Poetry: A Map to Remembrance

Some people have songs mysteriously sneak into their minds and run on repeat. For me it’s poetry.  Years ago, when my dad was dying, I walked away and found a quiet spot to write. I remember wanting to jot down my own words, but all my pen would say was “Do not go gentle into that good night” over and over again. Last week, after my husband ate the Chick-fil-A nuggets I was saving for my daughter’s lunch the next day, I sent him a version of William Carlos Williams’ poem, “This Is Just to Say,” to pass along to her. 

I have eaten
the Chick-fil-A nuggets
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for lunch

Forgive me
they were delicious
so satisfying
even cold

A few days ago, when I actually made it to church, the poinsettias made me uncomfortable. Suddenly, I understood Sylvia Plath’s line, “The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.” I only wanted to sit “with my hands turned up and be utterly empty,” but the poinsettias were making too much noise. 

Subsequently, yesterday at the mall, in the midst of the holiday hustle and bustle, William Wordsworth’s poem rang through my head like sleigh bells: 

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

How very true. Not that I am a smug, anti-commercialism snob.  I mean, I was in the midst as well.  I was getting and spending as well, but I felt like an imposter playing a part without a script, navigating the seamlessly endless choices, truly dictated by my pocketbook and pressure to get something, just one more gift. Where were my powers? Had I given my heart away? 

When “the world is too much with us,” what can we do?  How do we quiet the noise, slide Atlas off our shoulders, and ever so slightly put down the juggling balls one … by … one?  

I don’t know.

To tell you the truth, I’ve already dropped a few balls. I should have contacted a few students’ parents earlier in the year. I’ve been ignoring my principal’s request for a formal pre-evaluation meeting. “This Is Just to Say” that the end of the semester is survival mode. Dragging some of my high school seniors closer to the finish line can be exhausting. Triple checking my gradebook to make sure I’ve properly evaluated them, that my evidence-based grading is authentic and valid, requires a lot of mental power.  I am still learning the ways of nontraditional grading.