tell me do you feel it?

As I started to read Rosenblatt's The RTP, I was initially worried, as I wasn't getting into it as much as her other work. But I think that's between the first two chapters are essentially fluently rewritten ways to describe the interdependent triad of reader, text, and poem of meaning making. Chapter 3 was where I started to become more involved, particularly with her analysis of efferent and aesthetic reading. Beginning with one of my new favorite ideas of "burning through" a reading, living through it, she delineates the kinds of approach we take to reading between reading to remember or apply (more typically found in scientific reading) and the pure art, affective stance, like Keats writes about in "On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again." In addition to the combined stance needed to read and make sense by use of referents or imagination, "different aesthetic transactions with the same text may also produce different or levels of experience, depending on the nature, state of mind, or past experience of the reader." So, not only can someone not read a poem for you, you can't read it the same way twice. This makes me wonder if the question of what classics are universal even matters.

Efferent-dominant reading is what we're teaching kids to do. Read for details, read to answer the questions right. There's no way to test on affect, on aesthetic, as it's particular to each person. I felt a pang of guilt, remembering my first year of teaching at HSA, first year with my own room, with no real supervison as it was a charter school, copying out worksheets from suggested workbooks that invited the kids to classify poem tones by their titles. Extracting democratic messages from decontextualized political speeches. No wonder my kids got great TAKS scores. But now I'm not so proud of it. Luckily they had enough experience and enough academic confidence to read for pleasure as well. But what if we could get kids to feel like this:

only slightly more intelligently.

Thought on the transformative power of the narrative--I've read the Bible, been to Sunday school and church all through my youth, and have taken classes in religion, yet what leads me to know/believe that there is a heaven is a story about a young man who was killed in a hunting accident, and as he bled to death, he looked around him and said, "it's so beautiful," before dying. This story might have left me somewhat nonplussed had I seen in a movie or novel, except that this was a truth story, and happened to my great uncle. Experience and culture does make a difference.