Stealing my heart with a scrap of paper

Been so many intriguing blogs on here this week, I could read and comment on them forever……. and all this festival talk has me excited for the Big Chill, and nervous too, and stockpiling wet wipes from the pound shop already:)

This week I did some days in Alrewas with a bunch of year 7s from a school in Cannock in a project called Words and Willows. At the risk of sounding like a sentimental marshmallow of a 6 foot woman, they were the loveliest bunch of twelve year olds you could wish for.

They listened and really got into talking about poetry, and how it links with rap and music lyrics etc, and as it was at a War memorial I’d found a quote from Wilfred Owen about poetry and how all true poets just have to tell the truth etc. and I got the pupils to trust themselves to tell the truth as they saw it, with their own opinions and perspectives etc. on everything around them. We were outside in the pouring rain a lot, they didn’t complain once or laugh at my cagoul….. and they produced some really thoughtful work that made my contact lenses water a couple of times – well that’s my excuse anyway. After lunch one of the real ‘Ladz’ of the group gave me a scrap of paper with a new poem on that he’d written in his own time and really wanted me to see. I think what I felt was an echo of ‘maternal pride’ although I don’t have any children of my own yet, but it was just so spontaneous and lovely that someone who thought poetry was ****** a few hours before had been inspired to write extra ones of his own, and wanted to share them and get feedback from me and positive comments – which I was happy to do ofcourse. That’s the easiest bit for me, and important that every pupil hears some specific complement about their work to encourage them, and it’s great to watch them spread their wings as it were outside of the classroom and blossom. See I’m getting carried away on sentimentality, I’ll reign it in….hmm.

A few of the pupils had written as if they were the blank stone wall waiting for the names of future dead soldiers to die, one had written as if she was the stone steps that lead up to the main memorial and wrote of how she tried to support people who sat down on her steps like knees and hold them up as they mourned for their dead loved ones. It’s great to read so many differnet ideas in one day. They’d grasped many of the subtleties of war, and mentioned film/news and tv they’d seen about it as references. Reminds me, have you seen the BBC1 drama ‘Occupation’ this week? some outstanding writing and it really feels like a seachange of public opinion lately…. although most of us are against the war(s) recently, there seems now a clearer distinction between despising the politicians who made the choices and respecting the ordinary lads and girls that get sent out in uniforms and often come back in wooden boxes. Occupation shows a glimpse of how hard it must be to try and return to any semblance of civilian life after a tour, and some of the pupils I worked with had family currently serving, so it makes it all very real.

All in all, one of those perfect days of synergy when you get to really enjoy working with an enthusiastic group of 12 year olds who start the day not knowing much about poetry or caring about it, and end the day with them having really taken ownership of it.  I never saw a poet in my school, but now it seems like schools are getting experiences that hopefully do bring the words off the page and prove all poets aren’t dead like that Robin Williams film would have you believe. (Or most of the brilliant BBC ‘Off By Heart’ programmes, which have mainly focused on those long since returned to the worms.)

I hope I’ve not spoken too soon as I’m back there tomorrow again… in the rain! And just out of interest, did you study much poetry at school? If so, what do you remember? We did War poetry, so I do remember some Wilfred Owen stuff that really captured my imagination as a kid for some reason. Some lines never leave your memory do they, even if you only understand them better as you grow up yourself. x