Just before former U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins read his funny and moving poetry this week in front of 1,300 rapt Advanced Placement English teachers, he asked, “Why do so many of you do this for a week every year?”
What readers like about spending a week away from home grading AP English exams has nothing to do with grading papers (no teacher loves grading), or with what we are paid (not much.) We come back year after year for the infusion of energy we get from our colleagues, the discussions we have at lunch and after hours, the updates we get from College Board and the committee that composes the exam, and the thrill of listening to professional writers read their work.
It is an exhilarating week. Yes, the major task is the grading of more than a million essays. And I won’t deny that we each feel a bit virtuous for having graded more than a thousand “pink books” — the traditional color of AP English exams. But after we stop patting ourselves on the back, we gather to share titles of novels our students both love and learn from. That combination is elusive, so titles are worth sharing. (In my classes, it is Ann Patchett’s “Bel Canto.”)
We gather also to complain about narrow-minded administrators who don’t understand the needs of our AP classes. We share stories of brilliant students and not-so-brilliant students, with equal affection. We ask how we can restore a passion for reading to our students, most of whom prefer visual media to reading.
We applaud those sharing their work because we know it takes courage to read aloud before lovers of words. Yearly, there is a “karaoke” night when dozens of us share our own poetry or prose (four-minute limit); we become a community of like-minded writers.
And on our Professional Nights, distinguished writers read from their canons. This year it was Billy Collins, whose poetry has converted many high school students from haters to lovers of poems. His “Poetry 180” (one for each school day) is designed to catch students “before they can deploy their poetry deflector shields,” Collins joked. Teachers love his poetry partly because our students love it, but we also appreciate the wit and realism of his accessible style:
Would anyone care to join me
in flicking a few pebbles in the direction
of teachers who are fond of asking the question:
“What is the poet trying to say?”
as if Thomas Hardy and Emily Dickinson
had struggled but ultimately failed in their efforts —
inarticulate wretches that they were,
biting their pens and staring out the window for a clue.
Poems we’ve taught took flight as Collins read for an hour in an auditorium more silent than 1,300 people have ever been. There was applause when he recited the titles of pieces — before he began reading them. Having received a standing ovation upon entering the room, it was no surprise when the concluding standing “O” was deafening.
Poet as rock star — it doesn’t happen anywhere else for most English teachers, but it happens at the AP reading. And that’s why we come back, year after year.
Erica Jacobs, whose column appears Wednesday, teaches at George Mason University. E-mail her at [email protected].
