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Because Anthony has address trouble (I'm working on it), here 'tis: Okay, consider me mildly goaded, although Jamie's question seems to me more like a career-question than a mere goad. Before making yet another superficial stab at it, however, I have a question of my own. After dropping what I hoped would be a provocative comment or two into the initial memorization discussion, I sat back and waited for the heated debate I was sure would ensue. I am surprised Jamie and I have managed to generate so little heat (and possibly less light) in the CASLL community. There were some very thoughtful and reflective responses from Leslie, Marcy, and Russ (did I miss anyone?), of course, but no fire-breathing, Norton Anthology-burning tirades, as I'd hoped and expected. Is the canon discussion over? Or, is this not a canon issue? I think it's both a canon issue and a pedagogical issue. First, on the canon issue, to Jamie's question: "Without some common culture, how do citizens in a polity work toward (or even engage in) a civil society?" This, Jamie says, "is one key question dodged by canon bashers." I am happy to be identified with "canon bashers," and deeply uncomfortable with the idea of a "common culture." I grew up in a "common culture"; it was called the suburbs, and I never want to go back. I might be less disdainful of a "common culture" if I knew better what Jamie had in mind. Common as defined by the past, the common culture of Canada (or just Toronto), circa, say, 1990? Common as defined by majority or power, the common culture of white, middle-class men? I'm a lot more interested in the notion of moving toward (but never arriving at) a future common culture, one which blended the rich traditions, attitudes, and beliefs of all participants, rather than one that sought to impose traditions, attitudes, and beliefs on minorities, newcomers, or the otherwise less powerful. Why, at this time and place, would we go back to a poem from W.W. I in an effort to bring a refugee from Zaire into a "common culture"? As Leslie pointed out, there are contemporary poems that might speak to something more shared, more mutual, more identifiable. "In Flanders Fields" brings a lump to my throat not because of some stand-alone, inherent power in the text, but because of a million complex strands in a web of meanings and associations - other texts, photographs, dead relatives - a sense of place and time built up over a life time. This isn't to say that the poem would not resonate for the immigrant from Zaire - I'm sure it would - but only to point out that entrance to a common culture cannot come through the artifacts of that culture. I don't think culture is learned or taken on by reference to its by-products. As genre theory suggests, text and context are inseparable - one is not figure and the other ground. "In Flanders Fields" is not one "piece" of culture which, when combined with some critical mass of other "pieces," leads to membership in the "common culture" that produced the poem (and accounts for whatever common readings there might be). But here I'm beginning to ramble and feel I've said either way too much or way too little, so on to the pedagogical issue. Let's face it, we do not graduate crowds of poetry lovers, eager to buy poetry books, attend readings, or try their own hands at iambic pentameter. In my case, I managed to overcome the hatred of poetry instilled in me by English teachers, some of whom made me memorize poetry, and I now read (and even write) the occasional poem. But I suspect I would be far more positively disposed to poetry if I'd had it introduced to me via contemporary, Rosenblatt-inspired methods, such as Pat Dias has developed over the past two decades. And though memorization was not the only reason I turned away from poetry, it was one of the chief weapons in an arsenal of strategies used to wage poetry on my generation. The message was clear: poetry was important culture and, like cod-liver oil, good for me despite my aversion to it. But I am willing to be convinced that I am an anomaly in this regard. Are there many on this list who believe memorizing poetry led them to a love or appreciation of it? We're dealing. of course, with a skewed sample, since there are many English teachers on the list, a profession likely to attract the type of student who enjoyed memorizing poetry and pulling the wings off butterflies (okay, just kidding). Well, I've unloaded and ungoaded, so I'd better get back to what McGill underpays me for. Anthony.