The Last English Teacher

January 16, 2015 | 12 4 min read


Do you remember your last English teacher? Did he use colored chalk to diagram William Faulkner’s periodic sentences? Did she stand in the back of the room and read a poem from Denise Levertov, most of the words pushing past your ears, but a few, like “Aren’t there annunciations / of one sort or another / in most lives?” remaining like a refrain? Or was he forgettable, distributing misspelled study guides for The Merchant of Venice before playing a tired cassette recording?

Think about your last year in a high school English classroom. The uneven rows. The loud radiator. The re-used posters, corners double-taped. You were 17, 18. Your mind and your heart were elsewhere. That tension between distraction and focus is healthy. If we do not wish that we were somewhere else, doing something else, the collective, focused breath on a single line of a poem would not be so sweet. Back then, you were full of cynicism and hope. What a mixture: your wounds and joys felt so sharp.

I tell my seniors that I will likely be their last English teacher. They are enrolled in AP Literature and Composition, a difficult course that builds toward a three-hour exam. When I began teaching the course a decade ago, my classes were nearly half the size. Most students were hoping to major in English or philosophy. Now, out of two class sections of 55 students, it is a surprise to have three future English majors. I am lucky that they are no less talented and driven. They are ready to work.

coverI realize that my situation is unique. My students often attend the most competitive colleges in the country. In order to do so, their high school schedules are strained. They are expected to perform highly in several intellectual disciplines a day, with only six minutes to move between classrooms within an enormous outdoor campus, and 40 minutes to be teenagers at lunch. Still, they are very fortunate. They have the support of the community and district. They are good kids. Curious kids, who stay with me when we examine the difference between mimetic and textual voice in Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, or parse Wallace Stevens’s “A Comment on Meaning in Poetry.”

I tell them that I am their last English teacher because many of these students will place out of composition or literature in college. They will spend the next four to eight years busy studying, and will go on to successful careers in medicine, law, and business. No one else will ever read them a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.

You may think this is melodramatic talk. I admit that teachers were born to perform. We are actors without stages. In a recent interview, poet Paul Muldoon said that most students struggle with poetry because of how it is taught in high school: “What’s usually happening is that the instructor, the teacher, is at pains to show what an extraordinary instructor or teacher he or she is, and the message I think that far too many of us get in high school is that poetry may only be read if you’ve got that instructor or teacher to show you what it’s really about.” I have heard this lament before, and it is not only about poetry. High school English teachers are responsible for flattening literature. We kill books.

coverThese constant, unfounded digs are what cause teachers to be defensive. Teaching in an American public school is an idealistic act. Politicians will have you believe we are an insufferable bunch, our chests full of blind union pride, tenure our ticket to stasis. English teachers, less than perhaps only editors, live their days surrounded with the hopes, fears, eccentricities, and failures of generations of writers. Those words, classic and contemporary, seep into our souls. Why teach Beloved if you do not close your eyes and feel 124 shaking; if you do not feel your own heart shaking? That sensitivity bleeds out of the classroom.

In the latest round of testing frenzy, English teachers are unique targets. We teach the essential skill of communication — the ability to turn students’ feelings into spoken and written words — yet English is considered a light discipline compared to the rigor of sciences. I am not sure what an English teacher is supposed to be now. (I say that out of one side of my mouth; I strive to exceed the expectations of my district and state curriculum.) I mean in terms of my identity as an English teacher. I used to be considered a mentor. During my first few years as a teacher, I kept the prayer of St. Francis in my pocket: “grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.” I was only years removed from almost entering a seminary to become a priest. You never lose that call; it simply takes another shape. My shape was a room with 28 desks and a chalkboard.

I teach every class like it is my last. It could be. When I started teaching, I thought my purpose was to create a legion of English majors. I have learned that my purpose is to pause the lives of my students for long enough that a line of poetry is the loudest sound they encounter during the day. I am uninterested in studies that assess the cognitive worth of reading poetry for future engineers. I don’t teach engineers. I teach people. My master is not a test; it is the belief that minutes reading beautiful language will stir souls. I want my students to see that words are sacraments, in the same way that Andre Dubus said each sandwich he made for his daughters was a sacrament: “physical, nutritious and pleasurable, and within it is love.” It is possible to be cold-hearted and teach, but why do so? Students experience enough private pain some days to fill a lifetime. Literature can be the salve for a weary heart. I do not mean directly; I do not think literature is a form of therapy. I mean that books enable students to experience an extraordinary range of emotions in 180 days.

Most literature we read will pass from their memory. Some works will stick. One poem might change them. It is a beautiful possibility that such an epiphany can occur in as mundane a place as a classroom. That same hope keeps me from burning out in a profession that is as exhausting as it is exhaustive. I hate how teachers are portrayed by politicians and education reformers; I hate how we are reduced to caricatures. But I keep that frustration from my students. After all, it is for them that I am here. I believe in them, and I believe in words; I better believe in both, because I might be somebody’s last English teacher.

Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons

is a contributing editor for The Millions. He is the culture editor for Image Journal, and a contributor to the Catholic Herald (UK). He has written for Rolling Stone, GQ, The Paris Review, The Atlantic, Esquire, and the Kenyon Review. He is the author of Longing for an Absent God and Wild Belief. Follow him at @nickripatrazone and find more of his writing at


  1. It really doesn’t matter if you’re the last English teacher someone has, but rather that you are one of the most memorable.

  2. This is great; I find myself returning to your writing, Nick, for nourishment and encouragement in my own teaching. Thanks

    I think the connection between priest and teacher is not a coincidental one. I teach English in a Catholic high school, where perhaps the parallel is a bit more tangible. Both teacher and priest are called to be vessels of a sort. Catholic theology teaches that the encounter with grace in the sacraments occurs through the person of the priest (or, in the case of marriage, in the person of the spouse). Saying that we come “face-to-face” with the divine is not really a metaphor, then. The divine is a person, and is known in the sacraments through living, breathing people. Likewise, in my experience as a student, my best classes were ones in which I encountered not merely a subject but a person with passion and knowledge about that subject. We respond not to ideas but to people animated by them.

  3. My old friend and Yale professor,the late Richard Sewall, used to say: “The purpose of the humanities is to make people more humane.”

    I’m a writer at night, a teacher by day, and to me it’s so important that we let our students see how much great books mean to us, personally, in our own lives.

  4. ” I have learned that my purpose is to pause the lives of my students for long enough that a line of poetry is the loudest sound they encounter during the day.”

    Beautiful — your students are lucky to work with you.

  5. This is a beautiful essay. I am a retired English teacher, and I am off in a few minutes to have lunch with a student whom I taught 10 years ago. Thanks for putting into words what so many of us feel.

  6. As a first year English teacher at a rural Mississippi school, this essay is refreshing, winsome, and wise. I often find that the pragmatic mentality wins out in education battles though.

    In my interaction with other English teachers, I find too many who do not share the same passion for language and literature as you do. Your students are privileged to have you.

    I also appreciated the bit about the priesthood and teaching. I actually am a year removed from a seminary degree and feel the same way about calling as you. My pulpit is a lecturn, my sanctuary a classroom, my students the parishioners.

  7. Beautiful writing and sentiments, thank you. I agree with @Trevor that your students are lucky, indeed.

    This dovetailed perfectly with an amazing discovery today, the massive web resource known as the “The Guide to Grammar and Writing.” I stumbled on this while creating an updated checklist to assess the writing skills of a new student.

    The title is deceptively simple, but this website is truly a labor of love and a free resource to anyone on the web who finds it. The spiritual father of this site was the late Charles Darling, who taught writing and literature courses at Capital Community College in Hartford, Connecticut for over 35 years and did all the website updates and maintenance starting back in 1995.

    Mr. Darling was a modest, witty man who obviously had a passion for English literature, but owned that he had, at one time, “gone over to the dark side” and taught a course in Desktop Publishing for the Business-Technology Department.”

    Mr. Darling as moved on to the Great Blackboard in the Sky, but The Guide to Grammar and Writing lives on, sponsored by the Capital Community College Foundation, which accepts contributions in the name of that Hero of Grammar, Mr. Darling.

  8. As usual, typing too quickly with my stubby little fingers.

    Delete quotation mark at end of para 4.

    Last para, first line, change “as” to “has.”

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