Distance learning in poetry; it can work

I signed up for, and have been doing, an online open university, course in writing poetry. It was offered by the University of Iowa Writing Workshop. Me, with over 3,000 others (of all abilities and sensibilities and aesthetic stances for their own work). Two other poets I know and admire have been doing it too and I have read their work and they mine.

How does this work? Hmm, we listen to (watch) video lectures on craft and then do the assigned work and post it. Others can  weigh in and comment as is the norm for writing workshops. No, all 3,000+ poets are not commenting on all the work, rather picking and choosing at random or finding one person and looking at that work.

Skeptical but game, I got on board. We're in our final week.  And I must say:    LOVE

This experience has been a most remarkable opportunity to learn from a variety of poets, some I knew already (Michael Dennis Browne, Marvin Bell both of whom I have learned from in person at the Univeristy of Iowa) and others I do not know even by way of their poems. Only one was a total bore (IMHO) and only because she simply read from her notes. I do not engage well, if at all, with that kind of lecture/talk. I felt checked out the whole time. But, taken as a gestalt, the topics have been far-ranging and eager.

I have diligently written and posted. I have brought the things I learned to my poetry group and (I think) got them excited about trying a few new strategies. I have tried (and succeeded I think) in writing my first-ever CENTO, done and LOVED doing a mindfulness writing exercise. I will repeat that as a way IN to my daily writing practice.

Today was the final author talk. Well!

Today I wrote my first, purposefully-attempted, prose poem. YIKES!

The poem was based upon two ideas/strategies: parataxis and the prose poem. You who know me well know that I have been engaged in a battle with myself over the existence of the prose poem for a very long time. I now might just agree that the genre, sub-genre, exists. I do think that it might be a rare thing however.

What I can say (for myself only) is that it appears to exist in its associative leaps and detailed diction.
It exists in parataxis. Once the writer falls into hypotaxis, it is straightforward PROSE.

I am having lunch today with my friend and fellow poet, DiTa. We will go to an art gallery after to see her show. I am glad of this road trip for that part, but EXCITED to talk to her about today's poetry work.

I also am at work on a poem I began yesterday while looking at the nudes at the Farnsworth Art Museum. (oh is this poem ROUGH at this point!) It's title (the poem) is Eve, After. A bit of a feminist thing and some quirky takes on the banishment from the Garden. We'll just have to see.

Back to the online course: my best moment (and poem) is an epistolary poem, inspired by a couple comments made by Michael Dennis Browne last week. He spoke about how nice it is for poets to write letters (actual hand-written ones) to poets they enjoy, telling them how their work has been influential or admired. He spoke too about what an epistolary poem is: a letter to someone in poem form. I wrote one to him and enclosed it in a hand-written letter and popped both into the mail to him.

I ramble here. But you get the idea: writing is elastic. Keep snapping the band and letting it fly.

The merit in cleaning your office

Beyond the normal notions of cleanliness and organization comes a benefit I had not expected today:

FOUND in an old notebook from the Dodge Poetry Festival 2006: Sitting With the Dead, a poem I wrote for Laure-Anne Bosselaar. I have been very sad about the loss of this poem after I sent it to Laure-Anne in '06. I taught myself to decide it was lost for a reason. I wrote a response poem to it, hoping to honor the spirit of the original. I learned a lesson about backing up my work.

But today comes this little red notebook after so many years. 8 to be exact, my favorite number. I opened the notebook and there, on  page one, the poem I lost. So I share with you this poem in its original state plus the 2nd poem.

This is the original:

Sitting With the Dead
                    for Laure-Anne

In the village church,
the poet reads about Bruges,
how Yochkemke stepped on a mine
in Israel. The only way it was
him for sure was the intact arm
with numbers 743326, numbers
he was given as a baby,
his family tagged like cattle.

The poet does not write mine
except to claim him
as her friend, boy of bells
and marbles with green hearts.
She mentions his talent for whistling
through the hole in his tongue,
how he ran as fast as he could
and kissed her once for luck.

In the churchyard, after,
I sit with the dead, read poems
to them, boys and girls I never knew
living now beyond tipped granite
doors that open on a place
of untold numbers
of unnumbered souls, souls
who would not dare to name God.


And there it is: that which was lost has been found.


Here is the 2nd poem written last year (2013) to try and reconstruct or at least honor the original:

Lost: Sitting With the Dead

— again for Laure-Anne 

In the village chapel, the poet 

spoke about love for the dead 

how it increases, how like sadness 

for what's done in war, she told of all 

the lost loves she's kissed goodbye 

in train stations, in churchyards.

Now I'm leaning 

against the tombstone,

of someone I never knew —

dead tired from walking all day.

I write of Yochemke,

boy-with-the-hole-in-his-tongue

punched like paper by the Nazis.

I write a poem of holes and loss,

read it aloud to those who
can no longer read.

My tongue dries

in the hot afternoon,

my pen runs out, stops

at the final word, shame.

Years later the poem is lost,

like Yochemke

who stepped on a mine in Israel.

Sitting With the Dead

will haunt me as the boy 

with the hole in his tongue.

The two poems seem to belong together. They are about loss and giving in to that loss as a way of survival. I like to imagine the poet and the boy reuniting years from now, and him running as fast as he can to show her his green-hearted marbles and his tongue whole again.

Why I will run for re-election to the school board

I could be selfish. I have a big writing project that has gotten delayed by my service to the school district where I live. I WANT to focus on the book I am doing and just work like mad to get it finished, edited, and sent out for publication. I WANT to do this and not much else.

I am frustrated. The past year and a half have been fraught with disasters, many caused by our school board's lack of vision, lack of basic concern for kids (though these concerns are stated over and over when the TV cameras are running), and a SERIOUS lack of know-how in education (we have a citizen-board made up of anyone who can get elected).  Yes, I am frustrated.

So I won't run again, right? That's what I had planned — until yesterday when 4 different people convinced me otherwise.

1. Have you considered that your not being on the board might undo what little progress has been made? Whoever might take your place might not care the way you do about EDUCATION issues rather than personal power.

2. I, for one, am glad we have a poet on our board; someone who thinks creatively and cares about kids's minds.

3. Oh you have to stay on the board; we count on you to speak up when things are wrong and not care about your own popularity or agenda.

4. What would we do without your willingness to say the hard things and to call out those who are out of line?

I do not believe in coincidences. I believe in messages from unlikely sources that speak sense or call me to act.  4 in one day? How can I ignore this?

