Mr. Duffy's gift of poetry

I have received several kind responses to my previous blog post. Thank you to those who let me know they enjoyed it!

It got me thinking about poetry, and how it has enriched my life at times. Often, when I am feeling emotional, I will think of lines from poems I learned in my youth. You see, I was a very lucky student back in elementary school. I attended a small school that was a lab school for a small college in the little town of Fredonia New York. Called the Campus School, it was the place where the elementary education students from the college got to practice before being set out into the world as teachers. Each class had a teacher, plus numerous student teachers throughout the year. Our class size was limited to no more than 25 students. With one teacher plus sometimes up to 3 student teachers (a senior student plus two junior students) we had a lot of attention.

In the Fifth Grade, I was lucky to be assigned to Mr. Duffy's class. He was a young, energetic guy who not only kept up with 25 10 year olds, but kept us busy, interested and learning. And in addition to the usual subjects, he taught us poetry.

Mr. Duffy loved poetry. He read us poems daily. He encouraged us to write them (I have a collection of creative writing from our class-- many poems in there, including my own!) and to memorize them. His love for poetry was infectious... I learned to love it too.

As a thank you to this wonderful teacher (who I have heard is still living, reading poetry no doubt!) I present another poem for your enjoyment. I can still hear him reading this poem with great gusto and enthusiasm, the class listening wide eyed...

Mr. Gerald Duffy, many years after he taught me this poem...

The Charge of the Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

1.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred.

2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

3.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

 4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they run'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

5.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thnder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

6.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.

Copied from Poems of Alfred Tennyson,
J. E. Tilton and Company, Boston, 1870

The Woods on a Winter Evening

Here in Indiana we are in the middle of a winter storm. It is predicted to snow over a foot, with rising winds and falling temperatures. Our TV has been full of dire warnings, advice on how to "survive" the storm, what to do and not to do to be safe.

Having been born and raised in Western New York, where snow like this was a frequent thing, I find all the fuss a bit annoying. Of course I want everyone to be safe-- and heaven knows folks around here have a hard time driving in bad winter weather. But my overall reaction to a winter storm is excitement and anticipation and then pure enjoyment.

I have pointed out in my blog before what I love about a good snow-- that it covers the brown and gray world in beautiful, pristine, dazzling white. That while it snows the world is a much, much quieter place. That it forces us to slow down. I think we all need a good dose of quiet, lazy beauty after the rush of the holidays!

So... when I got up this morning to see snow falling heavily and steadily, I didn't just get dressed. I got dressed to go outside. Heavy socks, boots, hat, scarf, gloves. And camera. I tromped around our little piece of this earth and took photos of the beauty. And was reminded of one of my favorite poems, written of course by Robert Frost.  I thought I'd share a few of my photos and Mr. Frost's beautiful, quiet poem in hopes that it will help any of my readers who are sidelined by the storm to appreciate the loveliness to be found in it...

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc., renewed 1951, by Robert Frost.