Laura's Bookshelf: FENWAY AND HATTIE

Happy Poetry Friday and Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Ring in the winter holiday season
with your poetry friends!
Irene Latham is hosting
this week's poetry links
at Live Your Poem.

One of the biggest gifts my family received this year was this guy:

I stopped by a local animal shelter on a whim, told someone I was looking for a mellow older dog to be a companion for our Schnauzer Sam, and was quickly matched with an overweight, "can I go back to sleep yet?" Beagle mix. Introductions were made. When I brought Rudy home to my husband – Happy Anniversary and surprise! here is the dog I wanted -- he had bald spots on his tail, a gash on his ear, parasites in his lungs, and 20 pounds to lose. 

Rudy is as mellow and companionable as advertised. The parasites are gone, but his snores still shake the walls. We all laugh at his antics, especially the time this now-50-pound dog (he’s down about 10) decided to take over little Sam’s bed.

Since I am now the dog mama of two goofy boys, I couldn’t wait to read FENWAY AND HATTIE.

One of the best parts about being a debut novelist has been connecting with other children's and YA authors in the class of 2016. FENWAY AND HATTIE, by Victoria J. Coe, is one of the Advanced Reader’s Copies (ARCs) making the rounds of my author group.

This super cute early middle grade novel is told in the voice of a young Jack Russell Terrier named Fenway. Fenway is devoted to his girl, Hattie. It’s his job to protect Hattie and her family from intruders, like the ones who arrive one day and TAKE ALL THEIR STUFF! Is it a robbery? Only in Fenway’s doggie mind. In actuality, the family is moving from the city to the suburbs.

Fenway sees Hattie through a somewhat rocky adjustment to her new neighborhood. He’s got his own adjustments to make. Exuberant Fenway begins training, and has to learn that Hattie is not just his loving human, but also the One in Charge. (I feel your frustration, Hattie. I’ve learned from our Sam that terrier breeds have BIG personalities.)

Fenway and Hattie both begin making the transition to adolescence in the pages of this funny book. Just as Hattie must practice to control her throwing arm --she hopes to play baseball--, Fenway must practice to control his fear of THE WICKED FLOOR. (Sam feels your pain, Fenway. Slippery floors are no fun. When your front legs are running and your back legs are suddenly skittering off in another direction? The indignity!)

Find it on Indiebound.

FENWAY AND HATTIE debuts in February. Here is the blurb from Goodreads:

This lovable new series introduces a little dog with a GIANT personality! 

Fenway is an excitable and endlessly energetic Jack Russell terrier. He lives in the city with Food Lady, Fetch Man, and—of course—his beloved short human and best-friend-in-the-world, Hattie. 

But when his family moves to the suburbs, Fenway faces a world of changes. He’s pretty pleased with the huge Dog Park behind his new home, but he’s not so happy about the Evil Squirrels that taunt him from the trees, the super-slippery Wicked Floor in the Eating Room, and the changes that have come over Hattie lately. Rather than playing with Fenway, she seems more interested in her new short human friend, Angel, and learning to play baseball. His friends in the Dog Park next door say Hattie is outgrowing him, but that can’t be right. And he’s going to prove it!

Get a dog’s-eye view of the world in this heartwarming, enthusiastic “tail” about two best friends.

FENWAY AND HATTIE is a middle grade novel, appropriate for second grade and up (younger as a read aloud).

Who will like it?

·                     Animal lovers and pet owners.

·                     Kids who think physical comedy is hysterical.

·                     Readers who are learning how to handle transitions

What will readers learn about?

·                     What it’s like to view the world from a dog’s-eye-view. 

·                     It takes time to adjust to change, whether you are a person or a dog.

The poem I’m pairing with FENWAY AND HATTIE is a dog’s-eye-view poem by my friend, Michael Salcman. It comes from his book THE ENEMY OF GOOD IS BETTER. In addition to being a poet and neurosurgeon, Michael is an art critic and collector. This wonderful ekphrastic poem was written in response to a painting by Henri Matisse.

Read about this painting at
the Baltimore Museum of Art's blog.

The Dog Speaks

                   --Interior with Dog (Matisse), 1934

By Michael Salcman

I’m only half-asleep so I know you’re standing there

Wondering if I’m asleep. Nope.

It’s not easy to rest under this table—

For one thing, there’s a strong downward slope

And gravity’s got me half tipped out of my basket

Like an apple by Cezanne.

Talk about a flat world!

For another, I can’t get way from these colors

The red floor tiles, orange table leg

And pink wall burning on my lids like the sun.

Then again I’m never alone; the kids think a gray dog is cute

And I’m the only dog in the room. I was bribed

(that’s my excuse) with a bone

And a bowl of fresh water. Really,

I wish you wouldn’t stare—it’s extra hard to be an icon

When you’re not an odalisque and have no hair.

Here’s the inside dope, he wore a vest when he painted them

But saved his housecoat for me. I liked sitting for him,

He was never rude and spared me his violin.

I think I look very dignified, not naked, just nude.

Merry Christmas from Rudy, Sam, and me!

Poetry Friday: First Generation

Robyn Hood Black is hosting
this week's round up of poetry
at Life on the Deckle Edge.

I was listening to news of the European refugee crisis on the radio today. The crisis touches me in several ways. First, when I was in Italy this summer for the 100 Thousand Poets for Change world conference, several poets from Africa were denied entry into Italy. Why? For fear that they weren't really coming for a conference, but instead were refugees. Then my good friend, poet Richard Paa Kofi Botchwey of Ghana, was harrased as he passed through Germany on his trip home from Italy.

But the story also touches me because I am a first generation American. My mother came to the United States in 1966, when she married my father. Even though my mom is British and shares a common language with us Yanks (as my uncle used to tease), there are a million small ways that she didn't fit in, didn't understand how things worked, felt isolated and alone. These small things are embedded in my childhood memories.

Leaving one's country is never an easy choice. I can't imagine what it must be like for families caught up in the current refugee crisis. Even if they make it to a country that offers asylum, there are a million small ways that they will remain outsiders. Integration into a new culture is gradual and often painful.

I'm so glad to introduce you to the poet Leona Sevick. 

Leona and I first met at the 2013 Gettysburg Review Conference for Writers. Like me, she is bi-cultural and a first-generation American. Her poem "Lion brothers" walks the fence that immigrants must walk: acceptance lies on one side, maintaining one's home culture and sense of self lies on the other.

Lion brothers
by Leona Sevick

Sometimes they sent her home early,
her hand bandaged tight where a needle
had pierced her. Home from school,
we found her curled on the floor, watching. 

She woke early to put on her face
before we could see it for what it
wasn't, round and smooth and yellow.
Her legs tucked under her,
she held the mirror in her tiny hand
and painted on the jungle colors:
blacks and blues. At the factory
she tied tools around her waist,
slimmer than any boy's, though her arms
were knotted in muscles. She climbed up
beside the men, four feet above ground
on their vibrating monsters, machines
that worked like animals. Like pieces
of thread cut from the loom and dropped
clean, their words gathered around her feet.

Chink.

It seemed like a child's word
if you didn't know the meaning.

Originally published in Frontiers:  A Woman's Journal (Univ. Nebraska Press).

I asked Leona to tell us about the genesis of this powerful poem.

Lion Brothers is the name of a factory in Taneytown where my mother worked for 25 years. She made patches there--the kind that are sown on uniforms of every type (military, athletic teams, Boy Scouts, etc.). Every morning she woke up at 5 am to "put on her face." I thought of her makeup as her armor. She was the first non-white person to work at the factory. While she had a couple of very good women friends who worked alongside her in that ugly place, she also worked with many bigots and rough men. In time, many of them accepted her as well, though she never called them friends.

I remember that, Leona. Although she didn't work in a factory, my mother had a very hard time making friends after she emigrated. I don't think she had real group of girlfriends until my brothers and I were in our twenties.

Classroom teacher friends: I think "Lion brothers" would be a wonderful discussion prompt to get your upper middle school or high school class talking about stereotypes and the power of words, especially ethnic slurs.

And here's a little gift from Leona. This poem is for everyone who's using this weekend to recover from the first week of school.

Leona says, "Every day as I drive to work I pass a herd of 'Oreo' cows--Belted Galloways.  One particularly dreary morning when I faced a task at work I wanted to avoid, I fantasized about being one of those cows.  I know almost everyone can relate."

Belted Galloway
from AntietamFarm.com.

Cow
by Leona Sevick

Weeks like this one make me wonder how nice
it might be to be a cow just chewing, slowly moving
my jaws in clockwise angles. Frothing green trickles
between my teeth and at the drooping corners of my
single-minded mouth, I could lie down and rest
on legs not asked to move except to escape the winds
and stinging rain that come up from the south sometimes.
Or maybe I'd just stand here, letting the water wash my
tough hide--brown rivers of yesterday's dirt rolling
inevitably down into the holes I'm standing in--
thinking of nothing and no one in particular.

Leona Sevick's work appears in The Journal, Barrow Street, Potomac Review and is forthcoming in Poet Lore. She is the 2012 first place winner of the Split This Rock Poetry contest, judged by Naomi Shihab Nye. Her first chapbook, Damaged Little Creatures, was published in 2015 by FutureCycle Press (www.leonasevick.com). She is associate provost and associate professor of English at Mount St. Mary's University.

Buy it on Amazon.

In Residence: Day 2 in the Simile Zoo

Greetings from the Simile Zoo!

Find this vintage postcard on Amazon.

The third graders at Northfield Elementary are continuing to write about animals, and how they can symbolize emotions and personality traits.

Teachers: I posted instructions for this lesson a few years ago.

The Simile Zoo: Lesson Part 1
The Simile Zoo: Lesson Part 2

Today's zoo tour guides are Allie, Makaela, Parker, Matthew, Vincent, Lila, Naomi, and Julia.

Allie L.

When I feel clever,

I am like a green fox.

When a predator comes close to me,

I stay calm

and then I think of a plan

and my eyes flash and look innocent.

Then I trick them with my cleverness

and scamper away with a smile on my face.

Vintage postcard from Zazzle.

Makaela M.

When I feel frightened,

I am like a squirrel.

I run up the nearest tree. The food that I

stuffed in my mouth stays there.

I stare… and stare… and stare.

I run to my burrow like I run to my room.

Should I run or should I freeze?

Parker P.

When I am brave

I am like a wolf.

My face looks mean

with sharp teeth. My body

is not scared. I go out at night.

I’m a good swimmer, like

I’m trying to eat a seal.

Matthew L.

When I am thinking,

I am like a raccoon.

I am great at problem solving,

as raccoons can lift the lids

off garbage cans. I am agile

and steady as the raccoons can

climb up walls and steal food.

I am like a raccoon in

many ways when I’m thinking.

From Postcard Locker

Vincent T.

When I feel smart, I am like a

raccoon. I finish problems quick as if

I was running through the night. I work

slowly and carefully like I am taking a

lid off the trash can. I work my way

slowly down like as if I was a raccoon

lowering myself down a wall that’s

coming down from the attic.

Lila R.

Turtle

When I feel embarrassed,

I am like a turtle.

I hold my head low, as if

I had a shell to hide

away in. I walk away

slowly, as if I was as slow

as a turtle. I try to hide, as if

I was blending in with my

surroundings. I draw attention

to myself and feel like I need

to hide, but I can’t run away.

I really feel like a turtle when

I’m embarrassed.

This vintage postcard is from Russia!

Naomi C.

When I feel happy,

I’m like a bird.

I feel free like a baby bird that just learned

how to fly.

I fly with my flock and make my

friends crow with laughter.

I watch with joy as my little sister

hatches.

Even though I’m a blue jay, I still feel

bright as the sun.

When the sun rises, I rise with it.

It seems as though it’s singing, so I sing with it.

The sun is fading, it’s like it’s going to sleep,

so I must go to sleep with it.

Julia J.

When I feel tired,

I am like a sloth.

I climb into my bed like a

sloth climbs into the trees

after a long day.

I try not to move.

My body hurts. I lie in bed

all night.

I fall asleep to the sound of

swaying trees outside my window.

I hear the sound of owls hooting

and the sound of bats’ wings flapping.

Sloth Valentine postcard from Zazzle

In Residence is an ongoing series this month. If you missed previous posts:

Planning the List Poem Lesson at Today's Little Ditty

First Student Responses: "Words in My Pet Goldfish," "Words in My Bed," "Words in My Life"

In Residence: Poetry Friday Words: Poems by Laura S., Jason Y., Jeffrey G., and Isa L.

In Residence: The Simile Zoo: Poems by Sabine S., Asher, Cecelia D., and Evelyn D.

Than you to the Northfield ES community for hosting this annual residency. I appreciate having permission to share the third graders' poems.

Readers, the students love hearing feedback from you. Please leave a comment about our simile zoo. More animal poems are coming soon.

Next week, I'll be posting the third graders' opposites poems. But first, a special poem and interview for Poetry Friday as we look at the stunning new anthology, Poetry in Medicine.

2015 Sound Poem Project Day 28: Fox

Yesterday was Day 28 of Author Amok's 2015 poem-a-day project. We spent February writing in response to sounds.  

For a full description of the project and how to participate, please read this post. I hope you'll join us. I'll continue posting poems from Day 28 and the rest of the project as they come in. Thanks to everyone who wrote with us.

Our Day 28 prompt is the sound of a fox.

Many years ago, I was at a local friend's house for critique group. As I walked to my car, I heard what I could have sworn was a woman screaming. I froze. Was that what I thought it was? I returned to the house, but the host hadn't heard anything. It was probably an animal, she said. After hearing the opening sound of today's clip, I know she was right.

Here's a helpful video that breaks down the types of fox calls.

What does the fox say? Let's find out what our poets have to say about that.

Our friend Patricia VanAmburg was a longtime professor of world languages, literature, and fine arts at Howard Community College. Her great area of interest is mythology, and there is plenty of mythology surrounding the fox.

VIXEN

by Patricia VanAmburg

Voiceprint of the Mother Goddess

Ishtar moaning at the Fertile Crescent

Xenociea cursing Hercules

Echo howling for lost expression

Naiobe bewailing her dead 

I like the way Linda Baie wove words we usually associate with religion into her fox poem.

The Forest As Church

Red fox’s barks and bays

serve as vigils for the forest,

matins celebrating the morning feast

before sleep.

Linda Baie © All Rights Reserved

The fox in Charles' Waters poem is a male fox, known as a reynard. I picture him wearing a fedora.

DOO WOP GROUP

Foxes, festooned in rusty fur,

Settle on low hanging branches

Lift muzzles, jaw out

Multisyllabic trills for the ladies.

(c) Charles Waters 2015 all rights reserved.

I've been trying to write about this long-ago fox encounter for several years. A tanka seemed to be the right form for this conversation which, admittedly, happened in silence.

Fox Tanka

by Laura Shovan

Early morning walk,

the dog halts. Edge of the woods,

a fox in mist.

He watches us, pondering

the choices his cousin made.

Diane Mayr of Random Noodling is also considering the fox and the dog.

Fox at the Edge of Suburbia 

by Diane Mayr

This is no goofy red dog
who has outsmarted
mistress or master,
escaped a collar,
and is now out enjoying
a half-hour of freedom.

The slight tilt of the
slender red head suggests
a constant awareness
of its surroundings.
The loose-limbed
ease in its gait
suggests it has walked
this corner of field
before before before.

Before the farmers
stripped the woods
and plowed the field.

Before we came to this
edge of Suburbia.

Before offers of a treat
bring the goofy red
dog home with tail
between his legs.

Before before before.

And Margaret Simon observes how her dog reacts to the wild cousin outside.

Vulpes, red fox cry
upsets the dog
who whimpers at the window
watching for danger.
The red fox sounds
too much like a lost child.

Our last poem for today is from Mike Ratcliffe of the Skimino Cycle. Mike has some big news -- a poetry chapbook coming out from Finishing Line Press! Congratulations, Mike.

This poem tells a story, but also captures fox's personality and energy.

Red Fox

by Mike Ratcliffe

Run, red fox, run.

The chase is on.

Riders in red pursue,

but cannot hear your cries

over blaring horns

and galloping hooves.

Go to ground, sly fox,

go to ground.

The hounds will clamor

at the entrance to your den,

while you, ever the clever one,

slip quietly out the back.

I can't end today's post without this...

That crazy song we couldn't stop singing last year,
it's now a children's book.
Find it at IndieBound.

That's all, folks! If you've enjoyed writing in response to a daily prompt, stop by Heidi Mordhorst's blog, My Juicy Little Universe, for a March poem-a-day project.

Here are all of the sound prompts for the last week of February. I am working on a list of participants, getting ready to award a prize for our most prolific poet.

Sunday, February 22

Footsteps in snow

Monday, February 23

Smoke on the Water

Tuesday, February 24

Sea Turtle

Wednesday, February 25

Ugandan Music

Thursday, February 26

Train

Friday, February 27

Lava

Saturday, February 28

Fox

Sunday, March 1: Project Wrap-up

If you'd like some poem-starters to wake up your muse, you'll find them at the bottom of this post. Drop in any time with a poem. I’ll continue to post your work throughout the month, no matter which sound you are writing in response to.

Would you like to read what we’ve written so far? Here are links to the week 3 poems. Each of these posts links to the week 1 and 2 poems.

Sunday, February 15

Santa Fe Church Bells Poems by Linda Baie, Patricia VanAmburg, Diane Mayr, Laura Shovan, and Charles Waters.

Monday, February 16

Quaking Aspen Poems by Diane Mayr, Charles Waters, Laura Shovan, Patricia VanAmburg, Mike Ratcliffe, and Karin Fisher-Golton.

Tuesday, February 17 -- new poem!

Laughing Child Poems by Charles Waters, Diane Mayr, Laura Shovan, Michael Ratcliffe, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, and Heidi Mordhorst.

Wednesday, February 18

Mysterious Space Sound Poems by Patricia VanAmburg, Charles Waters, Mike Ratcliffe, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Michelle Heidenrich Barnes, and Margaret Simon.

Thursday, February 19

Museum Stairwell Poems by Linda Baie, Mike Ratcliffe, Laura Shovan, Charles Waters, Margaret Simon, Diane Mayr, Patricia VanAmburg, and Karin Fisher-Golton.

Friday, February 20 -- new poems!

Reptile Poems by Linda Baie, Patricia VanAmburg, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Mike Ratcliffe, Donna Smith, Robyn Hood Black, Buffy Silverman, and Charles Waters.

Saturday, February 21

Traditional Chinese Music Poems by Diane Mayr, Mike Ratcliffe, Laura Shovan, Robyn Hood Black, Linda Baie, Patricia VanAmburg, Carol Varsalona, Charles Waters, and Margaret Simon.