NPM 2015: What Are You Wearing, Linda Baie?

This month at Author Amok, we're not eating poetry (much as we love Mark Strand's poem).

The NPM 2015 Poster features
lines from this poem by Mark Strand.

Instead, we are wearing poetry. 

Throughout April, guest bloggers are putting on their costumes and best outfits as we feature poetry about clothes. Why clothes? Read this post.

In addition to the guest bloggers, every Friday in April I'll post a round-up of original and recommended clothing poems. (Send those via email to laurashovan at gmail dot com or leave them in the comments). You'll find this week's writing prompt at the bottom of this post.

Emily Dickinson tights from Etsy.

Ralph Waldo Emerson T-shirt from Etsy.

DIY poetic pants from the blog Stars for Streetlights.

Meet today's guest blogger, poet and educator Linda Baie. 

  Thanks, Laura, for inviting me to your blog this month, of all things we wear. It’s been wonderful to read how others have connected to this theme.    

     I’ve written with middle-school students in poetry groups all through my teacher years, and find they often write about clothing. One of my students recently wrote a wonderful poem about what’s in her pocket, and I’m happy she gave me permission to share it today. When the girls wear such tight pants, I wonder if they have any room for anything, especially their phones. But they do wear hoodies or jackets, and perhaps that’s where the phones and other mysterious objects lie.

A display of pocket poems
at Linda's local library.

        I used Lill Pluta’s Lillian’s Pocket as a jumping off point to share. You can find it here, in a post by Jama Rattigan from a few years ago.

              It begins:

There are no bats in pockets,

although the wool makes caves

for memories to roost in,

where discards hide away.

And here is the poem by my student who used Georgia Heard’s Falling Down The Page: A Book of List Poems as her mentor text.

In My Pocket

        by Brynn

A pen that clicks

some tape that sticks

a paper clip

a mint

a silver thought

a tin robot

a document

to print

a black ink pen

vermilion wren

a tiny ball

of lint

a dragon cave

a child saved

a drawing in

full tint.

          When I began to write about pockets, I was also reminded of Tim O’Brien’s book The Things They Carried where he wrote of the Viet Nam war and what the soldiers had with them. In addition to the physical ‘things’, O’Brien wrote of more abstract things carried, like guilt in their jobs as soldiers-killing, and for leaving their families alone; worry that a girlfriend might not stay in the relationship or that the experience would change who they are for the rest of their lives.  I teach young adolescents, sixth, seventh and eighth grade students, some leaving our school in just a few weeks, on to high school. I know that some carry candy or snack bars, now their phones, pencils, paper clips, and erasers.  Yet I also imagine some of those other “things” they carry, often as questions: “Will I keep my friends, make new ones when I leave?” What does it mean when someone doesn’t speak to me?” “I wish I didn’t have so much to do, sports practices, violin lessons, homework.” “How can I say no to drugs?” “Will anyone like me?” “Does anyone like me?”  Pockets as metaphor?  I fill mine for them with bright hopes for their futures, and at least one poem to carry along, too.

        And, because it’s poetry month, I am also reminded of Poem In Your Pocket Day, April 30th  We will be sharing poems all over school that day, poems that “fit” the place, or the person.  I love that it’s another way for my students to dig a more deeply into poetry to find one special poem. My wish for you is that you always have a “poem in your pocket”.

 

The Academy of American Poets has resources
for Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 30, 2015.

 Linda Baie moved from the classroom after 20 years of teaching gifted students in an independent progressive school in Denver, Colorado five years ago. This year, through the school’s need, she is back in the classroom again, in fact, the room where she started with middle school aged students.  She will be retiring this year, misses working with all the teachers, but is loving this “last chance” to carry memories of students “in her pocket” when she leaves.  She blogs at TeacherDance, and hopes all teachers would realize how important it is to write and share their writing with their students.

Thanks for this post, Linda. I love the way Brynn's poem moves from practical items to fantastic ones. Who wouldn't like a dragon cave in their pocket. I'm going to add some of your list poem ideas to the workshop I'm developing for elementary schoolers! (I asked the teacher to bring in their grocery lists for us to discuss. We'll see how that goes.)

ICYMI: In our poetry closet, you will find...

Introductory Post

Jane Elkin looks in her childhood closet. Poems by Mark Irwin and Ron Koertge.

Tabatha Yeatts shares an ensemble of clothing poems by Greg Pincus.

Margaret Gibson Simon tries on orange high heels. Poem by Ellen Bass.

Robyn Hood Black borrows Alice Schertle's "Hand-me-down Sweatshirt."

Jone MacCulloch wears her Grandma Mac's aprons.

Heidi Mordhorst pulls on some big, black boots.

Speaking of wearing poetry, congratulations to Irene Latham, who won Friday's giveaway.

I hope wearing it inspires you
to smile, Irene!

*Your suggested clothing poem prompt for Friday, April 17: Secret Identities.

Have you ever had an outfit that made you feel like a super hero? Or a pair of boots that, whenever you wore them, made you feel powerful? Whether it's a lucky shirt or a pair of jeans that fits you to perfection, write about a piece of clothing that makes (or made) you feel like you could take on the world.

Send your poems any time. I'll post original work and recommended poems on Friday.

Poetry Friday: Golden Shovels

Thanks to everyone who tried writing a Golden Shovel poem with me last week.

To review: the Golden Shovel is a poetic form invented by MacArthur genius award winner Terrance Hayes. You can read his original Golden Shovel here. Using a favorite poem by someone else as your starting off point, take the words of the first line or stanza (or any favorite line from the poem). Use those words in order as the end words for each line of your new poem.

I'm breaking out the glo-paint
for Michelle H. Barnes.
She's hosting Poetry Friday this week
at Today's Little Ditty.

The poems I'm featuring today--Golden Shovels by Linda Baie, Michelle H. Barnes, and my poem based on a William Carlos Williams favorite--describe autumn in their imagery and tone.

I have to agree with Joy's (who blogs at Poetry for Kids) comment on last week's post. One of the biggest challenges in writing a Golden Shovel is dealing with line breaks. When the form requires ending on a word such as "from," "a," or "the," how does the poet make the line feel unforced? Not easy. Beginning with a haiku or other noun-rich poem, as Joy suggested, is good advice if you want to try a Golden Shovel.

Margaret Simon of Reflections on the Teche told me that poet Nikki Grimes ran a contest with this form. Although the contest is over, Grimes' explanation of the Golden Shovel is kid-friendly. Stop by her blog if you'd like to check it out and try it with your young writers.

Here is Linda Baie's contribution, followed by a few lines from her jumping-off poem, "Loss" by Carl Adamshick. Linda blogs at Teacher Dance.

The first line must be about the wind,
in October, I feel the lifting
of the trees, lighter now without the leaves,
slipping like babies turning from
the breast, into sleep, nestled in mother’s branches.

Linda Baie © All Rights Reserved

Loss
by Carl Adamshick

It is nice to be without answers
at the end of summer.
Wind lifting leaves from branches.

The moment laid down like something
in childhood and forgotten, until later,
when stumbled upon, we think:
this is where it was lost.

Read the rest at the Academy of American Poets.

I'm amazed that Linda's poem has such a different feel from the original, even though she "found" a line of Adamshick's poem for her own piece, and both are set in autumn.

Michelle also chose a favorite line for the basis of her Golden Shovel. The words at the end of each line come from the third line of Adelaide Crapsey's "November Night." You can read "November Night" at the Poetry Foundation.

Fallen

Soft, mottled leaves, like
Grandma's hands, pause on the steps
at the threshold of 
memory. A subtle passing,
in, then out, like distant ghosts. 

