Poetry Friday: Songwriting with Mary Amato

I met author Mary Amato through SCBWI. She was speaking at a local conference and the two of us discovered we have a common love of poetry.

Her Riot Brothers series -- a kinder, gentler read for kids who love the humor in Captain Underpants -- soon became one of my children's favorites.

 

We also love two of her other books that include poetry, Please Write in This Book and Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook. (Read my interview with Mary about Edgar Allan  here. With a main character named for Edgar Allan Poe, you won't be surprised to learn that Mary is a Marylander.)

 

In addition to being an author, Mary is a talented musician and singer-songwriter. She has melded all of these skills into a new YA novel, Guitar Notes.

Mary conducting a song-writing
workshop with young authors.

I am thrilled to welcome Mary Amato to Author Amok! Take it away, Mary...

 

Ever since my 8^th grade English teacher did a unit on lyrics as poetry, I’ve been writing songs. My newest book, Guitar Notes, is about the power of songwriting and includes eight original songs.

 

Because poems often live on the page, readers can go back and read the poem a second or a third time, slowly adding a deeper and deeper understanding of the poem. A song is meant to live in the aural world and so, I believe, the poetry of the lyrics has to be more immediately graspable. The first line is like the doorway into the song; you want it to open easily. If your listener gets stuck on the threshold, then he or she will miss what’s coming next.

 

Let me share an example of how I got this wrong…and then how I corrected it with one of the songs from Guitar Notes.

 

Getaway is a song that the characters Lyla and Tripp write after they have this amazing night together delivering a stolen surprise on someone’s doorstep. They’re delivering something that they have stolen, but they’re not bad kids; they’re actually doing a good deed, in a way, and it’s very funny. (You have to read the book!) In the scene, snow begins to fall, so I used that as my inspiration for the first line of the first stanza:

 

Steal the snow out of the sky.

I’ll be Bonnie you be Clyde.

Steal a joke and let it fly, let it fly.

 

After singing the song for a while, I realized that my doorway into the song was interesting but not very clear. The second line really was a stronger way to begin the song.

 

I’ll be Bonnie you be Clyde.

Steal the snow out of the sky.

Steal a joke and let it fly, let it fly.

 

The second line sets up the fact that the song is about these two people, a boy and a girl, who are playing at being thieves; but right away with the next line you understand that the focus is on the “play”…they’re not robbing a bank, they’re stealing the snow out of the sky. Works much better.  

 

Take a look at your first lines and ask yourself if they provide what the reader/listener needs to enter in to the experience of the poem/song.

 

I have posted a behind-the-scenes explanation of the song's full revision on the book's website. Read more about GUITAR NOTES and the power of music at http://thrumsociety.com/

 

Thank you for guest blogging today, Mary! Folks, you can find classroom and discussion materials for Guitar Notes here.

 

Today's Poetry Friday blog roll is at Ed's place, Think Kid, Think!
 

 

Amok in Song Parodies

Merry Poetry Friday! One of my favorite poetry activities -- the one I do with my own kids -- is making up song parodies. It's silly fun, but spoofing familiar songs is a great (unappreciated!) way for children to work on word-rhythms and rhyme. NinjaGirl and I made up a parody this week called, "We Wish it Was a 'Winter Wonderland.'" In Baltimore it isn't snowing. It's so warm, the grass is growing. We sing a sad song to pass the day along. We wish it was a winter wonderland. In the morn, the roads were icy, so we drank cider, hot and spicy. But now skies are blue. Oh, what can we do? We wish it was a winter wonderland. There's no chance that we will build a snowman. We can't skate on an unfrozen lake. So we'll stay in and bake a lot of cookies and eat them all up over winter break. When Santa comes, we'll be dreaming of sugar plums that we'll be eating. The reindeer will fly through clear, starry skies. We don't need a winter wonderland. Other parodies famous to our household..."London Bridge is falling down on my foot. Ouch, that hurts. London Bridge is falling down. Someone help me." Also from DJRobMan's Suzuki lesson days, "Don't Tell Aunt Rhody" (trust me, our bad news & Aunt Rhody's temper = disaster). And one of NinjaGirl's piano tunes, "Down in the Valley," with new lyrics: Down in the valley, valley so low, I lost my sweetheart in the deep snow. His nose was frozen. His feet were numb. He had no jacket. Boy was he dumb. Happy holidays to all you song spoofers out there! I'm sure there's more traditional poetry at our Poetry Friday round-up, hosted today at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Welcome, Poetry Friday!

