By: aquafortis,
on 5/5/2011
Those of us who blog in the kidlitosphere can accomplish a lot when we pull together. Need proof? Just check out the status of Greg Pincus's Kickstarter project, Poetry: Spread the Word--there are still 5 days to go on the project, and not only is... Read the rest of this post
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/26/2011
Book Review 2011-005
Walking Papers: poems by Thomas Lynch
2010 from W.W. Norton, 88 pages
(This copy sent for review from the Publisher)
While I've heard Mr. Lynch read from his work, and am well aware of his profession as an undertaker, this, sadly I admit, is the first of his collections I've read in full. It will not be the last.
Perhaps not so surprisingly, considering his profession, Lynch definitely covers mortality in this collection, such as the beginning to the poem "Asleep":
Often as not I crawl in bed like this,
wondering if the general discontent,
the ball and socket misery, sore ass,
shortness of breath, the tightening sense
of doom and occlusion close at hand,
might mean the dark is nearer than the light
and death's dull angel, like a one-man band,
is arming up to play my tune tonight.
And while he slips in these reminders of our impending endings throughout the collection, they're not his only muse. Not having read his earlier work yet, I'm unaware of just how political Lynch has been with his poetry prior to this collection, but there are a few works within Walking Papers that has him allowing his anger at those recently in charge to come through on the page. In "Dear Madam Secretary," for instance, a shot at Donald Rumsfeld as the poem ends:
Or, as one of your
colleagues once opined,
"stuff happens."
Surely what he meant to say
was shit, Madam Secretary.
It's shit that happens.
Ask any ass.
And within "The Names of Donkeys" we get shots at Prince Charles, George W. Bush and:
We call the little she-ass Sarah P.,
though truth be tole we had some choices.
When it comes to names and asses, there's no shortage.
My concern at this point is that reading the above might lead one to believe that this is a dour, or angry, collection of poetry and nothing could be further from the truth. Lynch doesn't constantly worry over the fact that we'll all die one day, nor is he ranting over and over about our politicians. The poetry is much more about celebrating those things that make us happy, looking at the laid out fish at a Kerrytown market, the hourly routines we have, and beyond. It's his simple usage of mortality throughout that makes the happy memories and times we have that much more powerful.
5 stars
Add a Comment
By: Aline Pereira,
on 4/26/2011
There are still a few days left before the end of Poetry Month in the US, so if you haven’t already added your lines to LitWorld‘s Global Poem for Change, there’s still time.
Poet Naomi Shihab Nye wrote the beginning and sent the poem flying across the world:
I send my words out into the air, listening for yours from everywhere.
You can follow the poem here and add your own lines here. LitWorld needs your words to help their poem grow and remember, Your Words can Change Worlds – but hurry, the last lines must be sent in my the end of April.
Here are a few of my favorite lines so far:
Speak one word, one-thousand echoes
The sounds that echo through space and time; leave imprints that shape our growing minds
Words that stir, words that drive, words that connect us all, and make us strive.
Words will soar from near to far filling hearts and opening minds –
I can hear you ever so softly- like a single falling snowflake before the blizzard.
Starting with one little syllable… one little word… I offer my peace to the world…
Spoken in love and respect in an effort to change the world
By: Lucy,
on 4/26/2011
As Spring finally appears to be arriving and April is swiftly fleeting away, Guadalupe Garcia McCall shares some advice about reading poetry- and adding your own passion into 
that reading. A published poet in more than twenty literary journals, McCall’s first book, Under the Mesquite, will be released by LEE & LOW in Fall 2011.
“Open your mind and listen to the rhythm of your heartbeat, then read the words out loud to your child with the uniqueness of your own lilt and inflection. Every person has their own special poetic voice. Don’t worry about the pronunciation or the enunciation of words. We wrote these poems from the bottom of our own hearts. They come from the same place you are visiting when you are reading to your children. Listen to the words on the paper. They will whisper their names to you. They will show you the way.”
Don’t forget to share with us how your children responded to your poetry reading in the comments below!
By: Lucy,
on 4/20/2011
April is flying by, but there is still plenty of time for poetry tips from our Lee & Low poets! This one is from Anastasia Suen who has published a whole plethora of titles with Lee & Low, most in our Bebop imprint. Her works include What Do You See at the Pond?, Pencil Talk and Other School Poems, and Toddler Two/Dos Años.
