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Calligraphy as poetry
from Ed.Ted

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Want a few more details about Guillaume Apollinaire? Visit this site. Apollinaire concluded his famous Paris lecture [in French] by saying, "Poets will mechanize (computerize) poetry one day, just like other things in the world have been mechanized. They will provide a completely new lyricism driven by the motion now taking place with the phonograph and cinema. This poetry is now in its infancy. But watch out, it will soon speak for itself, and a new spirit will fill the universe and manifest itself in the field of letters and art, and in everything that is known." (translated by Mary Ann Sullivan) What do you think of this quote? Did his prediction come true?

Did you know that one of Apollinaire's most famous works, Lettre Océan, is a part of Poems Of Peace and War which constitutes the first part of Calligrammes? It was written on June 15th, 1914, and sent to his brother Albert, who was then in Mexico City. It is the very first calligram. The title evokes a reality that exists no longer today. The "lettre-ocean" was a message transmitted by wireless telegraphy from one ship to a receiving ship by the service of TSF. ("telegraphie sans fil") It was taken from the receiving ship to the post office on the ship's first stop. This often took several days or even weeks to arrive.

How do you begin to read a calligram when the poem renders an impression of simultaneity?

This simultaneity is due to mixed biographical details, memories, and past and present facts on the same level. But regarding the sense of the poem, there are some explanations. What do we see and understand? Let's take a look!

- In one of the first globally linear groups, Guillaume sends a letter from Germany that says: "I was near the Rhine," to his younger brother, Albert, who travelled to Vera Cruz. The second sentence sounds like a sort of ubiquity: "Your voice comes to me in spite of the big distance."

- The second linear group, (under the wavy incised lines) is made with fragments of Albert's postcard. (REPUBLICA MEXICANA TARJETA POSTAL). It has 2 mimetic representations of the mail stamps on the left and on the right; some details refer to Mexican history and Juan Aldama, who was a murdered patriot. It also refers to a boat.

- A first circular spatialized group compound of twelve "beams" emanating as waves from the Eiffel Tower, to which is added the vertical mention "TSF." This is connected to the development of wireless telegraphy. These beams "sound" like rumors of the city and include the words, "Please Stop coachman." They also include political sentences like "God save the King."
- The third linear group is mysterious, and is translated as: "Hello you will never know the Mayas." In the Mayan language, "anomo" means "hello" to a man, and "anora" means "hello," to a woman. But, who is the "you" in this section? It could be Guillaume or Albert. Then, under the word "MAYAS," Apollinaire inserts a memory which reads: "Do you remember the earthquake?" The earthquake evoked here took place, in fact, on March 4th 1887. There was also an earthquake which caused several deaths in the Riviera on February 23rd 1887. Is this event evoked from thoughts by Guillaume or by Albert? It is most probable that it was from Guillaume, who was six years old at that time, while the younger Albert was hardly five.

- The second circular shape is more important spatially than the first one. "Lettre Océan," establishes a compound calligram in a particularly balanced and symmetrical way. It also consists of twelve "beams" emanating off the Eiffel Tower. These sentences describe Guillaume's ordinary life in this way: "And how I sneak a free ride with my woman" (it is slang) and "the traveler Guillaume Apollinaire takes the train to visit his mother who lives in Chatou." Some other sentences in this group are incomplete, as if we heard fragments of conversations or noises of Paris, these include: "a peddler sells his cream cheese," "the Eiffel Tower," "warning alarms," "the sounds of gramophone," and "the sounds of poet's shoes."

"Lettre Océan," is characterized, in particular, by a very strong reference anchoring of diverse orders including private information about both himself, Albert, and his mother's residence. It also includes technology (the telegraph, the Eiffel Tower, the gramophone), aesthetics, history (political situation of both France and Mexico), mathematics and numbers.

The aesthetic choices of Apollinaire are confirmed with this calligram. These include the practice of sampling, the use of collage, the taste for the simultaneity of intimate thoughts with the outside world, ubiquity, sounds and visual effects. His poetry is a wonderful example of modern poetry, which tries to include everything.

During the war, Apollinaire wrote calligrams, letters, and lyric poems to his love, Lou. Here is an example of one:

Here is the translation of this calligram. This poem is a good example of poetic purpose, rhythm, music, and lyricism. Read it and see what you think.

Recognize you

This adorable person that's you

Under the large boater straw hat

Eye

Nose

The mouth

Here is the oval of your face

Your exquisite (delightful?)neck

Here is at last the imperfect picture of your beloved chest, seen as through a cloud

Further down it's your heart beating

Want to see more of his work? Click here.

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The poet who painted with his words - Geneviève Emy

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Among the great poets of literary history, certain names like Homer, Shakespeare and Whitman are instantly recognizable. However, there's an early 20th century great poet whose name you may not know: Guillaume Apollinaire. Geneviève Emy shows how during Apollinaire's short lifetime he created poetry that combined text and image in a way that seemingly predicted a artistic revolution to come.

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by Eve Merriam

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Death by Basketball by Frank X. Walker

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Before and after school
he stood
on a milk crate
eyeballed the mirror
and only saw wayne turner
at tournament time

a third grader
just off the bus
barely four feet
off the ground
he dropped his books
sank a j'
from the top of the key
and heard the crowd roar
beat his man off the dribble
with a break yaneck
crossover
and slammed himself
on the cover of a box
of wheaties

he was out there
every night
under a street light
fighting through double picks
talking trash
to imaginary body checks
'you can't hold me fool'
fake right
'this is my planet'
drive left
'is the camera on'
reverse lay-up
'that's butter baby'
finshing with a trey
from downtown, swish!
I'm inna zone t'night
whogotnext?
more than a little
light in the ass
hands so small
the ball almost dribbled him
he formed his own lay-up line
in the bluegrass
wildcat jersey
hanging like a summer dress

on a court made bald
from daily use
and instead of writing
his spelling words
he signed a contract
he could barely read
inked a commitment
in big block letters
to the NBA
and NIKE
and SPRITE
scribbled superstar in cursive
with a fat red pencil
and practiced his
million dollar smile
not his multiplication table
thinking of how many
chocolate milks
he could buy
with his signing bonus
or his all-star game
appearance fee
after recess

another shooting
another tragic death
another little genius
who will never test out
of a dream
that kills legitimate futures
every night
under street lights
wherever these products
are sold. . .

From Affrilachia, copyright 2000 by Frank X. Walker, All rights reserved.