I'm welcoming winter with an original poem. An Absolute Vista Our six year old climbed a snow bank at the back door to walk and meet his father. The snow was too deep. White erased everything – fences, sandbox. Ground was something to imagine. Why would he go? His weight was too sleight to puncture the icy crust with his boots. Our son floated on the surface, a dark form crawling away from the house. Midway he stopped. No one near but the wind, racing. My husband left off sweeping pear branches, strode deeply toward our child, and lifted him off that shifting surface. One body, they turned for home, each step sinking to the good, solid ground. I wrote this poem – about the blizzard of 2003 -- in response to William Stafford’s, “With Kit, Age 7, At the Beach.” His poem is set during a different kind of storm.

The rawness of Stafford's landscape gets at the elemental nature of being a parent. That’s how his poem reminded me of my son stranded in all that white (the kid is standing full height in this photo). We had 40 inches, the worst recorded snowfall in Baltimore.

You can hear Stafford read his poem here: Contribute winter welcome poems, warm weather wishes, Hanukkah book reviews, holiday verse, bah-humbugs (“ha-bumbugs!” if you’re a Runny Babbit fan), or anything else you’d like to share. Please leave a comment with a link. I’ll be rounding up throughout the day. Winter Welcomes Liz in Ink has “Picture Books in Winter” by Robert Louis Stevenson. Stacey from Two Writing Teachers has Billy Collins Poem, "Snow Day." Collins' poem is a popular one today. You'll also find it at Karen E's blog and at Shelf Elf. Check all these blogs out to get three different views of the poem. You’ll find some icy concrete poems by Heidi Roemer at Laura Salas’ blog. Those of us traveling during the holidays will want to take some of the poems from her “15 Words or Less” blog along for the ride. If you're travelling with little ones, Lorie Ann at Reader Totz shares "Horsey Horsey" for the ride. Sara at Read, Write, Believe is brightening the longest night of the year with Aretha Franklin's A Deeper Love. Fiddler at a Habit of Reading is also thinking about the solstice with a poem by Susan Cooper. And "my first ever holiday-themed original poem in the blogging world." Ruth is sharing a traditional Christmas Carol today: Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Another traditional carol from Kelly Fineman, who's posting Greensleeves. And another holiday rocker, Karen E. has Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town." She says, “My six-yr. old loves it. :-)” Bruce is from Jersey – what’s not to like? Little Willow also wants us to get up off that cozy couch by the fire and onto the dance floor. Visit Bildungsroman: Poetry Friday: Dare You to Move by Switchfoot If dancing doesn’t warm you up enough, learn to be a “Rock Star Reader” at Just One More Book. At Write Time, Linda's holiday post is a must-view for cat lovers. Jennifer at Ink for Lit opened an early holiday gift, Gardener's Magnetic Poetry. The resulting found poem is here. 7-Imp is in with "Sonnet in the Shape of a Christmas Tree" by George Starbuck. At Wild Rose Reader, Elaine offers us an original poem about her grandmother making Christmas babka. At Blue Rose Girl, she has a link to George Bush's Nightmare before Christmas. Elaine says, "In the video, an actor impersonating Bush recites a parody of Clement Moore's classic holiday poem." Tiel Aisha Ansari says, "I also have a winter-inspired original: December Idyll." It's a lovely sensory poem. Nadine at Kiddos and Books has Alvin Tresselt's opening poem from Caldecott Winner "White Snow Bright Snow." At Miss Rumphius Effect, Tricia is reading Douglas Florian’s Winter Hues with her family. Kurious Kitty has poetry in the news -- W.S. Merwin's interview on Fresh Air and his winter poem, “The Cold Before Moonrise.” She asks us to visit her quote blog also. Kelly has an original snowy poem with a sad ending (if you're a kid hoping for a Snow Day). And an original winter haiku (very cute -- you've gotta love the word "sashay") from Lorie Ann Grover at her site. Scrub-a-Dub-Tub has a great post about the joys of reading "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." Seems there are as many poets writing Christmas poems as singers who do holiday CDs. Kevin Conder brings us "Old Angel Midnight" by Jack Kerouac and "Christmas Night" by Conrad Hilberry. Tributes & Celebrations Yat-Yee Chong has a beautiful poem about marriage by Arthur Conan Doyle. She is celebrating her own 20th wedding anniversary. At The Drift Record, Julie’s celebrating a wedding anniversary, too, with a spicy original poem. HipWriterMama is celebrating her blogiversary with Incantation by Czeslaw Milosz. Carol's Corner has a tribute to her wonderful 10-year-old student poets and some of their original poems -- many with winter themes. David Elzey’s tribute to a high school friend ends with a parody of Frost’s “Stopping by Woods.” Everything Else Mary Lee has news this morning, a post about the announcement of the inaugural poet. So you didn't get invited to be the inaugural poet, and you're wondering: "How Do You Know You're A Poet?" There's an answer at the Write Sisters. Sylvia Vardell at Poetry for Children has news about poet Helen Frost receiving an NEA Fellowship. jama at Alphabet Soup is ruminating about Kenneth Koch’s, "You Want a Social Life, With Friends" and the stresses of a writing life. I hear that! Stenhouse author Jeff Anderson is also thinking about a balanced life with "You Can't Have It All" by Barbara Ras. RM1(SS) says, “I'm in with an assortment of silly stuff” – all recommendations for his daughter’s poetry memorization assignment. Florian Café posted one of my favorites, Allen Ginsberg’s "A Supermarket in California." At What Adrienne Thinks about you'll find Marvin Bell's "I Didn't Sleep." Sarah Reinhard has a religious themed haiku. Still trying to find the perfect gift? If you have a writer on your list, check out how meaningful a pencil can be with Lisa Chellman's original poem, "Sharpen Your Pencil." My buddy Tabatha Yeatts bring us the real meaning of "Giving," with a poem by Khalil Gibran. Jill Corcoran wrote, "In these tough economic times and frigid cold weather I bring hope and warmth together with Langston Hughes' uplifting words." His poem, "Dreams," is a wonderful way to end our holiday Poetry Friday. I'm finally home from school parties, wrestling practice, and a friend's Hanukkah service. Time to relax with some hot chocolate and poetry. Thanks for the poems,everyone, wintry and otherwise. P.S. There was so much snow in ’03, we were inspired to make Snow Ice Cream. I’ll post the recipe tomorrow. It’s fun to make with kids.

Poetry Rocks! On Poetry Friday

I had to take a photo of these folders. They belong to two third grade boys at Norwood Elementary, where I just finished a long poetry residency. (They thought I was a little strange, taking a picture of their folders.) So much excitement about poetry! It’s infectious. I caught the bug. Here’s my original poem: Poetry Rocks

Norwood Elementary, Fall 2008 Poetry rocks. It is a blast! Short bumpy lines make my heart beat fast like a basketball thump, thump, thumping. Words pivot, pass, I hear them jumping. Poetry rocks me back to calm, Tells a story, sings me a sad song. When long lines linger like a lullaby, poetry floats. It’s a butterfly. Laura Shovan

I couldn’t decide whether to stick with the butterfly (which does float on air) or to put a dragonfly in the last line. More of a hoverer, but also more suggestive. What do you think?

Writing Exercise: Poetry Rocks!

Recommended Ages: All

Does poetry rock you like a hurricane or rock you to sleep? Tell us in a poem what power poetry has over you. Bonus for similes!

It's Poetry Friday. Rock out with more poetry at Wild Rose Reader, our host for the week.

I'm hosting next week -- see you then!

Amok in Third Grade, Day 4

Animal Similes

When I announce that we are writing animal poems, the crowd goes wild.

This poem came to me through the New York City Transit’s Poetry in Motion program. What could be better than reading this during your subway ride:

Hedgehog

He ambles along like a walking pin cushion,

Stops and curls up like a chestnut burr.

He's not worried because he's so little.

Nobody is going to slap him around.

Chu Chen Po (9th century)

Translated from Chinese by Kenneth Rexroth

The lesson:

We warm up with a Zen drawing exercise. Sounds fancy, but it’s simple and serves several purposes.

Each student has a piece of paper and a crayon or marker. The task is to draw an object (their own hands) in one continuous line – no picking up the marker once they start. To turn off that “inner critic,” we draw without looking at the paper. That’s hard! Everyone wants to peek.

