The first class handed in 3rd drafts of essays, and we read poems as review for next Monday's final. My last kick at chestnuts like "Digging" and "how there in the plaid light" and "The Lilac poem" out of the new Wascana anthology Mike Trussler and Medrie Purdham edited. I hope re-reading these poems after working with them as long ago as three months will offer new revelations, which is the same hope I hold for the successive essay drafts.
I say we read poems but only I did. And I did 95% of the talking. Most of the time I would refuse to talk that much, but for last week, day one, I don't mind.
The other class also handed in drafts of essays. I'd scolded them last week for, as I think I mentioned before, not enough push in their writing.
If it doesn't cost you anything, I don't want to read it.