Category Archives: Sustainable Chaos

What’s Waiting on the Other Side of Turmoil?

–a Thanksgiving poem in a difficult time,
ending with a paraphrase of Julian of Norwich
which also contains a reference to Husker Du

 

What’s waiting on the other side of turmoil?
We can hope, but the ugly truth is we don’t know
if all will be well and every everything will be well.

We’re partial to our own peculiar ordeal.
Our depth of field’s so shallow it can’t show
what’s waiting on the other side of turmoil.

It’s hard to line up the practical with the theological.
Would Julian say, if she got her car stuck in the snow,
“all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well?”

I bet she sometimes just muttered “oh well.”
I bet she had her doubts a mothering God controlled
what’s waiting on the other side of turmoil,

the gruesome news, the shit at work, the hell
through which we make each other go and go and go.
If all will be well and every everything will be well,

the obvious question is when? Does anyone know?
Could one tiny seed of calm actually grow?
What’s waiting on the other side of turmoil?
When will all be well? Will every everything be well?

_____

It does seem to me the setting on turmoil is turned way up lately.  But this Thanksgiving I am trying to nurture little seeds of calm where I can.

vanessa20130506-0650

Vanessa Quivertail when she was a baby kitteh.

 

 

Translated into Chinese!!!!!!

I was wrong about which blog post it was, but I’m STILL freaking excited that my colleague at UW-Richland, Faye Peng, translated some of my writing into Chinese!

It’s the post previous to this, “Here’s What It’s Like” (which is, as of this moment, up to 228 views).

She didn’t translate the whole thing so I’ll just say that I know budget cuts aren’t really like the things I described. Oh–also–not sure how the movie references play in translation–there are references to The Titanic (which I’ve never actually seen), Seven (which I have seen), and Sophie’s Choice (which I’ve seen a LOT).

Here’s how I was wrong. I first thought that my found poem using all direct quotes from the amazing TV show The Wire), “Contemplating the Declining Percentage of Investment in Higher Education and in Particular Legislators and Governors who Nevertheless Cheer Hard for their Sports Teams, While Also Mulling the Curious Maneuvers of University Leadership that May or May Not Yield Good Results for Those of Us in the Trenches, So to Speak,”  had been translated into Chinese.

_____

 

威斯康星大学预算削减的痛

这种疼就像,
他举起手,
你以为他要说“停下”,
但是他挥拳打向你;

对终身教授,
这种痛就像,
你坐在救生艇上,
你看着其他人被淹没,
你可以紧闭双眼,
你可以捂住你的双耳,
可是他们正在被淹没;

这种痛就像,
你抱着孩子逃离火车,
可是你不得不决定,
你救哪一个孩子,
放弃哪一个孩子;

这种痛就像,
你面对系列杀人犯,
他让你决定从你身上的哪一个部位切下血肉
[发怒][发怒][发怒][大哭][大哭][大哭]

Here’s What It’s Like: UW System Cuts

Here’s what it’s like. You thought he was raising his hand to say “stop” but he hit you instead.

Here’s what it’s like to be a tenured UW System faculty member right now. You’re in a lifeboat. Other people are drowning. You can close your eyes. You can cover your ears. But they’re still drowning.

Here’s what it’s like. You get off the train holding your children’s hands. You’re forced to choose which one lives and which one dies.

Here’s what it’s like. A serial killer makes you choose which pound of flesh you will cut out of yourself.

It’s not really like that, of course. No one’s dying. There’s not physical violence.

Moreover, I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child or be left alive when someone else drowns (though I read Ordinary People about six hundred times when I was 13).   I do know what it’s like to be hit–one time I thought a man was raising his hand to motion “shush,” but he punched me instead (Carbondale, Halloween). I have no experience with serial killers.  So–sorry if I’m seeming melodramatic.

But the proposed cuts to the UW System?  And my institution’s range of possible responses?

It feels awful.

Here’s what it’s really like.

The street in front of my house is torn up right now because the village is putting in storm drains and widening the street a bit. Trees were cut down last fall. It’s ugly right now, and it will never again be as pretty as it was, with the canopy of mature sugar maples making the entrance to downtown Spring Green the very picture of “small-town tree-lined street.” If that’s part of what you loved about the Spring Green Art Fair—sorry. No more. At least not on my end of the street. I’m skeptical whether all the trees really needed to come down, because the people in charge of projects like this don’t seem to have the same feelings and beliefs I do when I comes to trees. Nonetheless, we’ve been told the replacement trees will be native (smallish—not full-sized sugar maples, but still native—and especially NOT suburban-looking ornamental pseudo-trees). Overall, I’m o.k. with what’s going on. Storm drains will be FANTASTIC. No more navigating lakes and frozen lakes and partially frozen lakes to get the mail or get in and out of a car at the curb.