The drawing isn’t the important thing here. We end up with squiggles, bumps, scribbles. But when I write on the board, “It looks like…” everyone gets excited. Suddenly, our scribbles look like camels, turtles, baseball mitts, coral, cacti, ghosts.

The purposes of this warm up: turning off the inner critic, using art intelligence (if you’re into MI), and using simile.

We compare seeing shapes in our drawings to seeing shapes in the clouds. 

The kids start to understand that making similes is something they already do. Comparing things, even when they aren’t really the same (my hand is nothing like moose antlers), helps us make sense of the world.

On to the poem. Before we read, we share what the students know about hedgehogs.

Then we read and draw out the similes. I bring my pin cushion for those kids who don’t have one at home. It’s easy to see why “a walking pin cushion” is a good simile for a hedgehog. I’ve also got a little jar of sweet gum burrs, which we use in place of the chestnuts in the poem. These, I pass around for tactile learners. These items are prickly, round and small. The burrs are brown like a hedgehog.

We also talk about the third line. The poet (1200 years ago!) compared a hedgehog to a type of person. I ask, “Do any of you know someone like this? A kid who might be small, but no one picks on her because she knows how to stand up for herself.” Many hands go up.

The last line – there’s so much to talk about in this little poem – we focus on the word “slap.” I ask students to hold up a hitting hand. Most of them make fists. We imagine how it would feel to hit a hedgehog. Ouch.

But the poet used the specific word “slap” on purpose. We open our hands like a slap and I watch the faces change. Students wince and say “ooowww.” The poet wanted us to imagine what those spikes touching our sensitive palms would feel like. It would hurt!

Next post: Animal Simile Writing Exercise

Overstimulated at 11

My Baltimore's Child article is filed (look for it in the January issue -- "What's in Your Parenting Toolbox).

I've read all of my students' opposites poems (about 90 third graders) and given them feedback. Hope to post the lesson, a model poem by Elizabeth Coatsworth and a class sample tomorrow.

DJRobman had his first middle school research project disaster tonight. Missed wrestling practice. Still working on "spy satellites" at 11:30 PM. Ugh.

Time for bed. No time to work on Archieology today. So -- Amok in parenting, check. Teaching, check. Writing...maybe tomorrow.

Amok in Third Grade

This is why I love teaching poetry...

Yesterday, I was working with a third grade in Dundalk, Maryland. We were writing "Grow/Shrink Poems."

My model poem for this lesson is Stephanie Izarek's deceptively simple, "Under the Sky Is." The poem begins in the great big sky. In a few short lines Izarek takes us to a place where things are so small, "we can never see" them. You can read the poem here: http://www2.scholastic.com/browse/article.jsp?id=1558

It's a wonderful first day poem. Kids love the repetition (each object in the model poem is "under" the object from the previous line). Their job is to start with a big object (the sky) and end somewhere small. Or, they can begin small (a seed) and grow the poem (outer space). Even first graders can use language and ideas creatively with a structured form like this.

One boy sitting in front was stuck. No ideas. I asked, "What are you interested in?" Shrug. "What do you like to do after school?" Shrug. "Do you know if you want to grow or shrink?" Shrug.

I noticed he was fiddling with a small, round magnet, about the size of a washer. I asked him, "Can we start with your magnet?" No shrug! A glimmer of hope.

"What do you see around you that the magnet could attract? Start small." He looked around the classroom (a trailer).

A desk, he told me. I scribed. A blackboard. Then, "The City of Gold."

Wow. Did I just witness a huge leap of the imagination? Okay, he was inspired by the second "National Treasure" movie. But how did we get from a blackboard to a city of gold? Amazing.

The reluctant poet proudly volunteered to read his work to the class at the end of the lesson!

Poe-etry Writing Exercise

"From childhood's hour" what has been the demon in your view?

Okay, maybe you're a convert to "The Secret," or you were always a glass-half-full type of person. But I agree with Edgar Allan Poe. In childhood, we establish a point of view that's basically positive, negative or neutral, generally happy or sad.

In response to Poe's poem, "Alone," tell about the person or event that shaped your childhood point of view. Or, like Poe, create a metaphor that describes what haunted or encouraged you as a child.

Here is a triolet I wrote several years ago. In my mind, it touches on this subject -- even though the poem doesn't reveal the "demon."

