Wordy Girls

When Elaine Magliaro at Wild Rose Reader recommended Becoming Joe DiMaggio to me (after I asked for good middle grade poetry collections/novels in verse), I checked it out at the library. I have to confess I did not have high hopes that it would be a good fit for me. I'm not big on historical fiction and I pretty much hate baseball. So looking at the cover, with the boy and grandfather listening to an old-time radio on the bottom and a baseball player on the top...well, I wasn't wildly enthused.

But then I opened the book and started reading. What a wonderful surprise. In just 24 poems, poet Maria Testa shares the story of an Italian-American boy growing up in the 30s and 40s. Joseph Paul's relationship with his grandfather is the cornerstone of this book and of his childhood, though his mother, sisters, and volatile, small-time criminal father all have roles to play, too. The poetry is simple and lovely, and the effect is of flipping through a family photo album and picking out the most important moments in a boy's childhood and magically being there for those moments.

Here's one of my favorite poems in the book.

Conversation

The police came
and took Papa 
away, I said.
      I know.
Papa said
it would just be for
a short time
and the policemen
laughed
and Mama cried.
     I know.
We were supposed
to play catch.
     I know.

The radio was on
of course,
but low.

I stood up
out of my chair,
and climbed into
Papa-Angelo's lap.
I listened to
my grandfather's heart
beating
strong and steady
and loud,
loud enough
to be heard above
the sudden music of
a Joe DiMaggio 
home run.

     I love him, you know.
           I know.


Life at home isn't simple for Joseph Paul, but he has his grandfather to love, learn from, and look up to, and always, always, baseball to represent his great American dreams. While Joseph Paul doesn't grow up to be Joe DiMaggio, as he wishes early in the book, he does grow up to be himself, and that's a gift all on its own.

The poetry in this book is accessible, and kids from 3rd grade through middle school (and even high school) could read and enjoy it. It's great to have poetry with a boy main character, and a sports tie-in, too, though listening to baseball is as far as the athletic activity goes (which suits me just fine!).

A fun project in the classroom might be to have your students do a life timeline (which I know the kids in our schools do already, in about 5th grade, I think) that identifies 10 or so important events so far in their lives. After reading Becoming Joe DiMaggio as a class, invite your students to write poems about the seminal moments of their own lives. Who are they becoming?

Thanks, Elaine, for this recommendation!

Each month (OK, almost each month!), I post my thoughts on a poetry-related topic in my Pinch of Poetry area of my website. For September, I'm mulling over how to tell if you're writing poetry that will appeal to adults or kids.  Poetry is poetry, many people say, and that is true. But if you're trying to market your work, it's helpful to identify whether it will appeal more to adults or to kids (and to adult editors or children's editors). 

Here's how it starts:

"In reading over some work of a critique client recently, I found that much of her poetry was lovely but had an adult feel to it. In writing my critique letter to her, I had to try to identify what makes a poem for children versus a poem for adults. This is so difficult, because poetry is not black and white. It slips and skips and slithers through the grey spaces of sound and meaning."  Read the rest here...

Personally, I look at Barbara Juster Esbensen's Swing Around the Sun and think if it weren't published in picture book format, it could easily be considered adult metric poetry. Ditto for Lilian Moore's work and many others.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Do you have a favorite adult poet that you think kids love too? Or a children's poet whom you think really should be published for adults? Do you consider certain characteristics true only of children's poetry or adult poetry? What do you think?

Uh-Oh

See my shadow,
Reaching.
Strong.
My feet are up,
My head is...
Wrong.
Ouch!

—Cathy Ipcizade


Laugh out loud,clap out loud,crowd grooves
To some flip flopin', eye poppin' moves.

—Deb Marshall

Dancing
Prancing
Way up high
watch my feet
soar 'cross the sky
with style.

— Diane M. Davis


Gotta try
leaping high,
feet to sky,
hair awry.
Passersby
wonder why.

I just sigh.

—Fiona Bayrock


Wheeling
Soaring,
Scooping
Up
Sky

Ground-bound
Shadow,
Dare me to
Fly

—Laura Purdie Salas


Almost Famous

Watching you take leaps of faith
reminds me of
another
summer
spent
in
your
shadow

—Pamela Ross

Escalator Down
 
Attention required
only at the end

Bad policy
for escalators

Bad policy
for life

---Kim from Hiraeth


Chug, chug, chug
That rhythmic beat.
Hope it don't eat my feet. 

---afraclose


A Conversation Recurred.

Back down?
That's right.
But why?
You forgot, again.
What?
The light!

---Deb Marshall

I'll not house fairies
elves
pixies
dainty folk.
Instead
Sand Pharoah
behold, your palace.

---Jan Fields

Impermanence

Packing , dumping, planning, shaping.

Building impermanence.

Slipping, slipping, slipping
through the hour glass of life.

---Kim from Hiraeth

Under Construction

S
K
Y
S
C
R
A
P
E
R
S

sandscrapers:
beach-combing landscapers

C
I
T
Y

O
F

B
E
A
M
S

temple of dreams

T
E
C
H
N
O
L
O
G
I
C
A
L

I
N
N
O
V
A
T
I
O
N

spontaneity of creation

---Mary McKenna Siddals

Sculpted cities--
stretch high
as if to say,
look at me,
to God
himself.

---Diane M. Davis

They Don't Build 'em Like they Used To

Can this ancient city stand,
like monuments and statues grand,
Remembered when again but sand?

---Pamela Ross


Temporary

stairway
dreams

sculpted 
caves

soon 
to be

reclaimed
by waves

---Laura Purdie Salas


The ants trip to the library.
The result, most extrodinary

---Deb Marshall

Here was the picture:



And here are the poems:


 Lean Times in Modern Architecture

No gingerbread,
No chocolate shutters.
Peering, the crone hopes
for children selling cookies
for lunch.
   ~~~ cute_n_cranky




Open windows,
Beckon the light.
Still, darkness envelops the room.
Sunshine!
Sunshine!
Where art thou?
   ~~~ Catherine Ipcizade




Lock picks failed
Time to take a crowbar to the windows
   ~~~janni



A Doctor's Visit
The door was
always
shut--
but now
I must push hard
to close it
once again.
   ~~~ dianemdavis




Finally,
sunshine slivers
inch
through
windows
to yesterday's darkness.
Rays of forgiveness flood the hardwood.
   ~~~Fiona Bayrock





Forgive me
Let me in
I didn't mean it
It's me that sucks.
Not You.
   ~~~ Pamela Ross

Your grey house
Your grey door
Your bare windows
Your bare floor
Less is more
   ~~~ Pamela Ross



in
or out
or in
again
make up your mind
dog
   ~~~ Susan Taylor Brown

Don't look at me;
Just go away!
No hugs,
No jokes,
No call to play!
   --cute_n_cranky

His cry
remained unanswered,
and desperation
was all
that was left
of his world.
   --dianemdavis

Alone.
There is no greater sadness
than knowing there's
no one else
to turn to.
   --J. Bayrock

 

laughing at
you
I hide from
me
wishing
I was
you
   --Susan Taylor Brown


A bonus for this week (perhaps). You can go here to see the brainstorm that led to my poem.

Well Laura and so many other folks are off to the conference I'm feeling a little bit like the boy in this week's photo:



What's his story (in 15 words or less?)
Here are the rules for photo poetry http://community.livejournal.com/wordygirls/12270.html

Write on, right now.

My Internet connection is highly sporadic this morning. Ack! I'm going to try to get the poems here, and then I'll see if I can grab the picture too, but it keeps cutting me off. Only two poems today (I can't even get to mine on the other computer), but they're both terrific!

I am usually trying to do so many things at once that I feel very scatterbrained. Right now, with several book deadlines looming, family stuff, and getting things done before L.A., I feel...well, this poem by Lilian Moore captures it pretty well!

I Left My Head

I left my head
somewhere
today.
Put it down for
just
a minute.
Under the 
table?
On a chair?
Wish I were
able
to say
where.
Everything I need
is
in it!

---Lilian Moore, from See My Lovely Poison Ivy

Squishy rain
The caterpillars fall
Right down my shirt
ACK!

---Allison Fraclose

Upside Down

I am becoming more and more of a Moore fan lately. I had several individual poems of hers that I had printed out on index cards years ago and put into my own little "poetry books" that I compile and carry around. But I finally realized I needed at least one whole book of hers. Elaine at Wild Rose Reader recommended Something new begins, and I've been loving it. Now I need to get all the books that Something new begins draws from!  The imagery Moore uses is stunning, and she does such a wonderful job of taking everyday things and making them magical simply by observing and honoring them in poems.

Since it's a sunny Friday and a perfect beach day, I'm going to put a couple of Moore's beach poems here.

Beach Stones

When these small
stones
were
in clear pools and
nets of weed

tide-tumbled
teased by spray

they glowed
moonsilver,
glinted sunsparks on
their speckled
skins.

Spilled on the shelf
they were
wet-sand jewels
wave-green
still flecked with
foam.

Now 
gray stones
lie
dry and dim.

Why did we bring them home?

---Lilian Moore


Until I Saw the Sea

Until I saw the sea
I did not know
that wind
could wrinkle water so.

I never knew
that sun
could splinter a whole sea of blue.

Nor
did I know before,
a sea breathes in and out
upon a shore.

---Lilian Moore

I was born and grew up in Florida, and I love beaches of all kinds (sandy, rocky, ocean, Great Lakes, river, lake, etc.). It's so cool to read a poet who can make me see the sea in a whole new way, and yet recognize the feelings of the poem deep within myself.

Silver linings?
Big deal.
I'm more a copper girl
warm, reactive
and some days,
green.

---Liz Jones


Wind witch sways
in velvet gray
And orange lace
A drum grumbles
Let's dance

---Jan Fields


Shrouded in fear,
change
suffocates my world,
leaving only
slivers
of hope
to sustain me.

---Diane M. Davis


Blissful gold
To keep out the cold.
The earth's kotastu.

---Allison Fraclose


Cloud Artist

leaden brush
gold-dipped
magic-tipped
ready to paint

the sky

---Laura Purdie Salas

I write a lot of poetry--it's my favorite form of expression.  And there's never a shortage of topics to write about! But lots of people (from 3rd-grade students to grown-ups who write for kids) have asked how to figure out what to write about.

Each month on my website, I post a new article about writing poetry in the Pinch of Poetry section. This month's topic is What a Great Idea for a Poem, and it goes through my process of being open to ideas for poems throughout my everyday experiences.

There are other topics, too, since I started this monthly article in January.  I just haven't really done anything until now to tell people that it's available!  If you're interested in writing poetry, check it out!

Empty half, full half?
Sour--
sweet?
A cold lightning bolt
splits the humidity.
Drink up.

---Liz Jones


I will pucker up for you,
You yellow, mellow brew.

---Anonymous

Summer Heat

lemonade
freshly-made:

chore?

treat!

sour?

sweet!

conflicting viewpoints
push-pull:

glass half empty?

glass half full!

---Mary McKenna Siddals

Lemonade Ecstasy

One
d
r
i
b
b
l
e
down forehead.

One
d
r
i
b
b
l
e
down icy glass.
A meeting of lips.
Thirst quenched.

---Fiona Bayrock

summer shadow

longest day

lemon shadow

circles away

echoes rings of

glass ballet

---Laura Purdie Salas

I first met Tracie Vaughn Zimmer several years ago when she spoke about creating teachers' guides at a local conference. That night at dinner, we were seated at the same table, and the conversation was full of laughter and poetry.  I learned that her first novel in verse, Sketches from a Spy Tree, was coming out the next year. I also learned, if I remember correctly, that she likes to listen to Billy Collins poetry on a tape or CD while she does dishes and things and recites it loudly along with him.  Is that right, Tracie? Was that you?

Anyway, I just love Tracie's new novel in verse, Reaching for Sun, the story of Josie, a girl with cerebral palsy who needs to learn to stand up for herself. Tracie graciously answered my nosy questions for me to share with all of you.  Thanks, Tracie!


How much outlining/planning (if any) did you do before you began writing these poems?

None. I just dived in and followed where it led. Of course this is probably directly related to how long it took me to find the story, uncover the
narrative backbone- years in other words.

I love that you start the book in Winter.  Not January, even though the calendar year starts there. But Winter, because the seasons and natural world have great importance for Josie.  And you didn't follow a school-year calendar, either, which so many kids' books do.  How did you decide to start with Winter?

Actually it was something that my editor, Melanie Cecka, made me realize I was cheating on. In an earlier drafts Jordan showed up too early (and it started in spring). I was protecting Josie by not showing her isolation. So, we needed winter but I didn't want it to be all gloom- Christmas in this family is a bright spot in winter so I started there. It also shows how much they love each other even though they drive each other a bit mad too!

Did a lot of the wonderful, skillfully done plant metaphors and figurative language come out in the very first draft of these poems?  Or was much of that added later?

Added over so many drafts, layer on layer. Poetry, for me, is all about revision and I love to revise.

I see it's described as interlinked free-verse poems.  Do you consider this a novel in verse?

It's definitely a narrative in verse- whether it is a novel or not I'm not sure matters. It tells a story. I'll leave the discussion on what's a novel
and what's not to other people.

How would you identify the main conflict in this book?  You cover so many of Josie's problems in so few words?  I'm just wondering which problem you consider to be the defining one of the book.

I think Josie's real problem isn't her cerebral palsy at all but her inability to stand up for what she wants and believes. A problem like that
weaves its way through many aspects of a girl's life, too.

I love how little we see of Josie's school experience.  Clearly, she would love to just pretend it didn't exist.

Josie's cerebral palsy seems like it must be fairly mild (at least to my non-expert perception, as she does a lot of motor activities that I was surprised by).  Was there any pressure from editors to make her CP mild, or was that how you envisioned it all along?  What kind of feedback have you gotten from people who live with cerebral palsy?  I would think a book like this that focuses on her inner
world, her relationships, would be such a joyous thing for all people who don't want to be defined by a specific medical condition they have.

Oh, no, my editor never pushed me in a particular direction about Josie's condition or anything. I pictured her just this way- kind of caught between two worlds. I've had great response so far from families whose children have CP. It has been amazing to hear from them and I'm honored. I agree- we all want people to see our true selves, not what the world sees necessarily. We don't want to be judged by appearances- for beauty, or disabilities, weight or any number of other things.


Could you share some of your writing process for this book?  I'd be fascinated to know how it all come together, start to finish.

I started out with an image of a girl spinning a hens and chicks in her hand (they look like miniature palm trees). I knew she wished she was in this other kingdom but I didn't know why. Slowly over time she revealed her story to me.

In a first-person novel in verse, how much does the form limit the type of main character?  Did the fact that these poems are Josie's thoughts influence or limit the kind of character Josie could be?  In other words, she had to be the kind of kid who might realistically express herself so poetically.  Or do you think a class clown or an uneducated kid or anyone else could also be represented this way, in the same way that a first-person humorous novel might be smart and witty in a way that's not really realistic for its main character?  I just see that most novels in verse feature female main characters who have rich inner  lives and are outcast in some way.  I'm interested in how the form shapes the work.

I think even a class clown could write free verse poetry (is that a challenge?!!)- it would sound wholly different than Josie's- to be sure, but
I think it could be done. It wasn't the form as much as the topics within them that were shaped. Writing about flowers and a farm made for an almost pastoral type of poetry. And because Josie was so isolated they became her companions, almost characters in the book. I've come to believe that mosteveryone feels like they're on the outside looking in. 

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Read my original Poetry Friday post about Reaching for Sun.

Gliding and twirling
and spinning through space
A bright orange blob
is leading the race.

---jharfam

Graceful ghost at sea
dancing lethal cambrioles.

Against storm's waves
turns to snot
on sand.

---Jan Fields


Smitten

jellyfish
swellyfish
orange fringed umbrellyfish
submarining parachutist
aren’t you just the blooming cutest
thing?

zing!

---Mary McKenna Siddals


Belle of the Ball

Everyone's whispering about your gown--
Blushing gossamer skimming
over racy, lacy, ruffly boas

Float couture

---Laura Purdie Salas

One day,
you'll let go
and I'll splash through
the world,
messy, but sure.

--- Kristy Dempsey

 

Before you know the risks
Of cliffs and jagged paths,
Let me help you--hold you.

--- Anonymous

Letting Go
Muddy waters just beyond:
tugging,
reaching,
holding on.
I’ve got you covered, Son.

--- msiddals

 

Reflections
Look, Daddy!
Come and see.
In the water,
look, it's me!

--- jharfam

I didn't mean to
drop
my truck.
Get it
dad
please?
Just jump.

--- Susan Taylor Brown

 

the river

Look
the water
my favorite river
I just wanted to share it with you
so that you
can bring your son, some day
and share
memories

--- Wendie Old

 

Don't be in such a hurry
to grow up,
I've only just met you
son.

--- Diane M. Davis

 

Growing Pains

Your hand,
My arm.
We're one, we're two.
You look.
I leap
Back Into You

---Pamela Ross

 

 

A Model Seamstress

Stitch it,
Sew it,
Make a dress.

Show it,
Wear it,
Sweet success!

---Lisa Schroeder

What to Wear