Discussion Sections

This week we were talking about Aristotle, with readings from the first three books of The Politics. I'd picked out a poem to read and prepared some thoughts, but at the last minute, I remembered Ezra Pound's rant against usury, which is priceless (and even better to hear him read it)--he obviously sees himself as a sort of prophet:

with usura, sin against nature,

is thy bread ever more of stale rags

is thy bread dry as paper,

with no mountain wheat, no strong flour with usura the line grows thick

with usura is no clear demarcation
and no man can find site for his dwelling
Stone cutter is kept from his stone
weaver is kept from his loom
...

Usura slayeth the child in the womb

It stayeth the young man's courting

It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth

between the young bride and her bridegroom

CONTRA NATURAM

Amazing! Usury slays the child in the womb?! It stops courting? I mean, I have some romantic sympathies with the idea that money ought not bear money, but who really seriously defends that idea these days? Well, bringing this poem to class was a moment of weakness, and I regret it. It didn't occur to me until after I made them read it that the children didn't even know what usury was. And Aristotle's views on money and private property, while interesting, were not the most central question in the reading.

All that to say, for my next seminar, I went with the Czesław Miłosz (you have to love the raised eyebrow) poem I'd originally picked, and that went swimmingly:

A Nation

The purest of nations on earth when it’s judged by a flash of lightning,
But thoughtless and sly in everyday toil.

Pitiless to its widows and orphans, pitiless to its old people,
Stealing a crust of bread from a child’s hand.

Ready to offer their lives to draw Heaven’s wrath on their foes,
Smiting their enemy with the screams of orphans and women.

Entrusting power to men with the eyes of traders in gold,
Elevating men with the conscience of brothel-keepers.

The best of its sons remain unknown,
They appear once only, to die on the barricades.

Bitter tears of that people cut a song off in the middle,
And when the song dies away, noisy voices tell jokes.

A shadow stands in a corner, pointing to his heart,
Outside a dog howls to the invisible planet.

Great nation, invincible nation, ironic nation.
They know how to distinguish the truth and yet to keep silent.

They camp on marketplaces, conversing in wisecracks,
They deal in old door handles stolen from ruins.

A nation in crumpled caps, carrying all they own,
They go west and south searching for a place to live.

The children had no problem seeing in this poem questions that Aristotle was addressing--the relationship of the man to the city, the question of who should rule, and the way in which the unjust regime elevates unjust men, making the good citizen different from the good man.

In the middle of class, someone brought up Amish people. There is nothing better to derail me with (do Amish people have politics?). I told them about my secret (I don't think I get to use that word) dream of putting on a black dress and joining the Amish (if I lived with the Amish, I would be able to tell if they have politics). And then I began to rant about facebook and the hook-up culture and the idea of going off to college in general, and it was fabulous (at least for me).

Oh! And: I had a Dr. Potter moment. All that I hope for in teaching and in leading discussions is Dr. Potter. He taught American literature and modern poetry and a core literature class that everyone took. Somehow at the very end of every lecture and every discussion, he managed to tie every class together in a beautiful summary that made you probe the deep philosophical questions. Basically, he left you speechless and then mildly said, "See you next week," and stalked out. Meanwhile, we all came back to our senses, gathered our books and papers and went back to our dorm rooms. Well, all I want in life is to learn how to do that. And today, I sort of felt like I did. I was so satisfied with myself that I followed my summary of the relationship of the good citizen to the good regime with, "See you next week."