Poetically Composed, Educationally Imposed: Khám phá Tưởng tượng và Thơ ca - Luận án

Georgia Southern University Digital Commons@Georgia Southern Electronic Theses and Dissertations Graduate Studies, Jack N. Averitt College of Fall 2019 Poetically Composed, Educationally Imposed: Exploring Imagination and Poetics in Curriculum—A Memoir Whitney J. Presnal Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.edu/etd Part of the Art Education Commons, Children's and Young Adult Literature Commons, Language and Literacy Education Commons, Poetry Commons, and the Secondary Education Commons Recommended Citation Presnal, W. Poetically Composed, Educationally Imposed: Exploring Imagination and Poetics in Curriculum—A Memoir (Doctoral dissertation).

Georgia Southern University, Statesboro, GA. This dissertation (open access) is brought to you for free and open access by the Graduate Studies, Jack N. Averitt College of at Digital Commons@Georgia Southern. It has been accepted for inclusion in Electronic Theses and Dissertations by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons@Georgia Southern.

For more information, please contact digitalcommons@georgiasouthern. POETICALLY COMPOSED, EDUCATIONALLY IMPOSED: EXPLORING IMAGINATION AND POETICS IN CURRICULUM—A MEMOIR by WHITNEY J. PRESNAL (Under the Direction of John Weaver) ABSTRACT Through the use of memoir, my work centers on how poetry is situated within public education curriculum. I explore the curricular context of poetry through the lenses of my lived experiences in early childhood, as a K-12 student, and as an early career classroom teacher.

My dissertation draws upon a wide array of literature, honing in on the poetic perspectives of philosophers (Aristotle, 1996; Heidegger, 1947 & 1971/2013; Plato, 1955/2007), poets (Hall, 2003; Eliot, 1920 & 2009), and curriculum theorists (Leggo, 1997 & 2018; Pinar, 1994; Sameshima, 2007). The foundation of my work is drawn from my own circular experiences, falling in and out of love with poetry as its muses spoke softly in childhood, abandoned me altogether in my teenage years, and beckoned me to rediscovery of poetry while obtaining my undergraduate degree. After becoming a secondary educator, I realized that the humanities paired with imagination are deprived in the secondary education classroom; therefore, I made it my ultimate goal as an educator to resurrect the humanities and imagination in the classroom. My experiences with poetry in the past, present, and future influence my teaching pedagogy, honing in on what challenges the poetic license of the mind.

In my dissertation, I utilize William F. Pinar’s (1994) triad of reflections for working within as an educator; I explore my own accounts of poetry and pedagogy through memoir, underscoring the importance of poetry and imagination in curriculum. INDEX WORDS: Poetry, Poetic inquiry, Memoir, Curriculum, Imagination, Creative writing POETICALLY COMPOSED, EDUCATIONALLY IMPOSED: EXPLORING IMAGINATION AND POETICS IN CURRICULUM—A MEMOIR by WHITNEY J., University of West Georgia, 2012 M., Georgia Southern University, 2015 A Dissertation Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Georgia Southern University in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF EDUCATION STATESBORO, GEORGIA © 2019 WHITNEY J. PRESNAL All Rights Reserved 1 POETICALLY COMPOSED, EDUCATIONALLY IMPOSED: EXPLORING IMAGINATION AND POETICS IN CURRICULUM—A MEMOIR by WHITNEY J.

PRESNAL Major Professor: John Weaver Committee: Ming Fang He Marla Morris Gregory Fraser Electronic Version Approved December 2019 2 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My work would not have been possible without the support of many. I would first like to thank John Weaver, my committee chair and major professor, who has continually provided me with an outlet to explore my imagination in academia, providing me with inspiration, wisdom, and guidance. I would also like to offer thanks to Ming Fang He, who has been my academic cheerleader and creative supporter, and Marla Morris, who has challenged my thinking outside of the classroom walls. Another thank you is needed for Gregory Fraser who awoke my poetic prowess and supported my poetic endeavors during my undergraduate degree program and who continues to offer support in my graduate work.

