THE LAST FIFTH GRADE OF EMERSON ELEMENTARY

THE LAST FIFTH GRADE OF EMERSON ELEMENTARY
April 12, 2016
Showing posts with label poems for teens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems for teens. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

National Poetry Month 2013: Code Is Poetry

Code: a poetry frontier. These are the voyages of teen poet Gloson Teh. His mission: to explore strange new comparisons between poetry and computer code, to see out new forms and new ways of writing, to boldly go where no young poet has gone before.
Gloson Teh is a 15-year-old poet. He has been writing poetry since he was 9 and blogging since he was 10. You can find his poems and books at www.poetrytalents.com. (He has blogged tech at www.glosonblog.com, which is on e a break.) He also does school poetry visits to flabbergast kids with his poems.
Welcome Gloson Teh to Author Amok!
7 Things Poetry and Code Have in Common
In early March, I spent hours coding my poetry website, because I realized that my previous theme was buggy, and that the design wasn’t as user-friendly as I thought. So, I did a makeover. Now the site feels so much better!
While coding and trying out different WordPress plugins, I ended many times on WordPress.org, but it wasn’t until later that I saw this in the footer:
image
I stopped there for a while.
WordPress.org thinks code is poetry? How long has THAT been there? I hadn’t noticed it before.
Hey, you would pause too if you were using WordPress to code a poetry site!
So I was prompted to think…what do poetry and code have in common?—and thought of 7 things.

1. They paint pictures

Poetry is a frequent user of vivid imagery. If you don’t know what vivid imagery is, it’s when you look at some words that make you can’t help thinking of pictures that seem very real and vivid.
So, just like poetry tells your mind what to display, code tells the browser (Chrome, Firefox, etc) what to display.

A poem

As I stared into the sky,
I saw a cloud,
a cloud sort of grey,
yet edges shone gold,
and a twist at the end,
with a hint of mist.
Cloud, sunset.
Surreal.

A piece of code

font: bold 70px Garamond, Tahoma;
color: #C4C4C4;
padding: 25px 63px;
background-color: #1449B9;
margin: 0px;
border-radius: 25px;
border: 4px outset #FFF367;
text-shadow: #D5D5D5 0px 0px 0px, #E0E0E0 -1px -1px 0px,
#F0DC90 -2px -2px 0px,
#FFEA49 -3px -3px 0px,
#FFEB4A -4px -4px 0px,
#FFF296 -5px -5px 0px,
white 0px -6px 60px,
rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.6) -7px -7px 6px,
rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.498039) -7px -7px 1px,
rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 6px;
display: inline-block;
“>
CSS

What it paints:

What it paints: 

Okay, okay. Bad attempt at “painting” using CSS code. I’ll do better next time. :P
As you can see, both of them paint pictures—one for the mind, and one for the web browser—just like a paintbrush! Either way, each product they paint can be painted well, or painted lousily.

2. Line breaks make them beautiful

It’s a striking resemblance.
Code and poetry use line breaks all the time. See the examples below:
Free verse poem (source):
Thrill Ride.
Up. Up.
Click, click.
Wind blows
sharp in my ears.
My heart jumps. Skips.
It’s up. It’s up higher.
It’s up, up the highest.
Hands grasp at the clouds.
Then a forever pause. Still. Waiting.
Finally. Whoosh!
Steep drop
down,
down,
down.
Code:
function ptw_the_content($content) {
global $post, $ptw_post_id;
if (is_single() || is_page()) {
$ptw_post_id = $post->ID;
}
return $content;
}
In poetry, this principle applies more powerfully to free-verse poems than to poems with fixed rhyme & meter. Why? Because line breaks control the flow.
In the case of code, if you give a coder a huge block of code without ANY line breaks
image
…he would faint on-the-spot! :P
Poetry, without line breaks, although readable, loses its form and art.
Code, without line breaks, although functional, loses its ease & becomes a scary block. (Mwahaha)

3. The process of writing them is similar

sculptorAccording to Kenn Nesbitt, from whom I’ve learned a lot during my early poet days, a poet is like a sculptor:
“If you watch a sculptor carve a statue from a block of stone or wood, you will see that they first carve out the rough form. Next, they come back and carve the detail. Finally, they come back and polish it.”
I read this when I was 9, and I can still remember it because it’s an awesome analogy.
And I thought, THAT’s another thing poetry and code have in common—both are like sculpting!

Sculpting

Writing Poems

Coding

1. Carve the rough form.1. Get ideas from brainstorming or being inspired.1. Create the rough template from your idea.
2. Carve the detail.2. Write down the poem.2. Code the code!
3. Polish it.3. Proofread, revise, and improve.3. Improve, add new features, and fix bugs.
On a side note, did you know that Dr. Seuss liked to “polish” poems a lot? I heard he proofread and revised them (usually for a year) until they were perfect before publishing them.

4. They take skill to write

I believe that if you’re passionate about something, you’ll become skillful at it really fast. Code and poetry take skill to write.
In poetry, you select the right words to convey the right feelings. You use an appropriate rhyme scheme and meter for the purpose of impacting the reader. You avoid using adverbs unnecessarily.
(‘Unnecessarily’ is an adverb. Oops!)
In code, it gets more technical: You want to select the right type of code (e.g. PHP, CSS) to fulfill the right purpose. Like unnecessary adverbs, you make sure there are NO UNECESSARY bits. If you use extraspaces, apostrophes, or quotation marks, code’s gonna get ugly buggly.

5. They might seem terrifying at first, but once you learn them, you may like them a lot

Ask any average person if they like poetry, and they’d probably be like, “Poetry! Aaahh [flees].” At least that’s the case with my previous school. Some of my schoolmates were terrified by poetry because it was too hard to decode.
O LEVELS 7A STILLSo a teacher who knew I did poetry asked me to share the fun of poetry with her class.
So I did (photo on the right).
I introduced poetry as a fun art. I even shared with them a poetic recitation of the pop song “Sexy And I Know It” to show them that poetry is more than “boring” Shakespeare poems.
Similarly, most people are terrified by coding, because they don’t understand it, because they are not taught to (sadly). Once you learn code or poetry, you might have just discovered a new passion!
I learned coding when I was 10 years old because I felt that the font size on my tech blog (that I started as a hobby) was too small. I adventured into the WordPress theme editor and landed on the CSS code. Because CSS was easy to understand, I discovered that altering “body {font-size: 10px}” to “14px” makes the text bigger. Yay! I did a little victory dance in my head.
I began to understand code because I broke out of my comfort zone (user-friendly settings) to edit CSS codes.
That’s how I started coding. Now, I am familiar with the “genre” of HTML and CSS, but I have not yet learned PHP. So instead of writing PHP, I carefully copy-paste it. If I wasn’t careful, KABOOM!!—That’sPHP.
*sigh* I wish my school taught PHP, which leads me to my next point…

6. They need to be taught in schools

Poetry and code are both vital subjects in today’s world.
Poetry is a art of the words that creates inspiration, joy, and fun!
Code is also an art of sculpting tech functions to make life easier.
Schools need to teach both of these to empower students to excel:
Check out this video by Code.org, titled “What most schools don’t teach”, which encourages schools to teach Code as a subject.

