OWP06

Songs and Chants in the ELL Classroom

Subject:  Songs and Chants in the ELL Classroom

Website article:  Celebrating Twenty-five Years of Jazz Chants, by Frank Tang and Dianne Loyet    www.nystesol.org/pub/idiom_archive/idiom_fall2003.html
Website Review   by Jean Frantz

      Because I use songs and chants so much in ELL class and have been using those of Carolyn Graham for over fifteen years, I thought that it would be worth your while to check out this website article to see who she is and what her chants are all about.  While teaching university-aged ESL students, the Jazz Cants were particularly helpful and enjoyable.  As an elementary teacher Graham’s two volumes of Jazz Chants for Children have been a staple in my classroom.  All children love them, whether advanced learners or children with special needs.  In fact, these chants were well liked by the regular classroom students as well.  In the article at the above website you will examine some of the wonderful characteristics of jazz chants and learn how they are an excellent tool for teaching language.  You will also be able to read a couple of Graham’s chants.  Below I have written about my own enthusiasm for chants and songs in the ELL classroom.

      As an ELL teacher I have the opportunity to teach many content areas, especially in the literature, science and social studies fields.  Through informational text and fiction, the students learn vocabulary and language structure.  We use a variety of exercises to learn vocabulary, two of which are songs and chants.  These help to imprint the words and structures of the English language on the students without much effort.  It is a way of drill and repetition, in a way, without it seeming like drill.  As a student of foreign languages myself, I realize the usefulness of these songs and chants.  I still remember the songs I learned in high school German class. 

      Sometimes we split up our group of ELL students and sing or say the songs or chants as two separate choruses, much like the Greeks used to do in their plays.  Other times we do hand motions, a cross between sign language and finger rhymes.  The students love to stand up and swing, dance or snap their fingers to the songs.  Most of all they like to do them as a rap.  At those times I get out the sunglasses and we really ham it up.  They hardly know that they are learning.  I bet that if you asked them to sing the same songs next year, they’d still know them by heart.   Isn’t that a sneaky way to learn language?

      

      Here’s one of our chants:

      In Peru there’s a fox in the moon.
      In Peru there’s a fox in the moon.
      Close your eyes for a minute,
      Imagine what’s in it.
      What do you see in the moon?

      

      In Mexico there’s a rabbit in the moon…

      In China there’s a frog in the moon…

      In the USA there’s a man in the moon…

      

Poetry: Powerful Thoughts in Tiny Packages

Poetry:  Powerful Thoughts in Tiny Packages    

By Lucy Calkins and Stephanie Parsons
(Reviewed by Jean Frantz)

      The title of this book says it all.  Look at this poem written by a five year old from the Bronx:

I am the kind of writer who writes
In peace and quiet.
I am the kind of writer who really feels
The rain and the wind.
That feeling makes me want to sway from
One way to another.
It’s all in the heart.

      We wonder how these young minds can come up with such poetic words.  The authors guess that it is because poetry is the genre of childhood. 

      In this book Calkins explains that she believes poetry can do many things for young minds.  It can teach children to deliberately craft language, to see what kind of special effects they can create.  It can encourage children to see the world with different eyes, to study it closely.  They can also learn to see with their hearts.  And they can have fun just playing with words, to be gymnasts with language.

      From the beginning Calkins and Parsons call their students poets.  Instead of saying “boys and girls” or “you guys”, they use the term “poets”, which is a clue into their approach with children, that they respect them as people and expect them to produce real poetry.  I like that.  I bet the students like it, too.

      This book is a series of lessons, planned out from the “getting ready” stage to the sharing and assessment stages.  Each lesson is scripted, so that we teachers can hear the language of the experts as they guide students through an introduction of a mini-lesson, through the active engagement stage, through a conference and then a revision.  The comments made by teachers are often questions, always positive and always helpful.  More than anything else, I have learned from this book how to talk with children in a way that guides rather than coerces and celebrates rather than criticizes.  At the side of each page is a running commentary for us, the teachers, which suggests, clarifies, gives examples and illustrations which help us navigate through each lesson.   

The Art of Teaching Writing

The Art of Teaching Writing

By Lucy McCormick Calkins

(Reviewed by Jean Frantz)

“I argue that as human beings we write to communicate, plan, petition, remember, announce, list, imagine…but above all, we write to hold our lives in our hands and to make something of them.” Lucy McCormick Calkins inspires us to want to learn everything possible about how to instill in our students a desire to tell their stories. In this book she will teach you by example how young writers can be guided to want to write – to be on fire to write – and to work with their writing through the help of peers, mentors and teachers to make it clear and concise, truthful and inspiring.

There are other books about The Writer’s Workshop which will explain its environment, set-up, and what its parts and routines are. This revised version of The Art of Teaching Writing is one of the best, and all of The Writer’s Workshop know-how is in it, but if you have the time to read only part of this book, I would recommend the first ten chapters. Through experience Calkins learned that students have a great deal to write about and that she did not need to supply topics for them. In fact, supplying them was indirectly teaching them that their lives weren’t worth writing about, that they didn’t have their own cherished bits of life. She used to provide prompts for writing, but then she had not yet experienced the power of writing in her own life so she didn’t yet understand that there was a world of difference between “motivating writing” and helping people become deeply and personally involved in their own writing.

The Art of Teaching Writing is a wealth of inspiration for the teacher, but it is also a step by step guide to learning to teach writing by use of mini-lessons during which the teacher models some of the following: writing lead sentences, using one’s eye like a photographer and choosing what to focus on, using the writer’s notebook to gather entries about one’s topic, practicing mental pictures of the writer’s subject before writing what he sees. Ms. Calkins guides us in how to use the writing conference to help our students evaluate and revise their writing.

Every writing teacher needs to read this book, whether developing a writer’s workshop in the classroom or using a ready-made curriculum and just wanting to make it better. The teacher will find inspiration here.

 

 

A Community of Writers

A Community of Writers

By Jean Frantz   

 

Originally I thought that I would come to class for four weeks, hear and read about writing, share ideas, argue points, do some writing, use the computer in some way or another, receive my nine credits and go home. What has happened in this class was all of those things, but something surprised me. A community has happened!

In this paper I will look back at our class structure, activities, leadership and intent to try to ascertain how this community was built and why. Finally I will write about how the same community building can happen among children through writing, and how that can be mutually nurturing-the writing will nurture community and community will nurture writing.

First let me define community as I think of it. I believe that community is a group of people that knows one another, cares about one another, and wishes the best for them. It is a group of people that begins to know some of each other’s respective past history and becomes aware of that person’s history in the making.

The structure of our group consisted of twenty women ranging in age from twenty-four to fifty-eight, all teachers at different grade levels, and all presently living and teaching in Oregon. The class was organized and taught by Dr. Nathaniel Teich and Karen Atikajian, both teachers and writers in their own right. We have been present with one another for four weeks, mornings and afternoons, sometimes sharing our lunch hours as well. Although much of our time was spent as a whole group, we also broke into assigned small “response” groups no larger than four, to share and edit our writing.

The activities of this illustrious group of twenty women were to write a personal essay each week, read and review four books and a web-site about writing and how to teach it, and finally, to share with the class at least one activity which we use in our classrooms which teaches an aspect of writing.

The intent of this class, I assume, was to familiarize teachers with writing, the very task they are trying to impart to students. It was to go through the process of editing with a peer group. To study the teaching of writing from the experts’ point of view was a goal, and perhaps indirectly, to network with each other for present and future reference was another goal.

The structure, the activities and the intent of this class have all built community, none of them mutually exclusive. Logistics were an important factor, too-we sat in a rectangle facing one another. Our leaders guided our discussion, but at no time did we feel that we could not share ideas. In fact, ideas were welcomed. The response groups, the ideal size of four, were essential to examining our writing and our feelings about our subject matter.

