In honor of Lee's upcoming birthday, April 13, I'm sharing a review of a collection of autobiographical poems, BEEN TO YESTERDAYS. This collection was first published in 1995, and continues to be one I use in my classroom.
The emotion packed poems follow young Lee through his eventful and often painful adolescence. The very first poem in the collection is my favorite because it is a reminder that a picture might be worth a thousand words, but a picture doesn't always tell the truth.
from "Smile
for the camera."
the photographer
said
as we posed.
all dressed up
in our best
Sunday clothes.
"Smile big now.
Smile wide.
The five of you
look like
birds of a feather
nestled
together."
How many of us have appeared "like birds of a feather" for a photograph when things were actually falling apart?
I especially love the conversational tone of the poems, perfect for reminding us that some conversations are never forgotten such as when your parents tell you they're getting divorced. My mother was very angry when my father left us. I wish she would've softened the blow a little the way Lee's mother did in "Since."
But he's still
your Daddy.
He always will be.
He's still a good man.
Still part of me.
It's important to know
that he'll always
love you,
your sister,
your brother,
and Grandma too.
BEEN TO YESTERDAYS is always popular with my middle school students because they can identify with the topics Lee writes about. They have experienced: divorce, trying to figure out who they are, missing an absent parent, and the death of a loved one.The poems reach out to young people, even boys who claim they don't like poetry.
This is also an excellent collection to teach students about using voice in their writing. I use the poem,"Another" about overhearing parents argue and "the/dreaded/word—/divorce" as a prompt for my eighth graders to write about an overheard conversation. Kids overhear much more than we're ever aware of. Their poems retelling conversations range from hiliarious to deeply moving.
About writing the collection, Lee says, "I still marvel at my creating BEEN TO YESTERDAYS: POEMS OF A LIFE (BoydsMills Press) published over fourteen years ago…so long I almost forget writing it.The book received great national attention including being an SCBWI Golden KiteHonor Book and winning the Christopher Medal which was presented to me by James Earl Jones! But – I couldn’t attend the affair in NYC due to a prior commitment to a friend who had asked me a long time prior to speak at a dinner meeting in South Carolina! As I was eating spaghetti all I could think of was Mr. Jones. My agent, the great-late Marilyn E. Marlow accepted the award for me…and never let me forget the moment!
…YESTERDAYS continues to be read and read and used in all kinds of programs from youth groups to Al-Anon groups. The small book has touched so many; I never knew the power of the words could have gone on so long."
If you've read BEEN TO YESTERDAYS, read it again. I discover something new every time I read it. If you haven't read it yet, you're missing out on a great one!
The final stanzas in the poem, "To" make a perfect ending for the collection.
To
make
this world
a whole lot
brighter,
when
I grow up,
I'll
be
a
writer.
You sure have, made the world a whole lot brighter,Lee! Happy Birthday!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Poetry Friday
Yesterday, Elaine over at Wild Rose Reader, shared an article called, "Astronomers catch a shooting star for the 1st time."
Anything abour astronomy always "catches" my eye. As a little girl, I dreamed of being the first woman astronaut (way,way before Sally Ride). When I was old enough, I joined the Air Force just so I could be around airplanes and hang out with the pilots.
So, when my sons were very young, they were a captive audience. I read them tons of books about the universe and space travel. My older son became especially interested and got his first telescope when he was still in elementary school. Almost every evening, no matter how hot or how cold, he'd take his telescope out, and he and his little brother looked at the constellations, and when they found something extra special, they'd call me to come take a look too.
Years ago, I wrote a poem about them, and Lee Bennett Hopkins liked it enough to include it in one of his anthologies. Later, it was made into a poster by a publisher of educational materials. Although the poem's written from the perspecitive of a younger brother admiring his older brother, I can hear both of my sons saying the last line about his brother.
Stars
Clear winter evenings
my brother sets up
his telescope in
the middle of the yard
and shows me the stars—
He says someday
he’ll discover a new one
and be famous—
But, I wonder
if he knows
he’s already a star—
to me.
It's no secret, they're both stars to me. My older son is now a physics professor who has also taught astronomy. He often writes about the universe on his blog: http://scienceatoz.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html
My younger son is a writer and an IT specialist who is totally immersed in the world of technology. If you want to keep up on the latest, you can find his blog at:http://seccode.blogspot.com/.
Anything abour astronomy always "catches" my eye. As a little girl, I dreamed of being the first woman astronaut (way,way before Sally Ride). When I was old enough, I joined the Air Force just so I could be around airplanes and hang out with the pilots.
So, when my sons were very young, they were a captive audience. I read them tons of books about the universe and space travel. My older son became especially interested and got his first telescope when he was still in elementary school. Almost every evening, no matter how hot or how cold, he'd take his telescope out, and he and his little brother looked at the constellations, and when they found something extra special, they'd call me to come take a look too.
