Praise Poems

The poetry challenge today was a form of praise poem. Praise Poems come from Western Africa and celebrate an individual's identity. They are often call and response, with the audience chanting a chorus between lines.

The formula I gave my students was to write six lines and a chorus. The first line is your name, the second about your place of birth or ethnicity, the third about your family, the fourth and fifth compare you to natural elements or entities, and the last chooses a positive, defining quality about you and repeats it three times. The chorus is an expression of what they hope might be said of them by their community, and so it is written in third person.

Once again, I am really wowed by the kids' writing. I got goosebumps reading a couple of them. One boy ended his poem with the line, I am ready, ready, ready. Another student wrote as her chorus, Everyone counts.

Here's my praise poem:

I am Tracey,
Teaching is in her heart.
born within the watch of Freedom,
Teaching is in her heart.
oldest child of flight and persuasion, sister of law and empowerment.
Teaching is in her heart.
I am warm granite ledges
Teaching is in her heart.
and quiet snowfall,
Teaching is in her heart.
and I am patient, patient, patient.
Teaching is in her heart.

This Is Just To Say

In honor of National Poetry Month I have presented my students with daily poetry challenges. The specifics are revealed each day on our online course where they also post their efforts. So far, this has been the best of the writing challenges this year-- the writing has been fresh and funny and really good, especially considering that it's basically first draft.

Today the task was to write a parody of William Carlos William's poem, This Is Just To Say. Here are a couple of the offerings so far:

This is just to say
that I have taken your favorite t-shirt
that was in your room
and which you were probably going to wear
on the first day of school.
Forgive me
even though it is a really cool shirt,
it would now not be colored on
and torn to shreds
if you hadn't left it on your bed!

(It's not my fault!)

AND

This is just to say...

I broke the shower curtain rod
in your fancy
Master bathroom
jacuzzi tub

which I knew
you were going to use
after your soccer game
against the best team in the league

Forgive me
it was fun to swing on
back and forth through the air.....
until it shattered.
Crack!

Life and Literature

I knew what it was about the minute I received the e-mail:

On Tuesday, my son shared a poem with me that he found in a collection he said you shared with him.  I have some concerns about the content of the poem and feel it might be easier if we talked.

To help my students prepare for Poem in your Pocket Day, I always break out my personal poetry library. Consisting of sixty or so volumes, many are edited and written for kids, but some are for more general audiences. Don't get me wrong-- I have culled my collection of any books that might have more mature material than not-- there is no Reuben Jackson, Richard Brautigan, or even Sylvia Plath, although I do own some of their work.

However, I do share a couple of anthologies by Wislawa Szymborska. I first read her writing when she won the Nobel prize for Literature in 1996. Born in 1923, she spent her entire life in her native Poland, living through Nazi occupation, Stalinism, Solidarity, and eventually Democracy. She has said that her poetry explores the large truths that exist in every day life. "Of course life crosses politics, but my poems are not strictly political. They are more about people and life."

When I offer my poetry books to my students it is always with the caveat that they must turn the page on anything that they feel may be inappropriate, or bring it to me. Since the purpose of the assignment is to find a poem to share, I caution them to consider their audience and avoid choosing anything that might offend. As an example, I offer Szymborska's poem, The Terrorist, He Watches.

Published in 1979 during a rash of European bombings, it starts like this:  

The bomb will go off in the bar at one twenty p.m.
Now it's only 1:16 p.m.
Some will have time to go in,
some to get out. 

And it follows the people who go in and out of the bar unaware of the mortal choices they are making, until the bomb explodes in the last line.

I warned my students about this poem on Monday morning. On Monday afternoon, two bombs went off at the Boston Marathon. On Tuesday morning, I pulled the anthology off the table, and on Tuesday afternoon, this particular student mentioned the poem to his parents. Despite my discouragement, he had copied some lines from the poem the day before, and was struck by how timely they were.

When I explained the time frame and objectives of the assignment, his mother was very understanding, and she could even set her concern aside for a moment to appreciate that her 11-year-old was making literary connections to current events.

We agreed that it's what we want, but not in this way.

"Of course, life crosses politics," Szymborska once said "but my poems are strictly not political. They are more about people and life." - See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/340#sthash.2y4N7fvB.dpuf

"Of course, life crosses politics," Szymborska once said "but my poems are strictly not political. They are more about people and life." - See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/340#sthash.2y4N7fvB.dpuf

"Of course, life crosses politics," Szymborska once said "but my poems are strictly not political. They are more about people and life." - See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/340#sthash.2y4N7fvB.dpuf

"Of course, life crosses politics," Szymborska once said "but my poems are strictly not political. They are more about people and life." - See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/340#sthash.2y4N7fvB.dpuf

Grass Roots

Time flies!

For six years my students have participated in National Poem in your Pocket Day, sponsored by the American Academy of Poets on one day each April, which also happens to be National Poetry Month. The idea is simple: find a poem that speaks to you, and carry a copy in your pocket to share on this day.

If Twitter is any indication, the event might be gaining traction. New York City has been sponsoring their own version for 11 years, and other locales have joined in, but today there were lots of pictures and tweets of poems from participants all over the country.

Even though all my students were well prepared to share some verse today, and I have used morning announcements and other more personal persuasion to raise the awareness of our school over the last five years, I realized a little while ago that I have not been the evangelist I could be. I mentioned it to my mom, who lives in Minnesota, and she did not know what I was talking about.

Next year? I'm going to fix that. Look out Twin Cities, Atlanta, Buffalo, Miami, Charlottesville, Amherst(?), Hershey, and where ever you might be, Bill. Poem in your Pocket Day is coming your way!

Bird on Bird

Out with my dog this evening, a sudden movement in the still mostly-bare branches over my head drew my attention. A solitary crow perched in a low cleft of a locust, solid black against spring green and gray sky. A small nest spiraled compactly in the tree fork at the bird's feet, and before I could look away, its head darted forward. I gasped when it emerged with a sky blue egg in its obsidian beak. Unremorseful, or merely unaware, the crow took wing and was quickly out of sight.

Busted

In the middle of a standardized reading test, a student began to wave her test booklet around wildly. I called her over to my desk. "What are you doing?" I whispered. It seemed like a natural question.

"Nothing?" she answered.

"What was all the--" here I gestured, imitating her unusual actions.

"Nothing?" she repeated evasively, but I gave her that stern teacher-look I've been perfecting for the last twenty years and she spilled it.

"Someone was trying to take my picture," she nodded her head slightly in the direction of the table next to hers, where a student already finished with the test was "reading" on her iPod. Electronic devices are not allowed in the classroom or during school hours except when used for school-related activities, like reading.

I had been circulating throughout the room as the test progressed, and I had checked the screen on this particular iPod several times. Now, I called its owner over and traded her the device for a hard copy of the book she was reading.

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"We'll discuss it at the end of class," I told her, and we did, when the bell rang not too much later.

"I was reading! I swear!" she told me as the rest of the class filed out the door. "Please let me have my iPod back."

Just then the gadget in my hand buzzed with an Instagram alert-- someone had "liked" a picture that had been posted a few minutes before. A swipe of the finger revealed the incriminating snap shot of the test-waving student from the next table.

And the friend who liked it?

The test waver herself.

Life Lessons

Today my reading class was well-entertained by reading Jack Gantos's short memoir "The Follower," (Click on the link and scroll down for the full text-- it's totally worth it.)

The writing in this tale of Gantos's youthful mishaps at the hands of the delinquent Pagoda brothers who lived next store is vivid- full of figurative language- and hilarious.

Maybe it's predictable that as I am a middle-aged lady his mom is my favorite character in the story. It's not for the reasons you might think, though.  I love her anti-nurturing. Here are her words as she warns her son away from the dangerous antics of the Pagodas:

"You are a follower, not a leader," she said bluntly. "You are putty in the wrong hands. Don't get me wrong. You're a nice kid, but you are most definitely a follower." 

That kind of sums up her character, but it's later, after Jack dislocates his shoulder and tries to hide it when she really wins my heart.

She grabbed my arm and pulled on it like it was the starter rope on a lawnmower engine. Something deep inside my shoulder went Pop!
 
"Arghhh," I sighed. The relief from the pain was heavenly.

"You are as dumb as a post," my mother said. "I'm warning you—don't play with that kid! He'll lead you to your death."

After reading today, my students debated the themes of the story and kicked around possible life lessons. "How about YOLO?" suggested one. "You only live once?"

"How about DODO?" answered one of her classmates. "Dummies only die once!"

That seems about right.