© 2014 Michelle Heidenrich Barnes. All rights reserved.

I love the way the ghosts travel from Crapsey's poem into Michelle's original piece.

You can see me working overtime in my new Golden Shovel, trying to make the end-words feel natural. As a writing exercise, this stretched my thinking and took the poem to unexpected places.

Waterwheel
by Laura Shovan
after William Carlos Williams

Rain today, so

I’m not doing much.

Sad, how productivity depends

upon the weather. I put my feet up on

the hassock, read postcards signed by “A.”--

anonymous pen-pal, whose favorite ink is red.

Here is a card depicting a waterwheel

in Notogowa, another from the town of Barrow

in Alaska – photos glazed

with fingerprints of those they traveled with

to reach me in the rain.

These cards bear the mark of water,

smell of the perfume samples they sat beside

in my mailbox, nestled between the

magazines and a flock of dull envelopes, white

as a hen house full of chickens.

Funny... a white bird also appeared in my first Golden Shovel.  Enjoy William Carlos Williams reading, "The Red Wheelbarrow."

Ever since the 2013 Poetry Postcard project, I do have a friend with whom I exchange postcards. He's not anonymous and doesn't write in red ink, but, I'm always glad to receive a postcard from poet Charles Rammelkamp. (You can read about Charles' loves of postcards at this post from 2013.) The most recent one he sent was of Prince William, Duchess Kate Middleton, and Prince George. Maybe Charles remembered that my mother is British.

Source Poems: "The Way It Is"

For National Poetry Month 2014, I have invited 17 authors and poets to guest post about source poems. In this series of essays, each writer will describe a single poem's significance in his or her life.

Our guest blogger for today's source poem is educator and poet Linda Baie, who blogs at Teacher Dance.

Linda Baie

The Way It Is

By William Stafford, from The Way It Is, 1998

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn’t change.

People wonder about what you are pursuing.

You have to explain about the thread.

But it is hard for others to see.

While you hold it you can’t get lost.

Read the rest of the poem here.

==================

 I believe that life is chaotic, a jumble of accidents, ambitions, misconceptions, bold intentions, lazy happenstances, and unintended consequences, yet I also believe that there are connections that illuminate our world, revealing its endless mystery and wonder. David Moranis

When I consider my source poem, the back-story holds the meaning that connects later. My life with poetry began early, in a grandparents’ home where I lived until I was five. My father was killed in WWII in the Pacific theater, and my mother and I lived with her parents until I was five. Both my father’s and my mother’s parents were avid readers, and time with them in early childhood set my path toward loving poetry.

            Before I could read, they all read to me. I was the only grandchild in both families until I went to school. Everyone wanted to read to me! My mother was an artist, wrote and illustrated stories for me. One grandfather loved Shakespeare. No matter that I was young, he still shared the poems, the plays, about the life of Shakespeare with me. A grandmother was a pianist and taught me the poetry of song. I learned the music of the classics, but also hymns, the words of Stephen Foster, the carols of Christmas. When I visited my father’s parents for weeks in the summers, the first thing we did was visit their library, to gather piles of books, including poetry.

“There’s a thread you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn’t change.”

My early life held the beginning connections to poetry, in different voices sure, but all with certain favorites that they shared. Later in school I remember teachers reading poems to us, memorizing for performances and finally, in college, I had the pleasure of working with John Neihardt, Missouri’s poet laureate, in a summer poetry class.

When I became a teacher, of first graders, I wanted to teach them to read, to love reading, and poetry too. My ‘go to’ book then was AA Milne’s When I Was Very Young and When We Were Six. My love of poetry started as a young child, and has continued both personally and in my passion to bring this love to students.

There is this poem taped to my desk lamp. I taught middle-school gifted students, a mixed group, for over 20 years at the school where I am now the literacy coach. There was a long list of priorities in teaching, but one of them was the importance of creating and keeping a community. Sharing “like” things in a mixture of unique preferences helped us become family, a group, a knit community.