“Poetry is spoken music, so it sounds best when it is read aloud. Most poets let you know when to pause by ending a line or using punctuation. Just read aloud to see how it flows. Then get dramatic. Poetry is meant to be performed.
To celebrate National Poetry Month, I invite students (of all ages) to participate in a poetry writing experiment I call EduHaiku. Write a haiku about what you learned in school that day and share with me on my EduHaiku blog or twitter. Happy writing!”
So start performing, and be sure to comment below to let us know how it goes!
By: aquafortis,
on 4/18/2011
If you haven't checked out Greg Pincus's Kickstarter project Poetry: Spread the Word, you're missing out on a great opportunity to help support poetry in California schools, at a time when we're continuing to see funding dwindle and kids' access to... Read the rest of this post
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/17/2011
Book Review 2011-004
Lucky Fish by Aimee Nezhukumatathil
2011 from Tupelo Press, 80 pages
(This copy purchased from the Publisher)
This is the second collection from Aimee Nezukumatathil that I've read (the other being Miracle Fruit) and based on my enjoyment, I'm sure I'll continue to look for her work in the future.
Lucky Fish is broken up into three sections, and for the first time in a few poetry collection readings, I can actually say I see some specific themes developing in each section. The first section, "A Globe is Just an Asterisk," has Nezukumatathil showing some of the wonderment at the universe we all reside in that I seem to recall from my reading of Miracle Fruit a few years back.
THE SECRET OF SOIL
The Secret of smoke is that it will fill
any space with walls, no matter
how delicate: lung, cell, soapy bubble
blown from a bright red ring.
The secret of soil is that it is alive--
a step in the forest means
you are carried on the back
of a thousand bugs. The secret
Throughout this section Nezhukumatathil writes of the origin of paper, of red dye, of various state soil types, of the Phillipines and India, and the globe itself. There's a youthful inquisitive nature to these poems, and they are very clear, very accessible, and Nezhukumatathil's interest, genuine as it seems, lends itself to the reader.
The second section, "Sweet Tooth," has more of a personal ring to it, poems of reflection from the author.
MOSQUITOES
When my father wanted to point out galaxies
or Andromeda or the Seven Sisters, I'd complain
of the buzz of mosquitoes, or of the yawning
moon-quiet in that slow, summer air. All I wanted
was to go inside into our cooled house and watch TV
or paint my nails. What does a fifteen-year-old girl
know of patience? What did I know of the steady turn
of whole moon valleys cresting into focus?
This poem continues on up through the current day with the narrator's realization that it won't always be the case, that at some point her father won't be asking her to share in this experience. There are poems about her parents, about her experience as the high school mascot, about meeting her future husband and a Thanksgiving meal where he's just about all she remembers.
The third section, "Lucky Penny," seems to be heavily affected by the fact that Nezhukumatathil has become a parent of two sons not so long ago. The third poem in this section, "Birth Geographic," is a bit of a tour de force, covering five pages through an eighteen section romp that includes varying styles from section to section.
3.
Suppose you had a ball at birth. A literal ball--one you could hold in your
arms, bigger than a beach ball: I brought my very own to the hospital. Mine
was rubber, a good weight, blue. A whole planet beneath my legs. Nowhere in
that world was it cloudy. In between contractions, I rocked and rocked on the
Add a Comment
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/17/2011
Book Review 2011-002
Human Resources by Jesse Waters
February 2011 from Ink Brush Press, 88 pages
(This copy sent to me by the author)
In Jesse Waters debut collection of poetry, Human Resources, he gives readers his honest and straightforward views of love, youth, aging, relationships, sex, and life in general. They're not always pretty or uplifting, but they're also not completely negative or dumped on. While there's a sadness and a bit of a "what can you do?" attitude behind these poems there is also a dash of hope underlying them.
With forty-nine poems spread over five sections, Waters allows readers plenty of opportunity to dig in and appreciate his particular world view. To be very honest, I'm not sure what led to which section each individual poem would fall into--I wasn't able to determine how the sections were different from each other.
When I turn sixteen—on my sixtieth birthday—
in my greatest dreams the smell of pastry baking
will again wake Cape Joseph under the dead sycamore
at the end of my mind: The kindergarten teacher I bit,
Cindy Harris—Martin Syzna, the friend who swallowed mercury
and dies so young, first gone blind—Gloria Tern, the first girl I hated,
and loved—my ex wife—my father…
They’ve all come to the Be-Lo in the fog of my old sorrow.