Triolet: A Visit to the Doctor of Herbal Medicine She says, “You have the sadness in you.” She can see it in my dry, cracked hands. My skin is raw with sorrow, it is true what she says. “You have the sadness in you.” How can I hide it? Absence dries me through -- heart to knuckle-bones, I’m marked by its brands. She says, “You have the sadness in you.” She can see it in my dry, cracked hands. Published at Poets Online, Winter 2000

Want to know more about the triolet form? There's a good article here: http://www.webexhibits.org/poetry/explore_obscure_triolet_make.html

It's Poetry Friday!

It’s been three weeks since the Dodge Poetry Festival. But I’m not ready to leave the spirit of the festival behind yet. Here’s one last interview.

Today and tomorrow, we’re visiting with Khalil Murrell, Poetry-in-the-Schools Assistant at the Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation’s Poetry Program. Khalil is a former high school teacher, now in his second year at Sarah Lawrence College’s well-respected creative writing program.

Khalil works on outreach – bringing Dodge’s poetry programs to struggling school districts in New Jersey, where the Foundation is based.

AA: Khalil, how did you become involved with the Dodge Poetry Program?

KM: Years ago, I taught secondary English in Philadelphia, during which time my colleague asked me to help bring a group of students from our school to the 2004 Dodge Poetry Festival. Needless to say, it was the muddiest experience I have ever had!

(Photo: Khalil Murrell, left. Poetry Assistant Michael Z Murphy, right.)

But it was not only great to see so many prominent names – i.e., Sandra Cisneros and Lucille Clifton -- but also poets whom I had recently seen on Def Poetry Jam, such as Marty McConnell and Roger Bonair Agard. And our students enjoyed themselves immensely, even helped to push our bus out of the muddy ditches. [One of the parking areas at the 2004 festival was called "Mud Lake." It lived up to its name.]

AA: What is it like working for the Poetry Program?

KB: Working here [at the Dodge Foundation] has surrounded me with writers in a way I never imagined. The camaraderie itself has affected my work and my drive to write. There are also tons of books of poetry all over our office, so I have access to a huge library and I’m reading poets now that I would not have considered otherwise.

AA: Readers, I was a festival assistant in 1996 and 1998. Working with festival organizer Jim Haba (left) was surreal. It looked and felt like a typical office most of the time, but one minute you’d be doing data entry and the next Jim Haba would be saying something profound and poetic. What a great job!

Khalil, can you describe the festival’s Student Day?

KB: At full capacity, the Concert Tent holds a little under 2,000 seats, and to see it filled with over a thousand young faces hungry for poetry makes you speechless.

We all hear stories about the non-attentiveness encouraged by our quick-paced society. So many poets ran up to me joyous about the striking and prolonged connections they had made with students during their Poets on Poetry sessions or in their individual readings.

Tomorrow, Khalil tells us how Dodge is reaching out to New Jersey's big city schools in need.

Visit Becky's Book Reviews for more Poetry Friday offerings: http://blbooks.blogspot.com/2008/10/poetry-friday-round-up.html

Amok Behind the Scenes at the Dodge Festival II

It's the thrilling conclusion of my interview with Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival Assistant, Michael Z Murphy.

AA: Tell us about some of the poets you’ve met. I’m interested in authors whose personalities “fit” what we see in their poetry – either its tone or subject matter. Maybe people who don’t fit their poetic personas would be more interesting. You decide! MZM: Meeting poets after you know their work is always intriguing because you never know what you are going to get. Mark Doty (pictured right at a 2008 Dodge Festival panel) exudes the intelligence and humanity of his work, but his surprise is a drollness I do not see in his work. Edward Hirsch is surprisingly hysterical. He totally caught me off guard. Gerald Stern [AA: one of my favorites] still has the energy of a 20-year-old.

Lucille Clifton (pictured left) [AA: a Howard County, MD local and another fave], the only poet to attend every single Festival, is a total charmer. After meeting her, I was better able to see the sly humor in her work. All of these poets relate to the high schoolers as though they were old buddies. AA: The Dodge Poetry Festival has been compared to a rock concert or music festival. What is it about Dodge that invites the comparison? MZM: The beautiful outdoor setting is certainly one contributing factor. And there is music throughout the festival which comes as a surprise to many people.