So I shall run again for another three-year term. I hope the voters will keep me on. If they do not, well that is a message too. I'll say thanks for everything and go finish the book.

C'est la vie!

thinking too much on a hot day makes me want to fall into the ocean

Heat Complaint

I am really in need of a beach day.
There is nothing more
on this earth for me to say

no idea of how to float on the surface
of hot top, gravel or even the boards of my porch.
I need the beach, its grace.

I could swim out too far
catch a glimpse of how the mermaid feels
not to own a clock or a car.

Thinking too much
on a hot day makes me want to fall
into the ocean. Wet, wild, and such.

Are you hot too?
— not in that sexy way you show me
when daylight is through.

Can we decide (when we have died) to sprinkle
ourselves out far, out there in the sea,
let our sand trickle

like ash?  oh wait — be ash —
burnt up bone and muscle we won't need,
hair and teeth we won't ever brush.

I am really in need of a beach day
really in need of getting
away.

up WAY too early and thinking about dinner out last night (really OUT)

Last night out to dinner with friends at Archer's on the Pier in Rockland, a wonderful place to eat outside overlooking the water. Dinner was great but...

1. We were indeed outside on the deck, but were seated in the boiling sun (not that I am complaining about sun). You might think the owner would get those drop down mesh screens for the awning that would keep the patrons out of the heat ... oh sure we could've gone inside (no one in there!). By the time my hubby & I arrived (a few minutes late), everyone else was seated so asking to move the whole group was not a viable plan. One whole side of the table was hot and in direct sun (we were 12 people ... seated at a long table and at both ends). Grrrr. Everyone complained to each other but no one did anything, including me so I bear responsibility too. The server did not offer to move us. My friend Michelle and I were positively dripping. The ice melted so fast in our water glasses it was not even cooling the water. I was exhausted from the heat by the end of the meal. Never again will I sit in that kind of environment. I will sit inside or in shade only — not 2.5 hours in direct sun. UGH.

2. The tip, since we were a large party, was figured on the bill for us and, lo and behold, was figured on the TAX as well as on the food. Hmmmm. It added nearly one percentage point overall. Since when is that how it works? And the tip was also on the alcohol portion of the bill. I think if we go there again we would ask for a separate bill for the alcohol. I tip on alcohol only when I am at a bar. I do not believe the tip for last night is getting shared with the bartender, so what??? we are tipping the waitress for bringing drinks she did not mix to the table from a few steps away?

But really, the food was great. The view over the harbor was great. We heard music live from the Blues Festival at the Harbor Park. The conversation was good and lively.

Today I am off to a picnic at Round Pond. I will bring my hat and my little old-fashioned folding fan, wear sunscreen, and stake out a spot in the shade.

Stay tuned.

Creative Writing Camp 2014

Today is the first of two 3-day sessions of camp; this week for Middle Schoolers. We have 12 "campers" who are enjoying poetry, character development (fiction) story development, and safe blogging.

We have had our first break and the students have moved stations. Lunch is being prepared in the kitchen of Rockland District Middle School where we are.

I find the students to be eager and engaged. Art is happening too!

A bit of Poet Laureate news

Sorry I forgot this news (have been a bit absent from blogging)

In April, I was reappointed to the post of Poet Laureate of Rockland, Maine, ending my term as the 2nd PL of the city and beginning my term as 3rd PL of the city. Many thanks to all who helped in my first term, most especially the staff of the Rockland Public Library for all their various modes of support!

I have many plans for this term, but the biggest by far is the ROCK CITY POETRY FESTIVAL to be held in Aprill of 2015. Please contact me if you are willing to donate to the success of this effort. I will be doing a KICKSTARTER campaign shortly as we need to raise $35K to be able to make this series of events happen.

Nationally known poets Richard Blanco, Patricia Smith, and Dorianne Laux (native Mainer) will be here to read and engage in workshops.

You KNOW you want to be a part of this wonderful event! Email me for details or to help.

Let the children come

Tomorrow (July 9) is Session One of 2014 Creative Writing Camp. Funded entirely by grants from Maine Media Women and Elks Beacon Grants, there's no cost to the children or their families for the 3 days of writing / art with local authors/writers. All materials are provided as well as lunches, snacks, facilities, and tee shirts.  We thank the Elks Lodge 1008 (Rockland, ME) and Rockland District Middle School for allowing us the use of their facilities for the camps.

Session One is for Middle Schoolers:

Journal Keeping
Poetry
Fiction : character and story development; flash fiction techniques
Art: all art pieces are connected to the writing

Writers:
Carol Bachofner (journaling / blogging)
Stephanie Marshall (poetry)
Paige Pendleton (fiction)
Terri McKensie (fiction)
Margie Kivel (art)


Session Two is for Elementary Schoolers:

Poetry
Art
Fiction: character development; story elements; story boarding


Writers/Helpers

Kristin Gould (book elements)
Carol Bachofner (poetry/director)
Bill Bachofner (co-director)
Terri McKensie (fiction)
Stephanie Marshall (poetry)
Margie Kivel (art)
Anna Walker, Sarah Bernard (helpers)

Thanks also to Sarah Bernard for her generous donation of notebooks both last year and this.

We have a very full program. Last summer we had 23 elementary school students; this is the first year we are holding a session for Middle School. We have 16 MS students signed up to join us 9grades 6-8). We will again have about 22 elementary school kiddos (grades 3-5).

What's next?

I have a plan for forming a writing group specifically designed for teachers who teach writing. Time for walking the talk.

More on this upcoming project soon. Just have to get camps done and packed up for another year!

ONWARD!

What the hell is BuddyHost Proxy?

If I try to look at my blogs, at "View Blog," I get this unwanted black box for Buddy Host Proxy. This kills my ability to view my blog! I am wondering what EBlogger is going to do about this "Invasion of the Blog-Snatchers."

Why revise? After all, the poem was sent by the universe..

What is fascinating to me about writers (not professionals) is that there is some kind of mythology out there about the place where writing emanates which leads them to think (and actually believe deeply) that their writing is so inspired as to warrant leaving it alone once it is initially on the page. I've been doing this thing (writing, editing) for a long time and I see this phenomenon over and over, in fact more now than ever.

