Master teacher

A few years ago, when reading up about Boris Pasternak, I was delighted with the way he had phrased the statement declining the Nobel Prize (under pressure from the bastard Soviet overlords.)  Pasternak's statement, in a telegram to Swedish Academy, was this:

Considering the meaning this award has been given in the society to which I belong, I must reject this undeserved prize which has been presented to me. Please do not receive my voluntary rejection with displeasure.

I found that statement to be so awesomely phrased.  It was even better than Groucho Marx's line on why he did not like being a member of clubs: “I wouldn't want to belong to a club that would have me as a member.”

I liked Pasternak's statement so much that I decided that if ever I was even remotely considered for a teaching award at my university, well, all I would do in my reply was to quote the Russian ;)

The "best teacher" awards at most places are variations of a popularity contest.  Increasingly so in the students-are-our-customers atmosphere that now envelops higher education.  There's no "business" like higher education.  I, on the other hand, do not care for popularity, whether it is with students or colleagues, or with blog commenters or neighbors, or whoever.  Which is why, sadly enough, I will never get an opportunity to use Pasternak's lines! ;)

Identifying the teacher of the year, or other such awards, is "bunk" (paywalled):

How does any professor, let alone a panel of judges, really know what goes on in another professor’s class? Longstanding academic convention dictates that we rarely cross the threshold of a colleague’s classroom. We are seldom invited to one another’s lectures and seminars. It goes without saying that an unannounced "pop in" is strictly out of the question.
The door to a lecture hall could just as well be a police sawhorse — if that sawhorse stood behind a moat and was outfitted with a gun turret. Herein lies an unrecognized truth about American higher education: The inner workings of college teaching spaces are more or less unknown.

I have no idea what goes on in any other professor's class.  Literally, not metaphorically.  Neither in California nor here have I engaged in serious discussions on how we teach what we teach, and more.  It is like there is an unwritten rule that we can talk about everything else, but not about our classroom teaching!

On my campus, I am almost always shocked at most of the people receiving such honors.  From my interactions, I would never have picked most of them as even halfway decent teachers, and yet they represent the university as model teachers.

I once had a colleague who taught a 200-level class. She loathed the fellow who taught the 100-level that was a prerequisite for her own. The latter was a campus legend. He was a flamboyant character who gyrated and twerked as he lectured. By the time his students cycled into her class, they knew exceedingly little about the subject matter. Her 200 regressed into a 100, because the guy in the 100 was teaching — well, she had no idea what he was teaching. He did win many Faculty of the Year awards, though.

I know plenty of faculty like that!  "flamboyant character who gyrated and twerked," indeed :(

Good college teachers, then, don’t necessarily do what is in their own professional interest. They do what’s in the interest of their students.

Exactly.

I know I am not a good teacher.  But, my approach to teaching is not about me nor about my professional advancement.  It is about students.  In developing the syllabi for the upcoming year, I am actually tightening up the structure for my classes because I worry that I am not being rigorous enough--even though, tightening up the structure is not the route to popularity.  I don't care.  I am used to being ignored, neglected, and dissed.  After all, in my life, I have never been popular even when I am all by myself ;)

"After the storm." Did Pasternak write about Oregon?

The weather was ugly yesterday.

Gusts of wind seemed to blow from every possible direction. Rain, which came down hard, therefore didn't merely come down from the skies but from all sides. Driving, which usually is relaxing and fun, was anything but. Streets were flooded.

This is the kind of rain that will make any non-native pack up the bags and head to the dry deserts of Nevada.  I, well, am practically a native. An Indian of a different kind living as an American among a few other natives and other Americans!

This evening, it is mostly calm. A gentle breeze, an occasional drizzle. A tad cooler perhaps. But, all in all, it is clear that the weather storm has passed, even as other storms in life continue.

Which is why I thought it is worth it to re-post that wonderful poem by Boris Pasternak:

After the Storm

The air is full of after-thunder freshness,
And everything rejoices and revives.
With the whole outburst of its purple clusters
The lilac drinks the air of paradise.

The gutters overflow; the change of weather
Makes all you see appear alive and new.
Meanwhile the shades of sky are growing lighter,
Beyond the blackest cloud the height is blue.

