It's Poetry Month so of course the sixth graders are working on poetry. My oldest, Meg, worked on a few haiku tonight, and a few limericks, as well as a free verse. But my favorite by far was the limericks. Just have to share:

There once was a reddish wool sweater

which made everything feel much better. 

It fell in the sink

which caused it to shrink

and now I can't wear my red sweater. 

                             --Meg Dempsey



And her other one was:

There once was a girl from Brazil

who sometimes became an ill pill.

She jumped all around

and fell to the ground

and her mother said, "What is your deal?!!"

               -Meg Dempsey



They made me giggle. :)

 

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I wanted to share this original poem today that is still untitled. I've been ruminating on this tightwire I seem to walk emotionally in so many areas of life, balancing future dreams with today's and tomorrow's worries. But I don't have a title yet. :)


Untitled (for now)


Together we laugh

at the future, the bright

weathered days to come,

all light and goodness cut through

today’s weight like flour mixed

with buttered sunshine from eternity.

We live and perspire on hopes like these,

unmeasured dreams, stirred

with joy and worry, both.

We grasp our patterned aprons, crisp

linen stained by yesterday’s roux,

we rub our fingers and fill our pockets

with spices, leaning closer to the morrow,

willing it faster, fearing it more.

We laugh, and so

we laugh again,

knowing not a reason why,

as nervous as children,

as weary as wives.


                   --Kristy Dempsey (all rights reserved)

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I just spoke on the phone with Carmen de Lavallade, dancer, actress and wife of Geoffrey Holder. Carmen is a cousin of Janet Collins, whose historic performance as prima ballerina at the Metropolitan Opera is the focus of my forthcoming book with Philomel.

I have to share with you what Carmen has to say about Art and Finding your Own Place in whatever you pursue. I think some of it is applicable to writing as well as to dance.

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Found Poetry from Ray Bradbury's Zen in the Art of Writing: 



(from page 8 in the edition linked to above)


Ideas lie
everywhere
like apples fallen
and melting in the grass
for lack of wayfaring strangers
with an eye
and a tongue
for beauty, whether absurd,
horrific, 
or genteel.

-- Ray Bradbury

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I was the guest of the day recently at jamarattigan 's live journal where I shared the original poem "Outside Dog at Dinnertime". So as not to leave the cats out, here is the feline companion to that poem:



Said the Cat


Don’t worry with me.

Go ahead,

enjoy your spread.

I wouldn’t want to be a bother.

I’ll just wait

here

for my kibble

while you piddle

with yours.


--Kristy Dempsey (all rights reserved)

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I think Anne Bradstreet had been reading my novel when she wrote this poem. Or my thoughts. :)


The Author to Her Book

BY ANNE BRADSTREET

Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, expos’d to publick view,
Made thee in raggs, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judg).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joynts to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobling then is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun Cloth, i’ th’ house I find.
In this array ’mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.
In Criticks hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.

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I spent yesterday with the 3rd and 4th graders of Wellford Elementary School in Wellford, SC creating some fabulous poetry, so it has me thinking just a bit on what makes us poets. I like this below from Wendell Barry:



How to be a Poet
by Wendell Berry

(This is just the last part of the poem, read the rest here.)

iii

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.


In other news, I'm the poet of the day at Jama Rattigan's journal! I share an original poem, a recipe and a picture of our adorable dog. Pepper would love for you to stop by and go gaga over her. :)

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EVERMORE


A list of words for nevermore:
hate and anger, lies and war,
and anything in any place
that judges anyone by race.
No more greed or selfish gain,
No more causing others pain,
No more hunger, no more debt,
No destruction, No regret,
No more jokes at your expense,
No more my side, no more fence.

A list of words for evermore:
love and peace and good rapport,
and everything in every place
that celebrates one human race.
A sacrifice for global gain,
A shoulder for our common pain,
Divide what isn’t fair and just
and multiply good will and trust.
Build the bridge we bombed before
Ever Ever Ever more.


--Kristy Dempsey (all rights reserved)

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So many of us have been spring cleaning today, this one seemed appropriate. I've share it through my favorite line and then you can find the rest at the Poetry Foundation site through the link. Read it several times slowly. There's a lot to enjoy here. 

Cleaning an Attic

BY BRENT PALLAS

The day had finally come
when everything there

seemed misplaced or out of place
as an ex's box of things. The unused

beside the irreplaceable, the easy-
to-assemble uncomplicated now

by disuse. Some hand
of randomness leaving behind

its lampshades stained
like ancient maps, its ladders

still climbing upward, and enough
old tools to restart a world.

Every drawer filled
with the other half of things.

Read the rest here.

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 There are things I've forgotten to tell you and things I couldn't tell you until now:

1. Once upon a time there was a manuscript that I loved. The first time annemariepace  read that manuscript she said, "I'd love to see Floyd Cooper illustrate this." That manuscript helped me get a scholarship to the Highlights Foundation Chautauqua conference. And then an agent. And then an editor asked me to revise it and didn't know if I could revise and still love it as much. Then I revised and loved it even more. Then Tamra Tuller at Philomel aquired that manuscript and it will be published in January of 2012. Guess who will be illustrating that manuscript? Floyd Cooper. THE Floyd Cooper. Anne Marie Pace must be psychic. 

2. Also in 2012, I'll have picture book coming out from Abrams, SURFER CHICK, which will be illustrated by the genius Henry Cole. Yes, Henry Cole of MOUSE WAS MAD, and BIG CHICKENS, and KATY DUCK, and many, many other favorites. Just look at the chickens. LOOK at those chickens! Isn't he the perfect choice?!

3. I was interviewed today by the lovely Tarie Sabido on the Through the Wardrobe blog. I shared some about ME WITH YOU, and my forthcoming picture book with Bloomsbury, MINI RACER, illustrated by Bridget Strevens-Marzo. 

4. Tomorrow will be soccer day round these parts. Two different games on two different sides of town. At least it's not supposed to rain. 

5. School visit next week in Wellford, SC!!!!

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I love this Kenneth Patchen poem, especially that last line with "the souls of ancient bells in a child's book". Read it and take it in and see if it doesn't lower your blood pressure.




Be Music, Night

BY KENNETH PATCHEN

Be music, night,
That her sleep may go
Where angels have their pale tall choirs

Be a hand, sea,
That her dreams may watch
Thy guidesman touching the green flesh of the world

Be a voice, sky,
That her beauties may be counted
And the stars will tilt their quiet faces
Into the mirror of her loveliness

Be a road, earth,
That her walking may take thee
Where the towns of heaven lift their breathing spires

O be a world and a throne, God,
That her living may find its weather
And the souls of ancient bells in a child's book
Shall lead her into Thy wondrous house

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I love and hate the writing of poetry in form. Some of my favorite forms are the triolet and the villanelle that employ the use of repeating lines. Favorite, in the sense that they tend to infuriate me like a jigsaw puzzle, but so satisfying when completed. 

A triolet is a one stanza eight-line poem with an ABaAabAB rhyme scheme. The first, fourth and seventh lines are identical, as well as the second and final lines.

Triolets that somehow change the meaning of the repeating line seem particularly accomplished. You will notice that the triolet I am sharing today, doesn't change the meaning of those repeated lines as it goes. 



Triolet

The sun is off to bed, my dear

And darkness gathers shadows in

She whispers as she pulls him near

The sun is off to bed, my dear

Come closer, child, away with fear

This world turns gently in its spin

The sun is off to bed, my dear

And darkness gathers shadows in.

                        --Kristy Dempsey (all rights reserved)

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Ahh, Collins. How can you be so brilliant while mocking "brilliance"? I *heart* you. I giggle every time I get to the line, "there is just no way that you are the pine-scented air."

(Be sure to click through and read the whole thing.)

Litany

by Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.


(Read the rest here.) 


                                     --- Billy Collins

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What? Bob Dylan is definitely a poet. :)


"Forever Young"
Lyrics by Bob Dylan

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

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When my oldest was just a tiny thing, she didn't quite get the concept of bare feet. She was positive for oh-so-long, that going without her shoes meant "bear" feet. And oh how she wanted to be a bear! All the time. Everywhere.

It makes me smile to remember her saying, "Are you being a bear, Mommy?"


“Bear” feet


Walk like a bear

When there’s warmth in the air

When the green grass grows

its springy invitation


Slip out of your shoes

Leave your socks over there

Sink down to your ankles

And walk like a bear


           --Kristy Dempsey (all rights reserved)

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For the beauty of the Earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth 
over and around us lies
Lord of all to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise. 

For the wonder of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale and tree and flower,
Sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child;
Friends on earth and friends above;
For all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

For Thyself, best gift divine,
To each race so freely given,
For that great, great love of Thine,
Peace on earth, and joy in heaven:
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

          -- lyrics by Folliot Sandford Pierpoint

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I'm on a spring kick -- can't help it; have you looked outside?? -- and so I bring another springy poem today from Karla Kuskin. She was a gem, that Karla, and this poem is how I feel every time I look outside.

(On a side note, if you haven't read Rebecca Kai Dotlich's Lemonade Sun, especially A Circle of Sun which reminds me of this Kuskin poem, you're missing another sunshine-y treat.)


Be sure to read the rest of Kuskin's poem at the Poetry Foundation website. (I've included the link below.) Here I've only shared the poem through my favorite line. Happy Spring!



Spring

BY KARLA KUSKIN

I’m shouting
I’m singing
I’m swinging through trees
I’m winging skyhigh
With the buzzing black bees.
I’m the sun
I’m the moon
I’m the dew on the rose.
I’m a rabbit
Whose habit
Is twitching his nose

Read the rest here.

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1. I read THE PENDERWICKS ON GARDAM STREET this week. Loved it but had a weird emotional breakdown afterwards. I think it had to do with my husband's recent heart attack and realizing I'm not an astrophysicist.

2. Good news from my Philomel editor, Tamra: ME WITH YOU was licensed by Scholastic Book Clubs! My little book is going to be in the book clubs! WHOOO-HOOOO!

3. Still waiting to hear on my latest pb submission. Glacial pace, this business. (Okay. I exaggerate. But slower than I wish.)

4. Had follow-up doctor visit this morning after hand surgery last week. I am fine. I asked the doctor if it was okay to start washing dishes again. And he said "Absolutely not." Indefinitely. Really. Why would I lie? :)

5. Received uncorrected proofs from Bloomsbury UK for MINI RACER, my forthcoming pb illustrated by Bridget Strevens-Marzo. The art is ADORABLE. Can't wait to share them with you. I expect to receive Bloomsbury US proofs soon, which will be slightly different because the text is slightly different in the two versions. I will share as soon as I can.

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It seems odd as the weather is turning warmer and the trees are budding and the flowers are blooming to post a poem about winter trees. But during our time here in the US since July 2009, one of the most apparent differences (for me) between Brazil and the US has been the trees. Don't get me wrong. We love the trees in Brazil in all their greenness and palm-ishness and home-for-monkeys-ness. But here in the US, the trees actually change. There are seasons. And in each season there is a beauty that is unlike anywhere else I've ever been. William Carlos Williams captures the beauty of winter in Winter Trees.

Winter's been nice but it's even nicer to see those buds that were sleeping all winter begin to peek their faces out into the sun.



Winter Trees

BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

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I don't have a perfect plan for Poetry Month this year, no special events, no original poetry from a schedule of poetry veterans. But I will be reading a lot of poetry this month and sharing it with others. And more than likely it will spill over here each day.  A favorite from this past week of reading:



Part Two: Nature

XCVII

TO make a prairie it takes a clover

      and one bee,—

One clover, and a bee,

And revery.

The revery alone will do

If bees are few.


      -Emily Dickinson

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To celebrate Poetry Friday today, one of my favorite Robert Frost poems (on what would have been his birthday -- Happy Birthday, Bob) , perfect for this time of year, this time of Springish delight, of new warmth and new growth and the feeling that it's time to put your hand to the plough. 

I am putting my hand to the plough in my own way this spring by working to finish a discovery draft of my novel WIP. I had to step back this week and figure out where I've gone wrong because I feel like I'm moving in circles. 

This week as I enjoy the hint of spring in the air, I think I'm going to imagine myself as Frost did, working in concert with others to point toward something beautiful and fragrant. And maybe, just maybe I'll find it.



The Tuft of Flowers

BY ROBERT FROST

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

As all must be,' I said within my heart,
Whether they work together or apart.'

Read the rest here.

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1. I've felt like something big was supposed to happen all week, but nothing has really materialized. Oh wait, ME WITH YOU was nominated for the SIBA 2010 Book of the Year award in the children's/YA category. I'm very excited about that. Yes. But still, I've had this feeling I can't shake, so maybe one of you will get good news before the end of the day.

2. I got art for my upcoming pb, MINI RACER, that I'm dying to share with you, but I don't have permission yet. So instead, I'll let my illustrator do it for me. :) Bridget Strevens-Marzo shared some of the art on her blog a week or so ago and then Cynsations posted an interview with her as part of the SCBWI Bologna series. Be sure to check both of them out!

3. Cynsations also posted an interview with my fabuloso literary agent, Kendra Marcus, of Bookstop Literary. She shares a sweet story about me that made me blush (though she doesn't use my name.) It's nice to have an agent that makes you feel good about yourself, huh? 

4. So have you noticed yet that lots of people I know are going to the Bologna Book Fair but not me? :( Pooh.

5. My agent just sent out my latest picture book manuscript. I am insanely excited about this story. I've had the idea/title in my head for years and have worked and reworked and worked and reworked and then finally the story just came together the other day. I wrote, revised, rewrote, revised, had it critiqued, revised, sent it to agent, revised, talked with agent, revised some more, and now it is OUT THERE. Oh boy.

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Okay, so for the first time ever my agent read the synopsis of my novel WIP today. And when she was through, she did not ask to de-agent me. Whew.

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Someone -- I ain't saying who-- put a bee in my bonnet to submit an application for Work-in-Progress grant from the SCBWI. Glory, it's taken me all day but I think I've finally pulled it all together.

In the mail, tomorrow. Whew.

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Cybils are announced tomorrow on Valentine's Day! I had the privilege of serving as one of the preliminary judges for Poetry and this year was chock-full of great poetry books. Seriously, there were awesome books that didn't make our final five just because we were limited to five. Be sure to check out the winners in the morning!

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