Here's a true story to illustrate:

I received a submission for Pulse Online Literary Journal a few weeks ago and decided the poems had something to say, but needed a little tweaking to say that something better. Being the kind of editor I'd want to have myself, I suggested a couple small edits and offered to work with the poet on larger issues (line break, diction, etc). I found an email from that writer in my inbox yesterday with the following:

Dear Mrs. Bachofner,
Thanks for your "acceptance" if that's what you call it.
I cannot believe you would have the nerve to say the poems
were not finished and needed some polishing. When I write,
I am inspired by the universe, my muse or whatever. It is just
wrong to slap that being in the face by changing what was 
sent to me. You call yourself an editor? YOUR JOB is to print
the inspired words you are lucky enough to be sent. You should
be more careful of messing with fate the way you are trying to.
So, to be very clear: print the poems as they are. Oh, and I believe
a thank-you is in order, not the raking over the coals I got from you.


I have to say I am surprisingly shocked whenever I get this kind of email. I can hardly grasp the idea of speaking thusly to someone I'd hope to have publish my work.

I publish the exchange here so you can see the issue up close and persona.

I went back to my sent file to see what possible "raking over the coals" I had sent this writer. Here it is:

Dear __________, Thanks so much for sending the poems. I see potential 
here and would like to accept the following poems [a list follows] IF you are willing 
to do a little revising. While the poems have good bones, there is room to tweak 
in terms of line breaks and removing clichés. I'd like to see a bit more concreteness 
and not quite so much abstraction in ___________ for example. This particular poem 
blocks the way in for readers with its vague references. I hope you will accept my offer 
to work with you on making the poems shine as I believe they can. Please get back to me
if you want to work with me on these poems.

CWB


My final reply to this person was "Sorry you are not taking advantage of my editing help. Good luck with your writing." Where else could I go with this? Sigh.

When I first started publishing poems by others in my zine, I saw this kind of thing from time to time, and our fiction editor saw it even more. Mostly however, poets seem more willing to revise than fiction submitters. Lately, however, there is a resurgence of submissions with "this came from the universe/God/muse and I am not going to change a word I got from [that entity] because it would be against nature." I muse (pun intended) over why this might be happening. I wonder if the social/political/economic climate is so horrid that these folks are turning to poetry as some kind of prayer call and response scenario (a friend suggested this might be the case) and if so, is there a place for the poems that are springing up from this?

I wonder also about the glut of MFA grads being "churned out" from the plethora of universities and colleges which have developed MFA programs in the past decade or so. My zine partner, Lizzie, tells me that she gets so many story submissions that are a mess from MFA grads. She has suggested that these folks are not even close to knowing what makes a good story and how to write one. I admit I do not know what is going on with the fiction folks (why I leave that up to her).

What concerns me here is the bubbling up of poems where it is fairly obvious that the "poet" spent very little time after the initial inspiration to write. I know a man who belongs to a writing group (one I used to attend out west) who would get absolutely insulted when suggestions for revision were made by his peers. Why go to a writing group where critique is a factor and then refuse to consider revisions? I concluded that, for him, he wanted the social part of being in such a group, and was hoping for praise and validation as a poet. He too felt that the poems came from somewhere "out there" and should not be "messed with by others."

I am also amazed by how many "poets" who write prolifically do not have the slightest notion of how to describe the parts of a poem or how to discuss poems using the language of critical assessment. Several years ago, I was having lunch with a man who considers himself a poet. He gave me a poem and I read it right away. It was not what I think of as a publishable poem, but had some good parts, including some fairly fresh language. He is a poet of cliché mostly, so I was very happy to see this poem's language. Wanting to encourage more of this, I said to him, "I admire the diction in this poem." His reply was that he didn't know what diction was. OK, the man has not been formally educated in poetry. He writes "inspired" poems. However, wouldn't you think that a person who claims to be a poet, sees that as his calling in life, would take the time to educate himself in the nuts and bolts of it? This is what concerns me: so many people writing without a clue about what it takes to make a poem a poem, much less a good one. To me, these are hobbyists, not true poets. Nothing wrong with that by the way, but please don't send me your poems for publication.

I do not think a person needs an MFA or take on a formal program in order to become a true poet. A college professor I admire (a really GOOD poet) asserts that the best teacher of poetry is the poetry itself, urging us to read and read and read, then ask "how did ______ DO that? How might I do that in my own poems?" I have to agree with my former professor here. But I believe this method of learning poetry is slipping off the map, at least for some of the "poets" I encounter. And why, when encountering a poem that seems to be organized in a way that is unfamiliar, would one not search out what that might be in order to try it him/herself? Puzzling. Extremely puzzling.

So what to do with those who resist revision? Pretty much nada, nil, zip, bumpkus, zero. I conclude that leading by example is the only thing to do, i.e keep offering workshops on writing and revising. That and holding my ground with the submitters who try to slip a little cosmic dust into my inbox.


I'll end this blog entry with a thumbs up to the poetry group I attend, High Tide Poets. These amazing women are the opposite of what I describe here. The many many many revised versions of poems we share with one another is simply heart-warming to see. These woman WORK. I am up to my elbows in editing an anthology of the writing this group has produced over the past years. Will keep you posted on the details as the project unfolds.

Poetry Challenge, Week 4

NOTE:

I have put 5 days here as week 4, and will post the remaining 4 as week 5, simply for a little balance in numbers.

Day 22

Dream Job in Maine

Simple, you think, to sit

all day and take people’s money,

allow them to drive onward,

to visit the places they’ve only dreamed

of seeing up close. Onward 

to Khatadin, Baxter State Park,

Down East to Eastport with its tides

rising 32 feet, boats on long leashes,

up and down with the moon’s pull.

Simple, you think, to clock 

in and sit. It’s my dream job

I tell people who laugh out loud

until they get that I am serious.

Oh no, not that I want to sit,

or to collect coins, make change

for a twenty, or suck in fumes

from traffic. It’s a way of seeing

that I want, a way to be more.

I want to see people, relaxed 

or stressed, angry or in love, all

driving somewhere, maybe escaping

from lives they’ve sunk to over time.

I want to be able to watch

them eating their sandwiches, slurping

coffee, putting on lipstick, hear music

that keeps them awake as they drive. 

I want to see parents quieting kid uprisings,

or changing diapers leaned over

back seats as they whizz through my gate.

Poet-in-Residence at Exit 7, I’ll write

this microcosm of driving and living.

I’ll make you understand

how all of us are driving somewhere,

all of us have to pay the toll.

Day 23

Flags

Red, white, and blue, waving 

at every ball game or parade.

We stand, hands over hearts, tears 

streaming like the banner itself.

But what of the humble purple flag

flower that grows in the garden, 

raising itself to the sky

without a single hand over a single heart?

How short the life it lives, how much

it depends upon the passion of bees

to carry itself forward another generation, 

how it lives in the shadow of broader blooms

with more impressive leaves. Is the flag

it waves, each petal it presents to the sun,

less important than a patriotic thrill,

a political review? I venture outside today

to drop a tear on it, to water it well

with my admiration, to see it’s brief day

as something blessèd. This is my patriotism. 

Day 24

Night Music, circa 1973

When the quiet hours that wait 

beyond the day...

music plays on the stereo

and in my head, burning from too much 

of too much. The songs try to settle me,

but rain storms my memories, 

making sleep unlikely. I shut off the light, 

try to banish visions

I can’t control, the shade of you 

in the corner that won’t leave me alone tonight. 

I curse you and pray for quiet sleep. 

Love steals my dignity. I watch the fools’ circus 

play on and on. Here’s to the songs 

we used to sing, the times we used to know. 

I hear it. I hear it. 

Your breathing fills the house.

Amazing grace is all I need, 

what I am denied tonight.

There is such a lot of world, so many

lovers, but all I see, all I hear

are ghosts and clowns as the past

floats in through the window, keeps me

awake, falling into nightmare.

NOTE: italicized phrases come from Neil Diamond’s lyrics in If You Know What I Mean

Day 25

Notes on Notes

I am Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, play

past bedtime and into moonrise,

my notes on notes that cleave time

and leave me dangling on twine

above the bed, like a dreamcatcher

with spider weaving mad music

to keep all of us safe in darkness,

to filter carnival dreams from nightmares.

I am strains of melody, running

under stars dead already — beyond

the 186,000 miles it took them

to get their light here for us to admire.

If you make note of my notes, play

them again in daylight, they have flattened

or grown too sharp for your palate,

for the smell of bacon frying

or the splash of juice in the jelly jar

your mother calls “glasses.”

I am fine-honed music, or jazz or rap,

but always playing at night, in shadow.

I am not a brass band on the street

or a booming car stereo. I am steady

bars, glissando or lente. No fortissimo

will do for my score. Eine Kleine Nacht

a little bit of note on notes, a little musik

to make it worth opening your eyes, singing.

Day 26

How To Do It

When you wake up lonely, feel yourself in quicksand

or a bowl of stars a few light years away

from midnight, grab the last thread of the last dream

you remember, hold on and swing down 

into a pond or the edge of a still pool, where trout

can fill in the blanks, hold up a mirror

to show you where you’ve been and the way home.

When you fall asleep lonely, feel a sucking sensation

in your feet, or a sudden lift of your body

onto the lip of the universe, grab the first hot beam

of light that goes shooting by, hold on tight.

Think hard, recall the names of all your lost loves,

say them aloud as you begin to rise and go.

Keep your eyes open as long as the clock chimes.

Losing all senses one at a time, 

finding them again in reverse order —

A dance or a kiss, a wrench or a bullet. 

A rolled out blanket of stars.

AWP, a community of writers

This weekend is the annual AWP (Associated Writing Programs) conference. This year it is in Boston. It is one of the two or three annual events that keep me going as a writer. This is a rarefied experience where I get to listen to panel discussions and talks and readings while spending quality time with other writers, most of whom I only see once a year.

I am nearly packed for my trip, going down on Wednesday by train. No parking issues, no driving in the city. Ahhhh. And then there is the hotel stay. Pricey sure. But totally worth it. I am feeling great about the events and the dining and the drinking of fine wine. I am looking forward to seeing fellow alums from Vermont College and some poets whose work I admire. All in all, I am fired up, ready to go.

I hope to be blogging the conference this time... something I haven't done before. So stay tuned.

Pluralism is born in schools; but are we killing it at its source?

I've been thinking heavily about the problems with our larger society, relating to the stalemate that exists at every level of government. We seem to be (again) a deeply divided country over issues like gun safety (school safety is a huge part but not all of that heated debate at the highest levels) and budgetary concerns, and on and on, often ad nauseum.  We are divided on the role of government in the daily lives of citizens, voting access, and access to quality education for our young people. We seem to be on a continuous loop and cannot extricate ourselves from the "problems" long enough to sit down and think them through rationally (in many cases). I am left wondering where the fissure opened and swallowed reason, which used to be a virtue and now seems utterly vilified by the "powers that be" in DC and state legislatures. When did the funhouse mirrors become the lenses through which we observe and engage?

I believe with all my heart and mind that education is the last best hope for solving our problems. However, we can't seem to agree upon what constitutes "quality" education in this country. We measure and measure and grind our teeth to stubs over scores. We blame and shame. We revile teachers and accuse them of being "the problem" along with their unions. There is plenty of blame being slung and teachers have become easy targets. I have ideas about why, but the purpose of this entry is not that... stay tuned though as it is coming! For now I want to address something that may be a can of wriggling worms unless it is actually a safe harbor where we might moor this sinking ship and regroup.

We open for-profit charters thinking businesses must know how to educate, how to run schools, how to weed out the best and brightest from the chaff of the ordinary. We blather on and on about curriculum and standards. What I am not hearing is a solid mission statement that outlines in PLAIN language why we educate in public schools at all. Oh sure, there is the flavor-du-jour message about "preparing today's students to compete in a global economy (or "on the global stage") message that seems to have gotten huge traction in the media and at school boards and education committees across the land. BAH. This is what I'd call a load of bullshit, but just say psycho-babble if you are not into expletives.  Let's unpack that message for a minute:

Prepare our students... :  This sounds like we are operating a training facility of some sort, a place where the only thing that matters is rote performance of tasks. I can't help but question this. I am also reminded grimly of the final part of that old B & W movie, The Day the Earth Stood Still, where we see the cookbook which says it all, portrays the real message that was so understood: To Serve Man. I personally prefer the word, "empower," but maybe I am being too lacking in commercialism here. Can't have that.

to compete... : We must ask ourselves whether we believe education is a zero-sum-game? Is it an event or series of encounters where there are winners and losers? We have gone from a country of states and towns and cities where local schools were the norm to large conglomerate systems of unified districts and consolidated schools. We believe, or have come to believe, that we must make it a race to some finite goal line. Arne Duncan has dismantled the notion that smaller is better. He has promoted this new flavor du jour, Race to the Top. It is  putting lipstick on the pig yet again, making No Child Left Behind into Some Children Will Be Ahead while all others do get left behind. For a race, is by its very definition and denotation comprised of a top few "winners" and a bottom multitude of "losers."