Years ago, I wrote a poem about them, and Lee Bennett Hopkins liked it enough to include it in one of his anthologies. Later, it was made into a poster by a publisher of educational materials. Although the poem's written from the perspecitive of a younger brother admiring his older brother, I can hear both of my sons saying the last line about his brother.
Stars
Clear winter evenings
my brother sets up
his telescope in
the middle of the yard
and shows me the stars—
He says someday
he’ll discover a new one
and be famous—
But, I wonder
if he knows
he’s already a star—
to me.
It's no secret, they're both stars to me. My older son is now a physics professor who has also taught astronomy. He often writes about the universe on his blog: http://scienceatoz.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html
My younger son is a writer and an IT specialist who is totally immersed in the world of technology. If you want to keep up on the latest, you can find his blog at:http://seccode.blogspot.com/.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Poetry Friday
I had been reading Sylvia Vardell’s blog, Poetry for Children, for several months when I found out that she also writes a column for Book Links. I loved her blog, so I immediately subscribed to the journal, and I’m so glad I did. What I discovered is that her column (along with the rest of the journal) is a fantastic resource for teachers and a great way for writers to keep up with what’s being published.
For example, in the March issue, Sylvia’s column is titled “Audiovisual Poetry.” She lists a variety of multimedia resources and ideas for classroom application. (For more ideas on using multimedia methods to share poetry, check out Poetry For Children.)
Each issue also includes a poem and tips for sharing it with children. This month the poem is “Onion Snow” by one of my favorite poets, Bobbi Katz. Sylvia explains how teachers can turn the poem into a multimedia and multisensory experience for children.
For some reason, I couldn't get the poem to line up quite the way it's supposed. I tried and tried.
The two shorter lines should be indented. My apology.
Onion Snow
I wake to heavy quiet this April morning:
a special weighted sound.
Outside my window snowflakes fall
softly, softly feathering the ground—
softly, softly bearding the daffodils.
Grandma always called it onion snow.
Arriving when wild onions have
started to grow,
those foolish fat flakes don’t
seem to know,
they are too late for winter
and misfits in spring.
“Come listen to that onion snow!”
she would have said.
“Have you ever heard
such a silence??”
Money is tight for most of us right now, so I’ve given up all subscriptions except for the three I enjoy most: Book Links, SCBWI Bulletin, and Children’s Writer. Each of these are worth every penny.
“Onion Snow”, Bobbi Katz, Book Links, March 2009.
For example, in the March issue, Sylvia’s column is titled “Audiovisual Poetry.” She lists a variety of multimedia resources and ideas for classroom application. (For more ideas on using multimedia methods to share poetry, check out Poetry For Children.)
Each issue also includes a poem and tips for sharing it with children. This month the poem is “Onion Snow” by one of my favorite poets, Bobbi Katz. Sylvia explains how teachers can turn the poem into a multimedia and multisensory experience for children.
For some reason, I couldn't get the poem to line up quite the way it's supposed. I tried and tried.
The two shorter lines should be indented. My apology.
Onion Snow
I wake to heavy quiet this April morning:
a special weighted sound.
Outside my window snowflakes fall
softly, softly feathering the ground—
softly, softly bearding the daffodils.
Grandma always called it onion snow.
Arriving when wild onions have
started to grow,
those foolish fat flakes don’t
seem to know,
they are too late for winter
and misfits in spring.
“Come listen to that onion snow!”
she would have said.
“Have you ever heard
such a silence??”
"Onion Snow" Copyright c 2009 by Bobbi Katz
The rest of the journal is a gem too. Each issue has a theme, this month it’s science. There is an interview with Joyce Sidman (another fav) talking about “the challenges of portraying science and the natural world.” Teacher, Dean Schneider’s column is on “Finding the Best Novels in Verse.” Also included in this issue: the “Best New Books for Classrooms”, an interview with Sally Ride, “Science as Biography,” and so much more. Book Links covers all genres and has something for anyone interested in children’s literature.Money is tight for most of us right now, so I’ve given up all subscriptions except for the three I enjoy most: Book Links, SCBWI Bulletin, and Children’s Writer. Each of these are worth every penny.
“Onion Snow”, Bobbi Katz, Book Links, March 2009.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Poetry Friday
A while back I read a study that said up to 93 percent of communication is nonverbal. It got me thinking about the ways men and women communicate and from that came the following tanka.
when the TV is on
you listen intently
to what it has to say
I ask if we can talk—
you turn the volume up
she stands by the pool
showing off long slender legs
in string bikini…
when your stare drops to my thighs
I pretend not to notice
in this king-sized bed
you sleep facing north, I face south
the void between us
proof opposites don’t attract
you need your space, I need mine
when the TV is on
you listen intently
to what it has to say
I ask if we can talk—
you turn the volume up
she stands by the pool
showing off long slender legs
in string bikini…
when your stare drops to my thighs
I pretend not to notice
in this king-sized bed
you sleep facing north, I face south
the void between us
proof opposites don’t attract
you need your space, I need mine
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Poetry Friday
One of my favorite love poems is by Nikki Giovanni.
The World Is Not A Pleasant Place to Be
the world is not a pleasant place
to be without
someone to hold and be held by
a river would stop
its flow if only
a stream were there
to recieve it
an ocean would never laugh
if clouds weren't there
to kiss her tears
Read the rest of the poem here.
Read more about Nikki Giovanni here.
The World Is Not A Pleasant Place to Be
the world is not a pleasant place
to be without
someone to hold and be held by
a river would stop
its flow if only
a stream were there
to recieve it
an ocean would never laugh
if clouds weren't there
to kiss her tears
Read the rest of the poem here.
Read more about Nikki Giovanni here.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Poetry Friday: Thinking About Poetry
One of my goals this year was to read more poetry written for adults. I finished Jane Kenyon's Constance today. What I liked most about this collection is that I connected with the poems about losing loved ones. There were also many poems about her depression. I've been there many times so I could feel her words.
I'm also a little concerned that I didn't "get" some of the poems. That happens to me sometimes.
Maybe my mind isn't deep enough to understand. It always reminds me of how it was in school. I never seemed to get the meaning right, at least not the meaning the teacher/professor said was right. I guess I'm not someone who likes to pick a poem apart and try to analyze it like it's some scientific theory that needs to be debated and proven.
I never thought I actually liked poetry until I became a mother and teacher. That's when I first met Langston Hughes, Lucille Clifton, Gary Soto, and all the poets I've come to love (too many to name here).
As I write this post, I realize that I love music (county, rock, pop, soul, etc.), but I don't like every song I hear on the radio. So maybe it's okay if I don't get or even like every poem. Maybe it's more important that I have found poems that I love and carry with me.
One of my favorite poems from Constance is also the title of the final collection Jane worked on before her death, Otherwise. It reminds me to enjoy and appreciate what we have because nothing is forever.
Otherwise
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
Read the rest of the poem here.
I'm also a little concerned that I didn't "get" some of the poems. That happens to me sometimes.
Maybe my mind isn't deep enough to understand. It always reminds me of how it was in school. I never seemed to get the meaning right, at least not the meaning the teacher/professor said was right. I guess I'm not someone who likes to pick a poem apart and try to analyze it like it's some scientific theory that needs to be debated and proven.
I never thought I actually liked poetry until I became a mother and teacher. That's when I first met Langston Hughes, Lucille Clifton, Gary Soto, and all the poets I've come to love (too many to name here).
As I write this post, I realize that I love music (county, rock, pop, soul, etc.), but I don't like every song I hear on the radio. So maybe it's okay if I don't get or even like every poem. Maybe it's more important that I have found poems that I love and carry with me.
One of my favorite poems from Constance is also the title of the final collection Jane worked on before her death, Otherwise. It reminds me to enjoy and appreciate what we have because nothing is forever.
Otherwise
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
Read the rest of the poem here.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
POETRY FRIDAY
Over at Miss Rumphius Effect , the Poetry Stretch this week was to write a love poem. My mother has been on mind so much recently. Her battle with cancer goes on, but she's beginnng to give up. Although she'll never see this poem, I hope she feels the love behind it.
Thinking About Her Life
Alone in her tiny apartment
she sits at the kitchen table,
stirring a cup of cold coffee—
daylight slowly fades.
Her friends are gone.
Beloved husband gone.
Children grown, gone.
Her soft dark hair— gone.
I visit on Saturdays,
we talk of the past
we talk of the present,
avoiding the future—
She says she’s afraid.
I’m afraid too—
but I don’t tell her
I can’t, not yet.
Instead I take her hand,
like she once took mine
helping me cross a busy street—
Now I must help her cross
over this wake of tears.
She looks to me for hope,
and I give it to her, a last gift
wrapped in a smile, a hug,
and a prayer
for my mother—
soon gone.
Thinking About Her Life
Alone in her tiny apartment
she sits at the kitchen table,
stirring a cup of cold coffee—
daylight slowly fades.
Her friends are gone.
Beloved husband gone.
Children grown, gone.
Her soft dark hair— gone.
I visit on Saturdays,
we talk of the past
we talk of the present,
avoiding the future—
She says she’s afraid.
I’m afraid too—
but I don’t tell her
I can’t, not yet.
Instead I take her hand,
like she once took mine
helping me cross a busy street—
Now I must help her cross
over this wake of tears.
She looks to me for hope,
and I give it to her, a last gift
wrapped in a smile, a hug,
and a prayer
for my mother—
soon gone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)