But what if I found out all the destruction, all the tree demolition, was for no good reason? What if the trees were needed only because someone had a jones to show off their wood chipper? What if I found out that there’s no longer a plan to re-pave it all?  Or there’s a plan to pave it lightly, right on top, with no foundation below? What if the whole street were getting demolished simply to provide dirt for a big hole somewhere else?

I would feel like I feel right now about the UW System.

Angry. Distraught. Relatively hopeless and helpless.

The UW Colleges is facing cuts that I think we cannot survive.

Here’s the worst part at the moment—our institution is going implement massive changes soon because we can’t afford not to, just in case the cuts are as bad as Governor Walker’s budget requested. Or, even if they’re not THAT bad, even if they’re half as bad. We’re still implementing cuts.

The specifics of it are not firm yet, but it will be ugly and awful and bad no matter what.

And once you’ve cut those trees down, well–it will never be the same.

I have a lot of respect for local legislators. Howard Marklein and Ed Brooks came to my campus and listened to us, and I know they’re trying to do what they can.  I was impressed with both of them.

There’s talk of holding the UW Colleges harmless in the cuts, and while that might mean we actually live to fight another day, it also feels awful. (I mean—we kind of all know that Jan died, too. And this feels so much like Scott Walker’s tried-and-true method of divide and conquer—we’re like rats in a tub fighting over baubles and moldered scraps.)

I just don't want to be the very last rat on the sinking ship.

I just don’t want to be the very last rat on the sinking ship.

But however much respect I have for my local legislators–that budget hole they’re filling? Their party created it. They’re fine with tax breaks the state couldn’t afford. They’re fine with refusing to take federal money for Medicaid. They won’t do what Minnesota has done.

Here’s what it’s like. Have you ever had a nightmare where someone bad is chasing you and you’re so freaked out you just fall down and think “just kill me. Kill me now.”

It’s not like that, not really. I’m awake, for one thing. But part of me wants to fall down and say “Just do it. Close my campus now.”

We’re supposed to feel good, apparently, about the fact that closing a campus isn’t on the table or in the plans.

But if you were to cut down trees and tear up a street and dig giant holes and abandon any pretense of putting in pipes or repaving it at some point—who would want to drive there? Who would want to live there? Who would hold an art fair there, if there were any other street available?

And if you cut my campus so much that it’s just a shell, who would want to go to school there? Who would want to work there?
_____

For an ongoingly good voice about all this, check out Chuck Rybak’s blog.

_____
Posting this while I eat lunch, btw. It’s a really good lunch.

_____

Maybe I’m wrong about how awful it’ll be.

I don't want to look.

I don’t want to look.

Daylight Savings and Loan

They say you get the hour back in the fall
but it’s so old by then you’ll hardly know
it’s yours. Remember when your postpartum ghost
convinced you that you’d been sent home, arms full
of someone else’s baby? That wasn’t true.
Come fall, don’t fret that time. Just sleep right through.
But what if we got to pick which hour to lose?
The wasted hour? The bad phone call? (To choose–
as if we could control the clock–but wait–we do.)
What interest would that time have then accrued?
Would we regret the moment and the choice?
Would we learn how badly our intentions screw things up?
Yes, and yet–we want to scream it–Cease! Desist!
to our mistakes, to family, friends, and also, yes,
to the officer who shot to kill and not to stop.

—–
I feel the need to say this very carefully.

Another young black man has been shot and killed by the police. There are peaceful protests planned.

I am praying today for the family and for the city of Madison.

I can say, carefully and logically, that I am not anti-police, that I truly appreciate how they put themselves in harm’s way so many times to protect the people they serve.  I understand, logically, and legally, that a police officer can have just cause for shooting. But as much as I believe those sentences, I also know I  write them from a position of middle-class white privilege, so I almost wanted not to write this paragraph at all.

What is more important to say, for me to say, is that the reason police keep NOT getting the benefit of the doubt is because of persistent racism.  That’s what they just found in studying Ferguson.  And there are ongoing conversations about the problems in Madison related to race.  This latest round of talks was sparked by a special editorial by Rev. Alex Gee in the Cap Times called “Justified Anger.”

I find that editorial thoughtful and disturbing. It should disturb me. It should move me to act, but I don’t always know how to act. Or when.

I might not know what to do, but I did know one thing not to do.

I’ve been thinking about Daylight Saving Time, which I hate, and I’m working on some flash fiction about it, and the first two lines of the above poem occurred to me yesterday, and as I began writing it, I wanted it to to be a mildly thoughtful but mostly silly poem about the urge to mess with time, to stop time, to take things out of time.

But what would that mean, to write a mostly silly poem when once again another young black man is dead at the hands of the police, and this time, really close to home? I couldn’t do it.

It’s not much, but I made this poem and this post not totally about me and my silly thoughts.

Of all the recent hours I’d like to lose, I’d like to lose the one where Anthony Robinson died.

Tony Robinson, in a picture from his mother's phone.

Tony Robinson, in a picture from his mother’s phone.

“Feedback is what happens second” Part I

Gearing up for spring semester begins late in fall semester for me. That’s a practical matter–if I waited until the fall semester was over to gear up for spring, I’d be behind schedule immediately. It’s more than a practical matter, though. There comes a time in every semester, the deepest, darkest time (which in fall corresponds with shorter days and longer nights) of a semester, when it’s easier to see what’s not working rather than what is working.

One of my ongoing goals as a teacher is to return student work faster. I struggle with it for a number of reasons:

  • I don’t like delivering bad news. I absolutely love sitting down with students and providing feedback on drafts and revisions, but at that point, the possibilities for success are still wide open. With a final draft, some doors are shut. I’ve wondered if switching to a portfolio system would help me here because of how much I enjoy giving feedback early in the process.
  • I’m a master procrastinator when faced with unpleasant tasks.
  • There isn’t a clear deadline for when student work has to be returned except in terms of when they need to turn in the next assignment, or at the very end of the semester. This is one reason I think a portfolio system might work better–I’d be grading final drafts at the end of the semester when the deadlines are very firm and real.

I’m not saying these are GOOD reasons, but they’re reasons I’ve discovered.  I just realized earlier this month that I’m always slower about returning student work in spring semester & one reason for that is probably because I tend to have more problems with anxiety and depression in the spring (ironic, because I love light and love when the days begin to grow longer). I discovered it because I keep track of when student work comes in and when I return it (I call it TIR for turned-in-returned rate) on a spreadsheet & I have numbers going back several years. The good news is that overall, I’m doing much better than I used to. The bad news is that my numbers have gotten ugly the last couple of spring semesters….

Anyway, I’ve decided that I’m going to try something I’ve never tried in relation to solving this problem. (Other things I continue to do: keeping track, rewarding myself if I meet my goals at different points in the semester, reporting to someone on how I’m doing–which is what I was doing earlier this month when I discovered the WORSE IN SPRING PATTERN.  I was putting my numbers in my yearly activity report.)

I’m problematizing the problem. I’m going to do research first, on feedback, and see what the research says.  That’s where I am right now, and at least at the moment, my plan is to report on the research at different points in the semester.

I know it’s important–feedback is the thing that an instructor can do in a real class that an instructor can’t do in a MOOC, and however good AI gets, it still seems to me we’re a long way away from computers being able to give good feedback to writers on much beyond sentence complexity, vocabulary, spelling, and some grammar. Feedback is what makes instructors invaluable.

The first article I’m tackling is called “The Power of Feedback” and it’s by John Hattie and Helen Temperly at the University of Auckland.

One of the first quotes that struck me in the article was this one, “Feedback has no effect in a vacuum; to be powerful in its effect, there must be a learning context to which feedback is addressed.”  That’s why they say “feedback is what happens second.”  Instruction has to happen first.  When I read this quote I thought immediately of my discomfort when a student in creative writing asks me for feedback on something they wrote before the class.  I tell them it feels weird because I don’t know what they were trying for, whereas if they wrote in response to an assignment, I know what they were supposed to be trying to do.

I appreciate Hattie & Temperley’s article for their definitions & clarifications, among other things.  Here’s one:  “The claim is made that the main purpose of feedback is to reduce discrepancies between current understandings and performance and a goal. ” To me this emphasizes the importance of backward design–if my students and I don’t know what our goals are, I just don’t stand a chance of providing effective feedback.

These three questions seem so crucial: “Effective feedback must answer three major questions asked by a teacher and/or by a student: Where am I going? (What are the goals?), How am I going? (What progress is being made toward the goal?), and Where to next? (What activities need to be undertaken to make better progress?)”

I particularly appreciate the emphasis on the role students play in the feedback process. Here’s the good news:  it’s not a passive role. Here are some things students can do. They can

  • “increase their effort, particularly when the effort leads to tackling more challenging tasks or appreciating higher quality experiences rather than just doing ‘more.'”
  • “develop effective error detection skills, which lead to their own self-feedback aimed at reaching a goal.”
  • “seek better strategies to complete the task or be taught them, or they can obtain more information.”

