No really…. I am.
Remember in my last post how I said I was whingeing about my job last night?
An hour ago I had the BEST poetry lesson with my year 9 English class. I read them a couple of dramatic monologues… one by an ex-student and one by me, (just to prove that I don’t ask them to do anything that I’m not prepared to do.)
They LOVED them! One girl, who’d started the week by saying how much she hated poetry, was raving about the poem by the ex student and asking if she could keep her copy to put it up on her wall. Then, after we’d gone over mine, she asked me to bring more of my work in. (I won’t, because that’s a bit sad, but it was nice to hear!) There were bursts of laughter as I was reading the first poem, (which is a lovely poem about bullying) while they totally got my poem about the stalker. We were talking about the symbols and the ways the poets used language to get their point/s across, they were sensitive to the nuances and we had a brilliant discussion about how dramatic monolgues work and how they can do similar things with their own writing. Even the boys at the back were offering opinions and getting involved. Great stuff.
I left that class with a definite spring in my step. Why have I avoided year 9 English for so long?