One by one they ask me for forgiveness,
I can hear them, and I reach out begging to be forgiven
but I cannot see one clear face—I see that I don’t
know them anymore. Have I forgotten them?
Did they forget me? I’d give anything
to kiss them each one last time, on the cheek,
see my own eyes in theirs.
Their soft bodies burn away
in the light over the east wing roof
of the ice and coal plant across the street,
and there’s a faceless boy in the Pittsburgh
of my last, young day, in Madison, in DeMoines, everywhere
I’ve ever been, or would’ve been, pedaling fast
in the cold morning’s fist through block
on block of wet, lightless Annapolis street.
He’s racing fast with a basket of the good news,
trying to beat that cold January rise,
and the world around him
moves like a scene in which
the day never gets past dawn’s first rays.
This comes from a longer poem in the collection, "Gather the Last Young Day," and it captures much of what I enjoy of Waters' writing. There is reminiscence, and it is both negative and positive, lending some honesty or authority to the writing when I read these works. I can't think of one of these forty-nine efforts that completely leans in one direction or the other. "It's Not Me, It's Me" begins with a stanza making it clear that both the narrator and a friend of his had been involved with a specific woman and that she had chosen the other, the friend. While there is regret that he wasn't the one still receiving pleasure from this woman, at the same time he's happy for the duo as "The plain tru
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/15/2011
Robert Gibb has five longer (all at least a full page in length) poems and unfortunately, the thing that stood out the most to me wasn't specifically the work itself, but the fact that every line, whether it was after a period or not, started with a capitalization. I realize that if you're typing a poem in MS Word this will happen to you, but it's not difficult to remove and replace with lower case letters, so I have to assume that Gibb meant for the work to have this--I just don't understand why.
From "The Knife":
"We have not yet stumbled
Against the furnaces of steel
Mill and marriage.
Tonight
It is his father who careens
Into the room, smiling and drunk,
And holding to his mouth
A blood-soaked towel
And the knife he's been using
To cut loose a tooth.
Add a Comment
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/15/2011
There are three poems from Linda Gregg up next in this issue of The Quarterly, none of which is overly long. The first two in particular gave off a particular sense of history that I liked:
From "Whoever We May Finally Be, Said Rilke":
Seeing the bodies at Belsen is not simple.
Bodies the shape of their bones, mouths,
and the fresh holes in the earth.
The illusion of tenderness in the arms and hands.
The people who were in charge standing in warm
coats
on the dirt ridge above watching the excavations fill
with corpses. Other soldiers carrying other dead.
Two pulling a body with its lax hand dragging
on the dirt. Worst of all is seeing
how beautiful these bodies are in their ruin.
I simply found the poem(s) putting me in these locations, creating a visual for me that I guess I expect when I read prose but am still surprised by when it happens to me when reading poetry.
Add a Comment
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/15/2011
Having finished the Jane Smiley novella, I found myself in the land of Quarterly poetry. The first poet is Paulette Jiles, with "The James Poems," thirty poems spread over forty-three pages. As I've noted before here at the EWN, I'm not one versed in the language of poetry, or the various styles. However, I kept finding myself reading these works as prose and not poetry. I wasn't finding meaning or reason for the line breaks. In such cases, I usually blame myself, my lack of understanding, and my lack of having read volumes of poetry to date. As I got deeper into this near chapbook worth of poetry though, I found myself blaming myself much less than I usually would.
From "Frank Surrenders: October 5, 1882"
"I have known no home, I have slept in all sort of
places...I am tired
of this life of taut nerves...I want to see if there
is not some way out
of this."
I might not have mentioned that the poems are about Frank and Jesse James--the James Gang. Having read these, I did feel like I knew much more about this family and time period than I did before sitting down with this issue. I just didn't feel like I'd read a lot of poetry.