So I dived into this article hoping for motivation for returning student work faster, and it does address that several pages in, and I’ll get to that as I post on the topic, but for now, it’s met a goal I didn’t even realize I had–get me pumped up about a new semester.

What can I do with this enthusiasm? Lots.  “Teachers can also assist by clarifying goals, enhancing commitment or increased effort to reaching them through feedback….More generally, teachers can create a learning environment in which students develop self-regulation and error detection skills.”

I need to model self-assessment and self-regulation by setting goals, monitoring them, and then making adjustments (all processes discussed in the article, but also widely discussed any time metacognition comes up).

So my goal for returning student work in terms of promptness is this.  By the end of Week 5, I want my overall average to be below 7 days, and the average for longer assignments to be below 10 days, but I want the standard deviation to be 2.0 or lower–this past fall my averages met those goals, but the standard deviation was too high (I was still keeping some longer assignments wayyyyyyy too long).

a little poem I wrote with big feelings

a little poem I wrote with big feelings

Beyond that, I’m setting some goals on the quality of feedback. I want to set the questions and good points from “The Power of Feedback” in front of myself as I start to communicate with students about their work, which I’m less than a week away from (classes start on Monday and the first assignments come in next Friday–sooner, since some students will want me to look at rough drafts, more than likely).

My plan is to report on my turned-in-returned rate after Week 5, or sooner, and I’ll also write more about this article & others I’ve found and will find.

Meanwhile–it’s back to finishing up syllabi & schedules for next week!

 

Deadline: Epiphany

“Traditionally it is bad luck to keep your Christmas Decorations up beyond Twelfth Night – the last of the 12 Days of Christmas.” Plymouth Herald

Some years I can’t wait for the tree
to come down. I want it up
the day after Thanksgiving and then
everything put away before New Year’s.

My friend Bellamy left hers up
through Valentine’s. Probably more than once.
A real tree—brown by the time
she got it out to the curb.

But this year I’ve wanted Christmas
to last a little longer, for the event
part of Advent not to be here quite yet.
I’m not sure why. I had good holidays,

a nearly perfect mix of quiet and fun.
Maybe that’s why. Of course that’s why.
I’ve brought out other candles to use
because it’s still dark so early in the day.

It’s still cold. I’m still longing
for something to happen and yet not
wanting anything to change.
Waiting for the wise gifts to come.

Just a few of the non-holiday candles I've dug out.  On a clean stove!

Just a few of the non-holiday candles I’ve dug out. On a clean stove!

(I actually also think one of the reasons I’m not ready to be done with the season is that I love, love, love Aimee Mann’s One More Drifter in the Snow. I’m not ready to stop listening to it. So I won’t.)

Gathering it up to put it away. NOTE THE HOLY BLATZ TRAY we use for the advent candles.

Gathering it up to put it away. NOTE THE HOLY BLATZ TRAY we use for the advent candles.

Tin Whiskers

“Tin whiskers are easy to miss, thinner than a human hair. They look like metal fuzz. They grow — for reasons scientists don’t understand — from plated tin surfaces, millimeter by millimeter. And if they bridge two closely spaced circuits, tin whiskers can cause a short.” Todd C. Frankel, “A Carbondale professor, runaway Toyotas and the hunt for ‘tin whiskers'”

1 (a found poem, from the same article)
“None of this happens if David Gilbert keeps his Ford
F-150 truck. Not the threats to his job
as a professor at Southern Illinois University Carbondale.
Not the corporate intimidation. He never would have
testified before Congress. And he never would have met
those NASA scientists, the ones who ended up
naming an electrical effect after him. As a gift,
they gave him the black NASA coffee mug
sitting on his desk — the one he’s sipping from
right now. The mug reads, ‘If it’s not safe, say so.’”

2
But he traded in his truck for a Toyota.
This is when they were crashing, speeding up,
Toyotas were, getting recalled. He was a curious,
and tenured professor, and had an automotive
lab, so he hooked his truck up to a machine
(it looks like steam punk in my brain, with gears
and cogs and whistles and clocks) and caused an error
the truck’s computer missed, again and again.
Here’s the movie he’s the hero of—
Big bad Toyota tried to trash his name.
My alma mater tried to stop his work.
He just kept telling the truth. It’s almost like
some people have tin whiskers inside of them.
Inside of him, a regard for truth, almost like love.