Poetry and code equip people to CREATE!
…which, again, leads me to my next point. :D

7. They allow you to CREATE amazing stuff!

Poetry lets you to create the most wonderful of stories. Take a look at Dr Seuss and Shel Silverstein. Their stories are so amazing they make you think about how amazing they are! Hahah.
Also, one of the reasons poetry is so amazing and creative (in my opinion) is because it can rhyme. Rhyming is pleasing to the ears, and so is meter. Creating a poem that utilizes rhyme and meter in the best way takes skill and art.
The word choice is also important, to make the readers feel the feeling they are intended to feel!
gates_webCoding, well, it allows you to create the most wonderful of technology! Take a look at Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg. They are responsible for the fact that I can write this blog post and you can read it (unless you’re using a Mac!), and consecutively share it with my friends with several clicks.
As the Dropbox creator, Drew Houston, said in the video above,
To be able to actually come up with an idea and then see it in your hands and then be able to press a button and have it be in millions of people hands, I mean, I think we’re the first generation in the world that’s really ever had that kind of experience. It’s, it’s the closest thing we have to a super power.
In the video, Mark Zuckerberg also added:
Just to think that you can start something in your college dorm room and you can have a set of people who haven’t built a big company before come together and build something that a billion people use as part of their daily lives… It’s crazy to think about, right? It’s really, it’s humbling and it’s amazing.
As you can see from what these two coders said, coding can have phenomenal results. So does poetry.

Try out coding for yourself!

I hope this blog post has inspired some poets to try coding. If you have a website and access to the theme CSS code (most sites/blogs have it), you can start by editing the body font size! The code would look like this:
body {
margin:0;
color:#000;
font:13px tahoma,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;
}
Change “13px” to whatever size you’re comfortable with. And if it works, do a little victory dance!
(The code above is sort of poetic too, don’t you agree?)

Conclusion

So, the conclusion is, code is a sort of poetry, and poetry is a sort of code. I think so, do you?
I don’t know, but come to think of it, code is applied poetry. Just like technology is applied science, code is applied poetry.
Boy, maybe code is poetry in action! Poetry that does action! Maybe!
To find out more about coding, you can visit w3schools or Code.org.
Did I miss any of the things poetry and code have in common? Do you agree or disagree with this blog post? Write your comment below. Thanks for reading!
I met Gloson Teh through the Poetry Friday blogging community and Ed DeCaria's March Madness Poetry Competition. His passion for poetry and nimble mind continue to impress me. Thanks, Gloson, for stopping by and sharing your insights into poetry and code!

Friday, August 24, 2012

Poetry Friday: End of Summer

It's the last weekend of summer at our house. My daughter starts school Monday. My son has spent the last two weeks at his school's band camp -- a summer rite of passage for many teens.

Last year's marching band setting up for their show. They were state champs!
I was looking for a marching band poem and came across this piece about another teen summer rite of passage. It's a loose sort of prose poem/haibun about a local summer fair.

The marching band (and pig's feet, rides, tickets) snakes through the poem, but so does something else: a hint of the town's collective racism.

It's important that this theme isn't front and center in the poem, but woven into its fabric more subtly. The poem is anchored in the voice of a child or teen who doesn't quite see beyond the fair's attractions. Instead of stamping the fair with an opinion, the poet allows the reader to draw his or her own conclusions.

Diorama

By Atsuro Riley
  
  The Blue Hole Summer Fair, set up and spread out like a butterfly pinned down on paper. Twin bright-lit wings, identically shaped (and fenced) and sized.


    This side holds the waffled-tin (and oven-hot) huts of the Home Arts Booths and Contests, the hay-sweet display-cages for the 4-H livestock, the streamer-hung display-stages where girl-beauties twirl and try for queen. There's rosette-luster (and -lusting), and the marching band wearing a hole in Sousa. And (pursed) gaggles and clutches of feather-white neighbor-women, eyeballing us like we're pig's feet in a jar. 
                    I wonder does her boy talk Chinese?

                                      You ever seen that kind of black-headed?

