Oh, my poor, poor, neglected professional blog. Every year I have such great intentions, and every year, I get sucked into all the papers to grade and books I should be reading and lessons I plan and tweak. I write regularly on my personal blog, but over here, blogging takes so much more thought.
I struggle to find topics about education that don’t end in a rant about NCLB. I stress over whether my tiny voice even matters. And then there’s the issue of time to develop something positive, something that might contribute to the ethereal “conversation.”
So to ease back into this blog, I’ll jump on the National Poetry Month bandwagon and share some poems over the next couple of weeks.
To begin, my most favorite Shakespearean sonnet. I read this poem the first time during a British Lit class at BYU, and it struck me as so different from his other sonnets. Rather than extolling the virtues of his love, this sonnet documents an argument. I love the fear he conveys as he waits for her to finish her sentence. Oh, just read it for yourself.
Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’
To me that languish’d for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,
That follow’d it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying ‘not you.’