Dear Colleagues,
I guess I'm the only one around here suffering
from Inner Ear Dysfunction.
trying to inflict it on others--my typhoid merry.
I can’t hear...
(I say "hear" because it’s the SOUND that's disturbing,
the sound of industrial-education-ese, professionalized
academic-ese, institutionalizational processing)
…I was saying: I can’t "hear"...
(because I can, by dint of momentarily setting aside
bias, belief, prejudice, conviction, see thru the media
to the golden-pavement
...I was saying: I can't "hear" something like this (below)
without hearing it as symptomatic of the very
Liberal Art might could be continually trying to
overcome. Human, all too human.
Well, we shall
over may be to arrive where we
the first time.
IT, I said—no need to spell IT out. .
I’m just presenting the sample below. No comment. .
If you've got a tin
I can say will make a difference that
Might as well throw rice at the rhino.
I’ve probably said too much. (I haven’t said
In the name of liberal arts,
required college composition
and writing programs of both
creative & creative non-fictional
kind if not liberal art educating:
listen. Just listen:
AAC&U Working Conferences
| |
|
Hear it?
IT I said.
The Sound of The Profession
...which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Wallace Stevens, who died
intestate in the early 50's at
the Avery Sanitarium in
Hartford, Ct.--lawyer and
insurance executive & poet.
xxxooo, Sam


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