20130916.1636

I have not kept abreast of developments.
I do not know
Of football scandals
Or shootings on bases
Or imminent war,
At least not as much as I should.
It is a failing in some ways,
An artifact of my living in the literature of the past
And of immersing myself in the work I do
Teaching
And doing the reading and research upon which teaching depends--
As well as the grading that seemingly inevitably results.

(I am not sure why it is
That grading papers takes up most of my on-the-job time.
Is it really the case that marking papers
Is the most important part of teaching?
The recent and ongoing drive
Towards assessment as the end-goal of "education"
Implies that it is so,
Yet the more assessment that happens,
The more complaints that
Children are not learning and
College is a waste of money
Are voiced.
Am I a fool to think there might be causation between the two,
Or is my folly of another sort altogether?)

It is a thing to which I return,
The development and maintenance of ethos,
Of my authority to speak with authority.
If I am going to critique the writing of others,
I must be,
If not above critique
(For no one is;
Shakespeare could have written better
By having Romeo and Juliet
Kill themselves in Act I
And letting Mercutio live),
In a position to make the critique damned hard to carry out.
If I am going to work
To get the students to expand their minds,
My own must be open wide,
And it is difficult to stretch so far
When constrained by the demands of my position.

(Note that I do not complain of having the work to do.
I am glad to have the job I have.
That does not mean it is perfect.
It does not mean that things could not be better.
And it does not mean that I cannot voice my objections.
We do not fault the ditch-digger, the roof-maker, or the wall-builder
For bemoaning an aching back
Or the hot summer sun.)

The only thing to do is more,
And there is always more to do.
It is a throne in the ivory tower
In the seat of which a tack is set
Point up,
And I flopped into it.