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Barry Pomeroy
Goodreads Author
Born
St. Steven, Canada
Website
Genre
Influences
Ray Bradbury, Umberto Eco, Jared Diamond, Timothy Findley, Gabriel Gar
...more
Member Since
November 2014
Equality and Equity
I once told a colleague that I didn’t believe in objective marking, and she enthusiastically agreed. “I don’t think it’s possible to be objective,” she said.
I told her that I didn’t think we should try to be objective, or even that objectivity is an admirable goal. “The world hasn’t been objective with our students, so we shouldn’t try to pretend there is a level playing field when we are judging
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“After centuries of darkness
fish may lose their vision,
and happy in the still pool
will forget that light was once their day.”
―
fish may lose their vision,
and happy in the still pool
will forget that light was once their day.”
―
“In a moment a world will lose its focus and become a different place. They say that blind people have been struck by their affliction without warning, and that Helen Keller found language and light in a word. For me, I suddenly knew, viscerally at least, a number of things about my town that I’d only ever suspected. The dog was a girl. The dog was a native girl. I dug her out of the snow with more care than I’d ever lifted a porcupine or a snapping rat, and feeling that she was still somewhat warm, that her wrappings of rags had protected her from the cold of a Manitoba winter, I placed my jacket around her and covered her head with my hat. Then I set a pace back to the farm that left a taste of blood in my mouth, freezing my lungs by running at minus thirty.”
―
―
“After centuries of darkness
fish may lose their vision,
and happy in the still pool
will forget that light was once their day.”
―
fish may lose their vision,
and happy in the still pool
will forget that light was once their day.”
―
“In a moment a world will lose its focus and become a different place. They say that blind people have been struck by their affliction without warning, and that Helen Keller found language and light in a word. For me, I suddenly knew, viscerally at least, a number of things about my town that I’d only ever suspected. The dog was a girl. The dog was a native girl. I dug her out of the snow with more care than I’d ever lifted a porcupine or a snapping rat, and feeling that she was still somewhat warm, that her wrappings of rags had protected her from the cold of a Manitoba winter, I placed my jacket around her and covered her head with my hat. Then I set a pace back to the farm that left a taste of blood in my mouth, freezing my lungs by running at minus thirty.”
―
―