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Death by Basketball by Frank X. Walker - African American Registry

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Before and after school he stood on a milk crate eyeballed the mirror and only saw wayne turner at tournament time a third grader just off the bus barely four feet off the ground he dropped his books sank a j' from the top of the key and heard the

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Slam, Dunk & Hook by Yusef Komunyakaa

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Slam, Dunk, & Hook by Yusef Komunyakaa | Poetry Foundation

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by Sherman Alexie from the Busines of Everything

I remember sun-
days when the man I
call my father made

me shoot free throws, one
for every day of my life
so far. I remember
the sin of imperfect

spin, the ball falling in-
to that moment between
a father and forgive-

ness, between the hands reach-
ing up and everything
they can possibly hold.

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Another basketball poem by Sherman Alexie

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Basketball is like this for young Indian boys, all arms and legs / and serious stomach muscles. Every body is brown! / These are the twentieth-century warriors who will never kill

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Don't wait for inspiration, but sit down quietly, and begin; once you have gotten to work, shut up, even to yourself, about writer's block; use your imagination; and keep working. That is your draft. The first one will always be terrible; don't worry about that; keep working. Cut anything that is not in your own voice or anything about which you do not feel passionately or anything that is not true. If you have taken a wrong turn, go back; that is part of the process. Then edit, edit, edit. Finally know when you are done. Of all these, "get to work" is the most important.
Leonard Wolfe, as quoted by Naomi Wolfe in "The Treehouse: eccentric wisdom from my father on how to live, love and see"

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From Elizabeth G. Dinkins: Three-point shot: Basketball, poetry and critical literacy in The English Journal

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American Poet

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Jack Prelutsky & Carin Berger collaboration

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Jack Prelutsky & Carin Berger collaboration

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Fun poems from "Stardines", blending animals and objects or ideas.

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How to be a poet - sound clip

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"When power corrupts, poetry cleanses," John F. Kennedy proclaimed in his touching tribute to Robert Frost, celebrating poetry as "the means of saving power from itself." And although poetry itself exerts a singular power over the human spirit, as one of the greatest poets of all time observed, it is hardly a power that comes easily to the poet: "Writing poetry is an unnatural act," Elizabeth Bishop wrote when she was only twenty-three. So how, then, does one come to master this unnatural power - how does one become a Poet?

That's what the wise and wonderful Wendell Berry (b. August 5, 1934) - a man of great wisdom on solitude, love, and our "rugged individualism" - explores in a marvelous poem titled "How to Be a Poet (to remind myself)," found in his New Collected Poems (public library).

In this recording from the consistently transcendent , Berry brings his beautifully aged voice to the poem - which is in many ways not only about how to be a poet, but also about how to be an artist of any kind. With its insistence on the vitalizing power of silence and stillness and self-refinement, it is perhaps, above all, about how to be a complete human being.

HOW TO BE A POET
(to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill - more of each
than you have - inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

For more of Berry's enduring wisdom, see his meditations on the two great enemies of creative work and what poetic form reveals about the secret of marriage, then treat yourself to Derek Walcott's stirring ode to being at home in ourselves and subscribe to On Being here.

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Wendell Berry on How to Be a Poet and a Complete Human Being

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"When power corrupts, poetry cleanses," John F. Kennedy proclaimed in his touching tribute to Robert Frost, celebrating poetry as "the means of saving power from itself." And although poetry itself exerts a singular power over the human spirit, as one of the greatest poets of all time observed, it is hardly a power that comes easily to the poet: "Writing poetry is an unnatural act," Elizabeth Bishop wrote when she was only twenty-three.

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Poetry Foundation - archive of poems

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By Billy Collins, animated

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The Country - Billy Collins Animated Poetry

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By Billy Collins

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"To my favourite 17 year old High-school girl" - Billy Collins

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A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.

A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.

A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.

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"Poetry can break open locked chambers of possibility, restore numbed zones to feeling, recharge desire," Adrienne Rich wrote in contemplating the cultural power of poetry. But what is a poem, really, and what exactly is its use?

Every once in a while, you stumble upon something so lovely, so unpretentiously beautiful and quietly profound, that you feel like the lungs of your soul have been pumped with a mighty gasp of Alpine air. This Is a Poem That Heals Fish (public library) is one such vitalizing gasp of loveliness - a lyrical picture-book that offers a playful and penetrating answer to the question of what a poem is and what it does. And as it does that, it shines a sidewise gleam on the larger question of what we most hunger for in life and how we give shape to those deepest longings.

Written by the French poet, novelist, and dramatist Jean-Pierre Simeón, translated into English by Enchanted Lion Books founder Claudia Zoe Bedrick (the feat of translation which the Nobel-winning Polish poet Wisława Szymborska had in mind when she spoke of "that rare miracle when a translation stops being a translation and becomes ... a second original"), and illustrated by the inimitable Olivier Tallec, this poetic and philosophical tale follows young Arthur as he tries to salve his beloved red fish Leon's affliction of boredom.

Arthur's mommy looks at him.
She closes her eyes,
she opens her eyes...

Then she smiles:

- Hurry, give him a poem!

And she leaves for her tuba lesson.

Puzzled and unsure what a poem is, Arthur goes looking in the pantry, only to hear the noodles sigh that there is no poem there. He searches in the closet and under his bed, but the vacuum cleaner and the dust balls have no poem, either.

Determined, Arthur continues his search.
He runs to Lolo's bicycle shop.
Lolo knows everything, laughs all the time, and is always in love.
He is repairing a tire and singing.

So begins the wonderful meta-story of how poetry comes into being as a tapestry of images, metaphors, and magpie borrowings. Each person along the way contributes to Arthur's tapestry a different answer, infused with the singular poetic truth of his or her own life. Lolo offers:

- A poem, Arthur, is when you are in love and have the sky in your mouth.

- Oh...? Okay.

Next, he visits his friend the baker, Mrs. Round, who echoes Thom Gunn's insistence that "poetry is of many sorts and is all around us," rather than something reserved for the special formal class of "poets."

Mrs. Round tells Arthur:

- A poem? I don't know much about that.
But I know one, and it is hot like fresh bread.
When you eat it, a little is always left over.

- Oh...? Okay.

Arthur turns to his neighbor next, "old Mahmoud who comes from the desert and waters his rhododendrons every morning at 9 o'clock."

Mahmoud offers his answer with easeful conviction:

- A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone.

- Oh...? All right.

Arthur hastens home to check on poor Leon, who appears to be asleep, "floating gently amidst the seaweed as if thinking." And because this is the sort of story in which a canary can only be named after an Ancient Greek comic playwright, Arthur next seeks an answer from his canary named Aristophanes, "who is no bird brain."

Our imagination is left to ponder why, on the next page, the cage contains not the yellow canary but a red-haired woman, who sings Aristophanes's answer. Perhaps she is a visual allusion to Aristophanes's play Assemblywomen, or perhaps she represents a muse, whom Tallec invokes to remind us that the muse hides in many guises and reveals herself in the most improbable of places.

