poetry friday

British actor/aesthete Stephen Fry is a favorite personality in our household. He's also written some books, including The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within, which my husband picked up recently and I've been gradually working through.

In The Ode Less Travelled, Fry introduces the reader to poetry from a technical angle. I'm a quarter of the way through, and he has yet to discuss deriving meaning from poetry; as he says, "I certainly do not attempt in this book to pick up where [your] poor teachers left off and instruct you in poetry appreciation." Instead, Fry dissects meter, rhyme, and classic poetic forms and guides readers through exercises to try it for themselves. He believes all people are poetic by nature but don't have the tools to make anything of it; this book is the toolbox he offers.

Fry doesn't touch free verse at all; in fact, in his foreword, he quotes W. H. Auden, as I will now:
"The poet who writes 'free' verse is like Robinson Crusoe on his desert island: he must do all his cooking, laundry and darning for himself. In a few exceptional cases, this manly independence produces something original and impressive but more often the result is squalor—dirty sheets on the unmade bed and empty bottles on the unswept floor."

In my own (albeit dubious and sporadic) poetic efforts, I have preferred the structure offered by formal verse. Free verse feels a bit like being thrown into the middle of a foreign country sans tour guide, phrase book, or proper shoes. I'm at a loss as to where to go, what to do. When I'm working within the structure of a sonnet, however, there's just enough confinement to make me feel safe.**

As of page 75, Fry has given me an overview of meter to beat the pants off the high school English class version: the various feet, the various -ameters, enjambment and caesura, the various substitutions and adding/lopping of "weak" syllables to add emphasis to the "strong." Along the way, he offers dozens of illustration from classic verse (from Shakespeare's to modern times), examples he's made up for illustrative purposes (for which he makes no apologies), and exercises he insists readers attempt.

His authorial voice is engaging and, often, amusing. How often did your English teacher interrupt class to shout, "NO, DAMN YOU, NO! A THOUSAND TIMES NO! THE ORGANISING PRINCIPLE BEHIND THE VERSE IS NOT THE SENSE BUT THE METRE"? Or comment on William Blake's verse, "My dear, the scansion!" Fry doesn't pretend to be a great scholar or a great poet; he's the appreciator of poetry we could all be if we spent the time and thought.

So far, none of my exercises have yielded anything unembarrassing enough to share here, but I'm planning to continue through the book and, I hope, someday have some more verse I wouldn't be ashamed to put my name on.

The Ode Less Travelled isn't a poet's bible, but it is full of valuable information for those of us who know little but are willing to learn. It ought to be required for all writers who wants to write a rhyming picture book. It won't help them write a better story, but with any luck it will prevent their readers from wrinkling their noses and exclaiming, "My dear, the scansion!"

**Thinking of formal verse always reminds me of this dialogue from A Wrinkle in Time:

(Mrs. Whatsit) [The sonnet] is a very strict form of poetry, is it not? There are fourteen lines, I believe, all in iambic pentameter. That's a very strict rhythm or meter, yes? And each line has to end with a rigid rhyme pattern. And if the poet does not do it exactly this way, it is not a sonnet, is it?

(Mrs. Whatsit) Yes. You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.

Isn't that lovely?

Kelly at Big A little a has this week's Poetry Friday round-up. Be sure to check it out!

A few months back, Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect posted a suggestion to write "colorful" poetry based on Hailstones and Halibut Bones, by Mary O'Neill. I remembered that my own third grade teacher used that very book with us way back when, and I'd written several four-line verses on different colors. But I didn't step up to the challenge until this week, when I used O'Neill's book as part of my junior literary magazine's opening exercise. If I was asking them to write a colorful poem, shouldn't I do it, too?

So, here's the first non-doggerel poem I've written in... I have no idea how long... five hundred years? It's a rather sentimental ode on summer and the color pink. You have been warned. (Thanks to Jim Danielson for the encouragement last week. Jim, for the record, this took me considerably longer than 15 minutes.)