“While you hold it you can’t get lost.”

For community building, I have used certain poems for the class, and one of those poems that I held dear was William Stafford’s “The Way It Is.” It would be shared, we would discuss it, what we thought about it and why it might help us as a group. In other conversations, it became a mentor text for voice. When we wrote, students and I referred to it, wishing we could meet this man who wrote so clearly. Of course, we met him in other poems too, and followed along with Naomi Shihab Nye, a student of his, whose poems also touched us. We discussed connections, how paths cross and re-cross, fade away, return again. And we illustrated those paths in artistic responses. The poem became important to each class, is important to me still.

Loving a poem is not new to me and there are others I love, too. And serendipity sometimes makes me shiver. Certain of my colleagues and I exchange Christmas gifts, and one year friends gifted me with the book Teaching With Fire, edited by Sam M. Intrator and Megan Scribner, an anthology of poems that are important “source” poems for teachers. On page fifteen, there is the Stafford poem again. Finally, when I left the classroom three years ago, the school gave a party in celebration of my years in the classroom, and several of my colleagues spoke about me, to me. It was a pleasure hearing those words, every one. But the surprise, the serendipity that happened is that my head of school, speaking of my time at the school, my work with students and colleagues, ended with a poem he thought defined me. And that poem was “The Way It Is.” I was shocked and a little teary. The thread continues, and with this poem especially, my strong

connection to poetry remains.

“You don’t ever let go of the thread.”

The poem in its entirety can be found at Goodreads, here. And I have written a poem in response.

Holding On

People wonder how to proceed,

when a boulder lies on the road.

I tell them I hold fast onto the thread;

those who are tangled there with me help.

They heave me over and in turn I pull them along.

The filament unwinds sometimes and loosens.

Sometimes wind blows it askew.

It wants re-winding.

A gentle tug and I’ve re-wound,

for me, for family, for friends.

Keeping the strand strong while everyone winds together

makes it easier to climb over that next boulder.

 Linda Baie © All Rights Reserved

===================================

William Stafford
Visit the William Stafford Archives online.

Linda Baie is a long time teacher of middle school students at a K-8 independent school for the gifted in Denver, Colorado. She is now the school’s literacy coach. She has a wonderful family, including three terrific grandchildren. Passions are reading, writing and being outdoors. She blogs at TeacherDance.org and tweets @LBaie. She is working hard on writing, sending a few poems to see if they might be published, participates in a writing group, and has been to one poetry workshop, with plans for another. She is holding onto the thread.

Previous posts in this series:

Laura Shovan on "This Is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams

Dylan Bargteil on "On Moral Leadership as a Political Dilemma" by June Jordan

J. C. Elkin on "Hannibal Clim" (author unknown)

Diane Mayr on a haiku by Basho

Jone MacCulloch on "We Are Waiting (a pantoum)" by Joyce Sidman

Mary Bargteil on Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

Jacqueline Jules on "Mother to Son" by Langston Hughes

Pamela Murray Winters on "The Land of Counterpane" by Robert Louis Stevenson

Dennis Kirschbaum on "Rain" by Robert Louis Stevenson
Janet Fagal on "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats

Poetry Friday: 2014 Poetry Project Wrap-up

Happy Poetry Friday, Writerly Friends. We’re celebrating the end of our Pantone® Poetry Project today.

It’s Poetry Friday! Today’s host is
one of our Pantone® Poets --
Margaret Simon. Join her at
Reflections on the Teche for all
of today's poetry links.

On January 31, I invited everyone to join me for a month-long project, writing in response to interior paint colors.

This is the second time I've celebrated my February birthday with a daily project that gives back to the writing community. (Read the original Pantone Poetry Project post here.)

Last year, I sent original postcard poems to 44 friends. This year, Author Amok turned into a poetic version of a Color Run, with poets doused in all the shades of the rainbow for writing inspiration.

