Archive and Transition

I'm archiving this blog and moving my web-ish presence to "A Twirly Life" on Wordpress. Please find me there! (http://twirlyword.wordpress.com/)

Rattle to Publish Children's Poetry -- Deadline September 15

Rattle is calling for submissions for their second Young Poets Anthology. From their website,

Way back in 1998, Rattle published an issue featuring poems written by children.  Unfortunately it is now out of print.  Starting in 2013, we would like to extend that idea, and place a submissions call for an annual anthology of young poets.  The books will be available both in print and as ebooks, with a portion of the proceeds going to a relevant charity.  Every poet contributing will receive a free copy.

What a fun opportunity for children to see their poems in print!  Pass the word (or submit your children's poetry.)

"The Yellow Lane" -- September and Poets Think About War

My Saturday, September 7 post on Cupertino Patch.

California Poets in the Schools -- Santa Clara County

I've just become the Area Coordinator for California Poets in the Schools. I'll continue to put up ideas about teaching poetry to children on this site, but I might also sometimes post on my companion blog, Santa Clara County Poets in the Schools.

Keep checking in!

Inaugural Poems

There have been many poets writing about presidents, but only a few who have read poetry at POTUS inaugurations.

Here's a poem by Walt Whitman "Specimen Days [The Inauguration]"

March 4th.—The President very quietly rode down to the Capitol in his own carriage, by himself, on a sharp trot, about noon, either because he wish'd to be on hand to sign bills, or to get rid of marching in line with the absurd procession, the muslin temple of liberty and pasteboard monitor. I saw him on his return, at three o'clock, after the performance was over. He was in his plain two-horse barouche, and look'd very much worn and tired; the lines, indeed, of vast responsibilities, intricate questions, and demands of life and death, cut deeper than ever upon his dark brown face; yet all the old goodness, tenderness, sadness, and canny shrewdness, underneath the furrows. (I never see that man without feeling that he is one to become personally attach'd to, for his combination of purest, heartiest tenderness, and native Western form of manliness.) By his side sat his little boy, of ten years. There were no soldiers, only a lot of civilians on horseback, with huge yellow scarfs over their shoulders, riding around the carriage. (At the inauguration four years ago, he rode down and back again surrounded by a dense mass of arm'd cavalrymen eight deep, with drawn sabres; and there were sharpshooters station'd at every corner on the route.) I ought to make mention of the closing levee of Saturday night last. Never before was such a compact jam in front of the White House—all the grounds fill'd, and away out to the spacious sidewalks. I was there, as I took a notion to go—was in the rush inside with the crowd—surged along the passage-ways, the blue and other rooms, and through the great east room. Crowds of country people, some very funny. Fine music from the Marine Band, off in a side place. I saw Mr. Lincoln, drest all in black, with white kid gloves and a claw-hammer coat, receiving, as in duty bound, shaking hands, looking very disconsolate, and as if he would give anything to be somewhere else.

Here is an article about how J.F.Kennedy invited Robert Frost to read at his inauguration. There is an audio clip at the end of Frost, in his old voice, reading "The Gift Outright."  Robert Frost was the first poet to read in the program of a presidential inauguration in 1961.

The Gift Outright 

The land was ours before we were the land’s.

She was our land more than a hundred years

Before we were her people. She was ours

In Massachusetts, in Virginia,

But we were England’s, still colonials,

Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,

Possessed by what we now no more possessed.

Something we were withholding made us weak

Until we found out that it was ourselves

We were withholding from our land of living,

And forthwith found salvation in surrender.

Such as we were we gave ourselves outright

(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)

To the land vaguely realizing westward,

But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,

Such as she was, such as she would become.