- A poem is when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.

- Oh...? Okay.

Just then, Arthur's grandmother arrives and is met with the same question, which she answers after thinking hard, evidenced by the way "she always smiles a silly smile when thinking."

- When you put your old sweater on backwards or inside out, dear Arthur, you might say that it is new again.
A poem turns words around, upside down, and - suddenly! - the world is new.

But grandma encourages Arthur to ask his grandfather, too, who "often writes poems ... instead of repairing pipes."

- A poem? grandpa says, tugging on his mustache and looking worried. A poem, well... it's what poets make.

- Oh...? All right.

- Even if the poets do not know it themselves!

Frustrated with the multitude of confounding answers, Arthur returns to Leon's fishbowl only to find him sound asleep beneath his large stone, enveloped in seaweed.

- I'm sorry, Leon, I have not found a poem. All I know is this:
A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.
A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.

A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.

Leon opens one eye, then the other, and for the first time in his life he speaks.

- Then I am a poet, Arthur.

- Oh...?

Complement the almost unbearably wonderful This Is a Poem That Heals Fish with other poetic and profound Enchanted Lion treasures: Cry, Heart, But Never Break, a Danish illustrated meditation on loss and life, What Color Is the Wind?, a French serenade to the senses inspired by a blind child, and Pinocchio: The Origin Story, an Italian inquiry into the grandest questions of existence, then revisit poet Elizabeth Alexander on what poetry does for the human spirit.
Illustrations courtesy of Enchanted Lion Books

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This Is a Poem That Heals Fish: An Almost Unbearably Wonderful Picture-Book About How Poetry Works Its Magic

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"Poetry can break open locked chambers of possibility, restore numbed zones to feeling, recharge desire," Adrienne Rich wrote in contemplating the cultural power of poetry. But what is a poem, really, and what exactly is its use?

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by Edward Lear

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Book of Nonsense, by Edward Lear

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Book of Nonsense

Author: Edward Lear

Release Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #982]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOOK OF NONSENSE ***


Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger

By Edward Lear

                    There was an Old Derry down Derry,
                    Who loved to see little folks merry;
                    So he made them a Book,
                    And with laughter they shook,
                    At the fun of that Derry down Derry!

TO THE GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN,
GRAND-NEPHEWS, AND GRAND-NIECES
OF EDWARD, 13th EARL OF DERBY,

THIS BOOK OF DRAWINGS AND VERSES

(The greater part of which were originally
made and composed for their parents,)

IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR,

EDWARD LEAR

1.

               There was an Old Man with a beard,
               Who said, "It is just as I feared!-
               Two Owls and a Hen,
               Four Larks and a Wren,
               Have all built their nests in my beard!"

2.

               There was a Young Lady of Ryde,
               Whose shoe-strings were seldom untied;
               She purchased some clogs,
               And some small spotty dogs,
               And frequently walked about Ryde.

3.

               There was an Old Man with a nose,
               Who said, "If you choose to suppose,
               That my nose is too long,
               You are certainly wrong!"
               That remarkable Man with a nose.

4.

               There was an Old Man on a hill,
               Who seldom, if ever, stood still;
               He ran up and down,
               In his Grandmother's gown,
               Which adorned that Old Man on a hill.

5.

               There was a Young Lady whose bonnet,
               Came untied when the birds sate upon it;
               But she said, "I don't care!
               All the birds in the air
               Are welcome to sit on my bonnet!"

6.

               There was a Young Person of Smyrna,
               Whose Grandmother threatened to burn her;
               But she seized on the Cat,
               And said, "Granny, burn that!
               "You incongruous Old Woman of Smyrna!"

7.

               There was an Old Person of Chili,
               Whose conduct was painful and silly;
               He sate on the stairs,
               Eating apples and pears,
               That imprudent Old Person of Chili.

8.

               There was an Old Man with a gong,
               Who bumped at it all the day long;
               But they called out, "O law!
               You're a horrid old bore!"
               So they smashed that Old Man with a gong.

9.

               There was an Old Lady of Chertsey,
               Who made a remarkable curtsey;
               She twirled round and round,
               Till she sunk underground,
               Which distressed all the people of Chertsey.

10.

               There was an Old Man in a tree,
               Who was horribly bored by a Bee;
               When they said, "Does it buzz?"
               He replied, "Yes, it does!
               "It's a regular brute of a Bee!"

11.

               There was an Old Man with a flute,
               A sarpint ran into his boot;
               But he played day and night,
               Till the sarpint took flight,
               And avoided that man with a flute.

12.

               There was a Young Lady whose chin,
               Resembled the point of a pin:
               So she had it made sharp,
               And purchased a harp,
               And played several tunes with her chin.

13.

               There was an Old Man of Kilkenny,
               Who never had more than a penny;
               He spent all that money,
               In onions and honey,
               That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny.

14.

               There was an Old Person of Ischia,
               Whose conduct grew friskier and friskier;
               He danced hornpipes and jigs,
               And ate thousands of figs,
               That lively Old Person of Ischia.

15.

               There was an Old Man in a boat,
               Who said, "I'm afloat! I'm afloat!"
               When they said, "No! you ain't!"
               He was ready to faint,
               That unhappy Old Man in a boat.

16.

               There was a Young lady of Portugal,
               Whose ideas were excessively nautical;
               She climbed up a tree,
               To examine the sea,
               But declared she would never leave Portugal.

17.

               There was an Old Man of Moldavia,
               Who had the most curious behaviour;
               For while he was able,
               He slept on a table,
               That funny Old Man of Moldavia

18.

               There was an Old Man of Madras,
               Who rode on a cream-coloured ass;
               But the length of its ears,
               So promoted his fears,
               That it killed that Old Man of Madras.

19.

               There was an Old Person of Leeds,
               Whose head was infested with beads;
               She sat on a stool,
               And ate gooseberry fool,
               Which agreed with that person of Leeds.

20.

               There was an Old Man of Peru,
               Who never knew what he should do;
               So he tore off his hair,
               And behaved like a bear,
               That intrinsic Old Man of Peru.

21.

               There was an Old Person of Hurst,
               Who drank when he was not athirst;
               When they said, "You'll grow fatter,"
               He answered, "What matter?"
               That globular Person of Hurst.

22.

               There was a Young person of Crete,
               Whose toilette was far from complete;
               She dressed in a sack,
               Spickle-speckled with black,
               That ombliferous person of Crete.

23.

               There was an Old Man of the Isles,
               Whose face was pervaded with smiles;
               He sung high dum diddle,
               And played on the fiddle,
               That amiable Man of the Isles.