I wish to thank my husband, Blake Presnal, for supporting and encouraging me daily; my daughter, Lila Kate Presnal, who made me a Mama and helped me cross the finish-line; my fur-child, Moonpie, who spent many endless nights and early mornings in my lap while we read and worked toward earning my doctoral degree and her “dog-torate.” I would also like to wish a tremendous thank you to my parents: my father, Tony Johnson, who was an endless supporter and provider of many meals, and my mother, Christie Johnson, for setting an outstanding example of what it means to be a goal-chaser, academic professional, and most of all, the best mother, providing guidance, insight, and love. 3 TABLE OF CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS…………………………………………………………… 2 PRELUDE…………………………………………………………………………. 8 The Importance of Childhood, Yesterday, and Later………………………… 9 CHAPTER ONE POETIC PRELUDE: Don’t Smile on Day One…………. 13 CHAPTER ONE: OPEN THE CURRICULUM/ MEET ME IN A STANZA…….

14 The Teacher, Me: My Story…………………………………………………. 16 Brief Knowledge of Self, Discipline, and Students……………….16 Methodology………………………………………………………… 20 Students nod their head in fear: Why Poetic Inquiry?. 20 Chatting in lapsed time: Why Memoir?. 22 Fling the rules to the side: Embracing imagination………….

24 A different decent decree: Curriculum and Poetry Collide…. 25 The Cracked Sterile Tile: Overview………………………………………. 29 CHAPTER TWO POETIC PRELUDE: Dear Shel and Sylvia………………. 34 CHAPTER TWO: SIDEWALK WRITING AND RAIN RECITING…………….

36 An Invitation…………………………………………………………………36 Educators in Fine Arts: The Dreamers………………………………………38 Poetic Inquiry: The Wishers………………………………………………. 40 Students, Scholars, and Poet-Scholars: The Hope-ers, the Pray-ers, and Magic Bean Buyers…………………………………………………………. 46 Poet-Scholars (An Oxymoron? No. 49 The Poets: “The Pretenders”……………………………………………….52 Poetry in Secondary Curriculum: The Flax-golden Tales to Spin………….

55 Playing with Poetry: Come in!. 58 CHAPTER TWO POETIC POSTLUDE: A Poem Not Titled Rain………………. 62 CHAPTER THREE POETIC PRELUDE: Poor Physics…………………………… 63 CHAPTER THREE: STORYTELLING, POOR PHYSICS, AND POETIC LICENSE 64 Lived Experiences: The Chaotic Pinball …………………………………… 66 Fencing in Poetic Imagination: Ricochets…Everywhere…………………. 70 Fencing in Educators: Spurring Interactions……………………………….

73 Fencing in Students: Endless Rows………………………………………… 78 Curriculum and Storytelling Align: Flipping, Bumping, Plunging………… 82 Storytelling and Poetry: The Two Folds of Greif and Happiness…………. 86 Memoir, Poetry, and Teaching: Getting Overthrown………………………. 88 Poetic Storytelling: Propelling on My Own………………………………. 91 CHAPTER FOUR POETIC PRELUDE: A Dialogue Between Poetry and Hip-hop 95 CHAPTER FOUR: TERSE VERSE AND THE POETRY CURSE……………….

97 The Curse: A Misunderstood Dialogue…………………………. 99 Between Tracks: Where Poetry and Hip-hop Meet in the Classroom……. 111 ‘Improv’-ing (My Favorite)…………………………………………… 112 After the Chorus: The Benefits of Poetry and Hip-hop in Curriculum………. 118 Teacher and Verse Preacher: Breaking the Silent Curse……………………….

122 CHAPTER FOUR POETIC POSTLUDE: An Afterthought Between Poetry and Hip-hop…………………………………………………………. 126 CHAPTER FIVE POETIC PRELUDE: Perplexing Patterns…………………………. 127 CHAPTER FIVE: PERPLEXING PATTERNS IN POETRY AND PERSONAL IDENTITY IN CURRICULUM……………………………………………. 129 Later and Now: Where are the Perplexing Patterns?.

133 The Welcome Mat is Stained with Dirt: Where We Have Been………………. 136 Somebody Else Inherited Our Recycling: Where We Are Going……………… 141 A Street of Hullabaloo and Flies: But Lets Go Here Instead………………. 148 Poetic storytelling as better learning…………………………………… 150 Poetic writing as voicing injustices……………………………………. 151 Poetic construction of song as narrative…………………………….

154 The Secrets from the Carpet: Create Your Own Patterns……………………… 157 CHAPTER FIVE POETIC POSTLUDE: To those Poetically Composed……. 160 6 PRELUDE Childhood— a mixture of murals— like those undone pines, those rusty mailboxes that breathed life over Tranquility Drive cement waiting for me to ride by on two wheels with the FM radio mounted to my handlebars there is nothing more powerful than the melody of muses in the young evening air or white Reeboks on the pedals next to the ground and the fence along the pavement is so deep you can’t really ride next to it those cows hovering over the wire (waiting for sugar cubes) a bellow of clamoring at the fence friendship is inevitable until the night sky cascades onto the front porch I pretend that I have found the Lost Ark And run like Indiana back to my bike: fast, bold, strong, but female. The fence is now racing past me, past the pines, as if I am pedaling light years away from this glittering galaxy so loved the turn into the driveway heightens before the gravel, the evening sighs into the pasture as I pedal faster flying from the night, going home, soaring like the last needles next to the clinging pines, like the leaves next to the garage, now I go and climb—the stairs the only option—toward the fresh scent of home on the kitchen table and sounds of Peter Jennings I drink my dairy and eat my dinner: and I will never see a sound except for this mural I wish I could frame in time. 7 Yesterday my tire mashed my Hot Pocket.

I ate it anyways. Then, a trucker swerved at primary colors swinging in air. Don’t be late, he mouthed. The exhaust howled, I chewed all six packs of gum after I noticed a waterfall of coffee so delicately flowing upon my floral skirt—the curriculum is calling.

I’ve revised, cried and sighed into the open arms of John Dewey who casts empathetic eyes at the knobby lock on my classroom door. At lunch, I snagged my coffee dress on the corner of a worn out desk where stacks of essays reside—word-pile evidence that teenage minds have put their phones aside in an attempt to analyze Homer— how epic they must have felt as they didn’t check their accounts for thirty minutes. Later, at dinner, I found myself snapped, cramping and hungry, but desired my Tic Tacs for wine, wine for Oreos, Oreos for wine again. Exhausted, I stripped my blouse, perched on the counter, traced my index in filtered coffee grounds with remnants of pen ink tattooed on my right hand.

At ten the plants grew. I blinked, slugs squirmed below sod like whales on Jupiter. Content with myself, I collected remnants of garbage, promising one day I’d write a novel, compose it and autograph— Let them roll their eyes, I crowed, I have it mapped on post-its. By eleven forty-five, I had cramps rough.

I caressed my side, swallowed a pill, rubbed menthol, clutched my waist, 8 set my alarm. My head down, jumped weak at my stance in mirrors, laid my back on the sheets. Finally, at last, I shut my eyes, sore and torn from a dream— I recall an ocean or banana peel, no salt, a beach, pearls swirled around my neck— No pile of ungraded papers holding me down. Later slows down and stops to think me.

I think and have stopped and usually sigh for a minute while gazing at a cracked, lit door, then over to the carpet, then back to mirror as I blink and see and produce the see me, see me later. There comes later— and is very comforting; because there, this evening, is usually the place where I find the I: it’s called being self. Sometimes later is named by its location, leaving all present laters behind, until— after or later: everything will seem the same. Although later is not just later.

Later is also a childhood thought: a lost feeling from yesterday, and a broken piano, note key from the day before now sighing into my ear on the stationary next to my lamp— see you me later. 9 PRELUDE: THE IMPORTANCE OF CHILDHOOD, YESTERDAY, AND LATER Throughout the summer of 2018, I engaged in a highly personalized civil war. Hackling myself within the limits of what either mind-side was willing to tolerate, I fired volleys of questions that I quickly returned in rapid succession debate on the topic and path I would take in writing my dissertation. This same summer, as I was sitting in a conference session on mythopoetics and self-study in Savannah, Georgia, the distant smoke of dissertation cannons clouding my brain, I quickly jotted notes while listening to writer, professor, and lecturer Dr.

Mary Aswell Doll, hoping to capture each word; every syllable. As she spoke, I found my pen moving faster as she made a bold statement in her lecture with regard to the writing of autobiography and memoir. In the months that followed, I continued to reflect on this statement from Doll’s lecture and kept the notes close to me for the forthcoming semesters.