Idyl Mind

I hope you like the new look. It’s a positive statement. WordPress provided the picture at the very top and the template for this new approach, easier to read for all concerned.

The picture directly above was taken Saturday at jimiArt Gallery, 518 E. Monroe in cubist downtown Springfield. It’s the newest gallery in the city, and I HIGHLY recommend it. I’ve posted a picture of the owner at www.civag.com/artscalendar.htm — a friendly and arrestingly professional gentleman; a rare combination. If you visit, please tell him CIVAG sent you.

Saturday was a marathon. Worked on arts matters or engaged them from 9 a to 9 p. That’s a lot for me, especially on a Saturday. I’m catching up with matters aviational today. Had a fine time at Writers Bloc, visited RMD Gallery, jimiArt Gallery and Prairie Art Alliance, took pictures, attended the Vachel Lindsay Home State Historic Site Poetry in the Parlor event and was knocked out by a great presentation by Marge Deffenbaugh and spent the rest of the day working on arts web sites.

Subbed all day Friday at Southeast HS. Good classes in the main. I try to acknowledge and compliment obviously astute and focused students early into the period because it lets the others know I appreciate what really matters in class. Friday, the approach worked. Despite minimal lesson plans (translation NONE in print but a general direction shared during a brief phone call with the absent teacher), we got off to a good start and what I learned early applied nicely to subsequent classes. The point of sharing this preamble is to establish the context of the key moment of the day for me:

I asked each class, early on, if anyone wrote poems. A particularly bright young lady showed me her poetry notebook which she carries with her all the time, she said. It had page after page of excellent penmanship, cleanly written blank verse, most of it with amost no editing, words written over or crossed out. The nature of the assignment for that period precluded further poetry discussion. Also asked if anyone knew who Vachel Lindsay was. One student said he had attended Vachel Lindsay School in Springfield, but didn’t know who he was. READERS — WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT PICTURE? I told every class in a few sentences who he was and that his house is on Fifth Street, next to the Executive Mansion, and there was a special event there Saturday, starting at 2:30. I invited them to attend. (None did) Because several sturdents in one period showed interest in poetry, I recited Vachel’s Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight, introducing it by explaining the similarity between Vachel’s time with World War I and our time with the wars in Iraq and elsewhere. I also asked if anyone knew what “portentous” means, and since no one did, I explained that in a few sentences since that word is key to the poem. THREE LINES into my recitation, I encountered a first for my days as a sub teacher/reciter of poems: About five students — easily distracted boys — actually engaged each other across the room as though no adult was present. Almost 10, either appeared to read a book or draw or lay their head on their desks. And the rest (about six, mostly girls) paid attention to what I was reciting. Some teachers would have stopped reciting as soon as it the gross disregard for the poem became clear. I did not. Once into the poem, I considered it ESSENTIAL not to break character and flow of that poem. I felt that there was more than a poem to share. There was the importance of staying true to stated intention going into the recital and to show that toddler antics would not prevent me from sharing what I had decided to recite. And for a brief few minutes, I felt what Vachel must have felt about his relationship to Springfield, Illinois despite his best effort to make a life, a statement, the citizens considered worthy of their warm regard. It’s a feeling I harbor in my own soul. I understand the ethos of Vachel the poet. If you don’t know this city, you won’t understand what I’m about to say, but if you do know this town you will when I say I find this utterly lamentable disregard for the poet and those who recite his work to be as stark and ravingly maddening often at 506 S. Fifth Street as during that class at Southeast High.

Mercifully for everyone, the dismissal bell rang less than two seconds after the concluding words, “… and who will bring white peace/ that he may sleep upon his hill again?” The class slurried, like a fast-running stream of ice, old snow and dog urine, from my sight inside of 45 seconds.

Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

 

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