24.

               There was an Old Person of Buda,
               Whose conduct grew ruder and ruder;
               Till at last, with a hammer,
               They silenced his clamour,
               By smashing that Person of Buda

25.

               There was an Old Man of Columbia,
               Who was thirsty, and called out for some beer;
               But they brought it quite hot,
               In a small copper pot,
               Which disgusted that man of Columbia.

26.

               There was a young Lady of Dorking,
               Who bought a large bonnet for walking;
               But its colour and size,
               So bedazzled her eyes,
               That she very soon went back to Dorking.

27.

               There was an Old Man who supposed,
               That the street door was partially closed;
               But some very large rats,
               Ate his coats and his hats,
               While that futile old gentleman dozed.

28.

               There was an Old Man of the West,
               Who wore a pale plum-coloured vest;
               When they said, "Does it fit?"
               He replied, "Not a bit!"
               That uneasy Old Man of the West.

29.

               There was an Old Man of the Wrekin,
               Whose shoes made a horrible creaking;
               But they said, "Tell us whether,
               Your shoes are of leather,
               Or of what, you Old Man of the Wrekin?"

30.

               There was a Young Lady whose eyes,
               Were unique as to colour and size;
               When she opened them wide,
               People all turned aside,
               And started away in surprise.

31.

               There was a Young Lady of Norway,
               Who casually sat in a doorway;
               When the door squeezed her flat,
               She exclaimed, "What of that?"
               This courageous Young Lady of Norway.

32.

               There was an Old Man of Vienna,
               Who lived upon Tincture of Senna;
               When that did not agree,
               He took Camomile Tea,
               That nasty Old Man of Vienna.

33.

               There was an Old Person whose habits,
               Induced him to feed upon Rabbits;
               When he'd eaten eighteen,
               He turned perfectly green,
               Upon which he relinquished those habits.

34.

               There was an old person of Dover,
               Who rushed through a field of blue Clover;
               But some very large bees,
               Stung his nose and his knees,
               So he very soon went back to Dover.

35.

               There was an Old Man of Marseilles,
               Whose daughters wore bottle-green veils;
               They caught several Fish,
               Which they put in a dish,
               And sent to their Pa at Marseilles.

36.

               There was an Old Person of Cadiz,
               Who was always polite to all ladies;
               But in handing his daughter,
               He fell into the water,
               Which drowned that Old Person of Cadiz.

37.

               There was an Old Person of Basing,
               Whose presence of mind was amazing;
               He purchased a steed,
               Which he rode at full speed,
               And escaped from the people of Basing.

38.

               There was an Old Man of Quebec,
               A beetle ran over his neck;
               But he cried, "With a needle,
               I'll slay you, O beadle!"
               That angry Old Man of Quebec.

39.

               There was an Old Person of Philae,
               Whose conduct was scroobious and wily;
               He rushed up a Palm,
               When the weather was calm,
               And observed all the ruins of Philae.

40.

               There was a Young Lady of Bute,
               Who played on a silver-gilt flute;
               She played several jigs,
               To her uncle's white pigs,
               That amusing Young Lady of Bute.

41.

               There was a Young Lady whose nose,
               Was so long that it reached to her toes;
               So she hired an Old Lady,
               Whose conduct was steady,
               To carry that wonderful nose.

42.

               There was a Young Lady of Turkey,
               Who wept when the weather was murky;
               When the day turned out fine,
               She ceased to repine,
               That capricious Young Lady of Turkey.

43.

               There was an Old Man of Apulia,
               Whose conduct was very peculiar;
               He fed twenty sons,
               Upon nothing but buns,
               That whimsical Man of Apulia.

44.

               There was an Old Man with a poker,
               Who painted his face with red oker;
               When they said, "You're a Guy!"
               He made no reply,
               But knocked them all down with his poker.

45.

               There was an Old Person of Prague,
               Who was suddenly seized with the plague;
               But they gave him some butter,
               Which caused him to mutter,
               And cured that Old Person of Prague.

46.

               There was an Old Man of the North,
               Who fell into a basin of broth;
               But a laudable cook,
               Fished him out with a hook,
               Which saved that Old Man of the North.

47.

               There was a Young Lady of Poole,
               Whose soup was excessively cool;
               So she put it to boil,
               By the aid of some oil,
               That ingenious Young Lady of Poole.

48.

               There was an Old Person of Mold,
               Who shrank from sensations of cold;
               So he purchased some muffs,
               Some furs and some fluffs,
               And wrapped himself from the cold.

49.

               There was an Old Man or Nepaul,
               From his horse had a terrible fall;
               But, though split quite in two,
               By some very strong glue,
               They mended that Man of Nepaul.

50.

               There was an old Man of th' Abruzzi,
               So blind that he couldn't his foot see;
               When they said, "That's your toe,"
               He replied, "Is it so?"
               That doubtful old Man of th' Abruzzi.

51.

               There was an Old Person of Rhodes,
               Who strongly objected to toads;
               He paid several cousins,
               To catch them by dozens,
               That futile Old Person of Rhodes.

52.

               There was an Old Man of Peru,
               Who watched his wife making a stew;
               But once by mistake,
               In a stove she did bake,
               That unfortunate Man of Peru.

53.

               There was an Old Man of Melrose,
               Who walked on the tips of his toes;
               But they said, "It ain't pleasant,
               To see you at present,
               You stupid Old Man of Melrose."

54.

               There was a Young Lady of Lucca,
               Whose lovers completely forsook her;
               She ran up a tree,
               And said, "Fiddle-de-dee!"
               Which embarrassed the people of Lucca.

55.

               There was an old Man of Bohemia,
               Whose daughter was christened Euphemia;
               Till one day, to his grief,
               She married a thief,
               Which grieved that old Man of Bohemia.

56.

               There was an Old Man of Vesuvius,
               Who studied the works of Vitruvius;
               When the flames burnt his book,
               To drinking he took,
               That morbid Old Man of Vesuvius.

57.

               There was an Old Man of Cape Horn,
               Who wished he had never been born;
               So he sat on a chair,
               Till he died of despair,
               That dolorous Man of Cape Horn.

58.

               There was an Old Lady whose folly,
               Induced her to sit in a holly;
               Whereon by a thorn,
               Her dress being torn,
               She quickly became melancholy.

59.

               There was an Old Man of Corfu,
               Who never knew what he should do;
               So he rushed up and down,
               Till the sun made him brown,
               That bewildered Old Man of Corfu.

60.

               There was an Old Man of the South,
               Who had an immoderate mouth;
               But in swallowing a dish,
               That was quite full of fish,
               He was choked, that Old Man of the South.

61.

               There was an Old Man of the Nile,
               Who sharpened his nails with a file;
               Till he cut off his thumbs,
               And said calmly, "This comes-
               Of sharpening one's nails with a file!"

62.

               There was an Old Person of Rheims,
               Who was troubled with horrible dreams;
               So, to keep him awake,
               They fed him with cake,
               Which amused that Old Person of Rheims.

63.

               There was an Old Person of Cromer,
               Who stood on one leg to read Homer;
               When he found he grew stiff,
               He jumped over the cliff,
               Which concluded that Person of Cromer.

64.

               There was an Old Person of Troy,
               Whose drink was warm brandy and soy;
               Which he took with a spoon,
               By the light of the moon,
               In sight of the city of Troy.

65.

               There was an Old Man of the Dee,
               Who was sadly annoyed by a flea;
               When he said, "I will scratch it,"
               They gave him a hatchet,
               Which grieved that Old Man of the Dee.

66.

               There was an Old Man of Dundee,
               Who frequented the top of a tree;
               When disturbed by the crows,
               He abruptly arose,
               And exclaimed, "I'll return to Dundee."

67.

               There was an Old Person of Tring,
               Who embellished his nose with a ring;
               He gazed at the moon,
               Every evening in June,
               That ecstatic Old Person of Tring.

68.

               There was an Old Man on some rocks,
               Who shut his wife up in a box;
               When she said, "Let me out,"
               He exclaimed, "Without doubt,
               You will pass all your life in that box."

69.

               There was an Old Man of Coblenz,
               The length of whose legs was immense;
               He went with one prance,
               From Turkey to France,
               That surprising Old Man of Coblenz.

70.

               There was an Old Man of Calcutta,
               Who perpetually ate bread and butter;
               Till a great bit of muffin,
               On which he was stuffing,
               Choked that horrid old man of Calcutta.

71.

               There was an Old Man in a pew,
               Whose waistcoat was spotted with blue;
               But he tore it in pieces,
               To give to his nieces,-
               That cheerful Old Man in a pew.

72.

               There was an Old Man who said, "How,-
               Shall I flee from this horrible Cow?
               I will sit on this stile,
               And continue to smile,
               Which may soften the heart of that Cow."

73.

               There was a Young Lady of Hull,
               Who was chased by a virulent Bull;
               But she seized on a spade,
               And called out-"Who's afraid!"
               Which distracted that virulent Bull.

74.

               There was an Old Man of Whitehaven,
               Who danced a quadrille with a Raven;
               But they said-"It's absurd,
               To encourage this bird!"
               So they smashed that Old Man of Whitehaven.

75.

               There was an Old Man of Leghorn,
               The smallest as ever was born;
               But quickly snapt up he,
               Was once by a puppy,
               Who devoured that Old Man of Leghorn.

76.

               There was an Old Man of the Hague,
               Whose ideas were excessively vague;
               He built a balloon,
               To examine the moon,
               That deluded Old Man of the Hague.

77.

               There was an Old Man of Jamaica,
               Who suddenly married a Quaker;
               But she cried out-"O lack!
               I have married a black!"
               Which distressed that Old Man of Jamaica.

78.

               There was an old person of Dutton,
               Whose head was so small as a button;
               So to make it look big,
               He purchased a wig,
               And rapidly rushed about Dutton.

79.

               There was a Young Lady of Tyre,
               Who swept the loud chords of a lyre;
               At the sound of each sweep,
               She enraptured the deep,
               And enchanted the city of Tyre.

80.

               There was an Old Man who said, "Hush!
               I perceive a young bird in this bush!"
               When they said-"Is it small?"
               He replied-"Not at all!
               It is four times as big as the bush!"

81.

               There was an Old Man of the East,
               Who gave all his children a feast;
               But they all ate so much,
               And their conduct was such,
               That it killed that Old Man of the East.

82.

               There was an Old Man of Kamschatka,
               Who possessed a remarkably fat cur,
               His gait and his waddle,
               Were held as a model,
               To all the fat dogs in Kamschatka.

83.

               There was an Old Man of the Coast,
               Who placidly sat on a post;
               But when it was cold,
               He relinquished his hold,
               And called for some hot buttered toast.

84.

               There was an Old Person of Bangor,
               Whose face was distorted with anger;
               He tore off his boots,
               And subsisted on roots,
               That borascible person of Bangor.

85.

               There was an Old Man with a beard,
               Who sat on a horse when he reared;
               But they said, "Never mind!
               You will fall off behind,
               You propitious Old Man with a beard!"

86.

               There was an Old Man of the West,
               Who never could get any rest;
               So they set him to spin,
               On his nose find his chin,
               Which cured that Old Man of the West.

87.

               There was an Old Person of Anerley,
               Whose conduct was strange and unmannerly;
               He rushed down the Strand,
               With a Pig in each hand,
               But returned in the evening to Anerley.

88.

               There was a Young Lady of Troy,
               Whom several large flies did annoy;
               Some she killed with a thump,
               Some she drowned at the pump,
               And some she took with her to Troy.

89.

               There was an Old Man of Berlin,
               Whose form was uncommonly thin;
               Till he once, by mistake,
               Was mixed up in a cake,
               So they baked that Old Man of Berlin.

90.

               There was an Old Person of Spain,
               Who hated all trouble and pain;
               So he sate on a chair,
               With his feet in the air,
               That umbrageous Old Person of Spain.

91.

               There was a Young Lady of Russia,
               Who screamed so that no one could hush her;
               Her screams were extreme,
               No one heard such a scream,
               As was screamed by that Lady of Russia.

92.

               There was an Old Man, who said, "Well!
               Will NOBODY answer this bell?
               I have pulled day and night,
               Till my hair has grown white,
               But nobody answers this bell!"

93.

               There was a Young Lady of Wales,
               Who caught a large fish without scales;
               When she lifted her hook,
               She exclaimed, "Only look!"
               That ecstatic Young Lady of Wales.

94.

               There was an Old Person of Cheadle,
               Was put in the stocks by the beadle;
               For stealing some pigs,
               Some coats, and some wigs,
               That horrible Person of Cheadle.

95.

               There was a Young Lady of Welling,
               Whose praise all the world was a-telling;
               She played on the harp,
               And caught several carp,
               That accomplished Young Lady of Welling.

96.

               There was an Old Person of Tartary,
               Who divided his jugular artery;
               But he screeched to his wife,
               And she said, "Oh, my life!
               Your death will be felt by all Tartary!"

97.

               There was an old Person of Chester,
               Whom several small children did pester;
               They threw some large stones,
               Which broke most of his bones,
               And displeased that old person of Chester.

98.