Photo of a Color Run from the Yale Herald.

During the 28 days of Pantone® poems, this is what we created:

115 original poems by

14 poets about

55 colors

The poems have covered such topics as love, memory, penguins, teddy bears, bad weather, longing for spring, and outer space. We've had haiku, free verse, diamantes, rhymed couplets -- a variety of forms and experiments.

Huge thanks to all my writing buddies, whether you contributed one poem, or wrote every day. I’ve got some prizes for you, but first, let’s see what we came up with for our final color.

Day 28 Tandori Spice
Pantone ®  18-1444

The poets knocked it out of the park today. I found these poems to be heartbreaking, warm, and funny (Patricia).

Today's poems are all portraits of one kind or another, each in response to this rich red. (The non-standard spelling of "Tandori" comes from Pantone®.)

Let’s start with Diane Mayr’s (Random Noodling) poem, in which the spice is a symbol of food and culture left behind.

Unsettled

by Diane Mayr

She now lives with

her son and his family

far, far from her home.

This world so different

insignificant things still

remind her she is not home.

Even the building taunts with

its bricks the color of the 

spicy chicken Mama made.

As she walks in the door

she remembers the smile

her mother always wore.

Someday soon, she

realizes, she will need to

unpack all of her luggage.

I'm amazed that a poet (Diane) can begin with one image -- bricks the color of Tandoori Spice -- and build a character like the mother in this poem.

Linda Baie of Teacher Dance is also looking at food and spices as a symbol of integration. When we share food, we share a whole culture.

Newlywed Complication

By Linda Baie 

Grandmother’s letter reads:

Rub the chicken with tandoori spice,

that bottle with the beautiful dark red color.

She sent it to me after I moved to the states,

reminds me of the color in the carpet,

in the dining room

at Grandmother’s.

Tears. My husband isn’t home to teach me

how to use the big black skillet,

his grandmother’s wedding gift to us,

the heavy iron one. She wrote on the card:

This is a special family heirloom,

been in the family for years. I hope it helps you cook

good things for my grandson.

He’s invited his parents for dinner and he wants,

he wants,

fried chicken.

I wanted to make something Indian for them,

to show that I did know how to cook.

The food I prepare with love and respect

is like going home to me, delicious tastes

and nutritious, prepared to honor those

who partake.

He says “no, we’ll give them ‘different’ another time,

when they’re more used to you."

For now, I pull the chicken parts

out of the refrigerator, rinse them,

and rub some of the spice into the skin.

A little won’t hurt, I can wash it off later.

I lean out the back door, observe the tandoor

sitting next to the gas grill,

given to us by my father-in-law.

One is my new husband;

one is me.

Both can feed us well if we only let them.

Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved

Margaret Simon's poem could be read as a continuation -- a later chapter? -- in the narrative begun with Diane and Linda's offerings.

Gita’s House

by Margaret Simon (with a line from Gita’s son, Tinka)

Gita’s house smells of tandoori spice.

Pungent ginger and paprika

Sprinkle my nose with tingly powder.

Her life in India is a memory now,

a treasure of traditions for us.

Gita gave my daughters her old saris,

long elegant silk wrapped around their tiny bodies,

an Indian Princess fashion show.

Scraps became a soft pillowcase

for Maggie to take to college.

Gita shows me her spice cabinet,

a collection of masala—cardamom for tea;

yellow curry for chicken and rice.

She cooks Indian dishes from all over the country,

goat curry from the north, dosas from the south.

There are no empty stomachs or strangers in Gita’s house.
Everyone is welcome. Everyone is fed.

Pillow made of sari fabrics from WorldMarket.com

I love how Patricia VanAmburg uses hot flavors to create a rhyming portrait of Tandori Spice in human form.

