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"Explain how the curriculum is aligned with Maryland Content Standards and the voluntary state curriculum."

Hermanadad / Brotherhood

Soy hombre: duro poco
y es enorme la noche.
Pero miro hacia arriba:
las estrellas escriben.
Sin entender comprendo:
tambien soy escritura
y en este mismo instante
alguien me deletrea.

~Octavio Paz

I am a man; little do I last
and the night is enormous.
But I look up:
the stars write.
Unknowing I understand:
I too am written,
and at this very moment
someone spells me out.

~Octavio Paz / translated by Eliot Weinberger

"Most of what we learn--about ourselves, about the physical world and about our place in it--we learn through our relationships with or in the company of other people. At GGPCS social studies holds a special place in the curriculum, because its focus on people and their relationships with each other and the environment mirrors children's learning through their interaction with people in the environment...."

Today's Poetry Friday Roundup is at The Drift Record with Julie Larios.

Happy Poetry Friday: share the love at Some Novel Ideas, a middle-school focused blog that I'm happy to discover.

Since my last post I've participated to my great benefit in two poetry stretches and the public charter school application has passed the Technical Review--and of course, while the district was doing their checkthrough to see if anything was missing, so were we. I-yi-yi we found some glaring omissions! So yesterday I stood in the Asst. Superintendent's office with one of the stalwarts of the project and replaced or added to 20 binders eight pieces that had gone wrong somehow, and crossed out a really important "not" on every page 95.

More interesting for you all in the Poetry Friday audience is page 29. Here is where I included the following perfect poem by Countee Cullen, a move which many considered too risky for a charter school supplication (which may be a better word than application, since if approved we would be the first public charter school in our district ever).

Incident

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue and called me, "Nigger."

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.

~Countee Cullen

This poem leads the section about how, in addition to "what children know and can do," our schools must address what children feel, value and demonstrate as attitudes towards each other and the planet. This, to me, is what reading is for (among a few other important things), and what poetry is particular is useful for crystallizing.

"But, the word "nigger"?!" some said.
I said, "That's precisely the point."

On Monday morning my partner-in-charter Janet and I drove to the Central Office to deliver 15 binders, each full of 350 pages of public charter school application. It was finally completed at 11:30 the night before with the substantial participation of about 40 teachers, parents and general citizens and included 100 pages of public support letters and petition signatures. Working on this project was an exhilarating experience of grass-roots collaboration, and yet what kept me going as the "lead writer" on the project (I came as close as I ever will to "pulling an all-nighter") was working some carefully selected poetry into the Academic Design section.

Here are the first two: an epigraphical gem that opens the whole application, and a really fine, serendipitous summary of what it is we want children to learn at our school--a poem from Marilyn Singer's Footprints on the Roof.

Lyric from Ancient Arabia

Our children
are our hearts
developing feet
and walking.

~Hattan Ibu Al Mu'alla


Home
(incorrect formatting; I still haven't learned to make blogger obey my indents)

Ask me where is home
and I will tell you
a house
a street
a neighborhood
a town
Someplace safe and solid
where I eat
I run
I sing
I nap
Someplace I can pinpoint
on a map
But what if I were an astronaut
with the world dangling below me
like a yo-yo from a giant's hand
and home was the whole planet?
Would I be wise enough to understand
the worth
of my new address: Earth?

~ Marilyn Singer

is at The Miss Rumphius Effect today.


A sleepover on Christmas Eve at the grandparents' in Baltimore is part of our holiday tradition, elegantly (if I say so myself) incorporated into our family's 12 Days of Yuletide. I got a lovely gift this year from my mother--two books of poetry, The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins and Voices by Lucille Clifton. Lucille (I stand in awe and yet presume a first-name basis) is one of my favorite Revered Adult Poets because of the brevity and simplicity of her writing, which enables her also to speak to the youngest children. If you don't know them, go find the Everett Anderson books soon. The variety in Voices is stunning, and I particularly liked this one and shared it with D the elder:

horse prayer

why was i born to balance
this two-leg
on my back to carry
across my snout
his stocking of oat and apple
why i pray to You
Father Of What Runs And Swims
in the name of the fenceless
field when he declares himself
master
does he not understand my
neigh

It reminded me of the following, which I once used as the basis for a writing project with Year 2 children in London:

The Prayer of the Little Ducks

Dear God,
give us a flood of water.
Let it rain tomorrow and always.
Give us plenty of the little slugs

Poetry Friday is at Random Noodling with Diane Mayr...
Can't get enough of "natural light" at this time of year, and if it's not sunlight, then I'll go for wood fire or candle flame or . Here's another source, by Kay Ryan, making me want to brush up on my hagiology.



He Lit a Fire with Icicles
for W. G. Sebald, 1944-2001

This was the work
of St. Sebolt, one
of his miracles:
he lit a fire with
icicles. He struck
them like a steel
to flint, did St.
Sebolt. It
makes sense
only at a certain
body heat. How
cold he had
to get to learn
that ice would
burn. How cold
he had to stay.
When he could
feel his feet
he had to
back away.

~Kay Ryan

I can't quite go cold turkey, but here's my candlelighting poem reworked with fewer empty connectors. My first-graders memorized this without effort after three readings. I think that's a good sign. (I still don't know how to get Blogger to respect my indents so I'm putting ellipses in their place. It's not ideal, but...)

We Light a Candle

see how the wick waits
.....cold........curled
hear how the match scrapes
.....hiss........burst
see how the flame leaps
.....tongue.....leaf....horn
now how the light creeps
.....comfort
.......................is born<

Last week Poetry Friday passed me by entirely as I attempted to plan for the next 3 months, during which I will be writing (not entirely by myself) an approximately 200-page charter school application--all in a revolving series of poetic forms, beginning with the following limerick:

New Year At The Pier—A Rosh Hashanah Story by April Halprin Wayland, illustrated by award-winning Canadian Stéphane Jorisch, is so delicious, we want you to have a chance to win an autographed copy!

Here’s lots of juicy stuff about the book, here's the 1:16 minute book trailer and here’s a summary of the book, which got a starred review in Publishers Weekly:

Izzy’s favorite part of Rosh Hashanah is Tashlich, a joyous ceremony in which people apologize for the mistakes they made in the previous year and thus clean the slate as the new year begins. But there is one mistake on Izzy’s “I’m sorry” list that he’s finding especially hard to say out loud. Humor, touching moments between family and friends, and information about the Jewish New Year are all combined in this lovely picture book for holiday sharing.

Be specific. Here’s the place to ‘fess up!

Michael Sedano

Open Mic Readers Wow the House

Akira Yamamoto gives a rousing performance featuring a rhythmic, hard beat chanting style that I find arresting and delightful. Back some years, this would have been called "rap" or "rapping". Maybe young poets still use that term. It feels too inadequate, three letters only to encompass such power and attention-holding verse.

The lineup follows with quiet, serious, passionate readings. Some highly personal, others movimiento tinged but definitely contemporary. La Palabra is an exclusively aural delight, the artists do not sell or provide printed copies for gente like me who enjoy reading and listening. Maybe next month, a ver.

Maria Ruiz

Ron Baca.

Rafael Alvarado.

Antonio Sorcini.

Henry Chavez elects an interesting--and I think ill-advised--medium, a blackberry. The public performer wants to hold eye contact to produce a sense of immediacy and personalize the presentation. Henry struggles to read the tiny screen giving little attention to listeners struggling to give his work an unencumbered hearing.

Henry Lozano.

Don Newton.

Two highlights of the Open Mic session, for me, included "rapper" Yolanda Androzzo, whose Emmett Till "rap" included a call and response section, a technique guaranteed to please audiences because it frees them from merely listening and allows them to become personally involved in the performance.

The wrap-up to the reading were announcements and input from the house. Here David Diaz adds to the discussion.

Kathy Mas-Gallegos, acknowledges her guests, many of whom are regular attenders of La Palabra.

Don Newton and Laura Longoria conduct a wonderful afternoon of poetry and performance. A scattering of empty seats indicate there's space for you the fourth Sunday in August. Here Longoria finally relaxes as the audience adjourns to the refreshment table featuring cold water, fruit, cheese, crackers.

Enjoy all of the delicious books we've been talking about this summer—and if you buy them, please BUY LOCAL. Find your local bookseller here.The folks in these stores are paperback promoters, kidlit campaigners, poetry proponents, school supporters, chapbook champions and author advocates.They hand sell, They create community. They read and recommend. They carry crazy amounts of inventory so

Up all night, again.
I'm on a deadly schedule where night and day have no structure or meaning.
It's not insomnia.
I'm a member of the Midnight Gang in a world of Tequila Sunrises. ;}
The cycle must be broken but the carousel refuses to slow down.
I am spinning
and not a golden ring in sight.
I am out of control in all that I am.
Maniacal laughter across the way
I know that sound
The Haunted House is open
and waiting
but I'm on that ride already.

This poem does not need music. The words and rhythm are music. But what a song it would make.

ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT by Robert Frost


I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Exclusive reports from Crime Fiction's international big-bash by our roving reporter.

6th Day - Thursday's Poetry Reading

This morning, José Emilio Pacheco, Joaquín Sabina and Luis García Montero read their poetry at the main tent of La Semana Negra. Since the recital was scheduled for one in the morning, I had planned to arrive an hour before, thinking I was going to get a good, comfortable spot. But it seemed dozens of people thought the same thing. Usually at this hour people are at the clubs dancing away the night, and you would think no one would even think about poetry. But in Gijón this was not the case.

As Paco Ignacio Taibo, II said, “Some years ago when I proposed a poetry reading late at night, people said I was crazy, that no one would actually attend.” But in fact a lot of people attended, and as I made my way through the audience that was trying to find chairs and move closer to the stage, I soon realized I wasn’t going to get a chair. So I made my way through to the front to sit wherever possible. I got a little spot right on the front between two couples and took out my camera. I’m a big poetry reader and just thinking that I was going to be listening to these three important poets of the Spanish language made me shiver. Before the recital, the tent was noisy, people desperately trying to find a place, but by 1:00am, no one else was able to get in. This made me feel more excited, and I felt envious looks from people behind me.