Elizabeth Alexander read "Praise Song for the Day" at President Obama's first inauguration. The poem is long, slender and passionate, like the man it honors.The link to the Poets.org site also has a video recording of her reading it. My favoirte parts of this poem are when Alexander describes the people of America --

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Before Obama, Bill Clinton had resumed the practice of having poets at the inauguration, with Maya Angelou, who's poem "On the Pulse of Morning"can be read in its entirety here. Angelou speaks for trees and rocks and rivers, as well as for peoples from all over the world who have found their way to America. At his second inauguration, Clinton asked Arkansas poet Miller Williams to read, and his poem "Of History And Hope" can be read here. In his very first line, "We have memorized America," he associates America with poems children have been asked to learn by heart for centuries. 

I found a ready-made Inaugural Poem lesson plan at TeacherVision.com. While these poems are often critically panned, the general public tends to love them. And that's what a good poet does, write and speak to her audience. Children will respond to the familiar language and enjoy the simpler imagery. 

I'm going to save my comments on "One Today" by Richard Blanco until tomorrow. But you can hear him read it here, if you like. I find the stream of tweets below his face distracting, but the recording is very good. If you can, listen to the poem first, don't read along. It's better that way, that's the way it was intended to be given, to be heard.

 

My Poem "Rural Cemetery" Wins Third Prize

What fun!  I am very lucky to be participating as a judge in the Cupertino Poetry Contest, sponsored by the Cupertino Poet Laureate, David Denny. I had the honor of judging over 30 poems in the Teen category (ages 13 through 17).  The awards ceremony will be later in the month, and I'll post about that (and the winning teens) later in the month. 

Today I was notified that one of my own poems (submitted in the Adult category) has been awarded Third Prize. Sally Ashton, the current Santa Clara County Poet Laureate, was the Adult category judge. I wrote this particular poem, "Rural Cemetery," in 1997. It is a dream musing about an actual cemetery near my mother's home in Maine. 

Rural Cemetery

Why so beautiful, the cemetery on the meadow's edge?

Tucked in finally where trees begin their walk,

the colors good: wild goldenrod and lichen,

weary granite, rusty iron spike.

Perhaps the slope suggests a humble inclination,

think of the small graves, and of the new, along the fence.

But I suspect what lingers in the eye as we round the road,

is the pattern of stones, certain now, sure to topple,

with which we invite order

among chaotic grass.

The cemetery in question is Woodlawn Cemetery, on Birch Point Road in Wiscasset, Maine. Here's a photo of the cemetery, that I found on the (incredibly) interesting website, Find A Grave. According to a search on that site, the oldest graves in that little cemetery are from the 18th century.

  

I'm thinking I will have to ask my mother or my uncle to take a new photo, from the road, that better shows what I can see driving by this lovely spot. 

All the winners will be reading their poems at the contest awards ceremony. Details on the Cupertino Library website, or Dave Denny's Facebook page.  
 

Handy Words and Jabberwocky

A Facebook friend shared a link to 25 Handy Words That Simply Don’t Exist In English. This list is full of great words that could easily kick-start a poetry or language arts lesson. Not all the words on this list are appropriate for all age groups, but all of them are magical and some are very funny. For example, Mamihlapinatapai (Yaghan), means "a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire," and Tingo (Pascuense language of Easter Island) means "to borrow objects one by one from a neighbor’s house until there is nothing left."

I've used lists of strange or made-up words in lessons before, and the poetry opportunity is when you ask kids to write poems that include the tricky new words, or, working as a group to come up with your class's own unique words. The poem best suited to a lesson like this is, of course, "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll. Just one stanza is enough to show your students that making up words is a very cool way to write. (Make sure you're not asking kids to compose on a computer with a spell-check program, as that takes all the fun out of it! Remember that a critical part of an art lesson is to remind your students that not everything they learn in school has to have only one right answer, one correct spelling, one perfect solution.)

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

This link will take you to a complete version of the poem, annotated with sounds and images to enchant and educate. In particular, I love Kennith William's reading from his album Parlour Poetry. Make sure you click on the yellow text in the poem to see the amazing artwork that has been illustrating this poem throughout the years. My favorite is this illustration of the Tum Tum tree.

 

Enjoy this word play lesson! Add some English history or etymology concepts for expanded reach.