                                                        Blue shine all in it like a crow. 
This other wing (the one I'm back-sneaking, side-slipping, turnstiling into) dips and slopes down to low-lying marsh-mire: whiffs of pluff-mud stink and live gnat-pack poison, carnie-cots and -trailers camped on ooze. They've got (rickety) rides, and tent-shows with stains, and rackety bare-bulbed stalls of Hoop-La Game (RING-A-COKE!) and Rebel Yell and Shoot the Gook Down. Stand here, on this smutch-spot: don't these mirrors show you strange? 
www.howardcountyfair.org
If you are teaching this poem, I'd recommend high school or advanced middle schoolers. There is a lot to dig into in "Diorama," including the meaning of the title. 
It might also be an interesting piece to pair with a novel like Gordon Parks' The Learning Tree or one of Ray Bradbury's pieces set at a small town fair (like Something Wicked this Way Comes.)
When I taught HS, this was one of my favorite novels in our 9th grade curriculum.
We have a great summer fair in Howard County, Maryland, but I haven't gone in many years. There's plenty of color and excitement at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival, which happens each May. 
Enjoy your last days of summer! Be sure to stop by Dori's blog, Dori Reads for more end of summer and back to school poetry. 

Before I sign off, today is our 21st anniversary. Sending gratitude and love to my husband, Rob.


Friday, November 18, 2011

Poetry Friday: Clarinet

It's been a music-filled week at the Shovan house.

Saturday, our son's high school marching band won third place at their national competition. He is a percussionist, currently on vibes.

This is me wearing the band-mom hat I knitted in my son's school colors.

Once a band geek, always a band geek. I was a flautist. Now I'm a band mom.

This week was our daughter's first middle school band concert. She plays clarinet. We've talked a few times about adding a second instrument (sax -- not for her, the deep tone kept making her laugh) but she is devoted to her clarinet.
My daughter spotted this early clarinet at the Smithsonian Museum of American History and pronounced it "weird."
Lately, I've been writing poems about my daughter. The fact that she is in middle school has triggered memories of my days at Dwight D. Eisenhower Middle, but also has me on parental alert as she transitions from 'tween to young adult.

I was looking for a clarinet poem for her and found one by Terrance Hayes. I don't think she's ready for this poem yet. It's a  very gentle love poem, but more suited for the teen side of 'tween. Teachers -- I'd recommend this poem for eighth grade and up.


All of these instruments are in the clarinet family. My daughter plays the "traditional" B flat clarinet.


Clarinet

by Terrance Hayes


I am sometimes the clarinet
your parents bought
your first year in band,
my whole body alive
in your fingers, my one ear
warmed by the music
you breathe into it.
I hear your shy laugh
among the girls at practice.
I am not your small wrist
rising & falling as you turn
the sheet music,
but I want to be.
Or pinky bone, clavicle.
When you walk home   
from school, birds call
to you in a language
only clarinets decipher. 
Read the rest at Poetry Foundation.

Hayes visited our area last month. He is a powerful poet (National Book Award winner) and a great speaker. I love the metaphor at work in "Clarinet." It is never spoken, but the clarinet and its music are deeply loved by the girl in the poem. It's soul love. The speaker's hint of sexual love is quiet -- the girl in the poem isn't there yet.

Fellow PF blogger Tabatha Yeatts (The Opposite of Indifference) and I  had a long talk about our kids and music over lunch recently. Kids who are musicians associate strongly with their chosen instruments. It's part of who they are and can define how they see themselves.

If I tell you that my son is a percussionist, my daughter a clarinetist and Tabatha's daughter is a French horn player, you begin to form an image of each child. Interesting. 
Musicians out there, what do you think about  how choice of instrument can define a person? Why did Hayes choose a clarinetist for this poem -- rather than a girl who plays the trombone?

This week's Poetry Friday host is Tabatha herself. But before you check out more poetry, check out this musical "Clarinet Poem."

Friday, January 7, 2011

Poetry Friday: Endings and Beginnings

It's the first Poetry Friday of 2011 -- Happy New Year!

This year will mark many endings and beginnings for my family. Both of our children are transitioning at school. My son is deciding which high school to attend. My daughter knows all too well (from observing her brother) that middle school means big changes for her.