PINK SUMMER
Dawn smears pink fingers across the dark lake.
Fifty mosquito bites itch you awake.
The day is a strawberry, poised at your lips,
a wheel of melon without any pips.
Out to pick raspberries in the cool morn,
your legs tic-tac-toed by each saber-tooth thorn.
Now run to the beach, let the sun bake you sore.
Gobble a hotdog, then gobble two more.
A peppermint ice cream cone stickies your face
as pink sun melts away and pink moon takes its place.

Catch this week's Poetry Friday round-up at The Well-Read Child!

This slim and pretty volume showed up on our new book cart this morning. It's pretty on the inside, too! John Frank opens the world's junk drawers—the seashore, the attic, the flea market—and presents a poetic ode on each treasure he finds. The verses, written in formal rhyme and meter, are as spare, simple, and lovely as the items he considers.

In "Low Tide", the volume's opening verse, "...shells like broken lockets / Lie scattered on the sandy shore / Where the ocean empties its pockets." An abalone shell is "a melted rainbow cupped in pearl."

I enjoyed "A Trunk of Clothes," in which a child pawing through the attic discovers, initially disdains, and eventually delights in fashions of a bygone era:

Did people actually wear this stuff?
I ask myself as I pull out
a two-tone shoe, a fur-trimmed muff,

a hat that's so old fashioned
you would not be caught dead dressed in it...
but then, I glance behind me,
and...I wonder if...it just might fit.

Each poem is accompanied by a photograph by Ken Robbins. Some of them are sharp and detailed, but others appear to have been blown up too far, then blurred in Photoshop.

Overall, it's a tidy collection, particularly refreshing in its notion that poetry for kids doesn't have to be all wacky, all the time.

Find this week's Poetry Friday round-up at A Year of Reading!

Welcome to this week's Poetry Friday round-up! It's great fun to be part of this community, and I'm thrilled to take my turn hosting. For those of you visiting my blog for the first time, welcome, and for those of you returning, welcome back.

In northern Illinois, we're finally shaking off the (admittedly gorgeous) spring weather and moving into true summer: hot, muggy, and buggy. At the same time, the days are growing shorter, this constant reminder of winter's approach. Here's a little Keats that seems fitting.

On the Grasshopper and Cricket

The poetry of earth is never dead:
    When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
    And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's—he takes the lead
    In summer luxury,—he has never done
    With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
    On a lone winter evening, when the frost
        Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
    And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
        The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

—John Keats

There's an interesting story to go with this poem. Keats and fellow poet and friend (James Henry) Leigh Hunt had a tradition of friendly competition, and "On the Grasshopper and Cricket" supposedly came out of a 15-minute sonnet-writing contest on December 30, 1816.

Hunt's poem, "To the Grasshopper and the Cricket" is also a treat, though I favor the Keats a little more. I think it's that lovely line, "The poetry of earth is ceasing never," that does it for me.

Round-Up

If you like, please leave your link to your Poetry Friday post in the comments below. I'll add it to the round-up as promptly as I can!

• Cloudscome, of A Wrung Sponge, shares an original poem "Baby Gate," from the perspective of a retired baby gate.
• David E., of Fomagrams, shares an original poem from a recent workshop, "Clothesline."
• Stacey, of Two Writing Teachers, shares The Eagle and the Bear," a poem about strength by David J. Pipkin.
• Sherry, of Semicolon, shares a beautiful (and timely) poem written by her daughter, "Beach."
• John Mutford, of The Book Mine Set, reviews Hand to Hand, a collection of poems by Nadine McInnis.
• Writer2B shares some of her favorite Suzanne Vega lyrics.
• Elaine Magliaro, of Wild Rose Reader and Blue Rose Girls, shares two poems: "Taos," by Cynthia Gray (not to mention lovely photographs from Elaine's trip to the Rio Grande), and "A Green Crab's Shell, by Mark Doty.
• Mary Lee, of A Year of Reading, shares "Catalogue," by Rosalie Moore. (Incidentally, it's about cats, not books, and Mary Lee has posted some cute kitty photos to go with it.)
• Jama Rattigan shares a poem about one of my favorite musical groups of yore, Simon & Garfunkel: "A Duet," by Kevin McFadden.
• Eisha, of 7 Impossible Things Before Breakfast, shares "Leda," from Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon's book Black Swan.
• Laura Salas discusses her favorite poetry how-to books (be sure to follow the link near the bottom to read the rest of her article). Each week, she also invites all poets to share their poems of 15 words or less.
• Kelly Fineman, of Writing and Ruminating, shares and discusses "Porphyria's Lover," by Robert Browning.
• Michele, of Scholar's Blog, shares "Listen..." by Ogden Nash.
• Christy, of Positively Everything, shares "Sleep in the Mojave Desert," by Sylvia Plath, in celebration of her own recent journey through the Mojave.
• Ruth, of There Is No Such Thing as a God-Forsaken Town, shares "Adelstrop," by Edward Thomas.
• Marcie, of World of Words, shares an original (and mouth-watering) haiku about strawberries.
• Karen Edmisten highlights two of her favorite Poetry Friday bloggers.
• Tiel Aisha Ansari, of Knocking from Inside, shares an original poem, "First Light," inspired by a painting.
• Becky, of Becky's Book Reviews, shares "Shower," from Linda Sue Park's collection Tap Dancing on the Roof.
• Little Willow shares the lyrics to "Climbing Uphill," by Jason Robert Brown, from the musical The Last Five Years.
• Susan, of Chicken Spaghetti, shares "Alone," by Edgar Allen Poe.
• MotherReader shares her poetic interpretation of Barack Obama's "Yes We Can" speech.
• Monica Edinger, of Educating Alice, shares three poems by J. Patrick Lewis. (Would that I received personal poems in my email!)
• Jennie, of Biblio File, shares "Lessons of War: Judging Distances," by Henry Reed.
• Gina Ruiz shares "Sunset, Eight in the Evening," by Cuitlamiztli Carter.
• Anastasia Suen shares poetry lesson plans to go with Where in the Wild?: Camouflaged Creatures Concealed... and Revealed.
• Suzanne, of Adventures in Daily Living, shares "Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith," by Mary Oliver, and recommends the poetry collection For a Child: Great Poems Old and New, edited by Wilma McFarland.
• Carol, of Carol's Corner, shares "The First Time," a beach-minded poem by Ralph Fletcher.
• Tricia, of The Miss Rumphius Effect, shares "Why Latin Should Still Be Taught in High School," by Christopher Bursk.
• HipWriterMama shares "Dear Doctor, I Have Read Your Play," by Lord Byron.
• Cuileann, of The Holly and the Ivy, shares "The Truth the Dead Know," by Anne Sexton.
• Charlotte, of Charlotte's Library, reviews Crocs, written by David T. Greenberg and illustrated by Lynn Munsinger.
• And Jim Danielson brings the day to a lovely close with his original poem "Blue Lake—July 5."

Thanks, everyone, for swinging by!

In recognition of Independence Day, I've drug up two poems of the American Revolutionary War. Actually, they were both written well after the war, so they bear some of that gloss of "once upon a time." The first is a rousing cry to battle, the second a quiet remembrance. Both remind readers that, ever as now, the cost of freedom is paid in human lives, our most valuable yet (I sometimes think) undervalued currency.

Warren's Address to the American Soldiers

Stand! the ground's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
     Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!
     Ask it,—ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you! they're afire!
     And, before you, see
Who have done it!—From the vale
On they come!—And will ye quail?—
Leaden rain and iron hail
     Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust!
Die we may,—and die we must;
But, O, where can dust to dust
     Be consigned so well,
As where Heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head,
     Of his deeds to tell!

—John Pierpont (1785–1866)

Joseph Warren was a Boston physician, Major General of the Massachusetts Militia, and the man responsible for sending Paul Revere and William Dawes on their famous ride. He was the first officer of rank to die in the Revolutionary War, at the Battle of Bunker Hill.

John Pierpont should not be confused with his son, James Lord Pierpont, the man we have to thank blame for "Jingle Bells."

Concord Hymn

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)

Emerson wrote "Concord Hymn" for the July 4, 1837, dedication of the Battle Monument in Concord, Massachusetts.

I found both poems in Old Glory: American War Poems from the Revolutionary War to the War on Terrorism, edited by Robert Hedin (Persea, 2004). It's quite an interesting volume, with hundreds of contemporary and retrospective war poems from the past 200+ years.

Catch this week's Poetry Friday round-up at In Search of Giants!