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After reading a slim book of essays by Edward Thomas earlier this year I decided to try his poetry. Thomas, born in London in 1878, was, by the time he began writing poetry, an established writer of prose. It was only after Robert Frost became his neighbor that Thomas tried his hand at poetry in 1914.

Thomas was a great walker of the countryside and his prose about his rambles is beautiful and lyrical so it doesn’t seem like it would have taken a great leap for him to write poetry. And while his poems have a Frosty (Frostian?) feel to them, Thomas is also distinctly his own man. Sadly WWI broke out, Thomas joined up and was killed on the first day of the battle of Arras in 1917. Nonetheless, during his short time as a poet, he managed to produce 140 poems. Pretty amazing when you think about how productive that is. Makes me wonder what he would have been like should he have survived the war. Would he have continued as prolific? Or maybe he had a premonition that his time was short and he needed to write as many poems as he could. Whatever the case might be, I am glad for Frost’s encouragement of him and I am delighted by his 140 poems.

They tend to be on nature or humans in relation to nature, and while his voice is generally light and the verse sparkles along, an underlying feeling of darkness or death creeps in to remind us the birds might be singing and the woods bright and green but it is not always so. Take, for example, the last stanza of the poem “Old Man.” Old Man, also called Lad’s Love is a green herb. In the preceding stanzas he talks about his love of the plant and he imagines his child loving it too, and then:

I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
For what I should, yet never can, remember:
No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush
Of Lad’s Love, or Old Man, no child beside,
Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end.

Along with whole poems that are wonderful, he has many standout lines too that just grabbed me and made me pause to think about them and read them again and again. Lines like, “When Gods were young/ This wind was old.” And:

And she has slept, trying to translate
The word the cuckoo cries to his mate
Over and over.

And:

And yet I am still half in love with pain,
With what is imperfect, with both tears and mirth,
With things that have an end, with life and earth,
And this moon that leaves me dark within the door.

Once the war starts Thomas begins to shift his focus away from nature a little bit. I take that back, shifting away is not accurate, broadening his view is more like it. He writes a few love poems, missing his wife and family perhaps. And of course the war enters in to some of the poems too. Even though he only wrote a handful of poems about war he is still better known as a war poet than a nature poet. There are some fine ones that made my heart sink with their utter sadness. But I don’t want to leave this on a sad note because Thomas is not a sad poet. So here is one of his love poems, “Some Eyes Condemn”

Some eyes condemn the earth they gaze upon:
Some wait patiently until they know far more
Than earth can tell them: some laugh at the whole
As folly of another’s making: one
I knew that laughed because he saw, from core
To rind, not one thing worth the laugh his soul
Had ready at waking: some eyes have begun
With laughing; some stand startled at the door.

Others too, I have seen rest, question, roll,
Dance, shoot. And many I have loved watching. Some
I could not take my eyes from till they turned
And loving died. I had not found my goal.
But thinking of your eyes, dear, I become
Dumb: for they flamed, and it was me they burned.

Isn’t that wonderful? I take that last line as a positive thing, burning with desire and love, but it could be read differently. It’s a glass half empty, glass half full line, isn’t it?

You can read more details about Thomas on his page at the Academy of American Poets where there are also four of his poems to enjoy as well.

Filed under: Books, Poetry, Reviews Tagged: Edward Thomas

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Today seems like a good day for a poem. To my mind every day is a good day for a poem, but I thought I would share an Edward Thomas poem with you to whet your appetite for when I finish the collection. This one was written in 1915, a very prolific year for Thomas.

There’s nothing like the sun

There’s nothing like the sun as the year dies,
Kind as it can be, this world being made so,
The stones and men and beasts and birds and flies,
To all things that it touches except snow,
Whether on mountain side or street of town.
The south wall warms me: November has begun,
Yet never shone the sun as fair as now
While the sweet last-left damsons from the bough
With spangles of the morning’s storm drop down
Because the starling shakes it, whistling what
Once swallows sang. But I have not forgot
That there is nothing, too, like March’s sun,
Like April’s, or July’s, or June’s, or May’s,
Or January’s, or February’s, great days:
And August, September, October, and December
Have equal days, all different from November.
No day of any month but I have said –
Or, if I could live long enough, should say –
‘There’s nothing like the sun that shines today.’
There’s nothing like the sun till we are dead.

Filed under: Books, Poetry Tagged: Edward Thomas

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It was the birthday this week of Edward Thomas, a quitessentially English poet. This is one of the many poems he wrote in the short period of poetic creativity that came upon him before he was killed in the First World War:


Lights Out

I have come to the borders of sleep,
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight,
Or winding, soon or late;
They cannot choose.

Many a road and track
That, since the dawn's first crack,
Up to the forest brink,
Deceived the travellers,
Suddenly now blurs,
And in they sink.

Here love ends,
Despair, ambition ends,
All pleasure and all trouble,
Although most sweet or bitter,
Here ends in sleep that is sweeter
Than tasks most noble.

There is not any book
Or face of dearest look
That I would not turn from now
To go into the unknown
I must enter and leave alone
I know not how.

The tall forest towers;
Its cloudy foliage lowers
Ahead, shelf above shelf;
Its silence I hear and obey
That I may lose my way
And myself.


Thomas' was the first poetry by a FWW poet that I ever read, many many years ago: I was 16 and a friend recited from memory his poem But These Things Also Are Spring's, which impressed itself upon my brain that I sought out a copy of Thomas' poems later that same morning.

Today is the anniversary of the first publication in 1923 of Robert Frost's well-loved poem:

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Note that both men, who were very great friends for a few years before Thomas' death, wrote of woods and sleep.

The Poetry Friday round-up this week is over at The Simple and The Ordinary.

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Things to love about JAZZ A•B•Z• by Wynton Marsalis, illustrated by Paul Rogers, with biographical sketches by Phil Schaap:

1. The overall book design. Candlewick Press excels at this sort of thing, so it shouldn’t be a surprise, but let me give special kudos to book designer Jill von Hartmann on this one. You’ve seen the cover, of course (that’s Wynton on the cover, by the way – I can’t find something that says so definitively, but it sure looks like him, and it’s definitely not someone from inside the book).

When you flip it open, you’ll find end papers made of brown craft paper. Cut to look like the liner sleeve inside the record jacket of an actual vinyl 78 rpm record album. Followed by the title page, which puts all the information about in the center of a jet-black disk that’s nearly 10" in diameter (hence my decision to call it a 78, rather than a 33).

But wait – there’s more. The back cover of the book lists all 26 of the jazz artists who are the subject of the book, in alphabetical order by the letter of their name that they are associated with (more on that in a minute), followed by a single word that starts with the same letter. (E.g., "Louis Armstrong • almighty"). Inside the book, the artists are in the same order, but the table of contents is a teacher’s delight. Because the table of contents runs A through Z, followed by biographical sketches and notes on the poetic forms.

But wait – there’s still more: next to each letter of the alphabet is the name of the jazz musician associated with it, and next to that, the form of poem. Here’s a quick approximation for you:

A &emsp &emsp Louis Armstrong – Accumulative Poem
B &emsp &emsp Count Basie – Blues Poem
C &emsp &emsp John Coltrane – List Poem
D &emsp &emsp Miles Davis – Word Play

See what I mean about usefulness to teachers (or, for that matter, to students of poetry)?

2. The notes from Paul Rogers and Wynton Marsalis. Right after the table of contents is a two-page spread, each page containing a note from the illustrator and author. The illustrator comes first in this one, perhaps because the illustrations themselves came first in this particular project. Rogers explains how he got the idea for the paintings, and Marsalis explains how he got the ideas for the poems. And he makes clear that he’s a huge Yeats fan, something that’s not truly evident as an influence in his own work, but which shows that he’s a thinking man with an ear for language, nevertheless.

3. The spreads. Each poem is at least a two-page spread. The first one is A for Louis Armstrong. Wanna see it? Of course you do – et voilà!



What you’re seeing: Rogers’s artwork on the right, using bold, poster-like construction. Marsalis’s poem on the less, using alliteration like a mad fiend while constructing an accumulative poem that totally nails the idea of Louis Armstrong. I love the last line in particular: "Anybody asks, tell them Armstrong almighty is aglow amidst the angels above."

