL POEM- BROKEN ENGLISH (FREESTYLE)

FORM COPIED BELOW

Stanza 1: 12 lines

18 syllables

9 syllables

8 syllables

16 syllables

16 syllables

15 syllables

9 syllables

11 syllables

9 syllables

11 syllables

10 syllables

11 syllables

 

Stanza 2: 14 lines

11 syllables

11 syllables

15 syllables

9 syllables

13 syllables

11 syllables

15 syllables

15 syllables

13 syllables

11 syllables

14 syllables

11 syllables

8 syllables

4 syllables

 

Stanza 3: 14 lines

8 syllables

10 syllables

10 syllables

13 syllables

10 syllables

7 syllables

9 syllables

14 syllables

13 syllables

5 syllables

9 syllables

8 syllables

11 syllables

11 syllables

 

Stanza 4 : 6 lines

22 syllables

19 syllables

14 syllables

12 syllables

13 syllables

13 syllables

 

Stanza 5: 17 lines

8 syllables

6 syllables

7 syllables

8 syllables

5 syllables

10 syllables

6 syllables

8 syllables

11 syllables

9 syllables

8 syllables

9 syllables

12 syllables

11 syllables

13 syllables

11 syllables

4 syllables

Proxy Poem

punjabi, eh! or depends where you live!

first destination -1992
punjab to womb to vgh to surrey
kuri -the girl
the new generation
punjabi taa sikkh jaugee
first generation canadian
an offspring delivered in a foreign land
first to be  a canadian citizen by birth

elementary school, surrey
not convent school, punjab
no senior secondary, india
from elementary to high school to kpu
advisor: “yes, you can take second language courses here
like french
while advisor thinks of bilingualism
excellent second language skills

hit the registration button
enter the land of fiver rivers
identity crisis
tight limit
boxes filled with pupils
united by colour
by colours amongst colours
as instructors break the wall

who am i? why take this elective?
my first language is english!
did i have to put myself through this mess?
do I have any background knowledge?
punjabi is not the official language of canada
I must start from scratch

f*** examinations, finals already! examinations
parents’ fault for coming here
english everyday
likhna for exams
rishthidaar judge your punjabi
to gossip around about you
parents and grandparents chant
punjabi bolo, punjabi likho, punjabi parho

multilingualism in public sector
do you know second language?
how about punjabi?
the banks hire “your age”

hesitation
punjabi, eh!
punjabi

*kuri: girl
*punjabi taa sikkh jaugee: she’ll learn Punjabi
*likhna: to write
*rishthidaar: relatives
*punjabi bolo, punjabi likho, punjabi parho: speak, write and read Punjabi
 

Proxy Poem

In the Battle for English I am a fucking Canon

 

Listen up kids, I’m only gonna say this once:

Your education is a battle and you’re on the front

I’m The General Impregnable to a boring read

And generally professional – I’ll take the lead.

I’m dangerous, I’m always taking risks,

and when I take my aim you know I never miss

if the institution’s got you down or worried

Remember it’s a Cuckoo’s Nest and I’m your McMurphy

I’m an English teacher and I’ll handle it

If my lessons were a dinner they’d be candlelit

A classroom well led with minds well fed,

And don’t forget that I’ve been chosen cuz I’m well B.Ed.

I’m busting mad rhymes and boosting my street cred

And every class of mine is a Special Ed

Yeah when I show my flow I’m gonna explode some heads

Because I’ve got more rhymes than Dempster’s got white bread.

 

Eyes up, ears open, tell me – what’s that sound?

There’s a new JD gun-Salinger in town.

 

Take the lessons that I’ve learned hard-earned in my own life

And apply it to the science of testing young minds,

They think I’m Grizzly Adams from my bearded looks

Until they find I got more rhymes than UBC’s got books

I’m the brains and the brawn when I educate

There’s a wrong way to teach and there’s a Mr. Way

And all of my students are going to shit a brick

When I pack my lessons full of rhymes fueled on ill, slick wit.

Refuse to be the teacher glued to the bored,

And when I approach the board their jaws will hit the floor,

Don’t think Mr. Way’s going to forget the Mike,

To pry his metaphors apart you need the jaws of life.

Consonance and assonance  reverberate

Constantly assuaging any fears that take ya

I’m the White Whale swimming in the English seas

And Queequeg’s coffin if you’re in too deep.

 

Eyes up, ears open, tell me – what’s that sound?

There’s a new JD gun-Salinger in town.

Lemon_ Assignment 2 Proxy Poem

This is a photograph of her

It was taken some time last night.
At first it seems to be,
a filtered,
insta snap: lines blurred with Valencia.
Four girls, night out.