               There was an Old Man with an owl,
               Who continued to bother and howl;
               He sate on a rail,
               And imbibed bitter ale,
               Which refreshed that Old Man and his owl.

99.

               There was an Old Person of Gretna,
               Who rushed down the crater of Etna;
               When they said, "Is it hot?"
               He replied, "No, it's not!"
               That mendacious Old Person of Gretna.

100.

               There was a Young Lady of Sweden,
               Who went by the slow train to Weedon;
               When they cried, "Weedon Station!"
               She made no observation,
               But thought she should go back to Sweden.

101.

               There was a Young Girl of Majorca,
               Whose aunt was a very fast walker;
               She walked seventy miles,
               And leaped fifteen stiles,
               Which astonished that Girl of Majorca.

102.

               There was an Old Man of the Cape,
               Who possessed a large Barbary Ape;
               Till the Ape one dark night,
               Set the house on a light,
               Which burned that Old Man of the Cape.

103.

               There was an Old Lady of Prague,
               Whose language was horribly vague;
               When they said, "Are these caps?"
               She answered, "Perhaps!"
               That oracular Lady of Prague.

104.

               There was an Old Person of Sparta,
               Who had twenty-five sons and one daughter;
               He fed them on snails,
               And weighed them in scales,
               That wonderful person of Sparta.

105.

               There was an Old Man at a easement,
               Who held up his hands in amazement;
               When they said, "Sir, you'll fall!"
               He replied, "Not at all!"
               That incipient Old Man at a casement.

106.

               There was an old Person of Burton,
               Whose answers were rather uncertain;
               When they said, "How d'ye do?"
               He replied, "Who are you?"
               That distressing old person of Burton.

107.

               There was an Old Person of Ems,
               Who casually fell in the Thames;
               And when he was found,
               They said he was drowned,
               That unlucky Old Person of Ems.

108.

               There was an Old Person of Ewell,
               Who chiefly subsisted on gruel;
               But to make it more nice,
               He inserted some mice,
               Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell.

109.

               There was a Young Lady of Parma,
               Whose conduct grew calmer and calmer;
               When they said, "Are you dumb?"
               She merely said, "Hum!"
               That provoking Young Lady of Parma.

110.

               There was an Old Man of Aosta,
               Who possessed a large Cow, but he lost her;
               But they said, "Don't you see,
               She has rushed up a tree?
               You invidious Old Man of Aosta!"

111.

               There was an Old Man, on whose nose,
               Most birds of the air could repose;
               But they all flew away,
               At the closing of day,
               Which relieved that Old Man and his nose.

112.

               There was a Young Lady of Clare,
               Who was sadly pursued by a bear;
               When she found she was tired,
               She abruptly expired,
               That unfortunate Lady of Clare.

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Book of Nonsense, by Edward Lear This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.

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Some ideas for teaching poetry

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Poetry and lessons for children of all ages by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater for classrooms or homeschools to teach literacy and writing workshop instruction

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More ideas for teaching poetry

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Poetry, like all art, is a powerful medium when it comes to tackling big issues. It's one thing to read a textbook about racism, but poetry personalizes the experiences of individuals and groups. Poetry can also teach and contextualize events in an emotional way. Readers receive a fuller picture of history. Many poets build their careers by sharing their pain, anger, and grief about racism. Here are ten poems on racism that everyone should read:

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Maya Angelou is known for her powerful prose and poetry. In her famous piece "Caged Bird" (also known as "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings"), she describes two birds. One is free and happy, while the other is caged. From its captivity, it sings, longing for freedom. Using this metaphor, Angelou highlights the difference between white and black Americans.

Poet and essayist Rita Dove was the second African American to win the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. The poem, "Rosa," from Dove's 1999 book On the Bus With Rosa Parks, paints a picture of Rosa Parks at the moment she decides to stay in her seat. This moment in 1955 triggered the Montgomery Bus boycott and captivated the country's attention.

A young poet from Louisiana, Jericho Brown's debut poetry collection won the 2009 American Book Award. The Tradition, the book in which the titular poem appears, is his third collection. Using a sonnet structure, "The Tradition" parallels the tradition of gardening and caring for the earth with violence against African-Americans. Brown lists types of flowers throughout the piece. In the last line, the names of John Crawford, Eric Garner, and Mike Brown take their place.

Poet and teaching artist Gabriel Rameriz performed this poem for a "We are mitú" video on Facebook in 2017. Rameriz, who is Afro-Latinx, describes the poem as a response to things white people have said to him. At the time, he didn't confront them directly. He says the purpose of the poem is to make white people consider their place in the world. Discomfort is a signal that there are things that need to change. His book

An artist with an impressive resume, Thomas King is a photographer, professor emeritus, radio broadcaster, and 2-time Governor General's Literary Award nominee. In this poem, King contrasts the stereotypes of indigenous people seen in culture and how they actually live in modern Canada. Vivid, conversational, and threaded with anger, it's a powerful indictment of racist stereotypes.

In this poem, Asian-American poet Li-Young Lee explores the different stories within the immigrant experience. These stories have titles like "Survival Strategies and the Melancholy of Racial Assimilation" and "Patterns of Love in Peoples of Diaspora." These different titles represent the complexity of immigration and how immigrants wrestle with many identities. For this reason, the poem is multi-layered and difficult. That's the point, however. Issues of immigration and identity should be challenging.

The first African-American to win a Pulitzer Prize, Gwendolyn Brooks' poems explore the African-American experience, identity, politics, and other issues. "Riot" paints a picture of the riots in Chicago after Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. The character observing the riots in the poem is John Cabot. A white man with privilege, he is horrified by what he calls "It," or "the blackness." He embodies the racist system that can drive people to riot.

In 1963, an African-American church was bombed in Birmingham, Alabama. Four little black girls were killed. In this heartbreaking poem, Randall presents a conversation between a mother and daughter. The girl wants to join the Freedom March but is told she can't because it's too dangerous. Instead, she goes to church and her mother is confident in her child's safety. In the last two lines, the poem reveals the horrible truth.

A graphic and emotionally-challenging poem, "Afterimages" describes the effect that Emmet Till's death had on Lorde. She describes it as "the afterimage of my 21st year." Till haunts her dreams. Nightmares, rape, and violence saturate the poem. With unforgiving power, this piece demonstrates how traumatizing racism is.

Langston Hughes is one of America's most famous poets. His work frequently explores issues of racism. In "I, Too," he describes how as the "darker brother," he's sent to the kitchen when guests come over. He looks forward to the future when he's sitting with everyone else. The poem ends with the powerful line, "I, too, am America." This hope for a tomorrow without racism is still relevant today.