There are two four-page spreads inside the book. In each case, a fold-out is employed. The first is for the letter I, for "Abdullah Ibn Buhaina" (a.k.a. Art Blakey). On the right, the wonderful poster-like illustration by Rogers. On the left, a three-page fold out. This poem is listed as a Performance Poem, and man, is that correct. In order to perform it, one must establish a four-four beat, snapping on every even beat. And then, one vocalizes percussion noises – the "ting tinky ting" of cymbals. The "ch" of the snare. The "boom!" of the bass drum. A whole page composed of 14 measures of verbalized percussion noises. Okay – there are thirteen measures spelled out, but theres a blank space for one full measure of rest. And then, on the page turn, the poet speaks in the voice of Buhaina, interspersed with percussive iterations and snaps. It is freakin’ genius, and SO much fun to do aloud (as long as you’re willing to commit – I am, of course, willing to go the distance with this poem, but this is not a poem for the shy).

The second four-page spread is for Sidney Bechet. Again, the right hand page is the portrait of Sidney Bechet playing his soprano saxophone. And if you think that last sentence sounded sybillant, well – you should read the poem. It’s a long, screechy hiss of a poem, again on a three-page fold-out. Folks with a lisp should avoid this one. Theriously.

4. The poems. The poems are jazz, rendered into words. Walter Dean Myers wrote about jazz music in his wonderful book, JAZZ, illustrated by Christopher Dean Myers. (At the LA SCBWI conference, Walter Dean Myers said he felt he had to use that particular illustrator because he’d "slept with the kid’s mother." But I digress.) His poems had a jazz vibe to them, but were primarily poems. Marsalis has written jazz itself. Not poems about jazz – jazz, in words, on the page. These poems cry out to be read aloud, and with swagger.

Here’s an excerpt from the end of "X – Bix Beiderbecke" (a ballad):

He exalts in lyric sweetness,
Excites on zesty jumps,
Exhibits exclusive features,
Exudes that umpty-umph!

He travels on extensively,
Exports the jazz solo.
His records are exemplary,
But whiskey lays him low.

Exhausted, he goes home to fix
What tattered soul he has.
His folks reject his life’s love. Bix,
He exits blowing jazz.

That one gives me goosebumps.

5. The artwork. I wish I could show you all the artwork, right here. I can’t, of course, but I know someone who can: Paul Rogers. On one page of his site you can see bits of all the portraits in the book. And on the last page in his sketchbook, you can see three cityscapes that are used to run along the bottom of the pages containing the biographical sketches.


6. The biographical sketches of the musicians. Once you reach the end of the alphabet "the zenith, the alpha, Dizzy", you come to the prose portion of the book, written by noted jazz disc jockey, Phil Schaap, the "Dean of Jazz," who educates listeners and students on WKCR in New York (Columbia University’s station). Schaap has won eight Grammy awards for historical writing, producing, and audio engineering. Schaap is the Curator of Jazz at Lincoln Center. His biographies are brief, and primarily focus on the musical lives of the subjects (rather than on issues of their upbringing, civil rights work (where appropriate) or drug addiction (if applicable)).

7. Notes on the Poetic Forms. The twenty-seven forms are set out alphabetically, rather than in the order they’re employed in the book. So. Helpful. But wait, you say – weren’t there only 26 musicians in the book? The answer is yes, but some of the poems fit more than one category – an acrostic along with a calligram, for instance.

8. Other. First off, this book was a critical success. It got starred reviews from Kirkus, Booklist and School Library Journal. It won 10 awards, listed proudly at the Candlewick website, all of the "notable book" variety. Some might say it is therefore not truly "under the radar." And in a sense, that's right. But in reality, it's all wrong, and here's why: Not all that many people buy all that many poetry collections. And this one is a shining gem for the totality of its package. And although it's a poetry book designed for kids, jazz fans of all age would like it for its images, both graphic and verbal. And I'm guessing that there are many, many teachers and librarians out there who don't know about this book as a resource for music, biography, history, and poetry (including the teaching of poetic forms). And they should.

You can see poems A through C and L at the NPR website, where the artwork and text for Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, John Coltrane, and "Lady Day", Billie Holiday, are given. And you can click on links to hear Wynton Marsalis read "Louis Armstrong". Other readings include "Count Basie," "Lady Day," and "Sara Vaughn."

Here's a list of the other book selections today:

Here's the list of all the Radar Recommendations for today:

A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy: A discussion of author Ellen Emerson White and why she is "under the radar".

Big A, little a: Ingo by Helen Dunmore.

Jen Robinson's Book Page: The Changeling and The Velvet Room both by Zilpha Keatley Snyder.

At Bildungsroman: Girl in the Box by Ouida Sebestyen.