Then, as you scan
it, you see smiles brightened with filters
shiny hair, tanned skin perfect angels, all part of the
(well-conceived lie) emerging,
their bodies twisted to the right,
hiding places of insecurity and body
shame, keeping-up with the appearances.

In the background there are her acquaintances,
Followers, likers, but not her friends.

(This photo was taken,
the day after she drowned.

She is in the lake, in the center
Of her followers, deep under their screens.

It is hard to say when
exactly, or to say
how, she lost herself online:
the effect of likes
on her is a distortion

but if you look long enough,
eventually
you may see her unedited, unfiltered, self.)

 

Leana Lemon

Assignment 2 – Brendan Ha

Brendan Ha – Assignment 2

Proxy Poem:

I’ve enjoyed ramen:
I’ve enjoyed ramyun since I was a kid, navigating islands
of shiitake with metal paddles.

My palate has enjoyed both.

I torqued around spring onions when the tongue was sensitive.
I wandered on fiery seas and visited napa islands.
I docked by chashu when the tides were mild.
I ignored the notes of cartographers when I sailed from
one rock to the next, and I’ve felt the warmth
of our people’s heart stir with younger colours.

I’ve enjoyed ramen:
Spicy, mild ramyun.

My palate has enjoyed both.

Assignment 2 GillardC

I’ve chosen the following three poems for their chronological treatment of American Black history, from slavery, and the underground railway, to segregation, and the Civil Rights Movement. I would use these in a unit on African-American Poetry, after teaching a novel studies unit on “In the Heath of the Night” by John Ball.

The Witnesses

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

In Ocean’s wide domains,

Half buried in the sands,

Lie skeletons in chains,

With shackled feet and hands.

 

Beyond the fall of dews,

Deeper than plummet lies,

Float ships, with all their crews,

No more to sink nor rise.

 

There the black Slave-ship swims,

Freighted with human forms,

Whose fettered, fleshless limbs

Are not the sport of storms.

 

These are the bones of Slaves;

They gleam from the abyss;

They cry, from yawning waves,

“We are the Witnesses!”

 

Within Earth’s wide domains

Are markets for men’s lives;

Their necks are galled with chains,

Their wrists are cramped with gyves.

 

Dead bodies, that the kite

In deserts makes its prey;

Murders, that with affright

Scare school-boys from their play!

 

All evil thoughts and deeds;

Anger, and lust, and pride;

The foulest, rankest weeds,

That choke Life’s groaning tide!

 

These are the woes of Slaves;

They glare from the abyss;

They cry, from unknown graves,

“We are the Witnesses!”

 

 

AnalysisRhetorical Purpose

 

Longfellow’s narrative ballad “The Witnesses,” is a political cry of shame against the public’s blindness to the injustice of slavery, and a call to political action. The ballad takes the perspective of the ghosts of slaves who have perished in the Atlantic. From their final resting place on the ocean bed, the former slaves bear witness to all the slave ships “freighted with human forms” (line 10) crossing from Africa to North America, above them:

 

“They glare from the abyss” (line 30)

“They cry, from unknown graves,” (line 31)

“We are the Witnesses” (line 32).

 

‘To witness’ of course, means to see a crime, and then to report it. The fact that the only witnesses to slavery are the dead, who no longer have real agency, points to the fact that the living, who do have agency, are not acting. I understand this as Longfellow shaming the living into action. In fact, the poem was published as part of a 31-page collection called: Poems on Slavery, in 1842 (Cambridge, MA: J. Owen), “[…] and the New England Anti-Slavery Tract Association quickly reprinted an abbreviated 8-page version that included [this] poem[…]” (Lockard, Web 2017).

 

Form and Imagery

 

The 32-line ballad of perfect rhyming couplets, is in two parts, each part separated by, and completed with, a refrain. The first half of the poem, consisting of three stanzas, is located in the “Ocean’s wide domain” (line 2), while the second three stanzas take place “Within Earth’s wide domain” (line17). Apart from the refrain, these lines contain the only repetition in the poem, and I think it’s significant that they serve as the introductory phrases of each half of the ballad.

 

The word ‘domain,’ usually signifies the place where someone or something lives. But as each half of the ballad describes, slaves have no habitat in this world: the ocean is either the slaves’ grave, or the route to slavery, while on the land “Are markets for men’s lives” (line 18). It’s as though the after-life is the only place slaves can ‘live.’ While there is no overt religiosity in the poem, is Longfellow deliberately drawing attention to the spirits of slaves as a plea for his readers to acknowledge that slaves are made in God’s image, endowed with souls, every bit equal to White men and women? From the oceanic domain, “They gleam from the abyss” (line 14) and one imagines the Eternal light. In the final stanza before the last refrain (lines 26-28), Longfellow places causal blame for slavery in the sins of:

 

“Anger, and lust, and pride;

“The foulest rankest weeds,”

“That choke Life’s groaning tide!”

 

The ‘The Witnesses’ is formally precise, written in eight ballad quatrains of perfect, intermittent, rhyming couplets. Each half of the ballad has three stanzas, ending with the refrain. All but seven lines of the poem end with the letter ‘s’. Most of the lines missing the final ‘s’ occur in the second half of the poem, and this contributes to a mood change which highlights the difference between the flowing, watery, and hard, earthly domains that divide the poem.

 

Every line of the poem is exactly six syllables long, and when said aloud, the metrical effect is that of the relentlessness of the horror of slavery. By the end of the 32 lines, the reader is weary, and ready to stop. When the ballad, unusually, ends in the first person plural: “We are the Witnesses” (line 32), it powerfully places the living, free, White, reader in the position of the witness to all of the misery and injustice detailed in the poem. With all of his devices, Longfellow is shaming his reader/orator into seeing slavery as inhuman and immoral, and to choose to act to abolish it, on the eve of the American Civil War.

 

References

 

Lockard, J. Longfellow and Whittier on slavery. Anti-Slavery Literature. Web. Accessed August, 2017. http://antislavery.eserver.org/poetry/longfellowwhittier/

 

 

Poem #2

Underground Railroad Song Lyrics:

Follow the Drinking Gourd

Story: The lyrics were instructions on how to get to safety. They were taught by a man known as Peg Leg Joe. The young slaves would use to song to know when it is safe to run, and where it is safe to go.

Lyrics:

 

When the Sun comes back

And the first quail calls

Follow the Drinking Gourd,

For the old man is a-waiting for to carry you to freedom

If you follow the Drinking Gourd

The riverbank makes a very good road.

The dead trees will show you the way.

Left foot, peg foot, travelling on,

Follow the Drinking Gourd.

The river ends between two hills

Follow the Drinking Gourd.

There’s another river on the other side

Follow the Drinking Gourd.

When the great big river meets the little river

Follow the Drinking Gourd.

For the old man is a-waiting for to carry to freedom

If you follow the Drinking Gourd.

 

Poem #3: Theme song from the movie “Selma” about the Civil Rights Movement

Glory

John LegendCommon

One day when the glory comes
It will be ours, it will be ours
Oh one day when the war is won
We will be sure, we will be sure
Oh glory (Glory, glory)
Oh (Glory, glory)

Hands to the Heavens, no man, no weapon
Formed against, yes glory is destined
Every day women and men become legends
Sins that go against our skin become blessings
The movement is a rhythm to us
Freedom is like religion to us
Justice is juxtapositionin’ us
Justice for all just ain’t specific enough
One son died, his spirit is revisitin’ us
Truant livin’ livin’ in us, resistance is us
That’s why Rosa sat on the bus
That’s why we walk through Ferguson with our hands up
When it go down we woman and man up
They say, “Stay down”, and we stand up
Shots, we on the ground, the camera panned up
King pointed to the mountain top and we ran up

One day when the glory comes
It will be ours, it will be ours
Oh one day when the war is won
We will be sure, we will be sure
Oh glory (Glory, glory)
Oh (Glory, glory)

Now the war is not over, victory isn’t won
And we’ll fight on to the finish, then when it’s all done
We’ll cry glory, oh glory (Glory, glory)
Oh (Glory, glory)
We’ll cry glory, oh glory (Glory, glory)
Oh (Glory, glory)

Selma’s now for every man, woman and child
Even Jesus got his crown in front of a crowd
They marched with the torch, we gon’ run with it now
Never look back, we done gone hundreds of miles
From dark roads he rose, to become a hero
Facin’ the league of justice, his power was the people
Enemy is lethal, a king became regal
Saw the face of Jim Crow under a bald eagle
The biggest weapon is to stay peaceful
We sing, our music is the cuts that we bleed through
Somewhere in the dream we had an epiphany
Now we right the wrongs in history
No one can win the war individually
It takes the wisdom of the elders and young people’s energy
Welcome to the story we call victory
The comin’ of the Lord, my eyes have seen the glory

One day when the glory comes
It will be ours, it will be ours
Oh one day when the war is won
We will be sure, we will be sure
Oh glory (Glory, glory)
Oh (Glory, glory)
Oh glory (Glory, glory)
Hey (Glory, glory)

When the war is won, when it’s all said and done
We’ll cry glory (Glory, glory)
Oh (Glory, glory)

Songwriters: John Roger Stephens / Lonnie Rashid Lynn  –  Glory lyrics © EMI Music Publishing