I returned everyone’s marked and graded paper, students integrated my corrections, made a few revisions and improvements of their own, and on or before the day we met again they resubmitted. Studies show that this rote mechanical process is of no benefit in reducing errors of usage in a student’s future writing, but I believe nevertheless in demanding that students be attentive to and responsible for that level of reality (understand or no) and mark by tiny mark I held them accountable for it.
Not every class was so serious. I tried along the way to stimulate an interest in etymology, rhythm, rhyme, puns, anagrams, and in general all kinds of word play of interest to linguists, to poets, and to students of language—the fun of poetry, the spell of spelling. One day I listened as students offered their opinions of death, its injustice, its mystery, its inevitability, its finality, and of what comes after—if anything at all.
“I love that word eat right in the middle of death!” I said, hoping by my tone to insinuate that sense of the occult that close examination of specific word and letter forms invariably evoked in me.
“What is live spelled backwards?” I asked.
“Evil!” a student responded.
“And lived?” I continued.
“Devil!”
“God?”
“Dog!” exclaimed several students at once.
“Who hides in the therapist?” I asked.
I turned to the grease board behind me and printed the word in big block letters so that with their own eyes my students could see the rapist. Now some of my students offered word games and anagrams of their own. Together we contemplated the complementary and contradictory no and on, the anger in danger, the evocative rhyme of mystery history. One man found hated in death. A woman made heart of earth. Symbol and sound made me dizzy and confused the banal and profound.
“I love that ear in hear!” I said.
“I love that ear in fear!” one of my best students exclaimed.
“I love that ear in tear!” I added.
I shivered. I felt like we had just uncovered—right there in our modest community college class discussion—something akin to the sacred secret of the linguistic universe, the English seed syllable, the modern language equivalent of om! Several students, eager to contribute discoveries of their own, had raised their hands and were now waving their arms to be acknowledged. I silently congratulated myself. On my far right even reticent old Ted had raised his hand.
“Yes, Ted?” I smiled.
“Do you love the ear in rear?” he said.
Touché!
.......................................
WASTE to be continued
Not every class was so serious. I tried along the way to stimulate an interest in etymology, rhythm, rhyme, puns, anagrams, and in general all kinds of word play of interest to linguists, to poets, and to students of language—the fun of poetry, the spell of spelling. One day I listened as students offered their opinions of death, its injustice, its mystery, its inevitability, its finality, and of what comes after—if anything at all.
“I love that word eat right in the middle of death!” I said, hoping by my tone to insinuate that sense of the occult that close examination of specific word and letter forms invariably evoked in me.
“What is live spelled backwards?” I asked.
“Evil!” a student responded.
“And lived?” I continued.
“Devil!”
“God?”
“Dog!” exclaimed several students at once.
“Who hides in the therapist?” I asked.
I turned to the grease board behind me and printed the word in big block letters so that with their own eyes my students could see the rapist. Now some of my students offered word games and anagrams of their own. Together we contemplated the complementary and contradictory no and on, the anger in danger, the evocative rhyme of mystery history. One man found hated in death. A woman made heart of earth. Symbol and sound made me dizzy and confused the banal and profound.
“I love that ear in hear!” I said.
“I love that ear in fear!” one of my best students exclaimed.
“I love that ear in tear!” I added.
I shivered. I felt like we had just uncovered—right there in our modest community college class discussion—something akin to the sacred secret of the linguistic universe, the English seed syllable, the modern language equivalent of om! Several students, eager to contribute discoveries of their own, had raised their hands and were now waving their arms to be acknowledged. I silently congratulated myself. On my far right even reticent old Ted had raised his hand.
“Yes, Ted?” I smiled.
“Do you love the ear in rear?” he said.
Touché!
.......................................
WASTE to be continued
