The Poppy is a new book from author/illustrator Andrew Plant. It’s difficult to describe. It’s not a standard picture book, but it’s not quite a graphic novel either. It’s set in the present, but deals with the past. It recounts actual events, but is presented in a ‘storybook’ context. Having said all that, what it definitely is… is utterly BRILLIANT!
Poppies bloom across northern France and a petal is blown up into the air. As we follow that petal, a dual story unfolds. There is the historical story of a Word War I battle fought by Australian troops on French soil. And there is the story of a continued connection between Australia and the French village of Villers-Bretonneux.
This story is remarkable because it is true — a connection of peace and friendship from an incident of war and sacrifice. This leads to what, I think, is the most moving and evocative image in the book — the petal floating between the French and Australian flags, flying side by side at the gravesite of unknown soldiers.
“The poppies nod in the winds that blow over the Somme. Their petals turn the fields red where once they were stained with the blood of the fallen.”
The artwork is not presented in the standard picture book format. It looks a little like a comic book layout, with multiple images per page, presented in various sized boxes broken up by text. But, unlike a comic, there are no talk bubbles. The design of the book is quite striking.
The artwork is glorious. The words are heartfelt and touching. There is so much depth in this book. So much to discuss. At the end of the book is a summary of the battle and the links forged between countries — perfect for classroom discussion. This is a book that every school in Australia should be studying. The inclusion of a school and young children in the narrative makes the topic approachable for primary aged kids. But I believe that secondary students could also gain much from this book.
There is a gallery of illustrations from the book available on Andrew Plant’s website. Well worth checking out.
Catch ya later, George
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This week saw the 250th birthday of William Blake, who was born in London in 1757. When he was four he saw God's head appear in a window, later on he saw the prophet Ezekiel sitting in a field, and once came upon a tree full of angels. However, when he tried to tell his parents about these visions, his father threatened to beat him for lying, so he stopped mentioning such things and began drawing pictures instead. His work seemed so promising that his parents sent him to art school to become an engraver. Blake learnt how to engrave copper plates for printing illustrations in books, then went on to produce illustrations for books about botany, architecture and medicine. Since his work was so good he was commissioned to create his own illustrations for the work of Dante, Chaucer and selections from the Bible, which now are considered amongst the greatest works of engraving ever produced. Blake even invented a method of printing illustrations in colour, and art historians are still unsure how he did it.
Unfortunately, Blake's work as an illustrator grew more and more bizarre, until in the end he could only make a living by selling watercolours to a small group of private collectors.
However, Blake had also been writing poetry for most of his life, and since he had his own printing press, he decided to print it himself. He developed a process of writing his poems directly onto copper plates, then engraving illustrations around them. He would print a few dozen copies and stitch them into pamphlets, which he sold himself. His books got no attention in his lifetime and most critics dismissed him as a madman. He died in 1827, and it wasn't until 1863 that a biography about him persuaded people to read his poetry for the first time. Today, he's best known for the poems he wrote for children, Songs of Innocence (1789) and Songs of Experience (1794).
William Blake once wrote, "To see a world in a grain of sand, / And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, / And eternity in an hour."
He also said, "Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow."
This is one of his poems from Songs of Experience:
London
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born Infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
This week's Poetry Friday round-up is over at Two Writing Teachers.
Over at BBC Radio 4's Afternoon Readings -- http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/afternoon_reading.shtml -- is a series of short stories inspired by the works of William Blake. I wrote a short story called Jerusalem for it, about the city and the syndrome and the song, which will be broadcast this coming Thursday, and you can listen to it again for a week after that. Truth to tell, I don't think it really works -- it sort of derailed half way through, and never got back on track. Maybe it wants to be something longer, or maybe it's the start of something else, or maybe it's just one of those times when the cake doesn't rise. I'm not sure, although I definitely want to revisit those people again. It was meant to have ghosts in, and they never quite made it, and I don't think the Blakean illumination I was going for really illuminated. But Sandy Morton does a lovely job reading it anyway.
