Being OK

Bloody Yoda

I have a PGCE, a teacher training qualification. It was unexpectedly really hard. I scraped through though. It was a couple of years ago now but I won’t forget my tutor, he was Canadian, a buddhist doctor and told me

“you could be very good, but do you really need to be?”

What did he mean by THAT? He was known for his Yoda like pronouncements. He also said I was “All spicy meat but no rice” … EXCUSE ME?

Suddenly the trippy-ness of learning to teach revealed itself to me, delighted I said to him,

“its like I’m learning to get what is in your head into my head so I can get it into someone else’s head” (maaan)

He looked at me sagely, “you got it sister… now tell everyone”.

Thinking back the conversation sounds like a couple of pot head students at a party, but I assure you it was quite a revelation.

You can just tell people things, but do they take it in? Have I been seduced by the spice and sparkle but failed to receive the staple to feel really satisfied?

I’m thinking about that today. I had a conversation with some poet friends about whether poetry should be easy to access or was it OK for it to be difficult? The conversation with my Yoda Teacher came to mind. However spicy or meaty, put some rice, potatoes or bread with it. Don’t let your poetry float off into the ether. Also – don’t serve stodge, however comforting it is… too much is not good for you. And then I thought back to his words…

“you could be very good, but do you really need to be?” In fact – his sentence finished …

“perhaps just being OK is … OK?” and he looked me right in the eyes as he said that.

Hmmm bloody Yoda. Anyway … I scraped a pass… that showed him!

Here Is a Useful Link:

This is Prac Crit. It is an excellent Blog Site to learn to sharpen your close reading skills.

Edition Six

and here is a poem… about being OK.

Astrology

 

Jupiter has undone me
with his love of chaos,
horologists will decapitate, rip up clocks
into a conjunction of tatters.
I stood with my blood at the meridian,
watching light bounce from Thames to tea clipper.
At the last transit a leaf fell
into my hand, in a tight spiral.
On that spot I watched it twist
in night gusts
yearning for soil.
Have I turned this life
after the chaos? I moved from post-code to
post-code, my make up too heavy
like Jupiter.  I bulldozed
everything out of my path,
before resting to colder
positions, paying tax, taking more baths,
learning to drive, taking out Insurance.