Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast

This is going to be brief, as I seem to have been visited this week by the same bug my daughters had within the past couple of weeks. But I wanted to check in—an early Poetry Friday post, if you will—with some art from one of my favorite illustrators, G. Brian Karas.

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BAH-DUM-CHING, my friends!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted for Poetry Friday, and today I’m gettin’ goofy with George Shannon’s and Lynn Brunelle’s Chicken Scratches: Poultry Poetry and Rooster Rhymes (Chronicle Books, March 2010). It’s illustrated by Scott Menchin, whose work I’ve yet to feature here at the ‘ol blawg.

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Ah. Poetry Friday, I’ve missed you. Well, I hosted a couple weeks ago, but it still feels like forever since I’ve simply shared a poem I read and loved.

And that’s what I’m doing today. And this will be short and sweet. I’ll let the poem speak for itself. Except to say, quite simply, that I’m edging forty. Surprisingly to me, it’s challenging my previously-held beliefs that I Won’t Mind Getting Older, and it’s been making me feel restless. Making me stare at young ones in their twenties and wanting to pull them aside on the street and whisper to them: Be sure you live it up. Wield passion. Laugh loud and undiminished (as David Gray once wrote). Read the rest of this entry �

This is my first time hosting a Poetry Friday. Ever. Honestly, I’m rather embarrassed about this, that I haven’t done it yet, as I’m a big fan of the whole tradition. I truly and deeply always have wanted to host. Anyway. Better late than never, and I hope you all will acquaint yourselves with Mister Linky (dude, that’s his real name; I always thought someone make it up all jokey) at the bottom of the post and let all your Poetry Friday peeps know what you’re up to.

First things first, though: This morning, I’m celebrating Jeannine Atkins’ new title, Borrowed Names: Poems About Laura Ingalls Wilder, Madam C.J. Walker, Marie Curie, and Their Daughters, released by Henry Holt in March (and which, it was recently announced here, will be receiving a starred review in the May/June issue of the Horn Book, another starred review in a growing list of them). Now, here’s the thing: I’m still reading it. Since I’m doing my own writing myself these days, my reading rate (anything other than picture books) is fairly slow. I started Jeannine’s book and absolutely fell in love with it, but that didn’t mean my little windows of time in life in which to get things done didn’t preclude me from just devouring the book, as I was wont to do.

I have managed to finish the first part, though, all about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her spunky, independent, world-travelling daughter, Rose, who both encouraged her mother to write her life story and helped her shape the novel into what we read today. And it blew me away. It made me wonder and laugh and cry and have goosebumps and sometimes simply put the book down and think for about an hour (or two or three) and ponder my relationship with my own daughters and much more. It’s truly beautiful — masterfully-executed, never giving in to excessive sentimentality, and powerfully-felt.

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This morning, I welcome children’s book author and illustrator Barney Saltzberg, who has published more than thirty books in his career thus far, as well as released two CDs of children’s music. Barney also teaches a class on writing and illustrating picture books at UCLA. He’s here this morning to talk a bit about his brand-new picture book, All Around the Seasons (Candlewick, February 2010), as well as share some art from it. The energetic book, in the words of Kirkus, is a rhyming salute to the four seasons. School Library Journal adds: “The illustrations, done in acrylic and pencil, have a childlike simplicity that should appeal to young children. Emerging readers might also like to try this book, as the simple verse and large, clear font are easy to read without crowding the pictures.”

With regard to coffee, Barney says he and his wife “users,” not drinkers. This I love. “Every morning I make espresso for whomever is in the house,” he told me, “which sometimes feels like a B&B. I refer to my coffee corner as Barnbucks.” So, I’m going to have a seat at Barnbucks here—yes, I’ve invited myself over—while Barney tells us a bit about his new title. Thanks to Barney for letting me visit…

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This poem comes from Deborah Garrison’s 2007 collection of poetry entitled The Second Child (Random House). This is not re-printed with permission. I hope you all won’t have to visit me in Poetry Jail. The poems are funny, tender, and honest, and some of them send goosebumps up my arms. My commentary this morning will not go beyond that. I simply leave the poem for you to enjoy.

“A Drink in the Night” by Deborah Garrison:

My eyes opened
at once for you were standing
by my side, you’d padded
in to ask for a drink in the night.