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10 Poems about Racism and Discrimination

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Poetry, like all art, is a powerful medium when it comes to tackling big issues. It's one thing to read a textbook about racism, but poetry personalizes the experiences of individuals and groups. Poetry can also teach and contextualize events in an emotional way. Readers receive a fuller picture of history.

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“Tending” by Elizabeth Alexander

“Passion & Risk” by Forrest Gander

“The Horses Run Back to Their Stalls” by Linda Gregerson

“Barberism” by Terrance Hayes

“Vinegar and Oil” by Jane Hirshfield

“Moonlily” by Marilyn Nelson

“Utopian” by Alicia Ostriker

“Don’t Go Into the Library” by Alberto Rios

“Guitar” by David St. John

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Preinstructional Planning
Students will:

Read poems by Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets

Gain a greater understanding of what makes a writer's voice unique

Synthesize multiple perspectives in order to create a shared understanding

Before asking your students to read the poems by the Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets, make sure you read the poems and choose the ones that are most appropriate for your class.

Whole Class Warm-Up

Step 1: Remind your students of the Idea of Voice warm-ups they did as part of the Selecting Favorite Poems From Historical Poets lesson to begin to understand how voice can be expressed by only using words.

Step 2: Ask students to quickly write in their journals, without lifting their pens and pencils off the paper, what makes a writer's voice unique. What are the "ingredients" to writing a poem with a strong voice? (You might want to refer to the poetry lesson Poems About Poetry.)

Step 3: Ask students to turn and talk to a person they have not worked with before to come up with a shared list of "ingredients."

Step 4: Conduct a whole class discussion: What are the similarities between "voice" in a poem and "voice" in a letter? What are the differences, if any?

Collaborative Work: Reading and Viewing the Poems

Step 1: Distribute the poems you have chosen by the Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets (or have students read them online using the links below):

Step 2: Ask students to read through all the poems you've chosen quietly in their seats.

Note: Ask your students to keep a running list of words in the poems they do not understand. See the vocabulary list above for examples from these poems.

Step 3: Have students complete a T-chart for each poem as they read it. On one side of the T-chart, students should write what "jumps out at them" in the poem. On the other side, they should write why they think this is important to the poet's voice/poem and if/how it is important to them as a reader.

Step 4: Show the videos one at a time and ask your students, after listening to and reading each poem, to jot down lines that particularly speak to them on the left side, and what they think the poet did (e.g. what "ingredients" of voice the poet used) to make the lines embody a strong voice on the right side.

Note: Point out that different types of things may jump out from the page and from the video. For instance, a poet's voice in the video might emphasize certain words or phrases that were not apparent before.

Step 5: When they are finished writing, ask students to get back into groups of three. (You can use prior groupings or start new groups, if this works better.)

Step 6: Tell students that each person in the group is responsible for making sure everyone in their small group gets a chance to speak.

Step 7: Ask for a volunteer to remind the class of what it means to give constructive responses to others' work.

Step 8: After the ground rules for the groups have been established, ask students to give their group members examples of lines they think show strong voice and explain their choices.

Step 9: When the decibel level of the discussion has dropped, ask for a volunteer from each group to summarize, for the whole class, their group's multiple perspectives on the characteristics of a strong written voice. Write these characteristics on the board.

Collaborative Work: Finding Shared Meaning

Step 1: Ask students to get back in their groups for a new discussion. The purpose this time is for them to see if they can come to some sense of a shared meaning for each of the poems on which they have chosen to focus.

Step 2: Have each group select three of the poems to study in depth.

Step 3: Ask students to read or watch readings of these three poems again and quickly jot down what they think each poem means.

Step 4: Have students write down examples from the text of the poem and the video they saw that demonstrate their interpretations.

Step 5: Have each group discuss the meanings of the poems, following the same process where each student shares his or her perspective.

Note: It is important to tell your students that you are not looking for a "right" interpretation of the poems, but for their reasoned interpretations. The emphasis is on their own reasoned explanation with examples - not on finding the "correct meaning." They will not only have a good discussion about what they think, but they also will be able to use this information when they write to the Chancellor of their choice in the Writing to the Chancellors lesson.

Step 6: Ask students to try to synthesize shared meanings of the poems from the various meanings discussed in the group.

Step 7: Ask the groups to each select someone to represent the group and explain their group's synthesis to the whole class.

Step 8: Each group should present the synthesis and give examples of how they arrived at their interpretations to the whole class. The presenter should give examples of how the group arrived at their interpretations.

Note: Make sure your students save notes from this activity, as they will use them when they write letters in the next lesson.
Literature Common Core Standards Addressed in These Activities
Reading, Craft and Structure:
CCSS.ELA-Literacy.RL.4

Writing, Production and Distribution of Writing:
CCSS.ELA-Literacy.W.4 and 5

Speaking and Listening, Comprehension and Collaboration:
CCSS.ELA-Literacy.SL.1

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Reading Poems by the Academy Chancellors | Scholastic

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Preinstructional Planning Students will: Read poems by Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets Gain a greater understanding of what makes a writer's voice unique Synthesize multiple perspectives in order to create a shared understanding Before asking your students to read the poems by the Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets, make sure you read the poems and choose the ones that are most appropriate for your class.

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By Maya Angelou

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Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,
children sleep,
exchanging dreams with
seraphim. The city
drags itself awake on
subway straps; and
I, an alarm, awake as a
rumor of war,
lie stretching into dawn,
unasked and unheeded.

By Maya Angelou

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A free bird leapson the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current endsand dips his wingin the orange sun raysand dares to claim the sky.But a bird that stalksdown his narrow cagecan seldom see throughhis bars of ragehis wings...

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by Taylor Mali

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By Yuri, a character in Doki Doki Literature Club.

A marvel millions of years in the making.
Where the womb of Earth chaotically meets the surface.
Under a clear blue sky, an expanse of bliss -
But beneath gray rolling clouds, an endless enigma.
The easiest world to get lost in
is one where everything can be found.

One can only build a sand castle where the sand is wet.
But where the sand is wet, the tide comes.
Will it gently lick at your foundations until you give in?
Or will a sudden wave send you crashing down in the blink of an eye?
Either way the outcome is the same.
Yet we still build sand castles.

I stand where the foam wraps around my ankles.
Where my toes squish into the sand.
The salty air is therapeutic.
The breeze is gentle, yet powerful.
I sink my toes into the ultimate boundary line, tempted by the foamy tendrils.
Turn back, and I abandon my peace to erode at the shore.
Drift forward, and I return to Earth forevermore.