A concert is a focused event because attendees are, for the most part, fans of the musicians. It is no different for poetry. Those who avoid it, and suffer for the loss, don’t attend. Those who love the stuff, come to hear the stuff, and they know that every other person they pass on the winding trails to various performance spaces also loves the stuff. It does a body good. In addition to being a Festival Assistant for Dodge and a communications professor at New Jersey's Union County College, Michael is a wonderful poet. He’s sharing a recent narrative poem about a childhood experience. The title says it all…but look for Michael’s use of detail to anchor us in elementary school. SHOW ‘N TELL DISASTER By Michael Z Murphy My hands held the smell of death One shouldn’t do what one shouldn’t do They were robin’s eggs in the nest Prettier and smaller than the pictures The color as delightful as Lady’s Collar and leash—robin’s egg blue Patent leather with rhinestones Not so many though as to be tasteless I held one up to the light Still it was opaque As I turned it between Thumb and forefinger A sickening sounds and goo This death burned me I replaced the disaster I returned to my seat I do not like the smell of death No amount of finger rubbing on creased School pants could rub out death’s smell Enough so my chest would not seem to crack I could not hear about borrowing From the tens column--the merry semicolon Never existed—Johnny Tremaine moved on Without me—the boy with death on his fingers Cramping began at once Within the hour I leaned over And barfed cheerios and milk All over creation Children slide back Mr. Wilson said without missing a beat Young Man, to the boys’ room fast Fred, here is a pass—ask Mr. Byrd To please come here quickly I returned to class ashen and still Stinking of death so strongly That even Mr. Byrd’s pine mop water Could not overwhelm death’s perfume As he walked out Mr. Wilson asked What else happens on Friday I knew the answer: Friday is when I murder

Michael Z Murphy, thanks for visiting! I'll say goodbye with a virtual hug.

Writing Exercise: Billy Collins

Recommended for all ages. During Friday's Poetry Sampler, Billy Collins read a poem about an exhibit of Greek and Roman statuary. There is a long tradition in poetry of writing in response to art. It's sometimes called "ekphrastic" poetry. But Collins' focus wasn't the art itself. It was the missing parts. In this case, limbs, noses, eyes that --over time -- have changed the piece of art. Let's write about a beloved object -- something you own or a famous work of art -- which we know has been broken or damaged. How does the damage change your view of and feelings about the object? Fiction writers, this is a character sketch exercise. If one of your characters breaks or loses something important, how does he or she react?

Amok at the Dodge Poetry Festival: Friday's Poetry Sampler Part I

There are pockets of down-time at the poetry festival. Thousands of people attend, yet you bump into friends, acquaintances, school buddies. On my way to the Poetry Sampler, I found author Lisa Greenberg. We know each other through our regional SCBWI list-serv, but had never met before. Lisa and I shared a grilled veggie wrap (delish). She told me about her work, writing children’s fiction and non-fiction about the Middle East. For about 30 years, she has lived much of the year in Saudi Arabia. We were serenaded by the musical troupe Yarina. They’ve been part of the festival for years, dance-walking throughout Waterloo Village playing panpipe, guitar and drum. The group plays indigenous music from Ecuador (http://www.yarinamusic.com/). I picked up an Ecuadoran percussion instrument -- a beautifully decorated gourd with beans or pebbles inside -- for my 11-year-old drummer at home. Made a stop at the Borders tent. More on that later. Then it was on to the big tent/main stage for a two hour poetry sampler. 21 big names – each reading 1-3 poems. Alphabetical order. The sampler started with a bang. Poet/novelist Chris Abani read a poem about being beaten in his native Nigeria, where he is considered a political dissident. He’s now teaching at University of California at Riverside. Abani was funny, gracious, and powerful. The poem was deceptively simple: Reflexology Beatings: To the top of the head Elicit and idiot’s smile. To the ears and nape Affect your balance, Tipping you dangerously close to insanity. You can find the rest of the poem in the Dodge Festival Teacher Packet or Abani’s book “Kalakuta Republic.” His website is http://www.chrisabani.com/ Another discovery for me was Mexican poet Coral Bracho. She and her translator read a beautiful, sensory list poem describing water. Billy Collins had a response poem to an exhibit of Greek and Roman Statuary at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It focused on the absurdity of the lost limbs, noses, heads. I’ve heard Mark Doty read, “Messiah,” before. It’s a wonderful narrative poem about the power of art (Handel’s Messiah) to elevate us and create a sense of community. I love Doty’s reading style. His ennunciation makes every single word count, and builds the sense of story in this poem. We were about halfway through the sampler – that’s when the rain started pouring. This is the view from inside the tent. Coming up: Friday's Poetry Sampler Part II Jane Hirshfield, Ted Kooser, Linda Pastan and more

Writing Exercise: Joy Harjo

Recommended for advanced middle school and up.

At the Dodge Poetry Festival, Joy Harjo talked about the difference between everyday language ("Please pass the salt") and sacred langauge. That got me thinking about everyday language. Is it really that ordinary?

This is a listening exercise as much as it is for writing. Plan to spend one day walking around with a notepad or tape recorder. Keep a record -- best you can -- of the words you say and the words you hear. You might make two columns: "everyday words," "surprising/sacred words."

Poets -- you can go all Dr. Seuss (Cat in the Hat) and write a poem using only the words in your columns or on your tape.

Fiction writers -- this is an exercise in dialogue. Did someone use a word that surprised you because it was out of character? Did he/she say a word that no one else you know would use?

My surprise today (now that Harjo tuned my ears to everyday/sacred words) -- my 8-year-old daughter used the word "vortex." As in, "That black cloud up ahead is like a vortex pulling us in."

Amok at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival: II

This was the view on the way to the Dodge Poetry Festival last weekend: There's a reason it's called "driving rain"... Where is the rain driving us? Round the bend. Crazy. Over the hills and through the woods. To an early grave. What is the rain driving? Blue P.T. Cruiser, droplets on fresh wax. Gray VW bug, fat as a raindrop, smooth as sharkskin. How does the rain hold the steering wheel? Press the gas, hit the brakes, turn on its windshield wipers? Can rain see through the rain? Does the rain drive with the radio on? Does it get a rush every time a rock station plays "Riders on the Storm?" How bad does the rain have to be before rain pulls over, turns off the engine, waits until it can bear the sound of its own pounding heart. I parked in a muddy field about a ten minute walk from Waterloo Village. By 10:30 AM -- despite the rain -- the main lots were full. It was Teacher Day. I headed to the registration tent for my free (whoopee!) teacher admission bracelet and free (double whoopee!) Teacher Packet. The packet is one of the amazing ways Dodge supports poetry in the schools. It's filled with poems -- a double sided page for each poet at the festival. These are intended for the high school classroom. We also get a few pages of teaching ideas. The Sawmill I checked my program on the fly and set out for the Sawmill Tent & Joy Harjo, whose work I've long admired. (I read her beautiful "Eagle Poem" at Jason & Bethany's wedding.) Harjo calls herself a reluctant poet. She wanted to be an artist, but her love of music and her mother's songwriting drew her to poetry. You can hear those elements in Harjo's poems. She uses chant, repetition, animal totems and Native American stories in her poetry. Her work is often sensory, like the poem she read, "It's Raining in Honolulu." It begins, "There is a small mist at the brow of the mountain,/each leaf of flower, of taro, tree and bush shivers with ecstasy." The rest of the poem is here: http://www.poetrymagazine.com/archives/2003/March03/harjo.htm Harjo, who wore a black cowboy hat and henna decorations on her right hand, remembered reading Emily Dickinson and Louis Untermeyer's "Poetry for Children" as a child. One of four siblings, she tucked herself into a closet to find a quiet place to read and draw. A member of the Mvskoko/Creek Nation, she was sent to "Indian" school and experienced discrimination there even as Native American culture was beginning to earn respect in the U.S. She told us about her adventures canoeing on the Pacific Ocean. The experience has taught her to listen to the "Wise Self" -- the inner voice that warns you about danger. Harjo is working on a play about a woman who ignores her Wise Self. The main character, Red Bird, leaves her family to take up with the wrong guy. The sections Harjo read from the play were powerful -- particularly how spouses can shift from love to a pattern of abuse. The play premieres in March (NYC?) A teacher in the audience asked how students can connect with the mythological/ancestral family stories in their writing. This would help them learn about themselves. Harjo recommended music (which has ancestral roots) or a symbolic image (an animal) that takes students beyond everyday language. Take a look at the puddle outside the Sawmill Tent. I felt awful for the people in flip-flops. BTW: Joy Harjo is reading in Howard County, MD this weekend, 10/5/08. Info is at http://www.hocopolitso.org/. Look for her children's book, "The Good Luck Cat." She has another one for kids coming out soon, "Poem for a Girl Becoming." Next up: Friday's Poetry Sampler with Jane Hirshfield, Edward Hirsch, Sharon Olds, Naomi Shihab Nye, Ted Kooser, Linda Pastan, Mark Doty and more.

Amok at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival: I

Dodge expected 5,000 high schoolers from around the country at this year’s Student Day.

The energy on Student Day (Thursday -- it’s free for preregistered students and teachers) is crazy. 5,000 creative, lit mag geeks, song-writers, book worms, would-be graphic novelists gathered up with teens just like them.

Meeting the Heroes of Poetry for the first time: Sharon Olds, Billy Collins, Charles Simic, Lucille Clifton. It’s like getting a tour of the Poetic Super Friends’ Hall of Literary Justice. Sometimes it feels like the big green tent over the main stage is going to levitate.

I missed Student Day this year. My friend, poet and teacher Michael Z Murphy, is a Festival Assistant. He’s going to fill us in as soon as he dries his clothes – it rained all four festival days. To whet your appetite…

I was a high school senior in October, 1986. My wild, weird creative writing teacher took us on a field trip to the very first Dodge Poetry Festival. I still have my journal.

Here’s what 17-year-old me wrote as I was listening to the poets (two found poems?):

notes on sonia sanchez tie up your thoughts, subject with what’s going on real business, honesty and truth can’t bring dishonesty into poetry (white horse in background) perfume around america – east coast subtle racism day is not real…waking up dark and going into light extra words thrown in also etcetera whatever you know notes on galway kinnell in a country church “the spinning girl” feeling liquid the naked fat girl use of size to describe poe, whitman & emily dickinson understanding your subject fully within self on feeling small mortal acts and mortal words things you know no pure description And stuck between some love angst about my boyfriend (now husband), I found this: “the festival was brilliant. I adore sonia sanchez and a dozen other new names who are more than names to me. it’s as if their faces were magic wands that immediately brought me upward.”

It’s 22-years later. I woke up at 4:30 AM Friday to make the rainy, four-hour drive to Stanhope, NJ. I was listening to Joy Harjo read by 10:30. Worth it? Harjo had my answer. She said, “Each sound makes a path back to the place of origin.”

More from my place of origin – northern NJ/physical birthplace, Dodge Festival/poetic birthplace – tomorrow.

Poet Joy Harjo’s blog: http://www.joyharjo.com/news/ Website: http://www.joyharjo.com/

Here’s a taste of Harjo's wonderful chant/poem: “She Had Some Horses.”

She had some horses. She had horses who were bodies of sand.

She had horses who were maps drawn of blood.

She had horses who were skins of ocean water.

She had horses who were the blue air of sky.

She had horses who were fur and teeth.

Read the rest of the poem here: http://www.renaissanceindian.com/Joy%20Harjo.asp

Kids’ Lit friends – Harjo has a children’s book coming out soon. “Poems for a Girl Becoming”

Amok in Poetry II

Hooray for Poetry Friday! I am hosting Poetry Friday next week, 9/19. Check back on Thursday for a preview and late Friday for the round up. It’s countdown to the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival in New Jersey next weekend. You’ll find this year’s lineup at the festival website http://www.dodgepoetry.org/. In 2004, a performance artist shared the stage with the festival poets. Over the four-day festival, Benjamin Bagby sang all of Beowulf. In Old English. If you’re contemplating a yawn (or if you were put off by the Angelina Jolie movie), you must visit http://www.bagbybeowulf.com/video/orensanz_center.html We sat in a dark, cool tent on a late September night. The yellow lights on the stage were glowing. Bagby played the Anglo Saxon Harp and sang Beowulf’s story, with modern English on a screen nearby. Listening to the sounds was almost like gathering around a campfire to hear Beowulf’s adventures. I forgot about the words on the screen and tuned into the music of the language. That performance transported me. I went on to read poet Seamus Heaney’s translation of the epic poem. And picked up one of the many current Beowulf graphic (as in no shortage of blood) novels. This is what I love about Dodge. There is always a surprise, a poet you’d never heard whose words you connect to, a performer who shakes you out of assumptions like “Beowulf is boring.” Hope to see you at the festival next week!

Immerse yourself in Poetry Friday poems at Biblio File, hosting today at http://tushuguan.blogspot.com/2008/09/poetry-friday-is-here.html