The cup was—-where?
Fallen down, behind?
Churning in the dishwater, downstairs?
Too tired to care, I cupped
my hand and tipped it
to you. You stared, gulped,
some cold down your chin.
Whispered, “Again!”

O wonder. You’d no idea
I could make a cup.
You’ve no idea what
I can do for you, or hope to.
You watched, curious and cool,
as I cupped some up
to my own lips, too,
then asked,
“Why does it taste better?”

The Poetry Friday round-up is being held this morning over at Some Novel Ideas.

My Poetry Friday post this week is—straight up, y’all—stolen from the honorable Liz Garton Scanlon. Always steal from the best, right? She posted this poem by Marie Howe back in September of last year, and I swear I’ve thought of it every day since then. Cross my heart.

And that would be because I’m a hurrier myself. And I would like to be less of one. And my oldest daughter moves slowly and takes in the world well, which she got from my husband. Evidently, a grown-up neighbor once told him when he was a boy—and I paraphrase—“you will never get an ulcer, my child, but you’ll give one to those who are waiting on you.” I drop my daughter off at school, and—no matter if she’s about to be late—she downright ambles into the building, all these kids rushing past her. Wait: It’s most definitely a mosey that she executes. But I think she probably sees way more than I do in this weird, bizarro world we live in. And this is good.

So, here’s the poem that Liz posted that kept me from getting up from my computer for about twenty minutes after I first read it. It had this power over me, started a conversation with me about why exactly it is that I do hurry. Yes, I talk to myself. What? Seriously? Don’t you all? For real? Read the rest of this entry �

Two things on this Poetry Friday:

First, you know those picture books that try entirely too hard to be clever concept books, as in the concept is uncomfortably forced? Well, it’s Opposite Day (in more ways than one): Here’s one concept book, a collection of poems, that really works. Below is the smart poem that goes with the spread you see above. It comes from Marilyn Singer’s newest collection of poetry, Mirror Mirror: A Book of Reversible Verse, illustrated by Josée Masse, and released this week by Dutton Juvenile:

“We read most poems down a page,” writes Singer in the book’s note on the poetry. “But what if we read them up? That’s the question I asked myself when I created the reverso. When you read a reverso down, it is one poem. When you read it up, with changes allowed only in punctuation and capitalization it is a different poem…” Singer uses her reverso technique to tell both sides of each tale, Publishers Weekly calling the concept a smart one and praising Masse’s fun-with-symmetry, as you can see in these featured spreads.

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I promise I haven’t forsaken Poetry Fridays. I do so love Poetry Fridays. But, hey, I’ll be back with an entry soon. And you know what else? All kinds of other folks are sharing poetry today. Jone’s hosting the Poetry Friday round-up, if you feel like exploring…

It’s always a good Poetry Friday when J. Patrick Lewis stops by.

Many elementary schools this time of year are celebrating the 100th day of school. Yup, we’ve been counting out one hundred Cheerios and one hundred M&Ms with our kindergartener here in the Danielson home. Pat shares this new poem with us this morning, which celebrates school libraries on the 100th day of the school year. “I was thinking,” he told me, “that this might be a good time to recognize the most important room in every elementary school.”

Thanks, Pat. This one’s fun.

“A School Library Is”
(as told in book titles with a twist)

A Child’s Garden of Voices
The Dewey Day
Picka Picka Bloom Room
The Habbit
Boyful Joise
Make Hay for Booklings
Shriek!
Feast o’ the Fun and Best Until June
The House at Ooh Corner
Amazing Space
Mall of the Wild
Teidi
Where the Read Fun Grows
Vowl Boon
The Higher Tower of Lucky
The Blizzard of Ahhs

[Actual book titles above, in reverse: sesreV fo nedraG s’dlihC A; yaD ywonS A; mooB mooB akcihC akcihC; tibboH ehT; esioN lufyoJ; sgnilkcuD rof yaW ekaM; !kerhS; nooM eht ‘o tseW dna nuS eht ‘o tsaE; renroC hooP ta esuoH ehT; ecarG gnizamA; dliW eht fo llaC; idieH; sworG nreF deR eht erehW; nooM lwO; ykcuL fo rewoP rehgiH ehT; zO fo draziW ehT]

The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted by Great Kid Books today. Enjoy!