An artist's hand, with mastery still greater
Wipes dirt and dust off objects in his path.
Reality and life, the past and present,
Emerge transformed out of his colour-bath.

The memory of over half a lifetime
Like swiftly passing thunder dies away.
The century is no more under wardship:
High time to let the future have its say.

It is not revolutions and upheavals
That clear the road to new and better days,
But revelations, lavishness and torments
Of someone's soul, inspired and ablaze.

1958
                 Translated by Lydia Pasternak Slater (source)

Pasternak is, of course, known to most of us as the creator of Dr. Zhivago.  Play that the lovely music from the movie version in the video below, and read the poem all over again. Chances are quite good that you will feel the storms clearing ...

The site traffic data revealed that there was a surge in visitors who had come to my blog because they were searching for "after the storm." Yes, those very search words.

It might have been their because of the interests to find out more about the aftereffects of the storms that destroyed property and life in a few American states.

In Japan, more than a month after the shake and the tsunami, the people and the government are still working through the storm that has not quite ended.

And, throughout the world there are people dealing with metaphorical storms in their lives every single day.

Which is why I thought it is worth it to re-post that wonderful poem by Boris Pasternak:

After the Storm

The air is full of after-thunder freshness,
And everything rejoices and revives.
With the whole outburst of its purple clusters
The lilac drinks the air of paradise.

The gutters overflow; the change of weather
Makes all you see appear alive and new.
Meanwhile the shades of sky are growing lighter,
Beyond the blackest cloud the height is blue.

An artist's hand, with mastery still greater
Wipes dirt and dust off objects in his path.
Reality and life, the past and present,
Emerge transformed out of his colour-bath.

The memory of over half a lifetime
Like swiftly passing thunder dies away.
The century is no more under wardship:
High time to let the future have its say.

It is not revolutions and upheavals
That clear the road to new and better days,
But revelations, lavishness and torments
Of someone's soul, inspired and ablaze.

1958
                 Translated by Lydia Pasternak Slater 

Pasternak is, of course, known to most of us as the creator of Dr. Zhivago.  Play that the lovely music from the movie version, in the video below, and read the poem all over again. Chances are quite good that you will feel the storms clearing ...

Poem for the day: Pasternak's "After the Storm"

The strange combination of electronics and moving parts came alive a couple of days ago when the music turntable I have at home started functioning again, after playing dead for quite a few months.  Excited I was, therefore, to head to the Goodwill Store nearby in order to scan through the LPs and add to what is becoming an interesting hobby/collection.

One of the five I bought--these valuable LPs are selling at 99 cents each!--was the original music from David Lean's Dr. Zhivago.  After reaching home, I promptly played that while I worked.

But, I couldn't do anything constructive while Lara's Theme was filling the room--I was simultaneously transported back in time when I was a teenager, which was when I read Dr. Zhivago.  It was during my "Russophile" days.  I recalled skipping through the lines because, well, they were too heavy and/or abstract for my teeny teenage brain.  And, thus, my decision to re-read Dr. Zhivago over the spring break.

Zhivago and Pasternak have been haunting me since, and then I read this essay today.  So, I put my office hours to use (no students!) by reading a few of Pasternak's poems.

The following one fits in well with the weather today--the sun is shining brightly after rains.  Metaphorically as well, as I feel my internal storms clearing, even if only temporarily.

After the Storm

The air is full of after-thunder freshness,
And everything rejoices and revives.
With the whole outburst of its purple clusters
The lilac drinks the air of paradise.

The gutters overflow; the change of weather
Makes all you see appear alive and new.
Meanwhile the shades of sky are growing lighter,
Beyond the blackest cloud the height is blue.

An artist's hand, with mastery still greater
Wipes dirt and dust off objects in his path.
Reality and life, the past and present,
Emerge transformed out of his colour-bath.

The memory of over half a lifetime
Like swiftly passing thunder dies away.
The century is no more under wardship:
High time to let the future have its say.

It is not revolutions and upheavals
That clear the road to new and better days,
But revelations, lavishness and torments
Of someone's soul, inspired and ablaze.

1958
                 Translated by Lydia Pasternak Slater 

Doctor Zhivago, and Lara's Theme

Today's news bulletin reports that the music composer Maurice Jarre died at the age of 84.
A fantastic tune it is that he created in "Lara's Theme". In his memory, here is a clip: