woensdag 18 maart 2009

Dinsdag 17 maart 2009: Mijn observatie in het Rådmansgadeskole:

Needlework.
Everyone own way of teaching: modern system, elderly teachers: antique system
Alternative teachers: want to integrate the immigrant pupils by making them critical, learning the to understand what they read, and to question it.
Don’t read las if you were reading the Koran.
The children are brought up: "Don’t ask me something, don’t question things, just do it!"
The children have an open relationship with one of the modern teachers. In the classroom itself there is a little conflict but it was easily solved by the teacher.
The children could play videogames if they were in need of a small break.

English.

Old way of teaching. Teacher has an assistent. The danish system claims: pupils shouldn’t be evaluated by grades, but this teacher does it anyway. He doesn’t care if the pupils are following the lesson, if they can do it… he leaves tem on their own. No good feedback, no pronounciation, they don’t have to think about what they are reading, just reading for the skill! There is no motivation. The teacher’s pronounciation is wrong. He could have used us… No cultural transfer at all. Same every time. Children are bored!
We ask if we can assist the teacher and take over a part of the lesson…
We help the children to fill in there workbooks, individual help…
We let them interview us, think about things to say in English, help them say it right. Pedagogic echo. The pupils are much more motivated.
We play pictionnary, the children go ballistic, they are not used to this kind of lessons. But however they learned a lot, just were all to keen on answering.

De "ren – en – trek foto’s" activiteit… resultaat:


Woensdag 18 maart 2009: Daar is de lente, daar is de zon.

De zon verwarmt het veld…
De man gebaart naar de stilte,
De stilte gebaart terug
De zwaan wankelt en het kind slaat
De beelden versmelten in de zomerende lentebries
Maar de kou snijdt, en vergeet de zon
Ik ril en verstop me in mijn jas
Zo vaak verstoppen, zo weinig vinden
Maar ik vergeet te zoeken
En het maakt niets uit
Want het gras fluistert
Het kind slaat
De man gebaart naar de stilte
En een hond lekt met zijn drommelse tong
Langs mijn been
Ik hou van de lente.

Geen opmerkingen: