Which poem has the best title? Which poem has the best first line?
Defend your answer in 2-3 sentences. Sign your name.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A Marriage That is Good Enough
Read the following essay. Do you agree with Colbert's notion of marriage? Is it okay to settle? What do you think makes a good marriage?
A Marriage That's Good Enough
by Corinne Colbert
June 4, 2007
Newsletter writer Corinne Colbert lives with her family in Athens, Ohio. She is also president of her local parent-teacher association, through which she often talks with other mothers about their expectations of themselves and their marriages.
June 4, 2007
My husband is not my best friend. He doesn't complete me. In fact, he can be a self-absorbed jerk. We're nearly polar opposites: He's a lifetime member of the NRA who doesn't care for journalists, and I'm a lifelong liberal with a journalism degree. On the other hand, he doesn't beat or emotionally abuse me. He doesn't drink or chase other women. He's a good provider. So I'm sticking with him.
Some people would call that "settling," like it's a bad thing. But I believe in settling.
The Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines "to settle" as "to place in a desired state or order; to quiet, calm or bring to rest; to make stable." In short, it means that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Alas, too many of us buy into a different adage: that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. From movies to magazines to commercials, we're told we should demand more from lives that are, for many of us, pretty good. We're supposed to look better, eat better, find better jobs, be better lovers and parents and workers. A stable marriage isn't enough; it's supposed to be a fairy tale. Perfection is the goal.
But at what cost? Would I really be any happier if I took up yoga and ate more soy? If my spouse wasn't just my partner, but also was my soul mate? I doubt it.
Settling, in my sense, is about acceptance. I'm a pretty happy person, in large part because I'm honest with myself about what I have. My body isn't bikini-worthy, but it's healthy. I'll never write for Rolling Stone as I once dreamed, but I am making a living as a writer. I yell at my sons and let them play too much GameCube, but I'm still a good mom.
Of course, some situations are worth improving. If your weight jeopardizes your health, exercise and change your eating habits. If your job makes you truly miserable, find a new one. If your marriage is toxic, end it. Chances are, though, you probably have what you need: a roof over your head, food on the table, a job that pays the bills, and family and friends. If you're unhappy, ask yourself: Am I unhappy because I really don't have what I need, or because I just want more?
So, yes, I'm settling. Sure, I wish my husband would kiss me more often, tell me he loves me every day, and get as excited about my accomplishments as I do. Emptying the dishwasher without being asked and giving me unsolicited foot massages wouldn't hurt, either.
All that would be nice, but it's not necessary. I'm happy with my husband who, despite his flaws, is a caring father, capable of acts of stunning generosity and fiercely protective of his family. Thinking about him may not set me on fire as it used to, but after 17 years and two kids, our love is still warm. And I believe that's good enough.
Independently produced for All Things Considered by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with Viki Merrick.
A Marriage That's Good Enough
by Corinne Colbert
June 4, 2007
Newsletter writer Corinne Colbert lives with her family in Athens, Ohio. She is also president of her local parent-teacher association, through which she often talks with other mothers about their expectations of themselves and their marriages.
June 4, 2007
My husband is not my best friend. He doesn't complete me. In fact, he can be a self-absorbed jerk. We're nearly polar opposites: He's a lifetime member of the NRA who doesn't care for journalists, and I'm a lifelong liberal with a journalism degree. On the other hand, he doesn't beat or emotionally abuse me. He doesn't drink or chase other women. He's a good provider. So I'm sticking with him.
Some people would call that "settling," like it's a bad thing. But I believe in settling.
The Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines "to settle" as "to place in a desired state or order; to quiet, calm or bring to rest; to make stable." In short, it means that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Alas, too many of us buy into a different adage: that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. From movies to magazines to commercials, we're told we should demand more from lives that are, for many of us, pretty good. We're supposed to look better, eat better, find better jobs, be better lovers and parents and workers. A stable marriage isn't enough; it's supposed to be a fairy tale. Perfection is the goal.
But at what cost? Would I really be any happier if I took up yoga and ate more soy? If my spouse wasn't just my partner, but also was my soul mate? I doubt it.
Settling, in my sense, is about acceptance. I'm a pretty happy person, in large part because I'm honest with myself about what I have. My body isn't bikini-worthy, but it's healthy. I'll never write for Rolling Stone as I once dreamed, but I am making a living as a writer. I yell at my sons and let them play too much GameCube, but I'm still a good mom.
