2008 Woodie Awards
Wicked Cool
Commentary
Rachael Burbank
Issue date: 4/25/08 Section: A & E
It's a predictable time of year: professors cram together lectures to avoid revising last year's exams, students have affairs with procrastination and the noises of Spring and lawn mowers distract academics.
Last Tuesday my poetry class skipped our syllabus and discussed ethics, the prudeness of society, preferences of mustard over ketchup, language, sensual observations and the awkward situations we've been put in before 9:25 a.m.
The five of us, all female, engage in these conversations because there's a poem in them. Poems don't have to be about nature; they consist of metaphors of religion, politics, and passion. We were sidetracked on Tuesday by the idea that we have no realistic career in poetry. We will always be compared to Dickinson, Shelley or Atwood. In the real world, beyond oak trees and people who mow their East Lawn every morning, people aren't poets by occupation; it is their avocation.
Formal educational systems set us up for failure. Standard curriculums in elementary schools prevent creative teaching methods. Levels of knowledge are associated per grade: learn how to write a topic sentence in sixth grade, the Aztecs in seventh grade, the cycle of evaporation in eighth grade. When do English, history and science intersect?
In literature. But few have the skills to read great literature anymore.
It's taboo for English teachers to include sexual interpretations. Teachers lecture the spark notes to "The Great Gatsby," "Hamlet" or "Catcher in the Rye." Discussions on alternative viewpoints are not acceptable. Difference of opinion isn't allowed. Here's the facts: learn them.
This idea lurks behind my liberal spin on education. Grades are not important to me. I'd rather waste my time reading through a book of poetry than cram for a history exam.
I assumed taking a class titled "The Reagan Era," I would be tested on dates of the Cold War but instead I had the freedom to research how the Barbie doll is a representation of 1980's materialism.
Then came the epitome of my liberal arts education: a film by Woody Allen. "Hannah and Her Sisters" was recommended by both my poetry and history professors within a week.
I appreciate this film for its humor and knowledge. It made me understand why I wanted a liberal arts education. It's like eating an artichoke: there are tedious layers of leaves that require more work than taste, then you must endure the overwhelming choke to savor the heart of it all.
Last Tuesday my poetry class skipped our syllabus and discussed ethics, the prudeness of society, preferences of mustard over ketchup, language, sensual observations and the awkward situations we've been put in before 9:25 a.m.
The five of us, all female, engage in these conversations because there's a poem in them. Poems don't have to be about nature; they consist of metaphors of religion, politics, and passion. We were sidetracked on Tuesday by the idea that we have no realistic career in poetry. We will always be compared to Dickinson, Shelley or Atwood. In the real world, beyond oak trees and people who mow their East Lawn every morning, people aren't poets by occupation; it is their avocation.
Formal educational systems set us up for failure. Standard curriculums in elementary schools prevent creative teaching methods. Levels of knowledge are associated per grade: learn how to write a topic sentence in sixth grade, the Aztecs in seventh grade, the cycle of evaporation in eighth grade. When do English, history and science intersect?
In literature. But few have the skills to read great literature anymore.
It's taboo for English teachers to include sexual interpretations. Teachers lecture the spark notes to "The Great Gatsby," "Hamlet" or "Catcher in the Rye." Discussions on alternative viewpoints are not acceptable. Difference of opinion isn't allowed. Here's the facts: learn them.
This idea lurks behind my liberal spin on education. Grades are not important to me. I'd rather waste my time reading through a book of poetry than cram for a history exam.
I assumed taking a class titled "The Reagan Era," I would be tested on dates of the Cold War but instead I had the freedom to research how the Barbie doll is a representation of 1980's materialism.
Then came the epitome of my liberal arts education: a film by Woody Allen. "Hannah and Her Sisters" was recommended by both my poetry and history professors within a week.
I appreciate this film for its humor and knowledge. It made me understand why I wanted a liberal arts education. It's like eating an artichoke: there are tedious layers of leaves that require more work than taste, then you must endure the overwhelming choke to savor the heart of it all.
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