by Clem Nagel

aptmetaphor

It was Earth Day 2010 . . . and was I prepared. Typical of me, I brought everything except the office desk lamp. Extra pencils, blank paper (in case someone forgot), name tags, paper clips, Scotch tape, roll of paper towels, Band-Aids, easel pad, masking tape, markers (I used to work for the YMCA), books, and my detailed class outline for each of the coming four weeks. I had been invited to teach a series of poetry classes. I arrived at the residential senior center community room half an hour early to get acclimated.

The room was set up with tables arranged to form one big table. Glorious sunshine was streaming in through an expanse of windows overlooking a courtyard. The crab apple trees were in full bloom. Tulips were just beginning to emerge from the dirt. It truly was Earth Day and I was ready.

Ready to meet with a bunch of older folks who wished to write poetry for the first time. The staff liaison greeted me and said that everyone would be arriving soon. And they did.

I shouldn’t have been so surprised. They came walking, piloting scooters and wheelchairs, pushing walkers, and giving each other a helping hand. Several entered the room, then left briefly to check on others who had said they were coming, but hadn’t yet arrived. When they had gathered and found a place at the table, the staff person made sure all 17 people had name tags and introduced everyone to me.

I was ready and prepared. After all, this was not the first time I had taught poetry. I knew what I was doing. I began with introductions around the table and asked them to share why they liked poetry and whether they had ever written a poem. One person said he had published two books of poetry based on his experiences as a medic in World War II, “to help others deal with injury and loss.” I asked if he would be willing to bring his books next time. He replied that no one had seen them for years. Later in the day I went online and discovered his books had been acclaimed on both sides of the Atlantic. Another person had published her poems when she was younger and wanted to start writing again.

They didn’t go around the table. A couple of people couldn’t see, some could see but not hear, and others couldn’t write, which explained why some of them helped others write their name tags. Introductions were lengthy and incredible. A few introduced the person next to them or added information they deemed necessary to someone else’s introduction. I could tell how much they really cared for one other. By living in community, they knew each other well. They were ready to write poetry!

Over half of the rest of the class had written poems or kept journals. Another surprise! I realized that my lesson plan for the day needed to be radically modified. I opened the windows to welcome outside air and asked who would be willing to share something about spring. How did it make them feel? If their vision would allow, what did they see when they looked out the window? If they could hear well enough, what sounds could they hear? What was something they remembered about a past springtime?

I had brought a small vase with one bright yellow daffodil from my garden and placed it in the center of the table. I passed around copies of Wordsworth’s “The Daffodils.” One woman said, “I know that poem!” I asked her to read it. She began to recite it, only to stop after several stanzas with a distressed look. I realized she could not see. Several others gently prompted her. Triumphantly she finished the poem, retrieving it from her memory, right down to the last word. Almost everyone clapped when she finished, and they wanted to read the poem again together. We did, with people remembering the long-ago time when they too had memorized Wordsworth’s beautiful rendition of a field of daffodils.

People wrote notes to each other, helped each other understand my instructions, and encouraged one another to come up with something to write about. A couple of people “took notes” about what others said. Then, together, we created a most beautiful poem using something from everyone’s comments. We wrote it out on newsprint. Someone said, “Let’s read it together.” And we did. Another person wanted me to read it once again and to make copies for everyone next time.

It was Earth Day 2010 and was I prepared! Typical of me, I brought everything except the office desk lamp. Extra pencils, blank paper (in case someone didn’t bring some), name tags, paper clips, Scotch tape, Band-Aids, roll of paper towels . . .

What I wasn’t prepared for, was what happened.

I learned that writing poetry is about far more than linking words. We met three more times. My students continued helping each other and teaching me. In the week following the last class I received an e-mail from the staff saying that many of the group are “roaming the halls spouting poetry.” During meals and as they gathered for chapel, they were sharing their writing.

I still prepare each time I teach a new group of people to write. I bring all the paraphernalia I might need in the course of an hour or two. You never know what you might need.

However, prepare has a new meaning. Before I begin, I close my eyes and remember what my wise students taught me.

Look, even if your eyes have grown dim. Listen, even if you have trouble distinguishing sounds. Remember, even if your memories have become jumbled or faint. Encourage each other. Then write with excitement and astonishment as if it is the first time in your life to put words down on paper.

Clem Nagel is a teaching artist at The Loft Literary Center and teaches poetry writing through other community organizations. His poems have been published by a range of journals, newspapers, and nonprofit publications. Clem’s bold, ecological poem “The Pasture Revisited” won national recognition by the Robert Frost Poetry Foundation, and he was a winner of one of the Barnes & Noble Spring Poetry Contests with his poem on homelessness, “Custody of the Eyes.” Clem has two books of published poetry, Listen for the Silence: A Walk Through the Natural World and Prairie Ground, Prairie Sky.

Clem nurtures an abiding interest in human behavior, spirituality, travel, and social justice, all of which are an inseparable part of his writings. He and Elizabeth Nagel recently collaborated with the music ensemble Nube in writing the script for the performance piece “The Golden Bird.” He also has exhibited his poetry as art pieces, paired with Elizabeth’s photographic images. To view Clem and Elizabeth’s exhibitions, readings, and classes, visit their blog. Clem can be reached at cnagel@cpinternet.com.