The most important activity of this class, I believe, was the personal writing that was required of us, both the essays that were assigned, and the stories and poems, which we were asked to write by the students and guides as they demonstrated their lessons to the class. Inherent in this activity of personal writing and the reading of it to each other was the kernel of community building. Miraculously over a very short period of time trust was built, the ingredient one needs to be able to uncover ones beliefs and stories through writing. As we trusted and shared over time, we were beginning to care about one another and learn each other’s histories.

Now that this class is drawing to a close, I have learned the power of writing and sharing stories and ideas. It has been a privilege to have spent the better part of each day with people whom I now call friends. If we were to continue to meet, our writing and our sharing of it would deepen the community that we already have.

I believe that writing can have the same result within our classrooms-to build community. This can happen especially when we encourage our students to write their own stories, to look for the nuggets of their passions, concerns and celebrations and to find words to express them. To create a safe place to do student writing, teachers will need to provide an atmosphere for that to happen. Teachers can model trust by sharing their own writing with the students and letting them see the laughter and tears that their stories stir up in them. They will build confidence by showing students how to respond to peer’s writing by giving positive and constructive feed-back rather than put-downs. When teachers react to student writing with enthusiasm and interest, and when they show the students how important it is, the students will react in turn by taking their writing seriously. As teachers model their own writing, as they write their stories and share them with the students, as they show their care and concern for their students, the students will “catch on” and want to do the same. The classroom will become a community of writers.

 

 

 

 

The Power of Poems

 

 

The Power of Poems, Teaching the Joy of Writing Poetry

By Margriet Ruurs

(Reviewed by Jean Frantz)

“Why poetry?” Because poetry can be so satisfying and support a wide range of learning. Because the rhythm of poetry comes naturally to children. Because the potential of poetry lies within the minds of all children. We need to nurture it with an abundance of words and then hand them the skills to refine and polish their poems. “  Margriet Ruurs

Margriet Ruurs has been a writer of stories and poetry since age six and has a wealth of knowledge about how to teach children to write. In a clear and down to earth manner, she lays out a case for teaching children to write poetry, how to set up your schedule and room, and how to plan the classes. This book is packed full of ideas for teaching poetry to students in grades three through eight.  Not only will students learn the craft of writing poetry, but they will also discover the joy that it brings them.

Margriet Ruurs addresses the teaching of poetry to all students, including those classes that have special needs students and English language learners.  She suggests fitting poems into the schedule throughout the day whatever the content areas, and she has lists of poetry books from which you can choose them. Why not include poetry that informs, as well as excites, into the curriculum?

This book contains some great ways to generate ideas for prewriting, including “Poems in a Box”, making a picture file and a newspaper file.  Chapter three consists of the meat of the book – thirty-one writing activities which are clearly explained and ready to do with your students.

The editing process and publishing and sharing are addressed as well. Invaluable is the bibliography, including books of poetry as well as books about writing for both teachers and students.

Bird by Bird

Bird by Bird,  Some Instructions on Writing and Life
By Anne Lamott
Reviewed by Jean Frantz

Can you believe that a book about writing could be on the National Bestseller list?  Are there really that many people out there interested in writing?  This one made it because the writing is so good, so entertaining and down to earth, so funny and encouraging that it makes you feel that you could actually sit down and write.  I picked it up because I had read two other books by Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies and Plan B, both of which made me feel that I could actually do life, too.

If you read this book you will laugh.  That’s a great reason to read it.  The bonus is that you will also be strongly encouraged to tell your stories, the stories of your childhood, which you know from the depths of your soul.  You’ll learn that to write, you must sit down and write-just do it-every day, and work at it until a kernel of truth comes up in your writing that is really worth writing about.  You take it from there.  You’ll also learn what to do with the voices in your head which tell you you’re no good and that you can’t.  You’ll work through the problem of jealousy along with Anne Lamott, embracing it rather than hiding from it.  Even though I have a hard time saying the words, her chapter called “Shitty First Drafts" encouraged me.  Realizing that even the professionals don’t expect much from a first draft enabled me to go for it and try to write one, too.

There are chapters on plot, character, getting started, dialogue, and knowing when you’re done with your piece of writing.  These chapters talk about the nitty gritty of writing.  The chapter "The Moral Point of View” helps you look for the thing inside you which you care passionately about.  It is from this point of view that you should write.  And the chapter, “Broccoli”, is about accessing our intuition – that part of us which we had as children but lost as we were advised by adults for practicality’s sake to do the right thing.

I highly recommend this book if you want to become a better writer, or even if you want to write something meaningful down about your life for your children.  I will end here with a quote from Anne Lamott:  “Becoming a writer is about becoming conscious.  When you’re conscious and writing from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth, you have the ability to throw the lights on for your reader.  He or she will recognize his or her life and truth in what you say, in the pictures you have painted, and this decreases the terrible sense of isolation that we have all had too much of.”

Tears Twice in France

     It was then that I realized how the stress of living in Beirut during wartime had taken its toll.

 

Community Breakdown

                                                    Community Breakdown

                                                                                      By Jean Frantz
      
      I avoid the place at all costs.  What is it about this place that will cause me to jump into my car and drive twenty blocks away from my neighborhood not to have to cross its threshold?  It’s not the Starbucks fragrance that wafts towards my early morning nose, nor the fruits and vegetables that gleam with a fresh sprinkling of water, not the flower stand at the other end of the store which actually does make me want to buy a few stems of tulips to decorate our dining room table.  Those are all things which I enjoy.  It is the automatic cash registers – self serve, with screens and buttons and robot voice trying to sound like a real person who wants to help you check your groceries but soon begins to reprimand you loudly like a cranky school marm when you make a mistake.  There is usually someone in the vicinity who is real and has been hired to help you with the way these self-checkers work, and she will inevitably come over and actually do it for you, giving you that “You must be incredibly dense and technologically inept not to be able to do this” look that makes me want to reach into my grocery basket and throw each peach, egg and can of soup at her and run out of the store. 
      
      I am not inept, and although I may be technologically challenged at times, I have learned much in the past few years, and I know that with practice I could even learn the self-checking grocery register.  But I refuse to go there, not because of its difficulty or inconvenience, but because of what it has come to represent for me.  To me it epitomizes community breakdown.  There were times not so long ago when I spent twelve hours with small children in a day, exchanging cryptic gurgling noises with them, the extent of our communication, and then, once relieved of my duties, had the rare opportunity to go to the grocery store.  I expected a “Good evening.  Can I help you find something?” from the reshelvers and a “Hello, Mrs. Frantz.  How are you tonight?” from the checker.  Coming from a small town, I expected some small talk from the other shoppers; however, in time I have learned that in larger cities one keeps one’s head to the shopping grind stone and does not acknowledge the existence of other human beings.
      
      My mother in law, Ruth, is eighty-two and has lived alone for the past thirty years since her husband died.  Two blocks from her home there is an ATM machine for quick and ready cash when she needs it, but she refuses to touch it.  Instead, she takes a 20-minute bus ride downtown so that she can enter a bank and talk with a real human being.   “There are days when the bank teller is the only person I talk with all day and I just enjoy the human contact,” she says.
      
      Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not saying machines are all bad by any means.  They are however replacing human contact or changing it to something cursory and impersonal.  Now we’ve got phone answering machines with seemingly endless lists of menu numbers where one might eventually get their information or place an order.  We’ve got walkmans, pop machines, sandwich venders, ticket machines for the subway, stamp machines, and cell phones.  Oh my gosh, don’t get me started on cell phones!  All of these machines dehumanize us to the point of our feeling like automatons in a void rather than caring, helping, interested community members.
      
      They say it really began with the advent of television.  Before that little box appeared in people’s living rooms, there were porches where the family would work, play, or just sit with a glass of lemonade to rest and cool off.  A passer-by might stop at the front yard gate and call in, “Howdy-do, Pete and Alice?  How’s that little squirt, Tommy, doing after that bout of the flu?”  And there’d be genuine caring and an exchange that might go on for ten minutes or so. 
      
       As a nine year old I made my weekly rounds doing errands for my parents, first to the grocery store where I bought our family’s food for the week.  Rolly White behind the meat counter had a joke to share every time.  Then I went to our local druggist to get my fix on cherry coke.  Todd Kelso put in a squirt of cherry flavoring and then filled up the glass with soda water to make it fizzy.  I sat on one of those round stools and Todd waited on the other side of the counter to hear about my day.  He listened.  I talked.  He took the time.  I was not in a hurry.   I found out that he had a coin collection.  He found out that I liked horses.  Neither of us in our wildest imaginations could foresee the coming of the new-age contraption called the self-serve grocery checker.
      
      This morning almost fifty years later I found myself at the dreaded store again. I was in a hurry because I had a presentation to make to a class of writing students.  I needed ten boxes of crayons for the presentation, and I had only minutes before I was to begin. I said a little prayer before I entered; I had no time for that blankety-blank self-serve grocery register and I had no time for anger in case I had to use one.  Ahh.   My prayer was answered.   One regular check-out aisle was open, and a sweet young woman greeted me with a smile.  She asked me about my day.  She gave me a great discount on those crayons, and she sent me off, not only with a “Have a wonderful day!”  but also with a little higher opinion of the hated store and a glimmer of hope that warm human contact and congeniality had not disappeared completely from this modern world.

My Favorite Place

I’ve been around.  I’ve visited the Taj Mahal with its jewel -bedecked translucent marble, and I've bicycled to the Valley of the Kings near the ancient city of Thebes on the upper Nile, I’ve watched the sun set from Montmartre and Cape Perpetua, and I’ve climbed to the Columbia Ice Fields in Canada out of which flows the mighty Columbia River.  These places thrilled me with their beauty or their marvelous works of human ingenuity.  But when I think back on my favorite place, it is not the majestic or the wild or the famous places I remember.

I love the field behind my childhood  house in Sunburst, Montana.  It had no trees, but it had some small shrubs and lots of wild flowers that gave off a Sweet Pea fragrance and brought the sound of bees.  The smell and sound are both indelibly imprinted on my soul.  It had trails through the shrubs that the cows had made, which snaked and meandered helter skelter throughout the hillside where I played.  The dirt on the trails was packed down and it was soft and damp and my bare feet rejoiced at the feel of it.  Do you remember taking your shoes off for the first time in the spring or summer, once school was out and there was no longer need for formality?  So you do agree that the word ‘rejoice’ is apt in describing just how our feet felt.  There was a gully in the field and a small creek at the bottom.  During the spring run-off there was water in the creek, which to me made that place a little bit of paradise, plump with possibilities for various kinds of play.

After school in the spring I used to drop my books in my room at home, change into my grubbies, grab a quick snack of graham crackers and milk, and then run next door to ask if Dete, my best friend, could join me on an expedition.  He often had chores to do, and  I helped him fold laundry and wash dishes, so that we could leave a little sooner.  I recall whispering a secret ‘thank you’ to my own parents for not requiring me to do such work except on weekends.  I don’t recall talking much with Dete as we headed out to play.  We both knew where we were going and what we were going to do there-go to the field behind my house.  This field was actually a cow pasture, so we had to climb a barbed-wire fence to get there.  Inevitable triangular rips in our pants were the result.  Sometimes now I think back and wonder how it was that we were even allowed to play on Mr. Delp’s dairy farm so freely.  Maybe it was because our family, the Mauritsen's, were  such  good customers, buying twenty-four quarts of pasteurized milk from him each week!   

Once over the fence we ran for the creek. When there was water, Dete and I became instant engineers and built dams and bridges.  We made small boats out of sticks and floated them in the current.  And on drier days we made hiding places in the shrubs, and we hid there from Indians or other imaginary enemies.   I picked bouquets of wild flowers to bring my mom at the end of my play.

The time flew, and  often we did not come home to eat dinner until someone climbed the fence and came over the hill to call me.  Why would I ever want to leave my favorite place?

It was a cow pasture – no grandiose church in Paris or mysterious tomb of an Egyptian king –but it gave me a world of adventure and play, a feeling of well-being and happiness which no other place has done.  Anyway, it just wouldn't be respectful to go barefoot at the Taj Mahal.