_____

I like to read the online versions of newspapers from places I’ve lived in the past, or places I’m interested in. Thus, on any given day, I might check out The Missoulian (oh! those years in Montana!) or The Southern Illinoisan (the place names alone are worth it), and though I never lived in St. Louis, I spent a fair bit of time there. The article referenced above was in the St. Louis Post Dispatch online, written by Todd C. Frankel, who now writes for the Washington Post.

It’s a well-written article, a complex and compelling story.

It speaks to so many things, including the enduring value of tenure.

So, bravo, Mr. Frankel, and yay for Professor Gilbert, who really does strike me as a hero.

All the Ramones are dead and I am old.

All the Ramones are dead and I am old.
Can you guess which of those two items made the news?
My bottle rocket’s grounded, ashed over and cold,

not hot like when I aimed it at a friend,
both of us drunk, young wildness on the loose.
All the Ramones are dead and I am old

enough to have liked them before they were old,
when they were hot, when they were cool,
not like a bottle rocket on the ground, ashed over and cold,

but cool like benzodiazepines. All my bold
endeavors seem dangerous now. I’m blue.
All the Ramones are dead and I am old.

One time a friend dressed up as Joey Ramone,
but he looked like Emo Phillips, to tell the truth.
My bottle rocket’s grounded, ashed over and cold,

but I might have a little firepower left in my head.
I’m anxious to figure out what I can do
because the Ramones are dead and I am old,
with only a bottle rocket, ashed over and cold.

The Noble Gases (continued)

1
No wonder I can never remember all eight—
there are only six. I have a place mat
with the periodic table of the elements on it—
I guess it’s time to get it out again.
The ones I never forget are neon
and radon—bar signs and killers in the basement.
I usually remember Superman’s Achille’s heel,
thus krypton, and if I think of Jason, I might
think of Argonauts and thus argon, but
usually I don’t. Almost never will
I think of helium, the most famous one,
the silly voice, the birthday balloon,
the one that can overfill your lungs
and kill you, leeching all your oxygen.

2
There are so many things I can’t remember
all at once. Did I lock the door or not?
Trying to cover up for a name I forgot,
I always introduced myself to my friend’s mother.
I wanted her to say her name back to me.
She never did, but one time said through her teeth,
“I know who you are, god damn it.”
I know her name now, but she’s dead. I don’t need it.
I forget whole poems I’ve written. And other names,
of course, of people I ought to know, and students,
within weeks (or days) of turning in final grades.
I forgot how to start the Lord’s Prayer more than once.
My father’s early Alzheimer’s makes this shit
fraught so I try to console myself with lists.

3
The boys sat in the back, playing chess in their heads.
My friend Beckie and I decided we had too many plots
of Gilligan’s Island in our bright enough heads
to do what they did, several turns in before someone forgot
where some piece was and they argued and then they were done.
I rear-ended a Jeep that same trip, having forgotten
to keep far enough back, forgetting to count
one thousand one, one thousand—ouch.

The noble gases are noble because they’re inert,
unchanging, unlike those brains with the tangles and plaques.
And which noble gas is it inside a laser can fix your eyesight?
Which one makes the IMAX movies so bright?
It’s xenon, which, until a friend pointed it out,
I’d forgotten. I can never remember what all I lack.

With thanks to Max Garland,

and Beckie Hendrick,

and John Heasley (who did remember xenon)

photo (1)

Image

The Noble Gases

for Max Garland

No wonder I can never remember all eight—
there are only six. I have a placemat
with the periodic table of the elements on it—
I guess it’s time to get it out again.
The ones I never forget are neon
and radon—bar signs and killers in the basement.
I usually remember Superman’s Achille’s heel,
thus krypton, and if I think of Jason, I might
think of Argonauts and thus argon, but
usually I don’t. Almost never will
I think of helium, the most famous one,
the silly voice, the birthday balloon,
the one that can overfill your lungs
and kill you, leeching all your oxygen.

____
Working on part 2 and 3 of this poem–will post more soon.

What a pleasure it was to hear Max Garland read at the Aldo Leopold Center on an absolutely perfect Wisconsin summer night. I always enjoy his poems and he spoke so earnestly and well about the importance of art, of making it and supporting it, I found I had tears in my eyes a bunch of times.

Here’s a photo I took as I resisted the mingling part of the evening–I couldn’t bear to be inside on such a gorgeous night.

The Aldo Leopold Center outside Baraboo.

The Aldo Leopold Center outside Baraboo.

This poem came in response to his poem “Hydrogen,” which is available through the Western Kentucky University English Department website.

_____

I have fond memories of WKU, where I once participated in a marathon poetry reading. We read forever there. We might still be reading there.

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