Now, now — don’t be offended. That sounds far more harsh than I actually mean it to. I’m just playing with words from a poem I’ve just discovered that is not only excellent, but will perhaps become my life’s mantra from this point, onward: Careless Content by John Byrom.

I must confess that, before this afternoon, I had no idea who John Byrom was, and would still be unaware of him now had I not been forced by considerable boredom to poke around my bookshelves looking for something to read. In scanning my shelves, my eye landed on an anthology I’d bought a few years ago (very cheaply, might I add) at a MESS book sale: The New Oxford Book of Eighteenth Century Verse (sounds exhilarating, does it not?). I dusted it off and flung it on my bed, “Why not?” I thought.

And so, while waiting on my supper to cook, I started to flip through. I found some hilarious poems, some boring ones, and some that were too terribly long and tried my patience. I also, however, found this one poem — Careless Content — that I have now read ten times over I love it so much. It’s funny how pieces of literature, art, or music find their way into your life just as you need them, and this one fell into my life at so perfect a time that I am once again a little weirded out by the rule of serendipity that seems to reign my life.

Of course, I couldn’t help but share. Here it is:

I am content, I do not care,
Wag as it will the world for me;
When fuss and fret was all my fare,
It got no ground, as I could see:
So, when away my caring went,
I counted cost, and was content.

II

With more of thanks, and less of thought,
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek, what ancient sages sought,
Physic and food in sour and sweet;
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.

III

With good and gentle-humour’d hearts
I choose to chat where’er I come,
Whate’er the subject be that starts;
But if I get among the glum,
I hold my tongue to tell the troth,
And keep my breath to cool my broth.

IV

For chance or change, of peace or pain,
For Fortune’s favour, or her frown,
For lack or glut, for loss or gain,
I never dodge, nor up nor down;
But swing what way the ship shall swim,
Or tack about, with equal trim.

V

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of ev’ry tide;
If simple sense will not succeed,
I make no bustling, but abide:
For shining wealth, or scaring woe,
I force no friend, I fear no foe.

VI

Of Ups and Downs, of Ins and Outs,
Of “they’re i’ th’ wrong,” and “we’re i’ th’ right,”
I shun the rancours, and the routs;
And, wishing well to every wight,
Whatever turn the matter takes,
I deem it all but ducks and drakes.

VII

With whom I feast I do not fawn,
Nor if the folks should flout me, faint;
If wonted welcome be withdrawn,
I cook no kind of a complaint,—
With none dispos’d to disagree;
But like them best, who best like me.

VIII

Not that I rate myself the rule
How all my betters should behave;
But fame shall find me no man’s fool,
Nor to a set of men a slave;
I love a friendship free and frank,
And hate to hang upon a hank.

IX

Fond of a true and trusty tie,
I never loose where’er I link;

Tho’, if a bus’ness budges by,
I talk thereon just as I think:
My word, my work, my heart, my hand,
Still on a side together stand.

X

If names or notions make a noise,
Whatever hap the question hath,
The point impartially I poise,
And read or write, but without wrath:
For, should I burn or break my brains,
Pray, who will pay me for my pains?

XI

I love my neighbour as myself,
Myself like him too, by his leave;
Nor to his pleasure, pow’r or pelf,
Come I to crouch, as I conceive;
Dame nature doubtless has design’d

A man the monarch of his mind.

XII

Now taste and try this temper, sirs,
Mood it and brood it in your breast;
Or, if ye ween, for worldly stirs
That man does right to mar his rest,
Let me be deft and debonair:
I am content, I do not care.

Before I get started though, I should say that what follows are my observations, things I’ve learned from being both a student and a teacher, and things I’ve learned from the many, many people in my life who have made it their life’s purpose to teach, and teach well.

For a big part of my life, I’ve been fighting the urge to become a teacher of some sort. For over a year now, I’ve been working and teaching in an Early Childhood environment and in so doing have almost convinced myself that perhaps I really should give up the fight, dive in and teach. That said, I’ve never been much a fan of conventional school systems, which is why the environment in which I’ve found myself at present is generally a happy one, where the philosophy is one of learning through play, and emerging curriculum is the name of the game.

