We had a message from the University President yesterday that classes from now until the end of the semester will be held remotely. We began doing this March 11, but now it will go through May.
I've been revamping my syllabus accordingly, and my students are responding, how shall I say - responsibly.
It feels like the Twilight Zone. I do the grocery shopping for our group, and I am trying to avoid going out again to shop until the end of the month. I don't have any idea if I have been exposed to the virus; no one really does. But with all of these frail elderly sisters in our large complex here, I'm intensely aware of not endangering them.
My poet friends are posting very evocative poems these days on Facebook.
Here 's one by Philip Larkin
Coming
By Philip Larkin
On longer evenings,
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon --
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon --
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.
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