Tag Archives: David Andrew Stoler

David Andrew Stoler on Revisiting Joe Brainard’s “I Remember”

Teachers & Writers Magazine, Winter Issue, excerpt two
A Kind of Magic: On Reading,Teaching, and Being Inspired by Joe Brainard

Last week we shared an appreciation of Joe Brainard by Matthew Burgess. This week we’re posting an essay on Brainard by T&W artist David Andrew Stoler.

Joe Brainard’s book-length poem I Remember has something of a cult following here at T&W. Nearly every one of us has taught an I Remember lesson using Brainard’s work at one time or another. The poem’s spontaneity, playfulness, frankness, generous spirit, and unassuming tone have made fans of readers, writers, and teachers since its publication in the 70s. The publication this year of The Collected Works of Joe Brainard, edited by Ron Padgett (Library of America) prompted us to revisit I Remember in the winter issue of Teachers & Writers Magazine, where we take a new look at the qualities that have encouraged teaching artists across the country to turn to the work again and again.

 

Like a Key to the Writer’s Mind 
by David Andrew Stoler 

The first few times we saw each other the best we could do was cast wary glances at one another across the busy halls of the college, like people who met at a party long ago. We recognized each other—vaguely—but that was all.

And then one day the elevator door opened, everybody got out, she got on, the door closed. We stood for a moment, staring at our shoes.

“What high school did you go to?” I said. I thought I knew her, but having taught thousands of students over the last decade, I just couldn’t be sure.

“Lincoln,” she said. Somewhere I had never been. I shrugged, and we returned to the intimate, awkward silence of strangers on an elevator.

Then she spoke: “I remember the pretty German girl who stank. You’re the poetry guy. I still have the anthology we made.”

Her name was Jasmine. She had been in the fifth grade when I had taught her at PS 156 in Brownsville, Brooklyn. It had been nearly a decade since, she was now a sophomore in college, and she remembered the very first lesson we had done together: Joe Brainard.

(more...)

Bottoms Up!

Dearest students,

On this, the celebration of the publication of the anthology of your writing, I’d like to take a moment—before this descends into the cheeto-snorting, chair-throwing, chaos-fest it inevitably will—to make a toast. If you could all raise your wee plastic cups of the Jolt Cola and Red Bull that your parents thought appropriate to send along with you for this 8:30AM party, let us acknowledge that which has brought this magnificent piece of work into being:

To your school administrators: who, despite more and more urgent messages on their voice mails; notes to their secretaries; desperate emails in the middle of the night; text messages; letters delivered by US Mail, FedEx, UPS, and courier; faxes, telexes, and one telegram; failed to respond to even the most basic questions of class room assignment, scheduling, teacher absence, or even of the plans of this very event. Your hands-off approach instilled in me exactly the confidence necessary to come into your school ready and able to meet the specific needs of your students. Bravo!

To your assistant principal: who, despite the above attempts at communication, was shocked to find me in one of your classrooms on my assigned day, and who, after my lovely conversation with the three burly security guards she called—and you should feel safe knowing such strong and conscientious men, with such pliable, firm, yet often gentle hands, are looking after your protection—asked that I immediately provide her with full lesson plans following EATM, COSEE, and NYSBOE guidelines, for each residency day. Huzzah! (more...)