in a global economy... :  How's that global economy principle working out? Ask Greece, Spain, and others whose economies fall or rise (so far none of that rising part) by ties to a "global" monetary unit (the Euro). It seems to me that economic motives in education are less about personal and community success and esteem than the more rote, competitive motives that pit people against one another in a zero-sum game modality. We say we are looking for students to be "successes," but our plan to get them there is more like a series of job-tied constraints with a different label slapped on the process for education to make it palatable. Ask whether it's our end result to gin out worker bees who are measured by what monetary contributions they might make later on. Are we asking our young people to settle for an education that will assure they work in jobs that bring home a basic salary? Are we dressing up the model in order to "feed the queen bee" with skill sets and production figures as measurements? I think we are. It is worrying.

I did not take up writing as a way to earn a living wage, although it would be nice to have a society believe that this thing I do has economic benefit for me and for all. For the "earning" part, I turned first to nursing, then to teaching. Always however writing was part and parcel of who I am as a human being. Yes, I admit it: I am first and most of all a human being.

and on the global stage:  Perhaps most insidious and sinister of all the psycho-babbled parts of our "message" is this idea of humans as mere actors in the schema of society. In all plays and films etc there are the protagonists, the villains, the do-gooders who are just too nice to survive, and above it all the director and the producers. Is this thing we like to call education some grand production, and we the players? What script are we following and who is in charge? Is this a grand comedy where all of us are fools who manage to marry and ride off into the sunset at the end, or a tragedy where everyone dies?

I am worried. I am deeply worried. Gone are the days where children/students went off to school to improve their minds and learn citizenship and other community-based values along with languages, penmanship, math, science, and clear thinking. CRITICAL thinking it is called now and yet so many people give it lip service and fail to see it AS critical, other than as a piece of a resumé that lands a good job perhaps.

Seemingly gone too is the garden of ideas that flourished over discussions and debate. We have enmeshed ourselves in the process of actually smothering pluralism by insisting upon the artificial values of competition and one-upsmanship, brinksmanship, and rigorous high-stakes testing that competes for instructional time and blurs the lines between true success and pseudo-success. Pluralism is the belief that there may be several good ideas and good approaches and good points of view that are valid. Sounds good. Is good. But...we have allowed ideologues to replace a search for larger truths with fact-absent rants and verbal bullying tactics that can only polarize and enforce a me vs you, a we vs them life. Pluralism has become a bit of an archaic term and certainly is not at all the focus of an educational message coming from boards and school committees. More often than not, when I use the term, I get quizzical looks, raised eyebrows, and the question: what is THAT?

Civics is dead, and in its place AP History (US and World) that only marginally passes for anything related to how people co-exist in a much more immediate and smaller political environment. It is AP because that label certifies an excellence, an ADVANCED PLACEMENT in the competing arena of education. It is a please pass go, please collect $200 School Monopoly game. The problem with that is that it leaves behind many bright and accomplished learners who do not have the AP opportunity, or who do not fare well on the artificial instrument that is the exam. But AP "success" is a meat and potatoes entity for school systems. It beefs up school numbers and reputations. It just plain looks good for a school to have large numbers of AP students who do well on the exams. Money follows. Loads of money. This is true for the rest of the high-stakes testing panoply. In resisting high-stakes testing (which leads to more testing, less instructional time beyond test prepping), schools actually LOSE funding. "We have to do it or we don't get the money," is what I hear over and over from school board members and not just a few administrators.

We tout STEM courses as what is "the" important curricular thrust, ignoring the fact that we have a Congress that refuses to accept the outcomes and findings of Science and Mathematics. The Engineering and Technology sides of the rectangle are utilitarian enough to be acceptable because they can be justified in that they fit the business model that is so popular today. Social studies, all social science, is suspect and looked at as some kind of witchcraft in terms of trustworthiness.  Social Studies is not even ON the SAT now. There is a writing component, because there was an outcry for it a few years ago, but it is a joke. Rubrics developed for scoring are artificial touch points and do not allow for any kind of writing that shows creativity or thought. If the rubrics' buzz words are found in the writing, the score is high even if the writing completely lacks style, mechanics, or creative thought. It's just too damn bad for that student who dared to take any kind of out of the box approach. We do not reward thinking whatsoever in our quest for "success" on these tests.

Where is the chance for healthy debate of ideas here? At this rate, it is seemingly nowhere. But why does it matter in the short term if our long term goals are purely utilitarian or commercial? It matters because we are human beings, each of us somewhat unique, with common needs for our shared planetary existence.

But unless and until we turn this train around, we are headed over the cliff. Not a fiscal cliff but an intellectual one, right down into a chasm of group-think destruction. STEM is a good thing: See, Think, Experiment, Mess up, then start again with fresh ideas and approaches and help from the ideas of others. My GRAND WISH for my children was that they learn to stand apart from me, their own legs firmly planted on the ground, doing their best and hashing out their errors with the help of great arguments and collaborations. It is the same wish I have for all of our children.

So what to do now? Indeed what the hell to do? Be a promoter of pluralism in your community. Share openly (with excitement, but not with arrogance) when you have an opinion, but by all means, talk to one another. That person in front of you might just have something important to say.

Truancy; not an old problem

It's a sad state of affairs that, in 2013, truancy is not a faded memory but rather an active problem. There are parents of young children (elementary school age children) who simply do not see it as a value to get their children up, dressed and to the bus in the morning. As a young mother, a single parent with no nearby help, including from the children's father, I got my four girls up, fed, dressed, and to the bus on time every day. Their homework was done, checked, and in their backpacks or book bags. I saw that as the primary responsibility of my adult life. No matter how stressful MY life was (and it was in those days), I knew for my own children to have any kind of futures I had to step up and make that happen for them. My own mother was always there for me while my father earned our living, working long hours and much overtime. They both valued education and saw it as a pathway to the future for me and my siblings. It was not MY responsibility at age 7 or 8 or 9 to get that handled. That job belonged to my parents, more specifically to my mother. And never was there a report card that came home unexamined by my parents in detail, with follow-up conversations with our teachers.

Fast forward to 2013 and my shock to discover there are students in our school district who have missed between 30 and 70 days of school already this year. I was shocked to hear too that there are parents who never look at the report cards of their children, never attend a parent-teacher conference. How can this be? What are these parents doing other than parenting?

I certainly understand that it often takes parents cobbling together several jobs to make ends meet. They are living on a thin string. Often one or the other works nights and both work days. It is hard to live under such stress, in such dire conditions. It is depressing, demoralizing. But the children of these hard-working parents deserve to be top priority, deserve the sacrifice of time and effort by their parents to engage with the process by which their children can break the cycle of poverty and stress in their own lives.

In our school district most children travel to school by bus. Unlike California where so many districts have opted OUT of transporting students, we still do. We provide breakfast and lunch for over 60% of our students, at a free or reduced cost. We put great effort into our curricula and our teachers work very diligently to meet academic needs with rigor and with increasing innovation of methods.

So, what's wrong? Why are so many students in our district and other districts staying home in epic numbers? They are not, in most cases, "ditchers" who go to school and skip out after getting off the bus. No. They never get there in the first place. They are captives in a culture of truancy imposed upon them by the very people who ought to be nurturing them.

As a school board member, I am disturbed and disheartened. I worry about these children. I am angry with their parents. No little girl ought to stay home from school and sit in her parents' apartment all day without playmates, without being part of a classroom of learners. What is WRONG with parents who cannot be bothered to get her up, dressed, and off to a bus that stops two houses away from their apartment?

The State of Maine is in the midst of a fresh look at how to help. I wait to see if help will come. In the meantime, I think it is time for someone to talk turkey about the problem here. It's way past time. This problem will not go away on its own.

A new blog —please visit, comment, and follow

Announcing my new blog Poetry Zone: http://write365poems.blogspot.com

I hope you will enjoy reading the poems of my 365 Challenge. As of today, I am at 102. I am posting them on the blog weekly, after having posted everything from November, December, and January.

Enjoy!

What I can do without

Today, post blizzard, is sunshiny and calm (no wind). The neighborhood men are out throwing and blowing and shoveling. No trees came down and no one in the neighborhood lost power. But oh those drifts! From my bedroom window (2nd floor) there is 24 inches up against the screen. My hubby had to dig his way out of the barn to even get the snow thrower out and running. There is so much snow that it is hard to find space to put it.

It's a pain to deal with the stuff, but it is beautiful. There is a magic to the gleam and glitter of it in sunlight, and when late afternoon comes, the blue fingers of tree shadows will inspire me to write. I took tons of photographs from the safety and warmth of the house, posted a few to our kids and grandkids.

What can I do without? What is my complaint?

I can do without six more weeks of winter. I can happily call this the final storm of the season. But will it be? Or will we be "graced" with more snow? True enough, we live in Maine. We are used to this. We have also had a very mild winter. A week or so of sub-zero temps, a couple small squalls, now this major NEMO event (no trouble FINDING him, he rather found us). But it is also true that by February, we are al tired of the heavy coats, the crap on our shoes, the endless rumbling of our furnaces. Glub, glub, glub.

I can also do without complaining. So, if more winter is coming, I need to think of it as "material" and just write.

Glass of old wine, Stroh Rhum and writing

I've just had the Maineuh's Breakfast of Champions: blueberry pancakes and Moxie.  I've written the poem of the day (60 in 60 days so far and onward!). At this point, you must be asking: what can possibly be the QUALITY of these poems, written daily? How much time, attention to detail, and hard work could possibly be produced in volume like this?

My answer is simple:

1. I am not settling for low poems or striving for high. I am working a discipline.
2. I go for finding one phrase or (if I'm lucky), one line that pleases my palate as a poet.
3. I am exercising my poet's muscle.

This morning's poem is a premonition or warning. I took on the task with a memory from sailing on the Heritage, the Great Windship Heritage out of Rockland, Maine. I added in a memory from childhood when I heard all my fishermen friends repeat the superstitious ditty found below the poem. I also fed off the image of weather as animal (clouds bucking) and got into a rhythm of 9,10, 10, 9 for the stanzas' meter. Meter is a metronome in my head — one that, to be sure, I check as I write/revise.

I'm also thinking of a song by Neil Diamond that has been playing in my head all morning: If You Know What I Mean.  

Took a drag of my last cigarette, took a drink from a glass of old wine.

On my desk is the remains of my Moxie, laced with Stroh Rhum (you can only get it IN Austria) and the remains of last night's wine. I took a picture of the two glasses. My rum and moxie is in a RED SOX glass, my wine in a glass that says, live your life. I am truly in love with the irony of the life of a poet.

So here I am, in my garrett, (translated: my office) while the snow lies all about in drifts so beautifully pure and soft. I am warm with a  fluffy purple blanket around my shoulders. I feel satisfied. My hubby and grandsons are downstairs gearing up for the day's football games. They are being manly and I am being "me-ly." Life is great. 2012 is winding down like a dysfunctional clock. I look forward to what's next. January is my birthday month (yes, I celebrate all month) and I am rushing to meet it with poems in both fists. I will complete the Wilbur manuscript this year (hopefully by May) and will surprise myself with whatever's next.

So a sip of Moxie Stroh to all of you who are wondering where the next poem is, whether you will be up to writing it, and if it will be good enough. I say it will be right where you last thought of an interesting word; it's waiting for you to pick it up, stretch it and write it on a page. It will be good enough because you encountered it and welcomed it. Go find it. Pick up the pen.


Happy New Year!

Carol



The Day 30 (December) Poem:

Day 30 Write about a premonition or warning

Red Sky at Morning*

Clouds bucking the surface of the sea

buckling its skin, taking on water,

evaporating hopes of mariners

heading for home after their big haul.

In the eastern sky, daybreak flares out

with its warning: bad storm’s a-coming lads,

bad storm’s a-coming and you’d best get home

where the fire’s laid and the mugs warmed up.

Steady eye, unsteady wake and all

hands on deck for the run to the harbor,

the hold teeming with early morning catch;

what a day’s pay we’ll fetch from this lads

if we can git this girl t’home, git 

this girl t’home. Else we’ll go down singin’

meet th’others at the bottom o’ the sea.

So haul away, Joe and Tim and Mike.

Clouds bucking the surface of the cold sea.

Sky’s warning disasters yet to be told.

Bad storm’s a-comin’ lads, better head home.

Bad storm’s a-comin’, lads, she’s a-comin’

*from an old sailors’ verse of superstition:

Red sky at night, sailors’ delight; 

Red sky at morning, sailors take warning

Post Marathon Wrap

Yesterday was an amazing day for poetry. I accomplished my "marathon" reading at our library: 8 hours nonstop. I was fortunate to have great support by the library who put up signs, allowed me to inhabit the fireplace room (reading room) and generally direct people to me. There were requests for specific poems to be read by random visitors to the library, including two young girls (probably aged 10 or 11) who brought me poetry books and asked for specific poems. I also met a woman who brought me the works of Anna Emma Coughlin to read. This poet (Coughlin) was a beloved teacher in Rockland (Maine) in the 20s and 30s. Her poems are lovely. Our local high school principal sent a student emissary to deliver a book of poetry by his mother (the principal's mother). Her poems are great and I can't wait to meet her. Another person (thanks Tessie) requested I read the traditional waiting for Santa story/poem (The Night Before Christmas). It was fun to do that. All in all, it was a great day for poetry and for Rockland. I must thank too the graciousness of Dagney Ernest who reported on the story of my marathon (Going Long on he Shortest Day) in the local papers. She is very supportive of what I am doing as Poet Laureate. Thanks, Dagney for coming on your day off to do the photo shoot at the library!


MOMENT OF SILENCE OBSERVED:

At 930, the librarian rang a little bell for a moment of silence for the victims of the horrid tragic shootings in CT. I observed that silence and read in a barely discernible whisper. Immediately afterward, I read aloud those two poems which were written specifically about the shootings, one by me (Lessons From First Grade) and another by our previous Poet Laureate, Kendall Merriam (Agony: a Prayer for the Children, Parents, Teachers).

What about bathroom breaks? you may ask. I was fortunate to have people spell me for that necessity. They had to read in my place while I handled the situation. I had a lobster roll for lunch brought in by my husband (who stayed most of the day and hauled in and out my bags of books and shoes - 5 pairs of sparkly shoes in black, silver, and purple). Another person (thanks Margie!) brought me chocolate-dipped strawberries as a treat and my neighbor brought me throat drops to keep my mouth moist. I never did lose my voice! I was definitely a little raspy by 430 but...

I might mention here, in keeping with the contemporary scene, that I read using multiple methods: from printed papers, from hand-written papers, from books, and from my iPad. Here is s short list of poets I read:

Dana Gioia, BH Fairchild, Seamus Heaney, Millay, Bishop, Michael Dennis Browne, Jennifer MacPherson, Elizabeth Garber, Jacob Fricke, Elizabeth Tibbetts, Larry Kramer, Kristin Lindquist, Auden, Plath, Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, Kathleen Ellis, Gayle Portnow, Wendy Rapaport, and many many many more. I discovered new poems by some of these, and enjoyed returning to poems I have long loved. I began and ended the day with sonnets. Seems only right.

When I got home my hubby made dinner and I retired early. What a good night's sleep I got!

So what is next for this Action Figure Poet Laureate?

I hereby declare January to be RAP Month in Rockland and beyond...

no! not THAT kind of RAP... I am referring to Random Acts of Poetry. I will start things by delivering a "money poem" to local banks on January 2nd when they re-open after the holidays. I encourage poets and lovers of poetry to accomplish some random acts throughout January and to report to me the who what where and when of it. I'll post the "acts" here on my blog in early February.

Also, I invite poets and lovers to an upcoming event in February (exact date and place and time TBA): a Sweetheart Poetry Tea. Poets and lovers will read poems of love and devotion to and about their sweethearts. Valentine cookies and tea will be served and the mood will be romantic. This will be a way to focus on love in a world so seemingly over-focused on everything else.

So, watch FB and this blogspot and my author page: www.carolbachofner.com for details.


That's it for now... time to decorate the Christmas tree and so some wRAPping.

Merit Pay, or let's belittle teachers AGAIN

I am a teacher, by profession and nature. My husband too, and our eldest daughter and our daughter-in-law. But this post is not about us. It is about what is happening to teachers across this nation and this state. There is a piece of legislation up for consideration in Maine and other states (being rammed through?) that would tie as much as 25% of teachers' pay to high-stakes testing (called "student outcome" by our DOE commissioner and others).  It is at times like this when I begin to wonder if there is any logic left. By the way, I see no "bonuses" in the proposed rule, like so many dollars extra if students get so many points on these hideous tests that drive everyone crazy other than bureaucrats.

I would begin here by asking a simple series of questions:


Do doctors get paid based on "patient outcomes"? READ: lab test results for example. (If a patient gets sick do they get their pay docked?)
Do firefighters get paid based upon the numbers of fires they stop before any loss is incurred? (Do they have pay docked when a building or field burns?)
Do cops get paid based upon the numbers of criminals who do not commit crimes? (Are they docked pay when a criminal commits a crime?)

I could go on.


NO. All these people who are professionals get paid based upon negotiated salaries or costs or prices.  We are their fellow citizens and we pay for their services with our taxes and our moneys. We expect them to do their best, but do not expect them to be monetarily evaluated. Why then would we even CONSIDER merit pay for teachers? Parents send their precious children to these hard-wrking professionals for 8 hours a day — to care for them, instruct them, mold their characters, inspire them, assist them in developing thinking and reasoning skills, prepare them for the working world, and would take a bullet for each and every one of them (lest you forget, think of Newtown CT). But we are going to get punitive with their paychecks because of test scores?  No student or family is a consumer of education. Education is a process: of learning to think and learning to improve the mind and society. We don't have a business here, we have a system of education.

The "what is wrong" is not at all the "fault" of teachers. Teachers have to teach in an antiquated system,  a system that was developed and has persisted since the 1890s. Admittedly it has become quite the bureaucracy. That is a problem. But the problem lies within the system itself. Docking teachers' paychecks will not fix the systemic problem, the ingrained foolishness of not updating the system itself. Inserting punitive "merit" pay into this system that is so filled with error already would be the height of error. And unless every teacher has the right to expect bonuses equal to or higher than CEOs of companies, we must stop this ridiculous plan for "de-merit" pay. And unless we put education back into its rightful place of honor and respect, we are going to stay foolish and stay in the blame game.

