Tag: teaching

Teaching “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon

“Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon is called “the poem that went around the world.” This poem, a favorite in all levels of writing and literature classes, is rich with specific sensory detail: a child’s fascination with clothespins, cotton ball lambs, family names, and the secret taste of dirt.

concrete road between trees
Where are you from? Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

On September 22, I contributed to a workshop called “Sharing Identities and Building Relationships,” offered as part of the “Supporting All of Us” series. The event, sponsored by Schooltalking, #USvsHate, and The Conscious Kid, featured George Ella Lyon and the National Writing Project.

Sidebar reading, "SUPPORTING ALL OF US: Teaching against Hate, Bias, Injustice through Accurate and Inclusive Teaching. A series hosted by Schooltalking, #USvsHate and The Conscious Kid"
“Supporting All of Us” series goals

These organizations came together to recommend “Where I’m From” as a way to reach across cultures, regions, and other differences, both as an expression of identity and a reminder of our common humanity. Using “Where I’m From” encourages empathy in the classroom.

The Exercise

Share a copy of “Where I’m From” with students. There are multiple recordings of George Ella Lyon reading the work. You can share a video of the author reading the poem in her own voice, bringing another living writer into your classroom.

Open the floor to as much discussion as you need for your class. (You might find yourself explaining “carbon-tetrachloride,” for example!) Then, when you’re ready, ask the students to answer, in their own way, where they are from.

Lyon’s web page gives a list of helpful ideas to build on. Ultimately she reminds us: “Remember, you are the expert on you. No one else sees the world as you do; no one else has your material to draw on. You don’t have to know where to begin. Just start. Let it flow. Trust the work to find its own form.”

If you’re a teacher, do the exercise with your class. While you work with them, you’ll uncover your own powerful images and memories. When you write with your students, the exercise becomes a shared experience of learning and connection.

In the Classroom

Lyon says the work of poet and dramatist Jo Carson helped inspire the poem. Carson’s poetry collection, Stories I Ain’t Told Nobody Yet, gathers many different voices. Each speaker reveals their cares, worries, and passions.  

Over the past 20 years, I’ve led students from elementary to graduate school in readings and exercises based on “Where I’m From.” From elementary school to college, creative writing to literature to first-year composition, this exercise continues to resonate.

Often I pair “Where I’m From” with work from other Appalachian writers whose work touches on themes of identity, the music of different voices, and connection:

Hearing voices such as Lyon, Carson, Walker, and many others opens up a class to exploring their own identity, as well as hearing and respecting the stories of others.

The nature of “Where I’m From” focuses on the intimate details of life and memory. When we connect those evocative details, with their hints of history and shared experience, with our own, we practice empathy. We could all more of that.

Night of the Living Read

A few days ago a student told me she loved poetry written by my friend. In fact, she enjoyed my friend’s book so much that she asked if she could write an essay about it for high school English.

Her teacher refused. My friend was an unsuitable subject . . .

She was still alive.

Two hands reaching from behind a grave in a cemetery.
Detail from jessiejacobson, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

For this assignment, the subject had to be dead. My friend and I are very happy she didn’t make this particular cut. But why not encourage students to read writers who still have heartbeats?

In his LitHub article, “Whatever Your Classroom, Please Teach More Living Poets,” Nick Ripatrazone describes the movement to “Teach Living Poets,” as well as the elder “Poets in Schools” initiative. Even currently-deceased writers Robert Frost and Donald Hall argued that living poets belonged in the classroom.

These vital programs help connect living writers with current students. Melissa Alter Smith, creator of “#TeachLivingPoets,” has collected a slew of resources for teachers, including a virtual library, a network to find poets, poetry reviews by teachers for teachers, and lesson plans.

Just check out this fantastic page of lesson plans for Crystal Wilkinson’s new collection, Perfect Black. This unit, a whopping 41 pages, brings a living, contemporary writer to students in an immediate way . . . While also connecting her work to writers such as Maggie Smith, Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes, and Elizabeth Acevedo.

As much as I love centuries-old writing by dead authors–I have not one, but two “I Read Dead People” T-shirts–we can’t send the message that “real” literature is old literature, and the “good” writers are molderin’ in the grave.

Fluffy poodle looks at camera
Byron wants you to know he has never, ever been fed. Not ever.

Some of my favorite people, writers included, are deader than a Norwegian blue. By all means, read as many dead writers as you want, but use the work of the not-dead-yet to show students that poetry itself is a living tradition.

Not to mention living writers still need to eat. We have bills to pay and adorable pets to feed, so maybe toss us some change, will you? “Big Textbook” won’t miss it.

Writing Craft: Gospel of the Flute Master

During an overdue cleaning of the guest room, I discovered a folder of notes from my days as a high-school first-chair flute-player. Inside this folder, I found fingering charts, tiny pages meant for flip-folders, and handwritten notes.

Some of the notes were from a tutoring session with a professional musician. This experienced flautist spent a long Saturday teaching students about posture, alternate finger positions, and better embouchure. I also found notes labeled as the instructor’s “GOSPEL.” Decades later, those notes still stand out as powerful advice, not just for musicians, but for creative writers too.

Here’s the “Gospel” for flute players:

Silver flute with gold mouthpiece in blue velvet case
My beloved flute, terror of neighbors and housepets
  1. ALWAYS build or relieve tension. Play like you’re going somewhere.
  2. Less tight = less tense = faster runs
  3. Bring everything forward + breathing [is] easier. [Remember to take] 3 BREATHS—back, belly, chest

How much of our love of music comes from suspense? We love the building up and relieving of tension. (OK, that probably sounds like certain other activities, too.) The advice is good for more than just Bolero, however. His points are great advice for the writing craft—fiction, in particular, but other types of creative work too. Even actors, when they leave the stage, are told to exit as if they have somewhere to go!

If you want lovely fast runs on the flute, tightening up will not help. Gripping your Gemeinhardt like it’s a life rope won’t make your music faster, louder, or easier. Sometimes you need to loosen your grip, take a step back, and—this leads to # 3—breathe.

Breathing lets you play the long notes, the high notes, the eerie low notes. As writers, we’re often told to practice reading our work aloud.

When we read aloud, breath means everything. What is the pacing of my work? Where am I taking a breath–or a pause–in my poetry? If I race through a long passage breathlessly, is that a problem? Or does my breathlessness heighten what I want to convey—panic, rage, little-kid excitement?

Thanks, long-ago flute tutor. I don’t know what we paid for that Saturday instruction, but the lesson was priceless.

Handwritten notes in messy cursive
The handwritten “Gospel.” And I thought my handwriting was messy now . . .