NPM 50 State Tour: Arkansas

Arkansas is the 25th state (June 18, 1836). "The Natural State" has had a poet laureate since 1923!

The current state poet laureate is Peggy Vining. There's a bio of Vining here. Eighty-year-old Vining is working on her first collection of poetry, Tethered to the Moment, according to the blog Writing Without Paper.

Which brings me to an interesting point.

Some state poets laureate are Pulitzer Prize winners, respected literary critics, professors of English. Others are known only within their state's literary community.

The Encyclopedia of Arkansas website says, "In Arkansas, as elsewhere, the title of poet laureate is generally awarded on grounds not restricted to fame or literary eminence. None of the best-known or most distinguished Arkansas poets has received the title.

"The term 'laureate' refers to the ancient custom of crowning a person with a wreath made from leaves of the laurel tree. In antiquity, military heroes, athletic champions, and winners in singing, music, and poetry contests typically received this honor.

"In modern times, monarchs, governing bodies, or other organizations have named poets laureate, often in recognition of a significant talent but sometimes for political or other reasons."

What do you think? Is it better to have a poet laureate who is nationally known with several books and awards to her name, or is a locally active author -- maybe one whose poetry reflects the region -- what you'd prefer? I'd love to hear comments on this!

Here is the beginning of Vining's long poem about the history and landscape of her home state.

Arkansas, The Natural State

I stood today on top of Petit Jean

And felt a kindredship to all I found,

And I, intrigued by such a lovely scene,

Was grateful for the beauties that abound.

The spirit of a mountain miss was host,

Her phantom figure hovered, light as wind,

And I became enchanted by her ghost,

As we stood on the ledge at river’s bend.

I asked her of her legend and its truth;

Of how she stowed away to sail from France,

Of how she cropped her hair; became uncouth,

To give her love and lover one more chance.

            “It is all truth; the future will proclaim

            My spirit guards this mount which bears my name.”

 

Then, as we talked, my personage subdued,

And I became, as Petit Jean, a ghost,

And with uncanny knowledge I reviewed

Historic deeds of others who could boast,

Of coming to this great green state to live;

To homestead and to plow their plots of land;

To mine the hills; to hunt the woods and give

Their very lives to make it far more grand.

I spoke to men who also came to look

For ways of life upon the river’s road;

They pushed their crafts to every shallow nook

And rounded bends of hardship with each load.

            The Indians told me their tales of woe,

            Of how they battled as both friend and foe.

 

They told me how De Soto searched for gold

And, trudging through the swamps to look for it,

As upward, through the mountains and the cold,

He traded with the natives, matching wit.

La Salle then came to claim the Arkansas

But left to join another group of men,

De Tonty came to start, as did John Law,

A river post where trading could begin.

These men with whom I talked could really boast

Of being first to settle on this land,

Of fighting long and hard to save the Post

Where then was housed the laws and all command.

            My spirit saw the past and lived it through,

            A vision of the old when it was new.

 

As history passes, the seasons came in view,

And time and space and beauty knew no date.

I saw each month in its most brilliant hue

And gazed at it as if I tempted fate.

 I looked at Spring and thought it surely best,

For everywhere the land was newly green...

 

You can find the rest of the poem here. 

 

Sorry no pix today -- trying to figure out the new Blogger dashboard. Grr.

NPM 50 State Tour: Shakin' It in Missouri

It's time to face facts. 50 States -- 30 days? It's April 27 and we're only on state 24! What was I thinking?

We need to add a few weeks to National Poetry Month if we're ever going to make it to Hawaii.

For now, let's get on with our National Poetry Month tour. Today, we're visiting Missouri and its poet laureate, Walter Bargen.

Two of the poems I read by Bargen deal with weather. It seems the Show Me State is no stranger to Mother Nature's extremes.

According to the site Legends of America, "The most powerful earthquake to strike the United States occurred in 1811, centered in New Madrid, Missouri. The quake shook more than one million square miles, and was felt as far as 1,000 miles away."

Tornadoes are rare things in Maryland, where I live (this one is in Missouri)...

so I love the details in Bargen's poem, "Harmony Tornado." Here he is reading the poem:


His poem "Ice Bound" at Poetry Foundation also sets extreme weather against the backdrop of every day life. You can read it here.

Next up is Arkansas, 25th state ( 6/15/1836) and the halfway point of our tour. Whew!

NPM 50 State Tour: Maine

Maine, the 23rd state, is as big as the other five New England states combined. It's "birthday" is on the Ides of March -- 3/15/1820.

You know I'm a fan of the Weird States series ('cause it started in my beloved New Jersey). This blog chronicles weird news in Maine.

And I loved this little factoid: "The Desert of Maine in Freeport is a natural desert which was once covered by a 300 acre farm. Years of land-clearing, overgrazing, and failure to rotate crops revealed this desert. According to geologists, a glacier moved through the area about 11,000 years ago depositing the sand and minerals that now make up the Desert of Maine." This is the source.

The Pine State only instituted a poet laureate's position in 1995. The current PL is Betsy Sholl. Her poem welcomes (and warns) a newborn baby.

Lullaby in Blue
by Betsy Sholl
The child takes her first journey through the inner blue world of her mother's body, blue veins, blue eyes, frail petal lids. Beyond that unborn brackish world so deep it will be felt forever as longing, a dream of blue notes plucked from memory's guitar, the wind blows indigo shadows under streetlights, clouds crowd the moon and bear down on the limbs of a blue spruce. The child's head appears— midnight pond, weedy and glistening— draws back, reluctant to leave that first home. Blue catch in the mother's throat, ferocious bruise of a growl, and out slides the iridescent body—fish-slippery in her father's hands, plucked from water into such thin densities of air, her arms and tiny hands stutter and flail, till he places her on her mother's body, then cuts the smoky cord, releasing her into this world, its cold harbor below where a blue caul of shrink-wrap covers each boat gestating on the winter shore. Child, the world comes in twos, above and below, visible and unseen. Inside your mother's croon there's the hum of an old man tapping his foot on a porch floor, his instrument made from one string nailed to a wall, as if anything can be turned into song...   You'll find the rest of the poem here.    I'm spending today at the Baltimore Museum of Industry. My daughter is competing in the Maryland Engineering Challenge with a model roller coaster based on Alice in Wonderland.   I think she's getting tired of me reciting "Jabberwocky" at her. What can I say -- I'm a poet, not a cheerleader. See you tomorrow for our National Poetry Month 50 State Tour visit to Missouri.

NPM 50 State Tour: Alabama

The more I get to know our state poets laureate on our National Poetry Month tour, the more I like them.

In Illinois, we met poet and literary critic Kevin Stein. We're moving on to Alabama -- 22nd state.

Alabama's poet laureate, Sue Brannan Walker, also writes about literature and is the publisher of Negative Capability press. She is a friend to poets, publishing  many new voices. Her own book Blood Will Bear Your Name was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. (Walker is pictured with Alabama governor

I'm sharing Walker's award-winning poem, "Grandfather's Thumb." When I work with elementary schoolers, we do a food poem workshop. (The description is here.)

I ask the kids to go beyond their five senses and think about a person they associate with a special food or foods. Here, Walker mentions the foods she associates with the grandfather to create a sense of comfort and sweetness.

Grandfather’s Thumb

She said
her grandfather’s thumb
was a chapter in the story
of his life, a black digit,
a hammer with which
he sometimes hit the nail,
sometimes not. She remembers
once when she was a child,
she reached out and touched it,
wondering how something ugly
could be a part of something
she loved. She said Grandpa
told her the thumb was hard labor,
and she thought he was tough—
but he was also trips to the bakery,
cream puffs and macaroons;
he was pink grapefruit
served with brown sugar
and games of checkers
on summer afternoons

The rest of the poem is at the Persimmon Tree magazine.

NPM 50 State Tour: Illinois

The Prairie State has had a poet laureate since 1936. Past P.Ls include Carl Sandburg and Gwendolyn Brooks.

Illinois' current poet laureate is Kevin Stein, who is a well respected literary critic as well as a poet. Read an interview with Stein here.

Before we check out Stein's poetry, here is a youth poem featured on his website. Stein is a champion of kids writing poetry -- you'll find some great work by children on his site. Yay!

Gwendolyn Brooks Middle School, 6th grade
by Rebecca


Aged Cheese
 

People are like cheese.
When cheese is first made, it does not have
strong flavor.
When a child is born, it has not discovered
all its senses.
As the cheese ages, it gets more flavor.
As the child grows, it explores the world.
When the cheese is sold, it lives in
a refrigerator.
When people become adults, they get a job,
have a family, and buy a house.
Eventually, the cheese gets forgotten,
it gets moldy and is fed to a dog,
or eventually when you are old,
your kids move away
and after a long hard life
you lie down to rest
for the rest of your life.

And here is a poem by Kevin Stein -- a sort of dual character sketch. What does the open space breaking up each line signify to you?

It Didn’t Begin with Horned Owls
Hooting at Noon

by Kevin Stein

Though in them he heard       the weird symmetry

of loss and love’s becoming,       a great silence

between one call and the       other’s reply.

So he laid block, framed       studs into walls:

plumb, square, on line.       He stayed up late,

straightening bent nails       on the lip of a block

with his ballpeen hammer,       the way a contractor

with a sprung back had shown       him. Evenings

he went next door to talk,       toting his thermos

of bitter coffee and a picture       of his son

who’s dying of AIDS. Son       he’d failed, son

he’d pounded on and never got       right.

The rest of the poem is at the Poetry Foundation.

Anastasia Suen is hosting Poetry Friday at Picture Book of the Day. Stop by for some rockin' verse.

NPM 50 State Tour: Mississippi

Mississippi, the 20th state, joined the Union on December 10, 1817.

The Magnolia State's poet laureate -- a lifetime post -- is Winifred Hamrick Farrar, who began her appointment in 1978. She is co-author of a book called "Poems Past Eighty."

I couldn't find any poems by Farrar on the web, so here is an imagery poem about the Mississippi River.

On the Mississippi
by Hamlin Garland
Through wild and tangled forests The broad, unhasting river flows-- Spotted with rain-drops, gray with night; Upon its curving breast there goes A lonely steamboat's larboard light, A blood-red star against the shadowy oaks; Noiseless as a ghost, through greenish gleam Read the rest at the Academy of American Poets.   I did find something while researching Farrar. A group of state poets laureate have started a blog, United Poets Laureate. Check it out!

NPM 50 State Tour: Two for the Price of One

Some states have a poet laureate. Others don't -- see my poetic wall of shame (boo!)

But Indiana must be the only state with two poets laureate. One official -- Norbert Krapf. One unofficial -- Peggy Martin -- whose title is "Premier Poet." Confused? So was I.

Read this explanation and you'll still be confused. To distill -- Indiana's state poet laureate is appointed by the Indiana Arts Commission, the Premier Poet is elected by the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs.

The Hoosier State is definitely an over-achiever when it comes to poetry. The Hoosier nickname comes from John Finley's poem, "The Hoosier's Nest." That's your "learn something new" for today (and here's the source.)

Here is Krapf's poem, "Chamomile," which reminded me of Pablo Neruda's simple odes.

Chamomile
by Norbert Krapf

Along the border
of an Indiana garden
beside a cold frame

my great-grandparents
cultivated you for
the herb-blossom tea
they believed cured
most of their ills.

Oh calmer of nerves
and delirium tremens,
soother of headaches
and preventer of nightmares,
repeller of insects
and softener of hair

Read the rest of the poem or listen to an audio reading here.

Enjoy a cup of chamomile tea. We're heading to Mississippi -- 20th state on our National Poetry Month tour of poets laureate.