Add a Comment.jpeg?picon=3112)
By: Gayle C. Krause,
on 4/14/2011
<!--StartFragment--> April is designated "Poetry Month" and before it gets away on me I wanted to post a fun poem. Hope you like it. Happy rhyming! Hugs,Gayle Colleen, the Color Queen By Gayle C. Krause Colleen, the Color Queen I come from a big family with brothers wide and tall.And I’m the youngest child. I’m smaller than them all. Each brother has a talent in music, math, or sport.But when
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/9/2011
As noted in an earlier post, the issue of The Quarterly that I received in the mail today (#13) has two poems by John Rybicki. I have been fortunate enough to have had Peter Markus giving me some reading suggestions the past few years and John was one he told me I both needed to be reading, and needed to see read aloud somewhere. I was happy to have had the pleasure, it must be two years ago now, to see Rybicki read a couple of differnt nights over the course of 3 or 4 days. He read two completely different "sets" too which added to my own enjoyment.
One of the poems from this issue is:
While She Sleeps
If I could hurl backyard apples
beyond city lights, would you hear
them knuckle down your roof
like a hand tapping at your chest?
And if my arms could sway like branches,
would you feel them lean across town,
lift you from your bed and ease you
down through the trees, wind still rustling
the flannel of your gown?
By the time I eased you back,
school children would be racing
beneath my arms, your heart
tapping out its small buds,
a river of yellow roses.
One thing that strikes me about Rybicki's work is that he constantly seems to strive to capture emotions in his stanzas. His oeuvre runs the full gamut from lust to loss, love to heartbreak, pride to passion to pain. There is a rawness to his work that I invariably find in each of his poems.
Add a Comment
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/5/2011
Beth Ann Fennelly has long been one of my favorite writers (note, I didn't say favorite poets--given the choice to read her poetry over many fictions, I'd select her poetry) and if there's a poem of hers I find myself looking for on a fairly regular occasion, it would be "The Kudzu Chronicles." Published originally in Blackbird, and then included in her collection, Unmentionables, it's a poem broken into thirteen sections of various lengths and styles and it is very easy to get lost within time and time again.
1.
Kudzu sallies into the gully
like a man pulling up a chair to a table
where a woman was happily dining alone.
Kudzu sees a field of cotton,
wants to be its better half.
Pities the red clay, leaps across
the color wheel to tourniquet.
Sees every glass half full,
pours itself in. Then over the brim.
Scribbles in every margin
with its green highlighter. Is begging
to be measured. Is pleased
to make acquaintance with
your garden, which it is pleased to name
Place Where I Am Not.
Yet. Breeds its own welcome mat.
It starts off in what appears to me to be a pretty straightforward poetic style, as well as in the way it simply describes Kudzu.
6.
Isn’t it rather a privilege to live so close to the cemetery that the dead can send us greetings, that the storm can blow bouquets from the graves to my front yard? Yes, the long spring here is beautiful, dusk brings its platter of rain to the pot luck and the centipede grass is glad and claps its thousand thousand legs, oh once last May I flung open my door to the rain-wrung, spit-shined world, and there it was on my welcome mat, red plastic carnations spelling: MOM.
Section 6 is more similar to a standard prose poem than the previous sections.
9.
When I look back on Illinois,
I see our little house on the prairie, the bubble in the level. I see
tyrannical horizon, each
solitary human pinned against the sky less like a Spanish exclamation mark
than a lower case i.
One had perspective enough to see the ways one’s life was botched.
When I look back, it is always
winter, forehead cold against bedroom window, below me the neighbor’s
shredding trampoline
offering its supplicant eyeful of snow month after month after month
to the heedless white carapace of sky.
It was either
the winter of my father’s slow drowning in liquids clear like water
but fermented
Add a Comment
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/3/2011
Devil's Lake is a fairly new journal, two issues in as Fall 2010. It's produced at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and one of the poems from the Fall 2010 issue is Brent Goodman's "What This Poem is All About."
Now this is just teasing me, right? After I bare all yesterday and admit to having difficulty truly believing I understand the poetry I read, here comes a poem announcing that it is going to tell me what it is about.
The poem begins:
I won't believe in god
but agree every soft machine
deserves a creator. Given the choice
I'd cremate all my clothes
because I long to escape
the velocity between my skin
and every mirror. I've sealed
the windows for winter, set
the clocks back. What dies in
this poem is a small fish
leaping to the carpet.
Which makes me go back to that word, tease, as I have NO idea what this poem means, but have to say that I absolutely love "Given the choice I'd cremate all my clothes because I long to escape the velocity between my skin and every mirror." That, and the "small fish leaping to the carpet" makes me think of Faith No More's video for "Falling to Pieces."
You can read the rest of the poem here and maybe let me know your thoughts on it. I liked it, really like most of the lines and images they provoke. I'm just not sure that if I put all those images together that I will understand the show.
Add a Comment
By: Dan Wickett,
on 4/2/2011
I'm going to dip into National Poetry Month with a poem that fits my poetry reading style--that is, one that is at least pretty straightforward in its approach to what it is saying. That's to say, I'm a pretty horrible reader of poetry. I need poems that grab a 2x4 and hit me over the head so it's plain and clear what they are saying (though I also always assume this means that there are 2 or 3 brilliantly executed underlying meanings that I'm completely glossing over).
Sandra Kolankiewicz's chapbook, Turning Inside Out, was published not too long ago by Black Lawrence Press. It contains nineteen poems, including one titled "Keeping Pigeons." This poem was inspired (per the footnote at the bottom of the page) by an article that Kolankiewicz read from the February 13 and 20, 2006 issues of The New Yorker, authored by Susan Orlean.
Once you begin to read the poem (and I've typed out the first of four stanzas below), I think it becomes clear that there is a very specific thing being written about--pigeons and the keeping of them, and the things that if you knew before you began that might actually keep you from ever beginning to raise them.
Keeping Pigeons
If you knew about having to keep the loft,
how they need perches, baths, enriched feed,
fresh water twice a day or else they weaken,
Would you ever get started?
If you had been warned that the bright
feather speckles on those white grizzled chests,
that product of all that breeding,
would forestall vacations,
sometimes bring disease,
or that raising them would fall under threat of regulation,
even become forbidden,
against the law in some places,
like Chicago
While there is still a nice rhythm when this poem is read aloud, there is also what appears to be a simple purpose behind the words as well. Again, I may certainly (and most probably am) be m
Add a Comment
By: aquafortis,
on 3/31/2011
That's right, I spent inordinate amounts of time this year fussing with our home office deduction, not to mention figuring out how to deduct the art studio for the 3/4 of the year that Rob used it for his sabbatical workspace. So I hereby bring you... Read the rest of this post
By: Sylvia Vardell,
on 11/3/2010
As we dig deep into the oeuvre of Pat Mora, I’d like to offer just a sampling of activities centered around her work—which includes picture story books, picture book biographies, picture book folktales, picture book poetry collections, poetry for young adults, and works for adults, both poetry and resource books (Zing!).
For example, Mora has also created an anthology of poetry by other Latino/Latina poets in Love to Mama: A Tribute to Mothers (Lee & Low Books 2001). Fourteen poets write in both English and Spanish about the love, joy, and humor to be found in the bonds between mothers, grandmothers, and children. Children can choose a favorite poem to read aloud to a family member on Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Grandparent’s Day or a special birthday in English or Spanish.
Pat Mora reflects her own feelings and experiences growing up in the Southwest (El Paso) in her poems in This Big Sky (Scholastic 1998). She celebrates the people, the animals, and the landscape of the region. Follow up with her pictures books, Listen to the Desert - Oye Al Desierto (Clarion Books 1994) or The Desert is My Mother – El desierto es mi madre (Arte Publico Press 1994).
For young children, Mora has authored both alphabet and counting books with rhyming text which once again naturally incorporate Spanish and English words. This includes ¡Marimba!: Animales from A to Z (Clarion 2006) and Uno Dos Tres, One, Two, Three (Clarion 1996). Both tell engaging and even humorous stories, while also celebrating the gift of being bilingual.
Pat Mora’s Confetti is available in two formats, in English with Spanish words intermingled (Confetti, Lee & Low 1999), and entirely in Spanish (Confeti, Lee & Low 2006). If there are Spanish speakers in the community, invite them to participate in sharing these poems aloud in both Spanish and English.
Pat was kind eno
ugh to participate in my National Poetry Month (April) game of Poetry Tag. Poet Marilyn Nelson “tagged” her and Pat shared her poem, “Spanish,” a powerful, bittersweet poem. Don’t miss it.
I revie
By: Sylvia Vardell,
on 4/29/2010
April has come to an end and so does our game of Poetry Tag in celebration of National Poetry Month. What fun it’s been to watch the game unfold, with each poet sharing a poem, connected one to another and tagging the next poet. Yesterday, Douglas Florian shared a brand new poem, “My Monster.” Next up, Jack Prelutsky picked up the gauntlet and offered his own brand new original “monster” creation. He writes, “At first I was just going to submit a previously published poem, but then I decided to accept the challenge and not only respond directly to Doug's poem, but continue it. I don't think that my ‘response’ needs any explanation.” Here is Jack’s new creation.
DEAR MONSTER
By Jack Prelutsky
Dear monster, if you do not sweep,
I probably can’t fall asleep,
For when my room is thick with dust,
I’m filled with anguish and disgust.
Sweet monster, sweep as I request,
And then we both can get some rest.
Don’t hesitate, pick up the broom,
And clear the cobwebs from my room.
"Dear Monster" copyright ©2010 by Jack Prelutsky
Five fu
n facts about Jack Prelutsky
*he was born in Brooklyn, New York
*he has worked as an opera singer, folk singer, truck driver, photographer, plumber’s assistant, piano mover, cab driver, and standup comedian
*he collects frog miniatures
*he was the first Children’s Poet Laureate of the U.S.
*he has authored a guide book for young readers, Pizza, Pigs, and Poetry; How to Write a Poem (Greenwillow, 2008)
[Based on Poetry People; A Practical Guide to Ch
By: Sylvia Vardell,
on 4/28/2010
Did you see Bobbi Katz’s poem, “Medusa” yesterday? Now she has tagged Douglas Florian who offers this brand new original poem “that's connected to the previous monstrous one.” Here’s one to relish!
My Monster
By Douglas Florian
My monster lurks beneath the bed
It's got green teeth, a purple head
A long spiked tail,
And claws to gore:
I told my monster
Sweep the floor!
Copyright 2010 by Douglas Florian used by permission of the author, who controls all rights.
Five f
un facts about Douglas Florian
*he was born in New York
*he worked as a political illustrator and cartoonist
*he has his own blog, FlorianCafe
*he is a well-known painter and artist
*he uses many different media in his illustrations including rubber stamps and brown paper bags
[Based on Poetry People; A Practical Guide to Children’s Poets]
Look for these selected poetry books by Florian:
Bing Bang Boing (Harcourt 1994) and Laugheteria (Harcourt 1999)
These animal-themed collections:
Beast Feast (Harcourt 1994)
On the Wing (Harcourt 1996)
In the Swim (Harcourt 1997)
Insectlopedia (Harcourt 1998)
Mammalabilia (Harcourt 2000)
Lizards, Frogs, and Polliwogs (Harcourt 2001)
1 Comments on Poetry Tag: Douglas Florian is IT, last added: 4/29/2010
Display Comments
Add a Comment
By: Sylvia Vardell,
on 4/27/2010
Yesterday, Betsy Franco shared a myth-based poem for teens. Today, she tags Bobbi Katz who asks, “Is it okay for me to use a poem from the THE MONSTEROLOGIST: A MEMOIR IN RHYME such as 'Medusa?' That relates to Betsy's Greek mythology theme.” Here’s an extra treat for all of you Percy Jackson, Lightning Thief, and “Clash of the Titans” fans-- Bobbi Katz’s clever poem, “Medusa.”
Medusa
By Bobbi Katz
Just one look at Medusa
Could turn you to stone.
When she says, "Let's talk."
Play it safe. Use the phone.
She's a very vain monster,
But she'll never say,
"I'm having a terrible bad hair day.
"�What's the complaint that Medusa makes?
"I can't do a thing
with this head full of snakes!"
Copyright 2010 by Bobbi Katz, The Monsterologist: a Memoir in Rhyme, used by permission of the author, who controls all rights.
Five f
un facts about Bobbi Katz
*she was born in New York
*her first job was as a freelance writer and editor of Middle Eastern affairs
*she has also worked as a social worker, an art historian, a fashion editor, and a radio talk host
*she is also a peace and environmental activist
*she has also authored professional books such as Partner Poems for Building Fluency (Scholastic, 2006)
[Based on Poetry People; A Practi
By: Sylvia Vardell,
on 4/26/2010
Janet Wong started off this last week of Poetry Tag with her poem, “Night Garden.” Now, she has tagged Betsy Franco who writes, “To take this game of tag in a different direction, I've included a poem from my YA novel, METAMORPHOSIS, JUNIOR YEAR, illustrated by my son Tom. In the poem, my protagonist, Ovid, compares his friend's shuttle between divorced parents to Proserpina's shuttle between Ceres and Hades in the myths. The connection to Janet's enticing night garden poem is nature, and darkness… of Hades, this time.” Here is an excerpt from Franco's compelling myth-based novel-in-verse, along with the art by her son, Tom.