Naturally, being a teacher of any sort will (or should, at least) occasion one to think often of what it is to be a good teacher, and how one can best approach certain concepts, knowledge, and how to pass those things on in an effective way. So what is it that makes a good teacher, then? Why is it that some people just seem to “get it” and others never do?

What immediately that comes to mind when I think about what it is to be a good (by which I mean effective and engaging) teacher are the many good teachers that I’ve had over the course of my life, both within a system and without it. Think, for a moment, about the teachers you’ve most appreciated and loved in your life. Chances are that they all possessed certain qualities that made them not only engaging teachers, but engaging people. Thinking back on the supreme set of teachers I’ve had in my lifetime, I see that they have the following things in common: passion, enthusiasm, openness, confidence, patience, a big heart, a firm hand, a willingness to trust, and most importantly: not only a willingness but a hunger to learn, themselves. That last distinction is one of the most important because it may in fact be the very basis for the making of a true teacher; all good teachers were, it seems, taught to love learning, and they make it their distinct business to pass on that love to their students. I’ve come to understand how important that lesson is in the scope of the early years, as children will always have a hunger to learn if it’s fostered at so young an age, but it applies to any level of teaching, and any subject.

Hand-in-hand with that hunger for learning comes a passion and enthusiasm for whatever it is a person wishes to teach. This can be a bit of a sticky wicket if you happen to be a teacher who has landed themselves teaching something of which you are not particularly fond (or that they don’t know well). Putting on a brave face and diving in with a smile does go a long way though, as anyone who’s had a grumpy (self-absorbed, cantankerous, etc) teacher (and we all have, to be sure) will know: their class always sucks, even if you enjoy the material. This follows in every part of life, really — if the person who is charged with demonstrating something to you is not in the least enthused, why would you even begin to care?

In grade ten literature class I was told by my teacher that I should ‘show, not tell’. That little nugget of wisdom was passed on to me in order that it might benefit my writing, but it’s also true of most things in life that one wishes to communicate. A whole lot of words will get you nowhere when it comes to communicating if you don’t have the actions to go with it, and sometimes, the actions are far more important. The passion and enthusiasm of which I speak is a prime example of that lesson in action: there’s no need to tell a student something if you are the very embodiment of that thing. By being the very embodiment of passion and enthusiasm, you can (and will, in fact) change the course of a life; sometimes, without even realizing it. These things are fundamentals of teaching, and woe to the one who tries to teach without them, for they will be as lost as their students will be bored.

If there’s one thing I believe I innately knew about teaching but couldn’t properly articulate until recently, it’s that good teachers all possess a level of personal confidence that makes a student feel secure in their presence, and under their guidance. Confidence is one of the most attractive personality traits that any person might possess in general, but a teacher who is confident in themselves and the material they teach (as shown by their conduct and love of it), will ultimately reach more students and do so more effectively. Of course, not only must they be confident, but they must allow themselves to be open to mistakes. Making mistakes and being able to handle those mistakes in a confident manner is a huge part of the learning process, and teachers who are themselves perfectionists and do not allow for the occasional misstep (either from themselves or from students) will wind up with anxious students who are frightened into obsessive, perfectionistic behaviour on one end of the spectrum, or inaction on the other.

Best paired with that confidence is the patience that should, by all accounts, result from it. Patience allows for mistakes, and will allow a student to build confidence in themselves. Along with this goes a willingness to trust in a student’s abilities. A teacher who does not trust that a student will be able to learn will often end up doing things for that student, spoon-feeding and thereby causing a lack of confidence and a dependence on the teacher for help. And an impatient teacher will often cause an impatient student who is anxious about their abilities. The best teachers not only have patience with students, but also the sort of faith in them that comes from a mutual trust. There is almost nothing more potent than trusting someone to do something, if they’ve got it in their mind to do it. If a teacher trusts a student to learn something or demonstrate something, and if the student thinks highly of that teacher, you can bet your bottom dollar that they are going to try their damnedest to do whatever it is as well as possible. Time and time again, in life and in the classroom, patience and trust from a teacher can bring out the best their students. And there’s no doubt that students will then learn to better trust their teacher, which allows them to be more confident in that atmosphere, and to truly learn and grow. These are all things I’ve learned to articulate from teaching little ones, but they apply so widely to every part of learning and life (what is life without learning, really?), that they serve not only as fundamentals of good teaching, but also of being a quality person.

