Wordy Girls

When Elaine Magliaro at Wild Rose Reader recommended Becoming Joe DiMaggio to me (after I asked for good middle grade poetry collections/novels in verse), I checked it out at the library. I have to confess I did not have high hopes that it would be a good fit for me. I'm not big on historical fiction and I pretty much hate baseball. So looking at the cover, with the boy and grandfather listening to an old-time radio on the bottom and a baseball player on the top...well, I wasn't wildly enthused.

But then I opened the book and started reading. What a wonderful surprise. In just 24 poems, poet Maria Testa shares the story of an Italian-American boy growing up in the 30s and 40s. Joseph Paul's relationship with his grandfather is the cornerstone of this book and of his childhood, though his mother, sisters, and volatile, small-time criminal father all have roles to play, too. The poetry is simple and lovely, and the effect is of flipping through a family photo album and picking out the most important moments in a boy's childhood and magically being there for those moments.

Here's one of my favorite poems in the book.

Conversation

The police came
and took Papa 
away, I said.
      I know.
Papa said
it would just be for
a short time
and the policemen
laughed
and Mama cried.
     I know.
We were supposed
to play catch.
     I know.

The radio was on
of course,
but low.

I stood up
out of my chair,
and climbed into
Papa-Angelo's lap.
I listened to
my grandfather's heart
beating
strong and steady
and loud,
loud enough
to be heard above
the sudden music of
a Joe DiMaggio 
home run.

     I love him, you know.
           I know.


Life at home isn't simple for Joseph Paul, but he has his grandfather to love, learn from, and look up to, and always, always, baseball to represent his great American dreams. While Joseph Paul doesn't grow up to be Joe DiMaggio, as he wishes early in the book, he does grow up to be himself, and that's a gift all on its own.

The poetry in this book is accessible, and kids from 3rd grade through middle school (and even high school) could read and enjoy it. It's great to have poetry with a boy main character, and a sports tie-in, too, though listening to baseball is as far as the athletic activity goes (which suits me just fine!).

A fun project in the classroom might be to have your students do a life timeline (which I know the kids in our schools do already, in about 5th grade, I think) that identifies 10 or so important events so far in their lives. After reading Becoming Joe DiMaggio as a class, invite your students to write poems about the seminal moments of their own lives. Who are they becoming?

Thanks, Elaine, for this recommendation!

Each month (OK, almost each month!), I post my thoughts on a poetry-related topic in my Pinch of Poetry area of my website. For September, I'm mulling over how to tell if you're writing poetry that will appeal to adults or kids.  Poetry is poetry, many people say, and that is true. But if you're trying to market your work, it's helpful to identify whether it will appeal more to adults or to kids (and to adult editors or children's editors). 

Here's how it starts:

"In reading over some work of a critique client recently, I found that much of her poetry was lovely but had an adult feel to it. In writing my critique letter to her, I had to try to identify what makes a poem for children versus a poem for adults. This is so difficult, because poetry is not black and white. It slips and skips and slithers through the grey spaces of sound and meaning."  Read the rest here...

Personally, I look at Barbara Juster Esbensen's Swing Around the Sun and think if it weren't published in picture book format, it could easily be considered adult metric poetry. Ditto for Lilian Moore's work and many others.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Do you have a favorite adult poet that you think kids love too? Or a children's poet whom you think really should be published for adults? Do you consider certain characteristics true only of children's poetry or adult poetry? What do you think?

Uh-Oh

See my shadow,
Reaching.
Strong.
My feet are up,
My head is...
Wrong.
Ouch!

—Cathy Ipcizade


Laugh out loud,clap out loud,crowd grooves
To some flip flopin', eye poppin' moves.

—Deb Marshall

Dancing
Prancing
Way up high
watch my feet
soar 'cross the sky
with style.

— Diane M. Davis


Gotta try
leaping high,
feet to sky,
hair awry.
Passersby
wonder why.

I just sigh.

—Fiona Bayrock


Wheeling
Soaring,
Scooping
Up
Sky

Ground-bound
Shadow,
Dare me to
Fly

—Laura Purdie Salas


Almost Famous

Watching you take leaps of faith
reminds me of
another
summer
spent
in
your
shadow

—Pamela Ross

Escalator Down
 
Attention required
only at the end

Bad policy
for escalators

Bad policy
for life

---Kim from Hiraeth


Chug, chug, chug
That rhythmic beat.
Hope it don't eat my feet. 

---afraclose


A Conversation Recurred.

Back down?
That's right.
But why?
You forgot, again.
What?
The light!

---Deb Marshall

I'll not house fairies
elves
pixies
dainty folk.
Instead
Sand Pharoah
behold, your palace.

---Jan Fields

Impermanence

Packing , dumping, planning, shaping.

Building impermanence.

Slipping, slipping, slipping
through the hour glass of life.

---Kim from Hiraeth

Under Construction

S
K
Y
S
C
R
A
P
E
R
S

sandscrapers:
beach-combing landscapers

C
I
T
Y

O
F

B
E
A
M
S

temple of dreams

T
E
C
H
N
O
L
O
G
I
C
A
L

I
N
N
O
V
A
T
I
O
N

spontaneity of creation

---Mary McKenna Siddals

Sculpted cities--
stretch high
as if to say,
look at me,
to God
himself.

---Diane M. Davis

They Don't Build 'em Like they Used To

Can this ancient city stand,
like monuments and statues grand,
Remembered when again but sand?

---Pamela Ross


Temporary

stairway
dreams

sculpted 
caves

soon 
to be

reclaimed
by waves

---Laura Purdie Salas


The ants trip to the library.
The result, most extrodinary

---Deb Marshall

Here was the picture:



And here are the poems:


 Lean Times in Modern Architecture

No gingerbread,
No chocolate shutters.
Peering, the crone hopes
for children selling cookies
for lunch.
   ~~~ cute_n_cranky




Open windows,
Beckon the light.
Still, darkness envelops the room.
Sunshine!
Sunshine!
Where art thou?
   ~~~ Catherine Ipcizade




Lock picks failed
Time to take a crowbar to the windows
   ~~~janni



A Doctor's Visit
The door was
always
shut--
but now
I must push hard
to close it
once again.
   ~~~ dianemdavis




Finally,
sunshine slivers
inch
through
windows
to yesterday's darkness.
Rays of forgiveness flood the hardwood.
   ~~~Fiona Bayrock





Forgive me
Let me in
I didn't mean it
It's me that sucks.
Not You.
   ~~~ Pamela Ross

Your grey house
Your grey door
Your bare windows
Your bare floor
Less is more
   ~~~ Pamela Ross



in
or out
or in
again
make up your mind
dog
   ~~~ Susan Taylor Brown

Don't look at me;
Just go away!
No hugs,
No jokes,
No call to play!
   --cute_n_cranky

His cry
remained unanswered,
and desperation
was all
that was left
of his world.
   --dianemdavis

Alone.
There is no greater sadness
than knowing there's
no one else
to turn to.
   --J. Bayrock

laughing at
you
I hide from
me
wishing
I was
you
   --Susan Taylor Brown


A bonus for this week (perhaps). You can go here to see the brainstorm that led to my poem.

My Internet connection is highly sporadic this morning. Ack! I'm going to try to get the poems here, and then I'll see if I can grab the picture too, but it keeps cutting me off. Only two poems today (I can't even get to mine on the other computer), but they're both terrific!

Misty wing slices through the trees
ghost flier
masquerading as spider silk
and dreams.

I am usually trying to do so many things at once that I feel very scatterbrained. Right now, with several book deadlines looming, family stuff, and getting things done before L.A., I feel...well, this poem by Lilian Moore captures it pretty well!

I Left My Head

I left my head
somewhere
today.
Put it down for
just
a minute.
Under the 
table?
On a chair?
Wish I were
able
to say
where.
Everything I need
is
in it!

---Lilian Moore, from See My Lovely Poison Ivy