Celebrating Naomi Shihab Nye with "Hidden" and SKY

Hello and happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Mary Lee at A Year of Reading, to find links for our Naomi Shihab Nye celebration! Congratulations to Naomi on being named our newest Young People's Poet Laureate. Hooray!

The first Naomi poem I can remember reading/loving is this one:




HIDDEN

If you place a fern
under a stone
the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone has 
swallowed it.

If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.

No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.

- Naomi Shihab Nye

It's a simple poem, really, but so TRUE, and I think that's part of Naomi's gift: making small things bigger in accessible, meaningful ways.

The latest book of hers I've been reading is an older (1992) anthology that demonstrates Naomi's editorial prowess: THIS SAME SKY MAGIC: A COLLECTION OF POEMS FROM AROUND THE WORLD Selected by Naomi Shihab Nye. Here are two of my favorite selections:

MAGIC

Today I'm a hill,
tomorrow a sea.
Always wandering
like Miriam's well,
always a bubble
lost in the gorges.

Last night I dreamt
red horses, purple,
green --

In the morning I listened:
an endless babbling of water,
a chatter of parrots.

Today I"m a snail,
tomorrow a giant
palm tree.

Yesterday a cave,
today I'm a seashell.
Tomorrow
I'll be tomorrow.

- Dahlia Ravikovitch
Israel
Translated by Chana Bloch and Ariel Bloch


... and this one, because it reminds me of a letter I received from my then-maybe 14 year old niece, who had just joined the track team at school and was so in love with running:

I HAVE TEN LEGS

When I run
I laugh with my legs

When I run
I swallow the world with my legs

When I run
I have ten legs.
All my legs
shout.

I exist
only when running.

- Anna Swir
Poland
Translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan

I actually have an extra copy of this book, and I would like to pass it along to one of you... if you'd like to be entered in the giveaway, simply leave a comment by noon Tuesday June 4... and our cat Maggie will select a winner!
ETA: ... and the winner is RUTH! Yay! 

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HOOD

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

HOOD

Doll like the one I had
now available on ebay.

This is the first prompt in the series for which I am drawing a complete blank. Car hood? Nope... though I do have a car TRUNK story... maybe later. :) Surely I had a hooded coat or sweatshirt or SOMETHING. But nothing is coming to me – except a doll collection I got as a teenager that included Little Red Riding Hood. Of course she was wearing her red cape, complete with hood. For the early years of our marriage, I displayed Little Red and the other dolls in the collection in our dining room china cabinet. Eventually I gave the dolls away.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HONEYMOON

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

HONEYMOON

I've been trying to keep all of these memoir responses focused on my childhood, but how can I do that with this particular prompt?! Though some might say I WAS a child when I married Paul... it was 1991, and I was 20 years old. But I'm one of those "born older" people, so I didn't feel particularly young... I was ready to go!

Irene & Paul at Chef Tell's restaurant,
Grand Cayman

We journeyed to the Cayman Islands. The trip was a gift from Paul's parents, and it was such a sweet time... my first big scuba diving trip, and hello, our HONEYMOON, so of course I have a ton of memories! Here are just a few:

1. Stingray City – nothing quite like being swarmed by stingrays!
2. the turtle farm on Grand Cayman
3. buying black coral earrings from a roadside artisan on Cayman Brac
4. exploring Rebecca's Cave on Cayman Brac
5. how hungry I was at the end of each diving day – I especially recall the huge plate of spaghetti I basically inhaled
6. getting sunburned – on my knees! And Paul saying, “you should've worn Bullfrog.”
7. relaxing together in the hammock on the beautiful Caribbean shore

8. 

   we had fun with an underwater
   camera, even though the pics
   didn't turn out all that great

   eating conch fritter's at Chef Tell's restaurant
9. feeling some anxiety whenever we were on a dive and I couldn't instantly see Paul (my diving buddy) beside me
10. riding the waves over to Little Cayman and eating boxed lunches on the boat – I got salami, and said to Paul, “You got ham!” – which I preferred. He's a sweetheart and switched with me.

Just Married!

at the turtle farm

We're actually planning to celebrate our 30 year anniversary with a return diving trip to the Caymans... it's been so long since we've dived that we're going to take a whole new certification class. It's nearly two years away, but I'm already excited. :)

Four 2019 Middle Grade Novels Not to Miss

THE SIMPLE ART OF FLYING by Cory Leonardo  -- A parrot who writes poetry. Need I say more?

THE BRIDGE HOME by Padma Venkatraman -- Kids making it on their own -- and making discoveries about themselves -- in a tough world. A good one to pair with the movie SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE.

TO NIGHT OWL FROM DOGFISH by Holly Goldberg Sloan and Meg Wolitzer   -- I'm a sucker for an epistolary novel, what can I say? (This one told in email.)

THE LINE TENDER by Kate Allen -- This book got like a zillion starred reviews... I learned what a line tender is (both realistically and metaphorically), and the shark drawings inside are gorgeous!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HIGH HEELS

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

HIGH HEELS

Wow -- here's another prompt that I've written about in CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR?:

poems by Irene Latham and Charles Waters,
illustrations by Sean Qualls and Selina Alko

Shoes

I want ruby slippers

with heels to click

me to another land

or glass slippers

to make a dancer

out of me.

But Mama says

shoes should be

sensible --

plain white 

or solid black

to go with everything.

So that's what we buy.

When I show Patty Jean,

she gives me

her rainbow socks

and a pair of purple 

shoelaces.

When I look down

I can't believe

those feet belong to me.

- Irene Latham

If you read the poem, you can probably guess that my (practical) mother was not one to wear high heels. I cannot remember a single time, ever. So I never really had that example, and it wasn't something that I spent a lot of time longing for. (I was definitely more about wanting a little flash and color to distinguish myself/claim my individuality.) The highest heel I ever wore was probably an inch and a half, and those were pumps I wore for a pageant. I wasn't quite comfortable walking in them – I always feared I would fall. To this day, put me in flip flops, and I'm a happy gal!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HAT

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

HAT

I've never liked the way I look in hats, so I haven't really worn that many of them! Nevertheless, I was able to create a list poem:

My Life in Hats

Lacy white christening cap

with long satin strings,

yellow ruffled Easter bonnet

to make a daffodil of my face.

Belted pilgrim hat for the school

Thanksgiving feast,

black felt witch's hat for Halloween.

Mickey – not Minnie – Mouse ears

bought at Cinderella's castle,

soon left to collect dust on my dresser.

Crisp candystriper hat bobby-pinned

to my long blonde hair,

Krystal's brown baseball cap to show

customers I was old enough to work there.

Wide-brimmed, floppy straw garden hat,

waterproof fishing hat with neck flaps

to prevent sunburn.

Most days, no hat at all.

- Irene Latham

How to Organize Your Poems

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Dani at Doing the Work that Matters for Roundup.

It's Memorial Day weekend, and I've got organizing on my mind.

It's quite difficult, isn't it, to wrangle poems in our digital world... My files are haphazard at best -- the most consistent organizing I've done is simply by chronology of the year when I wrote the poem. So I have some "fat" folders with year labels... and files with poem titles, generally.

But that does nothing to help me find a poem when I need it! And here's the worst part: I CAN'T REMEMBER THE POEMS I'VE WRITTEN. Writing poetry for me is very much a "here and now" activity... which is great! Except for the fact that I can't remember what I wrote yesterday, much less last year!

glass bottles: my new
alternative to stained glass!

Anyhow, I decided to start chipping away at this problem, and I started with my blog. So... drumroll please.... welcome to my Poem Index! I gave it it's own tab and I *hope* to keep updating it regularly. We'll see. :)

Meanwhile, I'd love to hear suggestions on how all of you organize your home files? How do you find poems when you need them? How do you remember what you've written?

Wishing all of you a Happy Memorial Day!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HANDS

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

HANDS

So I've written about my own (piano) hands in CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? I inherited my mother's hands – wide, capable hands with prominent veins.

Interestingly, I heard Henry Winkler on a podcast recently say that this is considered good fortune in some cultures. Who knew? I do recall receiving a compliment once specifically about my hands – a stranger asked if I was a “hand” model. (!) That was quite a few years ago, but it still makes me smile.

One memory I haven't documented is about a scar on my left hand. It's a round white scar, about an inch below my pointer finger's knuckle. When asked about this scar I have been known to say, “it's from a cigarette burn.” That's exactly how big it is! And doesn't that sound like an interesting (horrible) story? This is the curse of being a storyteller, I think... we can imagine so many more entertaining stories about ourselves that it's hard sometimes to settle for the truth – which is that in college I had a wart pop up in that spot, and the scar is the result of having it removed.

lefty!

Another “hands” note: I'm left-handed, and I have always loved that about myself! It's a big part of my identity – proof that I really am an artsy, creative whose default is right-brained thinking/problem-solving.

Yes, there are frustrations: smearing ink as I grip the pen with pointer finger and thumb, leaving the rest of my fingers drag behind like a snail's shell... and how the ink will stain my skin, making me look like I forgot to wash. Most desks, scissors, instruments, etc. are not made for lefties. When dining with friends or family, I must always choose a seat on the outside of a table, so that I'm not bumping elbows with my tablemate. But these are all just part of the lefty experience. I wouldn't trade them for anything.

And here is a memoir- poem about being right brained and left handed:

The Left-Handed Way of Learning the States

When Mrs. Fattig says

we must memorize

the names of all the states,

I start with orange Florida,

and journey up the east coast

before heading west

to pink California.

I add blue Hawaii

and white Alaska last.

When I'm done

with my recitation,

I've only named 48 states.

Should've done it

alphabetically,

my best friend Barbie says.

But why would I want

to spend so much time

memorizing a boring list

when my heart clackety-clacks

to trace green mountains

and aquamarine lakes

as I cruise across

the map's brown state lines? 

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HAIR

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

HAIR


So... I've kind of already written about hair in CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? Here's the "hair" spread... my poem is 100% autobiographical:

poem by Irene Latham (L), poem by Charles Waters (R)
illustrations by Sean Qualls & Selina Alko

Hair

Now my hair 
is long and straight -
 a curtain I can hide
behind.

But once
when I was little
I begged
for an Afro,

so Mama cut
my hair short 
as a boy's
and gave me
a perm.

I fluffed it
with a pick
big as 
it would go -- 

until my brothers
laughed,
called me 
a circus clown,

without the red nose.

- Irene Latham

Other hair memories include the horrible awful hair cut I got in Ninth Grade... I asked for a "Tenille," which is kind of a long bowl-cut, after Toni Tenille. It was the end of the day, and the hairdresser did not seem to get the "long" part, and I ended up with a hairut that made me cry! From that day forward I have worn my hair long -- I was not ME with that short 'do! I do admire people who easily morph their hair from one style to another...my (long) hair truly is part of my identity.

Another memory, not about my hair, but my brother Ken's: for a while Ken, who's just 17 months older than me, wore a rat tail. Ken was often a thorn in my side (and everyone else's too!). His worst offenses were the way he stole each and every one of my best girlfriends... yep, they all ended up dating, or MARRYING Ken! Such treachery! Anyhow, once when he'd just stolen yet another of my friends, I got my revenge: in the middle of the night I crept into his room while he was sleeping, and CUT OFF HIS RAT TAIL.

I know! Terrible, isn't it??! Just shows you how BIG those childhood emotions can be... 

-->

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: GYM CLASS

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

GYM CLASS

I have never been a sporty gal, so when it came to gym class, I'd pretty much do anything to get out of it. In elementary school I managed to skip playing softball by staying in and cleaning the classroom. This included straightening the book shelves and washing down the chalk board. With what glee I would look out at my classmates through the window!

I also managed to get out of PE in high school. The coach was also in charge of the bus schedules, and when he saw I was good at organization, he asked if I might help him. And so I did! I worked on those bus schedules and didn't have to play basketball even once. 

But I didn't get out of gym class every time... my 9^th grade year and first year in Alabama, I had to endure the horror of dressing out in the PE “uniform,” which consisted of shorts only in team colors (red, gray, or white) and t-shirts specially designed by the school. I never liked the way I looked in this ensemble, and I remember feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

The only positive memory I have of gym class is doing quite well in the Presidential fitness test. Fitness has always been important to me – growing up with an obese father will do that to you – and thanks to Grandma Dykes (and those who came before her) I've got “flexibility” in my genes.

A Vital Question & A (D-) Definition of Poetry

originally published 1992

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Margaret at Reflections on the Teche for Roundup.

I'm feeling a wee bit lighter today, as I reached a point in my revisions where I can STOP... and print the book out to read in 7-10 days -- once my brain has cleared a little!

I wish I had more time... alas, I'm on a deadline. The good news this isn't my last chance to improve the book -- there will be another round, or three. :)

While at the Florence-Lauderdale Library last month, I picked up a few books at the used book store. One of them was THE D- POEMS OF JEREMY BLOOM: A Collection of Poems About School, Homework, and Life (sort of) by Gordon Korman and Bernice Korman (son & mother!).

Poor Jeremy. He just can't figure this poem thing out. Ha! I can relate!

Here are two of the poems I really enjoyed:

VITAL QUESTION

If  a poem doesn't rhyme -
How do you know
       It's a poem?

If it's about sunsets and flowers, well okay.

But some of them might be about termites, and rats,
Cockroaches, earwigs, bedbugs
  and silverfish,
Battalions of cooties,
  And are more like the exterminator's report
         Than a poem.

So how do you now it's a poem
   If it doesn't rhyme?

-----

DEFINITION

A poem.

Rhyme salad,
Chopped by the word processor,
Garnished with pictures,
Sprinkled with adjectives,
Tossed by a poet-chef.
Lettuce, onions, tomatoes, images --

A poem.

-----

So Jeremy learned something, didn't he?

If I could talk to him, I'd add... "surprise!" Because surprise is one of my most favorite elements of a poem.

What about you? What would you tell Jeremy?

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: GUN

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

March: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

April: I took a break to focus on ARTSPEAK: Happy!

Here are the prompts for May: gloves, great-grandparent, guidebook, gun, gym class, hair, hands, hat, high heels, honeymoon, hood.

GUN

My father was a collector, and for a while he turned this sensibility toward guns. His collection was displayed in a glass-fronted solid-oak gun cabinet that sat in the foyer of our home. While he didn't do a lot of shooting or hunting -- I do have some stories he wrote about some big hunting adventures with business associates during our Louisiana years -- he believed wholeheartedly in the 2^nd Amendment and for as long as I can remember was a proud member of the NRA. 

Because our household included five children, Papa took it upon himself to educate us about guns. I remember our “gun classes” where he taught even reluctant-to-even-look-at-a-gun me about how to hold a gun, how to shoot, how to clean, store, etc. He said, “gun safety is about education,” and these classes were mandatory. I remember the weight of a pistol in my hand, and how different it felt from a rifle. I enjoyed the challenge of aiming – how each gun required something different: a slight shift to the left or right, or, with this model, you've got to aim it dead-on. My heart pounded so hard it hurt when it was my time to shoot – and when the shot was fired, I remember before any other feeling the relief of it being over. 

I'm grateful my father took the time to do this with us, even though at the time I didn't want to. He showed me what it was like to be a responsible gun owner, and a responsible parent.

*I just realized that a gun (or guns) show up in both my middle grade novels, and in the one I am currently revising (coming 2021). Clearly this is a subject my writer-heart is still exploring.