Yes, She Was Hot

By Patricia VanAmburg

Tandoori was a dancer

Whose life was full of spice

She wasn’t really naughty

And she wasn’t really nice

With live coals in her belly

And fire on her breath

When she danced her hottest

She could burn a man to death

I’m going to throw a few snowballs at you so we can cool off after reading that poem. Below is my favorite painting by my husband's aunt, Barbara Kozell. We are lucky enough to live with this beautiful artwork.

My portrait isn't of a person, but of the bird in the painting. We see cardinals all winter long in Maryland, but this male seems displaced in his winter landscape.

Forsythia after Spring Snow

By Laura Shovan

Under the snow

the world

has caught fire.

A cardinal, red

as tandoori spice,

warms  himself

by the flames

of yellow blossoms.

UPDATE:

Poet Michael C. Davis is joining the party -- a little late, but always welcome.

DINING OUT

by Michael C. Davis

I like my meat red.

You could always order the lamb.

But look at that chicken

as red as a fire engine

abandoned in a field.

The bird’s flesh

skinned and rubbed

raw with garlic cumin coriander paprika cayenne onion.

The juice of a lemon

to cool it; a dahi balm

before roasting.

Pick it from the bone,

red nailed one.

Dip the tidbit in raita if need be.

Press the meat between

your ruby lips, Gopi.

Blue-fleshed Krishna needs a little tandoori spice

warmup.

Delicious, Michael. I'll be dreaming of Indian food tonight. But first, it's time for PRIZES!

As promised, I am sending Pantone postcards for further inspiration to the five poets who wrote most often. They are:

Michael Ratcliffe (3 poems)

Margaret Simon (13 poems)

Patricia VanAmburg (16 poems)

Linda Baie (21 poems)

Diane Mayr (26 poems)

That makes Diane Mayr our most frequent contributor. Her prize? A Pantone® writing notebook of her very own.

Thanks also to Michelle H. Barnes, Michael C. Davis, J. C. Elkin, Stephanie Lemghari, Heidi Mordhorst, Buffy Silverman, Donna Smith, and Tabatha Yeatts. Each of these fine poets shared a poem or two this month.

Would you like to go back and revisit all of the colors in our project? Here they are. Click on the links to read the poems. I hope you find something to inspire your own writing.

Introductory Post

Day 1: Apricot Illusion

Day 2: Peyote, Dark Earth, Cosmic Sky

Day 3: Monument, Purple Reign

Day 4: Hushed Violet, Demitasse

Day 5: Zinc, Bronze Mist, Aloe

Day 6: Kombu Green, Sugar Coral

Day 7: Jazzy

Day 8: Peach Pearl, Meteorite

Day 9: Wet Weather, Aqua Haze

Day 10: Amberglow, Golden Glow

Day 11: Tarmac

Day 12: Turbulence, Green Millieu, Whisper Pink

Day 13: Paprika, Burnt Russet

Day 14: Oxblood Red

Day 15: Lemon Meringue, Margarita

Day 16: Jolly Green, Cabaret

Day 17 & 18: Dubarry, Papaya Punch

Day 19: Orange Pepper, Soothing Sea

Day 20: Silver Bullet, Rhapsody

Day 21: Poseidon, Tornado, Aqua Splash

Day 22: Quicksilver, Ballerina

Day 23: Solar Power, Gulf Stream, Nimbus Cloud

Day 24: Sweet Pea, Orange Ochre

Day 25: Plein Air, Syrah

Day 26: Stormy Weather, Daybreak, Porcelain Blue

Day 27: Peacock Green, Blue Jewel

Day 28: Tandori Spice and project wrap-up

What’s next for Author Amok? During March, Michael Ratcliffe will stop by with a poetic form from Wales and Margarita Engle will visit to tell us about her latest novel-in-verse, Silver People.

Before you know it, National Poetry Month will be here. Time for another project. I’ll announce the project and put out a call for guest bloggers next Friday. Meanwhile, enjoy the 2014 NPM poster: