Poetry Friday: Lunar Eclipse

Wednesday morning, 5:15 am. My son groans when I turn on the light in the hall. My daughter begs for five more minutes of sleep. Hubby is already in the shower.

I have five minutes. Five minutes is not enough time to finish that chapter of my book (SKIN HUNGER, by Kathleen Duey) or go back to sleep. It is the perfect amount of time for checking Facebook.

Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect
is too busy rounding up
Poetry Friday links to check Facebook.
When you have five minutes, stop by her blog.

Facebook is where how I found out about the lunar eclipse. Friends across the country were waking their children up early and heading outside to view the Earth's shadow pass across the moon. At our house, it was just another early school day.

But I put the kettle on, got out my star-gazing binoculars, and slipped outside while everyone else went about their morning. This is what I saw...

This week's eclipse was a Blood Moon,
named for its coppery color.
Photo: EarthSky.Org 

Before everyone left for school and work, a thin line of moon -- wearing its coppery cloak -- was setting, just above the dark tree line.

Later that day, I was reading the "Poetic Asides" column in Writer's Digest. Poet Terrance Hayes -- a recent MacArthur genius award winner -- has invented a new poetic from. Using a line or lines from a favorite poem, use each word (in the correct order) as an end word in your poem. It's called a golden shovel, named for Gwendolyn Brooks' poem "We Real Cool" -- the basis for a golden shovel poem written by Hayes.

Writing Prompt: Write a golden shovel of your own.
Post your poem in the comments (making note of the poet/title of the original) and I will round up all of our golden shovels next week.

I like what Writer's Digest columnist Robert Lee Brewer says about this form. He calls it "a fun mix of found poetry and pure invention."

To capture the slow eclipse in the midst of my family's busy morning, I used Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Moon," from A Child's Garden of Verses.

Here is my golden shovel, followed by Stevenson's poem. (The words of Stevenson's poem are in gray.)

Eclipse, 5 am

by Laura Shovan

After Robert Louis Stevenson

Dark October morning, the

Earth’s shadow sweeps the Moon,

dissolves its round cheeks until the Moon has

only an icy smile. Next, it is the sliver of a

snowy owl, mostly hidden, its white face

shrunk to one silver eyebrow. Cuplike,

it holds the Sun’s reflection in its feathers. The

owl swoops down when my kitchen clock

strikes six, finds its roost below the horizon. In

moments, sleepers will tumble down the

stairs, their school shoes clicking in the still-dark hall.

The Moon

by Robert Louis Stevenson

The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; She shines on thieves on the garden wall, On streets and fields and harbour quays, And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees. The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bat that lies in bed at noon, All love to be out by the light of the moon. But all of the things that belong to the day Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way; And flowers and children close their eyes Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.

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."