Of course, some situations are worth improving. If your weight jeopardizes your health, exercise and change your eating habits. If your job makes you truly miserable, find a new one. If your marriage is toxic, end it. Chances are, though, you probably have what you need: a roof over your head, food on the table, a job that pays the bills, and family and friends. If you're unhappy, ask yourself: Am I unhappy because I really don't have what I need, or because I just want more?
So, yes, I'm settling. Sure, I wish my husband would kiss me more often, tell me he loves me every day, and get as excited about my accomplishments as I do. Emptying the dishwasher without being asked and giving me unsolicited foot massages wouldn't hurt, either.
All that would be nice, but it's not necessary. I'm happy with my husband who, despite his flaws, is a caring father, capable of acts of stunning generosity and fiercely protective of his family. Thinking about him may not set me on fire as it used to, but after 17 years and two kids, our love is still warm. And I believe that's good enough.
Independently produced for All Things Considered by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with Viki Merrick.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Line Break Exercise
Copy and paste Willie Perdomo's poem "Funeral" into Microsoft Word.
You will then play with the line breaks, the stanzas, and the punctuation to create different versions of the same poem.
Version #1
Break the poem up into five stanzas.
You choose how long or short you want the lines to be.
Version #2
Break the poem up into one long stanza with short short lines (two or three words per line).
Remove all punctuation and capitalization
Version #3
Break the poem up into as many stanzas as you want using any combination of short and long lines.
Feel free to maintain punctuation or remove it.
Do not feel confined to the left margin, but do not center the poem.
Questions:
Which version (other than the original) best captures the spirit of the poem? Be prepared to defend your answer. Think about how the story unfolds and how the line breaks can work to make the reader stop on certain points or move quickly through a section.
It was the first time I saw Edwin wearing a suit. It was the first time I saw Chino cry. Set up by his right hand man, they found Ed in his Cherokee on a Washington, D.C. street, smoke coming out of every hole in his body. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I realized I went to more funerals than parties this summer. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I saw Edwin Jr. running around the lobby, asking us why we were looking at his father sleep. I think about El Barrio summers: Ed’s a cop and I’m a robber. Money was something you asked an old time hustler for so you could go to the movies on Sunday. It wasn’t suppose to kill you. We ran through the streets like there were no red lights. I asked God to look out for all of us—dead and alive. I walked home alone, refusing to get high, and I thought how if you looked close enough, you could see a hole on Ed’s forehead. I walked home alone, refusing to get high, thinking how my death will just be another reason why my boys will pour beer on the street before they drink.
You will then play with the line breaks, the stanzas, and the punctuation to create different versions of the same poem.
Version #1
Break the poem up into five stanzas.
You choose how long or short you want the lines to be.
Version #2
Break the poem up into one long stanza with short short lines (two or three words per line).
Remove all punctuation and capitalization
Version #3
Break the poem up into as many stanzas as you want using any combination of short and long lines.
Feel free to maintain punctuation or remove it.
Do not feel confined to the left margin, but do not center the poem.
Questions:
Which version (other than the original) best captures the spirit of the poem? Be prepared to defend your answer. Think about how the story unfolds and how the line breaks can work to make the reader stop on certain points or move quickly through a section.
It was the first time I saw Edwin wearing a suit. It was the first time I saw Chino cry. Set up by his right hand man, they found Ed in his Cherokee on a Washington, D.C. street, smoke coming out of every hole in his body. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I realized I went to more funerals than parties this summer. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I saw Edwin Jr. running around the lobby, asking us why we were looking at his father sleep. I think about El Barrio summers: Ed’s a cop and I’m a robber. Money was something you asked an old time hustler for so you could go to the movies on Sunday. It wasn’t suppose to kill you. We ran through the streets like there were no red lights. I asked God to look out for all of us—dead and alive. I walked home alone, refusing to get high, and I thought how if you looked close enough, you could see a hole on Ed’s forehead. I walked home alone, refusing to get high, thinking how my death will just be another reason why my boys will pour beer on the street before they drink.
Defend Your Pick of the Week
What makes your choice the best? Defend your answer, looking at at least three specific details of the poem: the imagery, the content, the diction (word choice), the line breaks, stanzas, etc. What is your favorite line of the poem? Why do you like it the best? Why should I include it on the syllabus for future students to read?
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