“April is the cruelest month,” T.S. Eliot once wrote, and for the last ten years, since its inception in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets , has also been National Poetry Month . As part of this month-long national celebration of poetry, and in order to mitigate April’s cruelty, Yale Press is pleased to present Jay Hopler’s Green Squall , winner of the 2005 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition . “[T]here is a solitude in this art as deep as any in American poetry since Stevens,” Louise Glück observes in the book’s foreword. Green Squall is a book filled with tardy recognitions and insights. Always we sense, beneath the surface of even the most raucous poems, impending crisis: the terrifying onset of that life long held at a distance. havard business review lways bravura is connected to melancholy, fastidious distinctions to wild exuberance, largesse to connoisseurship, self-contempt to uncontrollably erupting hopefulness. Hopler’s dreamy obscurities and rapturous effusions share with his more direct speech a refusal to be groomed into uncommunicative cool: they are encoded, not unintelligible. He writes like someone haunted or stalked; he wants, simultaneously, to hide and to end the anxiety of hiding, to reveal himself (in every sense of the word), to give himself away. Read a poem (in pdf format) from the book.

Funny what happens when you innocently think, "Hey, I guess I could start a blog. Maybe use it as a way to collect and do research. Even if I'm the only one who knows it exists." After 2 years of non-stop, fast-n-furious researching, writing, linking, and publishing (over 1,800 posts to date) through the "think:lab" filter, I'm feeling that that particular journey is over. Or that a new one is about ready to begin. Gut instinct: Be grateful. Pack the boxes. Shelve them. Be agile. Move on. Shift attention from 'big picture' questions via "think:lab" to day-to-day teaching via a new blog. Stop noticing site ranks or Technorati. Be okay if you build it and nobody comes. Focus on kids, assignments, research, and how to integrate lovely digital toys into traditional classroom setting. Create "Zen and the Art of Returning to Classroom Teaching Learning Curve Maintenance" blog. Or something less of a verbal mouthful. Cons: Brand. Losing value of something that took 2 years to create from scratch. Big Picture. Losing value of a blog that roams far and wide for questions, rather than focuses in on 'one' thing. Connections. Losing value of a school bus crash log link that a few folks have discovered. Ego. Losing fire hose to quench daily ego-rub thirst, even if it is fictional (he smiles). Being human. Losing a 'friend' (of sorts). Pros: Simplicity. Not juggling 2 voices, 2 sites, 2 themes, 2 goals, 2 separate journeys. Focus: Not trying to force new P.O.V.

“April is the cruelest month,” T.S. Eliot once wrote, and for the last ten years, since its emergency flashlight nception in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets , has also been National Poetry Month . As part of this month-long national celebration of poetry, and in order to mitigate April’s cruelty, Yale Press is pleased to present Jay Hopler’s Green Squall , winner of the 2005 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition . “[T]here is a solitude in this art as deep as any in American poetry since Stevens,” Louise Glück observes in the book’s foreword. Green Squall is a book filled with tardy recognitions and insights. Always we sense, beneath the surface of even the most raucous poems, impending crisis: the terrifying onset of that life long held at a distance. Always bravura is connected to melancholy, fastidious distinctions to wild exuberance, largesse to connoisseurship, self-contempt to uncontrollably erupting hopefulness. Hopler’s dreamy obscurities and rapturous effusions share with his more direct speech a refusal to be groomed into uncommunicative cool: they are encoded, not unintelligible. He writes like someone haunted or stalked; he wants, simultaneously, to hide and to end the anxiety of hiding, to reveal himself (in every sense of the word), to give himself away. Read a poem (in pdf format) from the book.

If life is too short to stuff a mushroom, it's almost certainly too short to painstakingly disassemble a Brussels sprout, leaf by leaf, so it can be reassembled, compare files eaf by leaf, with chicken mousse as a binding agent. Three hours it took me, to disassemble 1.6 kilograms of Brussels sprouts without breaking those bloody leaves. By the end, I was convinced I had arthritis in my hands. And imagine my shame when an apprentice later told me how much time, I mean, how little time, the task takes him.

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Funny what happens when you innocently think, "Hey, I guess I could start a blog. Maybe use it as a way to collect and do research. Even if I'm the only one who knows it exists." After 2 years of non-stop, fast-n-furious researching, writing, linking, and publishing (over 1,800 posts to date) through the "think:lab" filter, I'm feeling that that particular journey is over. Or that a new one is about ready to begin. Gut instinct: Be grateful. Pack the boxes. Shelve them. Be agile. Move on. Shift attention from 'big picture' questions via "think:lab" to day-to-day teaching via a new blog. Stop noticing site ranks or Technorati. Be okay if you build it and nobody comes. Focus on kids, assignments, research, and how to integrate lovely digital toys into traditional classroom setting. Create "Zen and the Art of Returning to Classroom Teaching petsafe radio fence earning Curve Maintenance" blog. Or something less of a verbal mouthful. Cons: Brand. Losing value of something that took 2 years to create from scratch. Big Picture. Losing value of a blog that roams far and wide for questions, rather than focuses in on 'one' thing. Connections. Losing value of a blog link that a few folks have discovered. Ego. Losing fire hose to quench daily ego-rub thirst, even if it is fictional (he smiles). Being human. Losing a 'friend' (of sorts). Pros: Simplicity. Not juggling 2 voices, 2 sites, 2 themes, 2 goals, 2 separate journeys. Focus: Not trying to force new P.O.V.