Finding Wonderland: A Door Near Here by Heather Quarles.

Miss Erin: Girl With a Pen and Princess of Orange, both by Elisabeth Kyle.

Fuse Number 8: The Winged Girl of Knossos by Erick Berry.

Leila at Bookshelves of Doom talks about The Olivia Kidney series by Ellen Potter.

Chicken Spaghetti: The Natural History of Uncas Metcalfe by Betsey Osborne.

The YA YA YAs feature Massive by Julia Bell.

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Rebecca OUP-US

School is out for summer, July 4th is rapidly approaching, ice cream trucks are circling your neighborhood (at least they are in mine…), and you need a good book to read on vacation. Now is when the Good Fiction Guide, edited by Jane Rogers, comes in handy. The guide features subject essays and over 1,100 entries on writers ranging from Chinua Achebe to Emile Zola. Each subject entry features a list of fiction books you MUST read. To inspire you towards lofty summer reading goals I have excerpted a few below. (more…)

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It seemed impossible to talk about the most recent of Gregory Rogers wordless picture books without talking about the earlier book. Not that the two books can't stand on their own, but they also seem so much a part of one that I'm doing them together.

A Boy in modern England kicks a soccer ball through the window of an abandoned theatre. Once inside to retrieve his ball his attention is diverted by costumes, which he feels compelled to try on. He kicks his ball through the curtain and, going after it, finds himself transported onto the stage in Elizabethan England. The Bard in the wings, furious that his play has been interrupted by this rapscallion, gives chase.

From here out it's a Shakespearean action movie. While hiding out the boy befriends and frees a caged Bear and together they outwit and outrun the Bard, help an imprisoned Baron escape, entertain on a Lady's barge, and in the end go their separate ways. The Bear is set sailing down the Thames in a small punt while the Boy, at the last minute, is transported back through time to the modern day.


Picking up where the previous book left off, Bear is still floating down river, only now he is out of the city and into lush forest. A buzzing bee wakes the slumbering Bear, alerting and leading him to the presence of honey in a nearby tree. Chased by the angry hive Bear discovers a tree with a door in it and, after a cursory knock, barges through to a tunnel in the trunk. Coming out the other side Bear discovers he has been shrunk to the size of nearby mushrooms in a land of fairies.

The Boy appears, this time as a helpful sprite, offering to introduce him to his king. Once at the palace the Bard takes them to the court where he accuses them of some sort of treason. Imprisoned they find themselves in the same cell as the King and Queen (the Baron and the Lady from the previous book) and make a plan to escape. More chasing, some swordplay, and in the end the Bard is arrested for his misdeeds. Bear receives heroic honors from the King and Queen and is led back to his boat by the Boy where he is free to continue floating on.

Expertly paced, both books have true cinematic arcs to their storytelling that make them a joy to follow. That Rogers is using the same cast of main characters to tell these stories make them more like a repertory group putting on their latest production, which is hardly accidental. More only criticism happens in the first book where there is a clunky transition between the two worlds -- almost as if Rogers was unsure the reader would understand what was happening -- that he doesn't use in the second book, which I was happy to see. I think children can make a lot of solid connections in well "explained" pictures and Rogers has what it takes to make those connections visually smooth.

In the introduction to the first book Rogers admits that everything clicked for him the moment he discovered that Shakespeare's plays began at 4 in the afternoon, suggesting a late afternoon reverie. In the the more recent book he speaks to his love of Elizabethan costumes and that love is clear in both books.

In thinking about these books, and in similar books like Polo -- books with panels of action and no dialog, sequential stories -- I'm thinking we may need to consider coming up with a new term if not a new genre. It doesn't seem right to call them graphic novels when they're meant for the picture book crowd, no matter how appropriate the name may be. And to call them picture books seems to imply they aren't different from the traditional word-and-illustration books we understand to be the picture book. One thing is certain, they are a far cry from comic books and a far cry from the uncomplicated pre-reader picture and board books.

I guess if Rogers is keen on continuing with his company of players, the next ought to figure the Baron as the main character with the others in support, then the Bard in the last book. After that I guess we're on our own, which is sad in advance of the fact that there's no proof any further books are even being considered. And while I'm speculating, it would be nice to not only see a day with four books in print but of a single bound edition containing all-in-one.

I think if the world of book publishing is hoping to build a solid graphic novel base then they need to start weening their audience early on. More like this, please.

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