If you’ve got a person who is all of these things that I’ve mentioned, they’re likely going to approach teaching in their own unique way, and that is the best thing about the best teachers — they don’t do everything “by the book” either in their classroom, or in life. Of course, no interesting or inspiring person ever does everything by the book, and the best ones are so comfortable with deviation from the norm that they can take you on a journey to what seems to be edge of logic and jump off with you, only to have everyone land safely on their feet and walk calmly back to that thing we call civilization. Every single teacher that I’ve truly loved has brought their own personal brand to their teaching and had the confidence to share with their students something that made life more than it was before. Those teachers have the ability to adapt and to create an environment in which their students can feel like they’re really both having fun and learning at the same time. At the Early Childhood level, learning and play are one and the same, and the best teachers at levels beyond that know that that’s the secret to getting through to most students.

All this, of course, brings me to my last point — what most makes a good teacher is a person who can truly see their student and adapt to that student’s needs. It’s a teacher’s job to really know their students as best they can and to use that knowledge to better ensure that their needs are being met, and that their potential is at least on its way to being reached. My opinions on this matter have been formed largely by my mother, who has been teaching children with special needs for longer than I’ve been alive. What I’ve learned most from her is that everyone learns differently and should be approached as such. Some are able to fit into conventional structure, some aren’t, and some learn better without it altogether. Actually being able to see another person (let alone a classroom full of them) is not a particularly easy thing to do, and those who can do it (I’ve had the privilege of meeting a few) have my utmost respect and admiration.

Almost a year ago, I stumbled upon this article, which states that according to thousands of students who were polled on the matter, their most preferred substitute teacher would be Bono of U2.

Given the choice among Bono, journalist Katie Couric, former South Africa President and Nobel Peace Prize winner Nelson Mandela, Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor and Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, 26 percent chose Bono as the person they’d most like to see in the classroom as a substitute teacher.

When I first read the article I was a little bit surprised at the results, particularly given that Nelson Mandela was among the options. Of course, as a fan of U2, I would love to see what Bono could do in a classroom. Now, after over a year in an environment where I’ve been “teaching” in one way or another, I have an acute understanding of why Bono came out on top of that particular poll: not only is he a rock star and thus hip and interesting, but he knows the power of inspiration and how to use it, and inspiring students to learn should ultimately be every teacher’s bottom line. I once heard someone say that good teaching is 10% knowledge and 90% good theatre, and there’s really no need to wonder why that’s true. Passing on facts, figures and histories is all well and good, but those are not the things a student takes away from a class — a desire to learn lasts a lifetime while facts and figures can be lost the moment school is out.

Of course, all of this is to say a great big thank you to the inspiring teachers of the world who have the wisdom and vision to think outside the box and create life-long learners in the process — all these words don’t even come close to expressing the importance of what you do.

So, this evening I was left with little planned as a friend had to reschedule plans we’d made for another time. This was unfortunate, I thought, but it also left my night wide open to anything else that might come along. I’m a big fan of “anything else that might come along”, and so as I made supper I pondered the few things that I might most enjoy doing for the next few hours. While eating supper, I was chatting to another friend of mine who was in the thick of researching a paper on sonnets, and I noticed another one of Michael’s tweets about John Donne (he’s been reading a lot of Donne, evidently, and loving it), and at that point I decided to set about finding myself some sonnets, and perhaps some specifically written by Mr. Donne! “But wait!” I thought, “where would I best find these things?!”

I’ll give you two guesses.

Those of you who take notice of my Twitter feed at the bottom of the page needn’t bother guessing, of course, as it’s a dead giveaway.

Ah, you looked! Yes, that’s right — on my wide open Tuesday evening, I ended up tucked away on the fourth floor of the QEII, sitting on the floor between two mammoth book stacks, hanging out not only with Donne, but with Shakespeare, Spenser, and all other manner of dead English poets. My plan had been to find a relatively recent, comprehensive collection of Donne, but I got sucked into reading about his apparently distinct wit instead. After spending the better part of an hour perusing the myriad of books available, I ended up planting my behind right in front of a collection that not only looked to be relatively recent, but was also in paperback form, which I found oddly fortuitous (note: reading dead English poets will, inevitably, bring out words you’d forgotten were in your vocabulary — like fortuitous).

In my glee, I started to take in some of what that particular collection had to offer. I was stunned — why hadn’t I read more Donne before? This guy was absolutely amazing in so many ways! Yeesh. I felt at once angry at myself for not having sought him out before now (well, more than the little I had read), and at my educators for not having adequately communicated to me that he wrote so beautifully. I also felt, of course, an overwhelming sense of “hurrah! I’ve found this truly awe-inspiring poetry and lyric at last!”, and so the anger subsided pretty quickly.

I read through as much of the collection as I could without wanting to stick the book in my bag and take it home with me (because, of course, I forgot my library card in all the excitement), and I loved a lot of it. Some of it was a bit on the arduous side, but that’s to be expected from any serious writer, really. I did find one piece that actually brought tears to my eyes. To me, it’s the perfect expression of lovers parting ways, and it resonated so deeply and for so many reasons that my heart whispered, “Don’t you even think you’re getting away with not crying”.

The Expiration

SO, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,
Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away ;
Turn, thou ghost, that way, and let me turn this,
And let ourselves benight our happiest day.
We ask none leave to love ; nor will we owe
Any so cheap a death as saying, “Go.”

Go ; and if that word have not quite killed thee,
Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.
Or, if it have, let my word work on me,
And a just office on a murderer do.
Except it be too late, to kill me so,
Being double dead, going, and bidding, “Go.”

Trust that I will post again on Mr. Donne — he’s got my heart by the strings after that one, and there’s so much material that I could easily spend the next year posting on nothing but him. Next time, though: some sexy stuff, of which there is a treasure trove.

All that said, this is actually the first time I’ve written about it.

One wonders, I suppose, why I choose to write about it now.

This year’s festival, taking place in its usual spot (Bannerman Park), at its usual time (the first weekend in August), was actually quite unusual in many ways. Everything was a bit bigger this year, a bit more dramatic, and a bit more organized (well, to an extent). Scanning the seating situation on the field during the early part of the Sunday night session, I made a comment to my aunt (who is truly a festival veteran) that “this [was] the year that you couldn’t get away with being laissez-faire about the festival”. And it’s true — this year there was a big push on advance ticket sales both online and at the box office, and more than one session sold out completely, even though the standard boundaries had been widened to accommodate for a significant increase in attendance. On top of that, there were more tents, stages, and sessions; more security, volunteers, and staff; more food, beer, and more of all of the stuff that goes along with it. On one hand, this is all absolutely wonderful: the festival was a smashing success, and I’m sure they made a few truckloads more money than usual. The quality of talent this year was absolutely outstanding — I was blown away more times than I could have hoped. The teamwork on behalf of the organizers, volunteers and staff was (as always, but it’s worth mentioning) above and beyond. And yet, it wasn’t all as good as other years.

Well, why wouldn’t it be as good? Surely it was better than other years! Enh, not exactly.

This year’s festival was all about being more, and lost in that was the relaxed atmosphere of years gone by. I am hesitant to be critical of anything that means success for these folks, but I do wonder if there’s a “too big for your britches” phenomenon going on, here. I could almost feel the collision of the ideologies of the old guard of the festival, its founders and their goals with the new guard, its necessities and the pressures of being a small festival in a big world. I am willing to allow for some of this feeling coming from the pronounced awareness of these things that has come with my age and life experience; all the same, that it contributes to the feeling of anxiety I had throughout the weekend certainly says something about the shift that’s been happening over these last years toward being a true force of a festival.

The thing about this year’s festival that undoubtedly caused the most controversy and commotion was Friday night’s show and Hey Rosetta! having closed it out. A good part of why tickets for that particular session sold out was the formidable gravity of the young, hip, talented ensemble. While Hey Rosetta! are all of those things, I will unapologetically state my opinion that they are not Folk Festival material. Though the other acts that made up the Friday night line-up were clearly geared more toward a younger audience (Rose Cousins and Amelia Curran were definite draws as well), and Amelia Curran actually congratulated the festival committee on having such a rockin’ band close out the show, there were things that happened leading up to and during the Hey Rosetta! set that I am certain I’ve never seen or heard at the festival before.

Bravely, and perhaps brazenly, the organizers chose to sit A Crowd of Bold Sharemen immediately before Hey Rosetta!. By that time, of course, many of the younger members of the audience who’d bought tickets particularly to see Hey Rosetta! were gathering near the stage — standing, of course. During this time, I heard disrespectful comments yelled at the Sharemen, and a chorus of sitting audience members begin to chant, “Sit down! Sit down!” I happened to be sitting far enough back to see the band despite the standing contingent and as such was able to see it all happening. I’m aware that Jim Payne has quite the sets of pipes, but it seemed as if he was heaving his voice to the heavens with more conviction than usual that night. What I really wanted him to do was put down his foot and for Fergus O’Byrne to growl at everyone to stop being so foolish or he’d beat them clear into next week with his banjo. What actually happened after the Sharemen finished their set was a somewhat moot attempt by Anita Best and “the sight man” to push the standing crew back from the stage. About half way into the Hey Rosetta! set, I left — I hadn’t signed up for a rock concert, and I wasn’t up for one. Again, it’s not that Hey Rosetta! aren’t wickedly talented and awesome entertainers, I’m just not on board with an act that causes such a division in the audience (and ultimately, the first stage barrier I’d ever seen at the festival, too).

The HR! debacle included, this year’s festival should have been subtitled “Bringing out the Big Guns”. Between the entirety of Friday night, the reunions of Pat, Joe and Baxter and the Wonderful Grand Band, the return of several festival staples of yesteryear, and the theatrics that went on in the hosting of the main stage, I was dizzy by the end of the weekend. Normally, on Sunday night, the festival closes with a big bang and the audience is up on their feet, cheering for more. This Sunday night, after a bit of confusion over which bald guy with the glasses and a guitar is really Con O’Brien, and a sometime solid set from the newest incarnation of The Irish Descendants, it seemed as though everyone was too tired for an encore. Anita’s voice flailed through the Ode to Newfoundland, and everyone went home to bed. Uncharacteristically anti-climactic for this festival, the final night was pitch-perfect until about 10:30pm when it began losing steam quickly. To my mind, this might be attributed to the odd dichotomy of the laughably high-school fashion of The Navigator’s bassist and what can only be described as the rock’n'roll bodhran playing exhibited opposite him.

Now, now — have a sense of humour: people were tired. It was a sleepy night (that just made it funnier).

All humour aside, as I said earlier, there were a lot of wonderful things about this year’s go ’round, and I don’t mean to disparage that in any way. The afternoon sessions were grand, and I saw so many kids having fun over the course of the weekend that it really did make me wish I was 5 again. Most people attending were very respectful and kind (though this was also the first year I had someone tersely tell me to quiet down), and there is still a wonderful magic about the place on a starry night. I never worry about the quality of the performances (which get better every year), but what I do worry about is the loss of “the little festival that could”. I was leaning on a tree, watching people scurrying around to find places to put their chairs on Sunday night and I heard a man say to his friend as he walked by, “yeah, ya know, other festivals are so big, but this one’s so laid back. I love it”. Honest to goodness, I kid you not — it’s like he knew I was going to write this blog entry and he gave me the perfect punch line for it. He’s right — compared to other folk festivals, we’re really lucky to have one that still is both very amazing and yet very relaxed. In Newfoundland, it would be hard to have a festival that wasn’t those things really, seein’ who we are an’ all. This year though, I saw a glimpse of what could happen to the festival if someone doesn’t make it their job to really keep tabs on the amount of biggification going on, and let me tell you, it really scared me. I don’t want my children (when they come along, you know, sometime in that vast expanse we call the future) to ever remember a time when this festival didn’t exist for them, either.

