Took the boys from GC to Sam's Club today to shop for their appreciation dinner on Thursday. They split up into two teams of three and Mr. D. took one group while I took the other. They are preparing a dinner for their favorite teachers, administrators, counselors, etc. and planned quite a menu last week.
Thursday I will be enjoying:
- Mini quiches
- Shrimp cocktail
- Garden salad
- Spaghetti and meatballs
- Garlic bread
- Cheesecake
- Smoothies
They were so enthusiastic and excited about the planning and the shopping. Honestly, these boys have been growing so much. I'm excited to see how they are at the end of the year. I really feel like we've bonded.
I spoke to Mr. B. today about IB and where I'll be next year. He said he was happy for me and my plans for the future, but that he hated to see me go. He has this idea that the A2 class has exploded because of me. I don't know that that is necessarily the case, but it was flattering. He told me that whatever I decide to do after grad school - if I want to come back to Gar-Field - that I should let him know and he will do everything he can to help me out. And if I don't want to go back to Gar-Field, but want to work in another IB school abroad, he'd help me out. It feels good to have people who back me like that.
Finally, a poem that some of my students have been analyzing for their internal assessments that has really gotten to me. So deep this one...
A JULIA DE BURGOS
Ya las gentes murmuran que yo soy tu enemiga
porque dicen que en verso doy al mundo mi yo.
Mienten, Julia de Burgos. Mienten, Julia de burgos.
La que se alza en mis versos no es tu voz: es mi voz
porque tú eres ropaje y la esencia soy yo; y el más
profundo abismo se tiende entre las dos.
Tú eres fria muñeca de mentira social,
y yo, viril destello de la humana verdad.
Tú, miel de cortesana hipocresías; yo no;
que en todos mis poemas desnudo el corazón.
Tú eres como tu mundo, egoísta;
yo no; que en todo me lo juego a ser lo que soy yo.
Tú eres sólo la grave señora señorona; yo no,
yo soy la vida, la fuerza, la mujer.
Tú eres de tu marido, de tu amo; yo no;
yo de nadie, o de todos, porque a todos, a
todos en mi limpio sentir y en mi pensar me doy.
Tú te rizas el pelo y te pintas; yo no;
a mí me riza el viento, a mí me pinta el sol.
Tú eres dama casera, resignada, sumisa,
atada a los prejuicios de los hombres; yo no;
que yo soy Rocinante corriendo desbocado
olfateando horizontes de justicia de Dios.
Tú en ti misma no mandas;
a ti todos te mandan; en ti mandan tu esposo, tus
padres, tus parientes, el cura, el modista,
el teatro, el casino, el auto,
las alhajas, el banquete, el champán, el cielo
y el infierno, y el que dirán social.
En mí no, que en mí manda mi solo corazón,
mi solo pensamiento; quien manda en mí soy yo.
Tú, flor de aristocracia; y yo, la flor del pueblo.
Tú en ti lo tienes todo y a todos se
lo debes, mientras que yo, mi nada a nadie se la debo.
Tú, clavada al estático dividendo ancestral,
y yo, un uno en la cifra del divisor
social somos el duelo a muerte que se acerca fatal.
Cuando las multitudes corran alborotadas
dejando atrás cenizas de injusticias
quemadas, y cuando con la tea de las siete virtudes,
tras los siete pecados, corran las multitudes,
contra ti, y contra todo lo injusto
y lo inhumano, yo iré en medio de
ellas con la tea en la mano.
In English:
To Julia de Burgos
Already the people murmur that I am your enemy
because they say that in verse I give the world your me.
They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos.
The one who rises in my verses is not your voice. It is my voice.
because you are the dressing and the essence is me;
and the most profound abyss is spread between us.
You are the cold doll of social lies,
and me, the virile starburst of the human truth.
You, honey of courtesan hypocrisies; not me;
in all my poems I undress my heart.
You are like your world, selfish; not me
Who gambles everything betting on what I am.
You are only the ponderous lady - such a lady;
not me; I am life, strength, woman.
You belong to your husband, your master; not me;
I belong to nobody, or all, because to all
I give myself in my clean feeling and in my thought.
You curl your hair and paint yourself; not me;
the wind curls my hair, the sun paints me.
You are a housewife, resigned, submissive,
tied to the prejudices of men; not me;
unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinante
sniffing out the horizons of God’s justice.
You in yourself have no say; everyone governs you;
your husband, your parents, your family,
the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the dance hall,
the auto, the fine furnishings, the feast, champagne,
heaven and hell, and the fear of what they will say
Not in me, in me only my heart governs,
only my thought; the one who governs in me is me.
You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people.
You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone,
while me, my nothing I owe to no one.
You nailed to the static ancestral dividend,
and me, a one in the numerical social divisor,
we are the duel to death that fatally approaches.
When the multitude run rioting
leaving behind ashes of burned injustices,
and with the torch of the seven virtues,
the multitudes run after the seven sins,
against you and against everything unjust and inhumane,
I will be in their midst with the torch in my hand.
