“Early in my teaching days, the kids asked me the meaning of a poem. I replied, 'I don't know any more than you do. I have ideas. What are your ideas?' I realized then that we're all in the same boat. What does anybody know?” – Frank McCourt
Born in August, 1930, McCourt was an Irish-American teacher and writer who won a Pulitzer Prize for his book Angela's Ashes. McCourt’s life was bookended in New York City where he was born, died and spent many years as a teacher. He also won accolades for his book Teacher Man, which detailed his teaching experiences and the challenges of being a teacher.
McCourt also wrote the book for the musical The Irish… and How They Got That Way, which featured an eclectic mix of Irish music and poetry. Here for Saturday’s Poem are an untitled poem by McCourt, and a short poem McCourt often read on stage and in his classroom written by Oscar Wilde.
You might be poor You don’t love someone for
Your shoes might be broken, Their looks or their clothes,
But your mind is Or for their fancy car,
A palace. But because they sing a song
Only you can hear. – Oscar Wilde
It’s lovely to know
The world can’t interfere
With the inside
Of your head. – Frank McCourt
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