POEM #8- Dear Ellen Tebbits (a poem in two voices?)

Dear Ellen Tebbits,

Did you know
I told a lie
because of you?

It's true.

I was about eight years old.
                                I think you were about eight too. 

I could read chapter books.
                               And you were one of my favorites.
                               I loved Ramona and Beezus and Henry Huggins
                               pretty much all of the Beverly Cleary books. 
                               But you were my favorite. 

You were a good girl.
                            I was a good girl too. 

You were not very good at ballet.
                             I was awful at ballet. 
                            And a little sad 
                            because both of my sisters 
                           were really good at dance and gymnastics
                            and anything athletic. 
                            And I wasn't. 
                            At all. 

You were a little awkward.
                            You wore your long underwear 
                             tied around your waist at ballet class.
                             and then it wouldn't stay there
                             when you tried to dance 
                             and Otis Spofford made fun of you.
                             I was a little awkward 
                             and it was a relief to know that 
                              other people were too.

You had problems with your friends.
                             You didn't have any good friends.
                              And then you and Austine were best friends.
                              And then you had a fight.
                               And you didn't know how to fix it.
                               I sometimes had problems with my friends too. 
                               
You twisted your hair when you were thinking or worried.
                            I started twisting my hair too.

Except there was nothing in the book about your hair falling out.
                           And when I twisted my hair, it fell out.
                           And left a quarter-sized bald spot on my head.
                           And my mom thought I had a fatal disease.
                           And took me to the doctor.
                           And I was too embarrassed to explain about you. 
                            So I told the doctor I had a friend named Ellen.
                             And she told me to twist my hair.

Dear Ellen Tebbits,
Did you know
I told a lie
because of you?

(C) Carol Wilcox, 2018

POEM #7- When vision fails

"Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing." Scout, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

I cannot imagine not being able to read. Two times in my life, however, I have been friends with avid readers who have lost their sight. The first was almost thirty years ago. My father's boss, Elnora, had a good friend (I'm embarrased that I can't remember her name) who was an avid, avid reader. In her late seventies, she was diagnosed with macular degeneration and completely lost her sight. She continued to read through audio books. I had dinner with her and my parents several times a year, and I would always come away with new thinking and new titles. That was before the days when audiobooks were readily available to the general population, and when I moved to New Hampshire, she checked out books for me to listen to along the way.

More recently, I have seen the effects of macular degeneration through my mom's dear friend, Mary.  Mary, who is 93 years old, has always been a voracious reader, but a few years ago, she, too, was diagnosed with macular degeneration, and is now almost completely blind. My mom reads the newspaper to Mary (actually mostly the obituaries, I think) and also helps her order recorded books several times each month. Mary spends hours reading every day.


"When vision fails"

Eyes that have served you well
for ninety-three years are failing
you cannot let go of reading
and so your ears take over
as other eyes
and other voices
carry stories
to your  heart.

(c) Carol Wilcox

POEM #6- Reading Roots- To Mom

April is National Poetry Month and I'm trying to write a poem every day.  I'm also following one of my favorite children's poets, Amy Ludwig VanDerWater, who is doing a really interesting series, "One Subject, 30 Ways." She is writing about one topic, the constellation Orion, using 30 different techniques. Yesterday, she wrote "Second Person" poetry, where you write directly to a person, using the pronoun you. 

I had been messing around with a poem about my dad, and it wasn't really working. I tried second person, and the whole thing kind of fell into place. I planned to start another poem about my mom (at one point I thought they would both be in the same poem, but it got too long and tangled), so I wrote another one for her. And then Amy's technique for today is free verse, which is pretty much the only kind of poems I ever write, so it worked perfectly.  Here's the poem for my mom.

"Reading Roots"
To Mom
You must have read to us.
The covers of Ping, Kiki Dances,
and Angus are worn and well-loved
but I do not remember
the sound of your voice reading.

I do remember
you dressed in sleeveless nightgown,
pastel pink or blue, flowered,
climbing into bed,
book in hand,
before eight every night.
You would prop both pillows
against the headboard
in the middle,
lean back on your throne,
sigh, and then begin
turning page after page after page.
My sisters and I were invited
to clamber aboard
only if we brought
our books and read.
Fussing, pinching,
playing under the covers,
even talking
could get us banished.

It was all about you and your book.

We could not
disturb you
when you were reading.

(c) Carol Wilcox, 2018

Amy is hosting the Friday Poetry Roundup at The Poem Farm today.

Poem #5- Reading Roots

April is National Poetry Month. Books and reading have always been at the center of my life, and so I'm writing a series of poems, "A Reading Life." I'm getting lots of ideas from Amy Ludwig Vanderwater, over at The Poem Farm. Amy says,

This year at The Poem Farm, I will be writing a new poem every day about the constellation Orion.  Every day I will highlight a new poetic technique, a technique used by poets and by writers of other genres as well. After all, the techniques of poets are the techniques of all writers. I will be using my Fall 2017 Heinemann book, POEMS ARE TEACHERS, to lead me as I write all April long.

Today, Amy's technique is second person. She writes,

The poem is in second person because the speaker is speaking directly to the reader, in a YOU voice.  This worked out perfectly today, as it allowed my speaker to address my friend Mary Lee and anyone else who might feel conflicted about Orion's role in myth and in their lives. Second person is great for when you want to confide in someone or when you want your writing to feel directly personal.

Earlier this week, I had started a poem for my dad, a quiet, down-to-earth, midwestern manufacturers'  rep for industrial plumbing and heating supplies, a three-sport-college athlete, father of three girls, who always said he wasn't a reader, but pretty much always had a book going. My poem was originally in third person, but it wasn't quite working, so I had put it aside. Reading Amy's poem this morning, I wondered if I could make this one work in second person. And so I tried it.


Reading Roots #1
To dad

You always tell me
you are not a reader.
"I read really slowly,"
you say firmly
as if rate
was an accurate measure
of readerhood.
And when I am in college,
waiting for you to finish
the next John Grisham legal thriller,
so I can have it
I would agree.

You do read pretty slowly.

And yet every morning
when I come downstairs to start my day
you are sitting in your brown recliner
in front of the fireplace
in our family room,
pre-shower, messy hair,
loosely belted terry cloth robe
lost in your current read.
You look up only long enough
to grunt good morning,
then return to your book.

Five hundred pages
and a month later
you are finally finished
and I can read
the hardcover book
you purchased
from a bookstore
the day it was released.

Seventy two hours later,
we meet for book club.

You are a foodie,
who has savored
every delicious bite
of this author's feast.
You remember
details, foreshadowing,
twists and turns in the plot,
even specific words the writer has chosen.

I, on the other hand,
am a book cave girl
who has devoured this tome
in ravenous, ripping bites.
And even though book juice
is still dripping down my chin
onto the front of my shirt
I can tell you almost nothing
about my latest read.
Not even the main characters' names.
I remember only broad swatches of plot.

Perhaps I am the one
who is not a reader.

(c) Carol Wilcox, 2018

Jama Rattigan has compiled a list of poetry happenings in Kidlitosphere this month.

Poem #4- When a School Doesn't Have a Librarian

Today is National School Librarian Day, but sadly, my school won't be celebrating. We won't be celebrating because we don't have a school librarian, and haven't for about eight years. Instead we have a paraprofessional, a very nice, well-meaning, hardworking professional. She knows how to use the computer system to check books in and out. She knows how to put books back on the shelf.  She knows how to request books from other schools in the system.

She doesn't, however, know children's literature. She doesn't read blogs to find the best new books. She doesn't know how to do book talks,  or put just the right book into kids' hands. She doesn't celebrate author's birthday or apply for grants. This poem is in honor of school librarians. And in honor of my grandmother, Grace Wolberg, who was a Chicago Public Library librarian for many, many years.



"When a School Doesn't have a Librarian"

When a school
doesn't have a librarian
there is no one to unlock the doors,
push furniture around,
fill showcases and book baskets
brings in games, plants, realia
to create an environment
that says to readers,
"Come in. Explore. Browse. Ask Questions.
This is a place for all things wonderful."

When a school
doesn't have a librarian
there is no one
to peruse catalogues,
read blogs,
scan award winners,
list kids' requests,
reverently unpack new books,
and choose the ones
that sit face outward
as book commercials
to grow readers.


When a school
doesn't have a librarian
there is no one to say,
"You loved Baby Mouse?
Come over here,
there are five more in the series."
And when you are done with those,
you might like the LUNCH LADY series
and after that you might want
to check out
Kate diCamillo's
"Tales from Deckawoo Drive.
And she has books for older kids too."


When a school
doesn't have a librarian,
there is no one to spend time
with that uber reader
who needs a new book every day
or the next Newbery winner
whose stories fill journals
or the budding NASA scientist,
whose insatiable curiosity
can't be satisfied with
normal classroom resources.


When a school
doesn't have a librarian
there is no one to take
that shy little guy
who hasn't yet
hit his reading stride
and say, "I heard you love dinosaurs.
Here is a shelf of dinosaur books.
Choose some
and then come back
for more tomorrow."


When a school
doesn't have a librarian
there is no one to say,
Or "I know things are hard right now.
You might like this new graphic novel,  Real Friends.
Other kids have hated school too. Here's Fish in a Tree. 
Lots of kids go through really hard family situations.
Check out Rules. How to Steal a Dog. Orbiting Jupiter. 
All of those kids made it through hard times.
And you will too.

Every school should have a librarian.

(C) Carol Wilcox, 2018

POEM #3- "I Am Book"- a mask poem

Day #3. One of the poets I'm learning from this month is Amy Ludwig VanDerWater over at The Poem Farm.  Amy has published several books of children's poetry-- Forest Has a Song, Every Day Birds, and  Read, Read, Read (I need this one!), and most recently, With My Hands: Poems About Making Things.

Amy also has a new professional book, Poems Are Teachers, that was released in October. Each day this month, she is writing a poem about the constellation, Orion, using a different technique from Poems Are Teachers. On April 1st, Amy wrote a "list" poem. On April 2nd, she wrote a "story" poem. Today, she wrote what she called a "mask," or "persona" poem. In that format, the author takes on a new point of view. I decided to try my own mask poem tonight. So here it is!


"I am book"

I am book

I am home to…
        stories
        songs
        information
        images
        insights
        dreams
        desires
        delights
        magic
        marvels
        escape

You can…
      undress me
      bleed me fluorescent
      annotate
      agree
      argue
      review
      recycle
      reuse
      even slosh coffee across my pages.

But please don't…
     fold back my covers
     turn down my corners
     drool on my pages
     smudge me with flaming hot cheetos
     accept my ideas blindly

     and
     please
     please
     please

     don't ignore me.
 

I am book.

I am your friend.

(C) Carol Wilcox, 2018

POEM #2- It Is Very Risky"

OK, so I am definitely limping along into poetry land this month. I spent two hours- one this morning and one tonight, trying to write a Shardoma. It was coming together, and then it wasn't, and I was totally out of time. So that is on hold for another day, or maybe never. Happened to come across this quote on Twitter (thank you Catherine Duggan) and it felt like a found poem. So that's what it has become. 

"It is Very Risky"

The Giver

passed along 

to the boy

knowledge

history 

memories

color

pain

laughter

love

and truth.

Each time

you place a book

in the hands of a child

you do the same thing.

It is very risky. 

But each time

a child

opens a book

she opens a gate

that separates her

from Elsewhere. 

It gives her choices.

It gives her freedom. 

And those are 

magnificent

wonderful

unsafe

things. 

It is very risky. 

Lois Lowry

Newbery Acceptance Speech

THE GIVER