Yes, there are teachers who are not living up to the title of "teacher" by being stuck in an old groove, not moving forward with the latest and greatest techniques or technologies. There are teachers who are burned out and ready to stop teaching. There is a way for that to get solved. But punishing teachers everywhere for the few who are deficient is a mistake. Would any of us wish to be punished for the shortcomings of others? Would we want to be disparaged for the faults of others? I think not. So why are we so willing to lay the blame and levy punishment on teachers who have done nothing to deserve it? Truly this baffles me. This kind of thing exists nowhere else in our society.

STOP the madness. Oppose any and all efforts to put into place any sort of meritocracy in our school systems.

Education ought to be our top priority in this country and in this state. We ought to pay teachers what Wall Street gets paid, with all the perks they get. But we choose instead to vilify and punish them. Wrong, just wrong.

Education, the silver bullet we turn on ourselves

OUTING MYSELF: I admit it: I am a school board member. I am happy to be a school board member. I love working for our students and seeing their successes. However, I wonder after every meeting if there is a 12-step program for us. While it is good work to be doing, it does get discouraging. Last night was one of those occasions when I came home very discouraged.

Last night was a public forum on our district's proposed Strategic Plan. This forum was well-advertised. It was well-organized. It was a poorly-attended gathering of fewer than 75 people INCLUDING some staff, the superintendent, administrators, student helpers, and some (not all) board members. The draft of the plan has been up on the district web site for quite a while with a "survey monkey" for the public to be able to weigh in on the details from home if they could not attend public meetings on this. I was shocked to learn that only 16 people have taken the survey, which closes before Christmas break. I can pretty much guarantee that our 6 towns have more than 16 people who will grouse loudly in the future as we implement (and try to fund) this plan. Discouraging to say the least.

We were asked last night to speak to any concerns we might have with the plan and its components. Several people did speak. It is notable that these are generally the same people who come to board meetings from time to time to speak on issues of concern to them. I applaud all who came and shared. But...

It became clear to me that we are like scattershot in terms of these concerns. One woman thinks the thing we ought to be doing is hiring more teachers to create additional sections of classes that get filled up (she doesn't mention the cost involved that might sink our budget). While I agree with her (I do agree), I have not seen her at ANY of the budget meetings and wonder if she thinks teachers are free. Another woman who does come to board and budget meetings complained that the plan is too long. She held up a two-sided laminated (in bright colors) chart that apparently was the plan for a now nonexistent district. Yet another woman said the plan was not specific enough and doesn't have dates specific wherein each goal would be finished. None of these women understands that this is a living document, a set of goals toward which we will strive or that it is not also a legally-binding document whose tenets must be accomplished. It is a plan, not a mandate. None of these women, and not too many others in the room, understands the components of a plan. OK. Not a problem. We can (and should) educate them and the rest of the citizens as to what a plan means and does.

My greatest joy last night was a set of comments made by a teacher (from another district but who resides here). He urged us to get busy on implementing Standards-Based leaning and reporting. He made the point that we (all the US) have been teaching and learning under antiquated models where there is not fairness in grading and expectations of time vs accomplishment, and where there is a punitive system of grading that discourages success for the long haul (read: lifelong learning and self-esteem here). He is right. 100% right. I commented (and I know there were some who are probably pretty mad at me for saying it) that we have been "talking about talking about" standards-based and it is time to actually DO it, for the benefit of all students and their futures. The gentleman who spoke pointed out that taking action on this will cost us (financially) way less than new buildings and we can accomplish it in a relatively efficient manner and in a relatively short period of time. He is 100% right there too. We need to be looking at other districts already on board with this. I have been saying this for over a year. We can accomplish this not by talking but by digging in, rolling up our sleeves and focusing like a laser on DOING. Talking about baking a cake doesn't get the cake on your plate. Assembling the ingredients helps but won't get the cake baked either. You have to DO the work of the cake. It is the same with Standards-Based learning and reporting. And as for cost: it will be minimal relatively speaking, and over time will so simplify the system that it will pay for itself.

My biggest irk last night was the comments of one man who droned on and on and on about our buildings and how old they are. He cited 3 or 4 specific buildings that are over 50 years old. His imperative to us was that we need to close old schools, reduce the number of buildings, and build new (and fewer) more up-to-date facilities. It is odd to me, since this man is a number-cruncher, that he doesn't see the elephant in the room: the cost of new buildings. I agree that it seems (at the face) odd to have 10 buildings for 2000 students. But what he misses (other than the cost) is that, for our 6 towns, these buildings represent community education and community spirit. He states that he cares about children, but his speech is all dollars. Oh sure, it would be great to have brand new state-of-the-art schools. Nearby Camden got one of those fancy-schmancy building complexes, financed by MBNA before it pulled up stakes and bailed on the area. But do the students in that luxury building fare better or have better lives than students in aging buildings? There are certainly some high-end programs there (because the town is affluent) that our district cannot fund. But in the basics, the subjects and the culture and the happiness of students, do our aging buildings cause a lessening of success for our students? I don't think so. We have, for the most part, dedicated faculty, staff, and administrators. We have students who, for the most part, work hard to learn. The truth is that there is unrest and unhappiness in even the grandest mansion and overflowing happiness in even the most dilapidated hovel. Why affluent support gets tied to happiness is beyond me, but it so often is. I say that good things can (and do) happen in old buildings and not-so-good things can (and do) happen in new buildings. Once safety has been established as a baseline for both, it is about what goes on INSIDE that counts.

So, I am a bit discouraged. Education truly is the silver bullet for ALL our citizens and for success in every aspect of life. An uneducated or an undereducated populous is one easily controlled and manipulated. An educated workforce (I do not mean to say everyone needs an academic post-secondary experience) is more efficient and happier and therefore more productive and prosperous both financially and personally. We all know this and pretty much agree, but what seems to be missing is the will to make it happen. We are in essence committing national suicide by ignoring our schools and tying funding to silly entities like property taxes. Education, pre-K through college or tech schools, ought to be FREE to all. It ought to be that teachers are once again given the respect they have earned rather than vilified and threatened by stupid things like merit pay, union stripping, and ridicule.  It ought to be that EVERYONE in a community would see it as their civic duty to participate in making school the hub of the community. Instead we make restaurants and bars our hubs. What is wrong with that picture? We are turning the silver bullet on ourselves people. We will not solve problems with only a handful of frustrated, over-burdened people working on the solutions while the uninvolved complain bitterly on the sidelines.

Meanwhile, I will stay on my soapbox and fight for our students' right to the best system we can forge for them.