Duwayne and the Di
vorce Shuttle
By Betsy Franco
Like Proserpina shuttling
between earth goddess, Ceres,
and underworld king, Pluto,
Duwayne flitted back and forth
between his parents.
His mother dear said,
"Summer, summer, summer."
His father dear said,
"Winter, winter, winter."
He tried to take refuge in spring
to keep himself from splitting in half.
But
like a magician's assistant,
like the shells of a cracked crab,
like a two-headed creature,
like Proserpina living in the light and the dark,
Duwayne was split in half,
until he found his own season—fall.
While he watched his parents
freezing over,
heating up,
following their own internal thermostats,
Duwayne changed his colors
according to his own clock.
copyright Betsy Franco, Metamorphosis, Junior Year, Candlewick Press, 2009.
Five fun 
1 Comments on Poetry Tag: Betsy Franco is IT, last added: 4/29/2010
Display Comments
Add a Comment
By: Shannon O.,
on 4/26/2010
High-school students are often intimidated by poetry. Mostly, their dislike for this writing medium is from a lack of knowledge. Many students simply don’t know how to handle poetry. However, students can begin to appreciate poetry by simply being taught the basic structures and techniques that underlie this form of literature.
One program that is helping to teach poetry is WritersCorps. Since 1994, this non-profit is improving the lives of young people across the nation with creative writing. WritersCorps has helped more than 40,000 people in economically disadvantaged neighborhoods improve literacy and self-sufficiency in San Francisco, CA; Washington DC; and Bronx, NY. In each of their three sites, an established group of artists teach creative writing at public schools and social service organizations in order to improve literacy while also presenting creative expression as an alternative to violence and drug abuse. To read the work of the young people in the WritersCorps program, take a look at their collection of poems titled Paint Me Like I Am.
Want to help your high schooler to write their own poetry? Checkout the non-profit “Teen Ink”, devoted entirely to teen art and writing. The magazine has published more than 45,000 teens since 1989 and claims to have the largest distribution of its kind.
If you’re suffering from major writer’s block, take a look at Francine Prose’s Reading Like A Writer: A Guide for People Who Look Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them. This humorous and informative New York Times best seller will inspire readers to look at classic literature by authors such as Philip Roth and Flannery O’Connor from a different perspective.
For poetry w
ritten just for teens, check out Elise Paschen’s new book, Poetry Speaks Who I am: poems of Discovery, Inspiration, Independence, and Everything Else. The book and CD compilation includes poems about the pressures of school, losing a grandparent, sibling rivalry, and parent problems.
Although these are just a few examples, if you have any ideas or resources to share – make a comment below!
By: Sylvia Vardell,
on 4/25/2010
Yesterday, Tracie Vaughn Zimmer shared her poem about a man, his lawn, and a sly neighbor girl. Today, she tags her friend Janet Wong, who writes, "The connection: Dandelion seeds, of course! (And it is said that lonely old Mr. O'Brien has the most incredible dreams where he flies over the grass and becomes a human lawn mower.)" Here is the title poem from her poetry collection, Night Garden: Poems from the World of Dreams, illustrated by Julie Paschkis.
NIGHT GARDEN
by Janet Wong
Deep in the earth
a tangle of roots
sends up
green shoots
and dreams grow
wild,
dreams grow wild
like dandelion weeds,
feathery heads
alive
with seeds--
and these fine seeds,
about to sprout,
race the day
to find their place
in a welcome mind,
in an open space
in a lonely bed--
and they send down roots,
and they sprout
and bloom--
in the night garden.
Copyright 2010 by Janet Wong used by permission of the author, who controls all rights.
Five fu
n facts about Janet Wong
*she is the child of Korean and Chinese immigrants
*she has a law degree from Yale
*her poetry has been featured on a car-talk radio sh
Thanks for sharing this book. I’ve been looking for a good read.
Stay Hydrated Get Focused
Wonderful! We are all very excited for the release of this book in the Fall. Happy Reading!
[...] the open book Looking Past the Cover • Children's Book Publishing • Diversity and Race • Conversation « How to Read a Poem Aloud, Part 4 [...]