Shoot me?

Um, no — please don’t! I need to live! …for the children! Will somebody please think of the children?!

All foolishness and Simpsons reference aside, this has been a pretty busy week. With two weddings and the Newfoundland and Labrador Folk Festival happening all weekend, it’s hard to slow down at all, never mind get the time to blog. Hopefully the breather I need will come tomorrow night, when I will attempt to fold all of my feelings and excitements about the Festival into one big entry (it’ll be a doozy, trust me).

On that note, I will say: I am unreasonably excited about David Francey’s set tonight. He’s SO GOOD live, and Craig Werth will be with him, which makes me even happier; the amount of talent and personality on stage will be flat-out amazing. It’ll ALMOST make up for having missed Pat and Joe Byrne and Baxter Wareham yesterday afternoon.

’til tomorrow, ladies and gents!

While having a blast blowing bubbles on the deck, the eldest of the two (she’s 7) comes up to me and says, “Hey Sara, did you know that I’m touching everything in the world?”

I reply, “That’s pretty amazing. How do you figure that?”

“Well, if I’m standing on the deck, the deck is touching the ground, and the ground touches everything else, then I must be touching everything!” she declared, proudly.

“Why, I believe you’re right!” I said, pretending I hadn’t known that to begin with.

“Yeah!” she said, smiling, and danced away to blow more bubbles.

In truth, her simple reminder that we do touch everything brought me a huge smile. This is why I find children to be positively enlightening company — they’ll brighten your day without ever knowing they’re doing it.

It’s a sexy something. Are we surprised? Enjoy, lovers!

click to enlarge

Funny that I find so many things to love on The Book Bench.

Anyway, what Fulton says about poetry is right in line with how I see it, being a bit of a poet myself. And here it is, for all to see!

How do you define poetry? What distinguishes it from prose?

Poetry emphasizes music, rhythm, reticence, multiplicity. These qualities, present in prose to varying degrees, are intensified in poetry, framed and underscored by the poetic line. The language of poetry is more distilled and oblique than the language of prose, which tends to be purposeful. A newspaper, for instance, is written to convey information efficiently. We don’t linger over news stories, reveling in the language, mesmerized by the unsaid. A poem, on the other hand, invites readers to fill in the blanks. It lives in the space between words. Like a joke or a koan, a poem can’t be explained. It has meaning, but it doesn’t have a “message;” its stratas are too vast and complex to be neatly summarized. There are unspoken implications at every turn; you have to intuit it, “get it.” It’s recursive, an infinite regress.

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2010/07/our-poets-on-their-poetry-alice-fulton.html#ixzz0v7mIHsw1

And that, my friends, is what she said.

And so, in no particular order, here are some thoughts on this and that — just because:

1. Those Facebook Recommended Pages sure do know how to share some penetrating wisdom! Many people who like Music, also like Friends; many people who like Love also like Life — gee, no shit, Sherlock.

2. There sure are a lot of songs on my iPod that include the word “one” in their title.

3. Sitting in a room with someone else, saying very little and being productive is a lovely way to spend time.

4. I have learned that the less walking I do, the less mentally stable I am; it’s done wonders for my figure and for my mind.

5. I bloody well love Helen Mirren.

6. I also love Paul Bettany.

7. I once read a romance novel: just one, and just once.

8. Writing with pen and paper is extremely satisfying.

9. Holding a live sea-urchin in your hand is truly amazing.

10. I aim not to underestimate those around me because, if you’re watching, you might just see the best show of your life.

The date: July 27th, 2010

The time: many different times

The place: my mind

The purpose: fun

The verdict: Sara’s to tired to be blogging, but she still loves you, she swears!