I am starting a new job -- really a new spoke on the wheel of my writing life.

The ending for me is that the central-Maryland-based art and literary journal, Little Patuxent Review, is losing its longtime editor, Michael Clark. For years, Michael has long distance edited from Singapore, where he's just been made head of the Singapore American School's English department. Michael is an amazing editor and I am thankful to him for being a supporter of my work.

But this is also a beginning. The folks at LPR asked me to step in as editor, beginning with the Summer 2011 issue. Being welcomed into the LPR family -- the journal is community based and operates as a collective of creative minds -- has been a humbling and joyful experience.

I asked Michael to share a poem of his own, one appropriate for the high school classroom. "The Daily Grind" reminds me of the fears and anxieties teens have about adult life.

As they transition out of high school, choosing what they will do next is, for many, the first time they consciously make a decision that has long term implications for their lives. They are facing a strange combination of I'll-conquer-the-world excitement and the fear that they will fall into a bland life, "Back to the thumbtacked cube. Back to sleep... Usher in the New Year, numb."

I hope you'll share this poem with your older teens. It would make a good jumping off point for a discussion about their hopes for the future. Consider pairing "The Daily Grind" with Mary Oliver's "The Summer Day" for a contrasting point of view.

The Daily Grind

by Michael R. Clark


Suddenly it’s June, or Thursday,
And all to snatches of an old tune
About possible pasts the creek’s trickled
By. How many times have been the last --
Or no more -- or never again -- the fear
That one’s life is being portrayed on television.
But there’s no muscle there. Just skeletal scripts.
Transgressing the unwritten. Driving on the spare.
That’s all just dead people laughing, whatever
You hear. The spent bulb’s sugared with dust,
The tiny clink of the broken filament
Like the struggle of a cricket in a steel sink
Way past the end of summer.
Who decides if your heart will break or bend?
Yesterday’s puddles glazed with subzero ice.
The mind boggles. The windshield’s befuddled.
Trembling in the rearview: all the old selves.
The old loves. Where’s this highway lead to?
Back to the thumbtacked cube. Back to sleep.
Wool-pulling. Usher in the New Year, numb.
Don’t you sell me what’s cruellest.
I’ll shop for it. A footprint. An eggshell.
The median’s littered with bolts and shoes.
Thirteen steps from curb to door. In the hedge, a titter.
The bulldozer idles at the cemetery’s verge:
Matrimony. Matriculation. Rehearsals. Recitals.
The stub’s worn slippery tip dangles on its string.
Requesting the honour. Unseen in the periphery
We’re blowing past the exit. A blasphemous hour
Poorly spent. Boards clap and walk; the last
Hangs like an uprooted tooth. In the dark ward,
Erosion has worked its slow undoing. Rubbery shoots
Weren’t there yesterday: ideas were their souls.
Even the ivories can’t signal what it means to play.
The locomotive press of the Labrador’s pant
Chugs across the hardwood. Is this the address?
No one by that name. Paper cut. Please. Forward.
A town where every intersection looks the same
But the circle you follow is never quite there—
A tectonic drift of asphalt and paint. Sprawl and swallow.
Deaf to the motor’s roar, the muffler’s drag, see the fault
Split the glass like a Cheshire grin, the crumby floor,
Until: a nylon blur, a vinyl plaster, Bond-o, rusty fissure.
Valuable advertising minutes. Pinched arteries. Disaster.
Grainy video tic. Flashbulbs at the finish.
Yap and chatter—reality, every day, more idiotic.
Stranded on the cell, sweep of lights, a flat:
The tire iron dead and heavy. Just keep
On driving. The salt and sand grind. Ahead,
Is that sunlight’s Monet smear on the asphalt?
Don’t look: suddenly it’s June. Or Thursday.

Posted with permission of the author.

Thanks to Irene at Live. Love. Explore! for hosting the Poetry Friday party today.