The recital got started by Yampi who livened up the tent with his guitar so people started singing. With his endless smile, Yampi thanked everyone for being there so late at night. He honored the deceased poet Ángel González by singing some of his poems, verses that quickly changed the mood of the tent. Ángel González died this year on January 12th and his death is most felt at La Semana Negra, because since the late-night poetry readings got started by Paco Ignacio Taibo II, Ángel had never missed a year.

Joaquín Sabina, famous songwriter and poet, has been attending La Semana Negra for the last six years and Luis García Montero, has also attended for many years. The only newbie was José Emilio Pacheco, who in some way came to replace Ángel González. Not an easy task, but knowing that José Emilio is considered one of the most important Mexican poets of our time, with his brilliant work in narrative, translation and most importantly poetry, he had nothing to fear.

A little after 1:00 Paco Taibo went on the stage and people went crazy clapping. Taibo said how happy he felt that so many people were at the event and that he knew we would truly enjoy it because, "poetry has less and less space in our society." He introduced the poets and surrounded by claps, cheers and yells, the three poets got on stage and waved to everyone. It was an amazing moment when the poets took their seats. Sabina and Montero seemed very comfortable on stage. Pacheco on the other hand seemed nervous and timid, but this didn’t stop his smile.

The recital started with Sabina and Montero together reciting a poem dedicated to Pacheco, verses that truly evoked the importance of Pacheco’s place in Spanish language poetry. The two poets declared that the poem was an homage, following the example of Pablo Neruda and Federico García Lorca's tribute poem to Ruben Darío. The poem was recited with enthusiasm, vividly, full of respect and admiration for the Mexican poet. Pacheco was moved by the poem to reply, “The least I can do you for you is read you poems that haven’t been publish yet.” He read three short poems and afterward timidly thanked everyone.

For an hour the poets took turns reading their poetry, and after each, the crowd got rowdier and louder. Many times you would see Taibo II trying to silence everyone from the side, because as he said at the beginning, “I want to establish a quiet and peaceful atmosphere so everyone can hear well and enjoy the poetry.” This was impossible. People would scream and tell Sabina or Montero that they loved them; or to Pacheco, “You are the greatest,” and similar remarks. I have to confess I was loud too, but how could you not in the presence of these eminents breathing the same air you are, stepping on the same sand and, most importantly, listening to their verses in such an intimate space?

Joaquin Sabina was the last to perform; García Montero joined him by singing the choruses. It was a tango entitled "Semana Negra", lyrics especially dedicated to La Semana Negra and all the happiness it brings to Gijón. After the song, a lot of people tried to get on stage. I got pushed and stepped on, until Taibo announced the poets would be signing books, but that everyone had to make a line. The organizers of La Semana Negra also gave away copies of a special anthology of Pacheco’s poetry to everyone.

For half an hour the poets signed books, and people in line were excited and had big smiles on their faces. Unfortunately, when the poets tired and decided to head to the hotel, people still in line got a little crazy and started pushing. Security intervened to protect the poets, who at the moment were much like rock stars. I don’t blame anyone; getting their autographs is special.

After the poets left, there was a strong energy in the air. It was like one of those moments you don’t believe just happened and you know they will never happen again--truly an unforgettable night for the people and visitors of Gijón.

I love La Semana Negra!

Besos desde Gijón,
Thania Muñoz

On Friday, June 13, at Harding University I had the great privilege to listen to readings and teachings of poet and author, Nikki Grimes.
Ms. Grimes stated that as our world grows more complicated nothing can prepare a child for it like poetry.
She said poetry can be a message or a massage, depending on the words used in the poem. She takes a natural, organic approach to poetry and has been a lifelong student of it. Ms. Grimes said, “I’m a poet down to my soul.” She explained that a poem tells a story or paints a picture with as few words as possible. She directed us to tune into our senses and draw on the environment—to play with the words.
She told us to begin with a simple description of a subject and then play around with a couple of the phrases we had written. We were to use word tools, like a dictionary and thesaurus. And she cautioned us about using rhyme—it should only be included when used well and with intention. But she does like internal rhyme and uses it often.
She shared with us the galley of her picture book biography of Barack Obama, which is to be released in September of this year. Her poetic voice shaped the story of the senator’s life from childhood to his current Presidential election campaign.
Ms. Grimes read excerpts from her latest novel in verse, THE DARK SONS. The story parallels the lives of two boys, one modern (Sam) and one ancient (biblical Ishmael) She also read selections from two of her narrative poetry picture books, WHEN GORILLA GOES WALKING, and MEET DANITRA BROWN. Ms. Grimes explained that every poem in a narrative poetry book must be a complete poem in itself, but it must also add to the development of the story. And a novel in verse is more complicated than narrative poetry because it must have a more detailed plot, setting and time period.
Ms. Grimes wove the words of her poems with the skill of a master. She truly was an inspiration--a revelation, a celebration, pure jubilation! (And I hope she will forgive me for using these rhyming words to describe it all.)