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“April is the cruelest month,” T.S. Eliot once wrote, and for the last ten years, since its inception in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets , has also been National Poetry Month . As part of this month-long national celebration of poetry, and in order to mitigate April’s cruelty, Yale Press is pleased to present Jay Hopler’s Green Squall , winner of the 2005 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition . “[T]here is a solitude in this art as deep as any in American poetry since Stevens,” Louise Glück observes search engines n the book’s foreword. Green Squall is a book filled with tardy recognitions and insights. Always we sense, beneath the surface of even the most raucous poems, impending crisis: the terrifying onset of that life long held at a distance. Always bravura is connected to melancholy, fastidious distinctions to wild exuberance, largesse to connoisseurship, self-contempt to uncontrollably erupting hopefulness. Hopler’s dreamy obscurities and rapturous effusions share with his more direct speech a refusal to be groomed into uncommunicative cool: they are encoded, not unintelligible. He writes like someone haunted or stalked; he wants, simultaneously, to hide and to end the anxiety of hiding, to reveal himself (in every sense of the word), to give himself away. Read a poem (in pdf format) from the book.

Funny what happens when you innocently think, "Hey, I guess I could start a blog. Maybe use it as a way to collect and do research. Even if I'm the only one who knows it exists." After 2 years of non-stop, fast-n-furious researching, writing, linking, and publishing (over 1,800 posts to date) through the "think:lab" filter, I'm feeling that that particular journey is over. Or that a new one is about ready to begin. Gut instinct: Be grateful. Pack the boxes. Shelve them. Be agile. Move on. Shift attention from 'big picture' questions via "think:lab" to day-to-day teaching via a new blog. Stop noticing site ranks or Technorati. Be okay if you build it and nobody comes. Focus on kids, assignments, research, and how to integrate lovely digital toys into traditional classroom setting. Create "Zen and the Art of Returning to Classroom Teaching Learning Curve Maintenance" blog. Or something less of a verbal mouthful. Cons: Brand. Losing value of something that took 2 years to create from scratch. Big Picture. reseller shared hosting osing value of a blog that roams far and wide for questions, rather than focuses in on 'one' thing. Connections. Losing value of a blog link that a few folks have discovered. Ego. Losing fire hose to quench daily ego-rub thirst, even if it is fictional (he smiles). Being human. Losing a 'friend' (of sorts). Pros: Simplicity. Not juggling 2 voices, 2 sites, 2 themes, 2 goals, 2 separate journeys. Focus: Not trying to force new P.O.V.

Funny what happens when you innocently think, "Hey, I guess I could start a blog. Maybe use it as a way to collect and do research. Even if I'm the only one who knows it exists." After 2 years of non-stop, fast-n-furious researching, writing, linking, and publishing (over 1,800 posts to date) through the "think:lab" filter, I'm feeling that that particular journey is over. Or that a new one is about ready to begin. Gut instinct: Be grateful. Pack the boxes. Shelve them. Be agile. Move on. Shift attention from 'big picture' questions via "think:lab" to day-to-day teaching via a new blog. Stop noticing site ranks or Technorati. Be okay if you build it and nobody comes. Focus on kids, assignments, research, and how to integrate lovely digital toys into traditional classroom setting. Create "Zen and the Art of Returning to Classroom Teaching Learning Curve Maintenance" blog. Or something less of a verbal mouthful. Cons: Brand. Losing value of something that took 2 years to create from scratch. Big Picture. Losing value of a blog that roams far and wide for questions, rather than focuses in on 'one' thing. Connections. Losing value of a blog link that a few folks have discovered. Ego. Losing fire hose to quench daily ego-rub thirst, even if it is fictional (he smiles). Being human. Losing free spyware detection software 'friend' (of sorts). Pros: Simplicity. Not juggling 2 voices, 2 sites, 2 themes, 2 goals, 2 separate journeys. Focus: Not trying to force new P.O.V.

“April is the cruelest month,” T.S. Eliot once wrote, and for the last ten years, since its inception in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets , has also been National Poetry Month . As part of this month-long national celebration of poetry, and in order to mitigate April’s cruelty, Yale Press is pleased to present Jay Hopler’s Green Squall , winner of the 2005 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition . “[T]here is a solitude in this art as deep as any in rear view mirrors merican poetry since Stevens,” Louise Glück observes in the book’s foreword. Green Squall is a book filled with tardy recognitions and insights. Always we sense, beneath the surface of even the most raucous poems, impending crisis: the terrifying onset of that life long held at a distance. Always bravura is connected to melancholy, fastidious distinctions to wild exuberance, largesse to connoisseurship, self-contempt to uncontrollably erupting hopefulness. Hopler’s dreamy obscurities and rapturous effusions share with his more direct speech a refusal to be groomed into uncommunicative cool: they are encoded, not unintelligible. He writes like someone haunted or stalked; he wants, simultaneously, to hide and to end the anxiety of hiding, to reveal himself (in every sense of the word), to give himself away. Read a poem (in pdf format) from the book.

If life is too short to stuff a mushroom, it's almost certainly too short to painstakingly disassemble a Brussels sprout, leaf by leaf, so it can be reassembled, leaf by leaf, with chicken mousse as a binding agent. Three washington mutual mortgage ours it took me, to disassemble 1.6 kilograms of Brussels sprouts without breaking those bloody leaves. By the end, I was convinced I had arthritis in my hands. And imagine my shame when an apprentice later told me how much time, I mean, how little time, the task takes him.