Poets' Corner

Today I took a field trip to Westminster Abbey and we toured the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior. There were poppies everywhere, gold gilt out the ying-yang, and sweet, old marshalls in robes. It was darling and traditional and just a little bit chilly, the way it always is in a stone building.

But tucked away in the northern corner is Poets' Corner, where there are the tombs and memorials to many amazing English writers from Geoffrey Chaucer to Ted Hughes and many in between. I had a moment there, reading the memorial names of many beloved writers all together in one hallowed space. Most of the students only knew a few names... they didn't even see the Bronte's, the didn't know Tennyson or Keats or Chaucer, and it made me so unbearably sad.

I love teaching English to my kids... but it's almost like teaching them about these amazing people... the stories, the history, the culture, the politics, the biography... and I felt very sad that they didn't know these quirky and solemn and sarcastic individuals as I'd come to know them from a lifetime of reading.

I also felt really sad walking into Poets' Corner. I've been writing since I was about 10 years old and I've yet to really refine my craft or focus my energy or contribute to this body of work that I've been in love with my entire life. Will I be the teacher who couldn't do it... I can't write, so I'll teach? I can't read, so I'll teach? I love teaching and I know there is a certain art to it, but I love the art of reading and writing as well and there just seems to be so much I don't get to teach the younguns I'm charged with. There's so much they won't get to learn about literature, reading, writing... so many worlds they'll miss out on, characters they won't meet, battles they won't experience... not merely because I'm not taking them there, but because so few read outside of class.

::sigh::