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Poet and author site

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Author | Speaker | Producer | Poet | Kwame Alexander

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Kwame Alexander is a poet, educator, producer and #1 New York Times Bestselling author of 38 books, including AN AMERICAN STORY, THE DOOR OF NO RETURN, BECOMING MUHAMMAD ALI

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Some good links

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Edutopia is a free source of information, inspiration, and practical strategies for learning and teaching in preK-12 education. We are published by the George Lucas Educational Foundation, a nonprofit, nonpartisan organization.

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“When the poem says _______, it suggests that _______.”

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Some nice Haiku

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POET PROFILE OF THE MONTH
by Ty Hadman
an'ya

My first several poet profiles have thus far featured either haiku
poets of the past or ones that have been writing haiku for a very long time. This month is different. I have decided to feature an'ya, a poet who has become well-known for her haiku relatively recently, but whose work I think deserves additional praise and attention. An'ya has been writing poetry since her childhood, encouraged first by her mother at an early age, then when she was 13, her step-uncle gave her an antique leather bound book of poems as a gift. This book made a strong impression on her when she was young. Later, the Serbian poet and translator of Japanese haiku, Milos Crnjanski, became an influence when she began writing Serbian poetry. An'ya started out by writing sonnets, Serbian epic poems, and other types of poetry, but in more recent years has turned more towards haiku, tanka, cinquain, sijo, and other related genres of short poetry. Her haiku has now sprung to the forefront as one of today's major voices in English language haiku.

Her poetry, but especially haiku, have won some very impressive awards. Some of the readers of Lynx may remember her tanka that won the Tanka Splendor 2000 Awards Contest sponsored by AHA Books, she recently won the coveted Hackett Award with no runner-ups announced this year, won the first place award in one of the monthly issues of The Heron's Nest, won the Valentine's award on The Heron's Nest for the best haiku voted on by the readers, and has quite impressively won or placed in several other haiku contests.

Most of her haiku have been published on her own home page and in haiku publications on the Internet and in various haiku periodicals and poetry journals that accept haiku for publication. Haiku would be furthered in many ways and accepted in a lot more literary circles if a lot more haiku poets, like an'ya, submitted some of their finest pieces, especially sequences, haibun, and very specially selected haiku to literary publications other than the ones that publish only or mostly haiku and other related genres. A few haiku poets submit to poetry magazines, but not nearly enough do and those that do, do not do so very often. Many poets often do not send out their very best work to these publications, saving the best for the more well-known haiku contests and most prestigious haiku publications. Poetry and literary publications that do not normally accept haiku for publication might be receptive to a well written haibun or a very strong haiku sequence with a title or other creative and unusual presentations, including the addition of haiga.

The unusual penname that the poet uses is a derivation of her real name, Andja, a very old Serbian name. When she was teaching school her students called her an'ya, because it was easier for them to pronounce. She decided to retain this name given to her during those years and has adopted it for her haiku publishing. Her haiku penname, when very loosely translated from the Japanese and with the help of a calligrapher friend that included light in the interpretation, roughly means: a light that arrives by surprise under cover of a peaceful moonless night or something similar to that effect. A n-ya Koro (Journey Through the Dark Night), an allusion to the common expression: "there's light at the end of the tunnel", is the title of a Japanese novel written by Shinga in the early part of the 20th century.

An'ya was born and raised in southern California and is now living on a mountaintop in Central Oregon. She is a naturalist which helps to explain why most of her haiku are written in a more or less traditionalist fashion. She spends a lot of time alone. Most of her life revolves around haiku and contact with her natural surroundings. Haiku has helped her to discover during the many hours that she sometimes spends alone that we are never really alone for a moment. She has observed that there are always comings and goings in nature, such as the return of the first red-wing blackbird, the first blossom to appear on a jewelweed, or the migrating of geese. It should be no surprise to those familiar with some of the best of an'ya's haiku that her favorite bird is the falcon, the Serbian symbol for bravery and freedom. And keeping with her penname alluding to the contrasting yet complimentary light/dark principle that often appears in nature, she is fond of most any black-colored bird: raptors, ravens, crows, buzzards, and vultures. Her upcoming first collection of haiku to be published (more about that later) begins and ends so beautifully with a falcon haiku. The
opening haiku:

An'ya sees beauty more in the wide variety of wildflowers and various weeds than she does in the more generally popular commercial, domestic, and garden varieties of flowers and plants. One of her favorites is the brightly colored and abundant wild poppy, another is the wild iris.

The surroundings where she currently lives have yielded many fine haiku, but she and her husband like to travel, so many of her haiku are encountered in experiencing places and events during their trips and as a consequence of their moving from place to place with the spirit of gipsies in their blood.

An'ya was raised as a city girl, but since her marriage, she has lived with her husband Petar on a farm in Ohio, ran a fishing resort and also lived in a tent in Minnesota, lived in a fully equipped and furnished spic-and-span bus in Oregon and Ohio for five fun-filled years, and due to Petar's work (as a port engineer), they lived on the island of Curacao in the Netherland Antilles; San Pedro and Palos Verdes, California, and on a 310 foot luxury cruise ship in the Fort Meyers harbor.

Petar's own observations and deep knowledge and appreciation of nature have been a major contribution in the development of an'ya's fondness for haiku, pointing out things to her in nature almost daily during their 33 years of marriage. Petar and J.W. Hackett have been the greatest inspiration and guiding lights contributing to her understanding and development as a haiku poet. She states that some of the Japanese traditions are very similar to some Serbian ones such as the importance of family and the role of nature in one's daily life and activities, so her attraction to haiku seemed quite natural, appealing to her ethnic roots and upbringing. The rise in the popularity of haiku in Jugoslavia also helped spark an additional interest and curiosity.

Very briefly stated, an'ya says that to her, haiku is a frame of mind, a lifestyle, and a gift in the celebration of life on a daily basis. She also mentions that haiku appeals to her Eastern Orthodox religious beliefs. Haiku suits her ancient pagan (in the rural sense of the word) roots as well as her Christian gipsie heritage.

Haiku poets can remain true to their deep religious convictions and upbringing without needing to know a whole lot about Buddhism or studying Zen to write good haiku.

Haiku takes an'ya away from the horrors we read on the front pages and TV screen news reports. She prefers the type of haiku that do not directly involve the human element:

day's tranquility
the contour of doe with fawn
beyond steeping tea

* * * *

summer sky
a hole through the cloud
to its other side

Haiku has come into conflict with the other kinds of poetry she writes in proportion to the commitment she has made. "Living haiku has become all consuming and thus it has become increasingly difficult to go back to other unrelated genres at all," she says.

The following is a selection of some of her lesser known but very nicely crafted haiku:

This is a question that is to be answered, if at all, by the reader,
not the poet. There are nearly an infinite number of possible responses including none, just a mysterious pure fragrance to delight in. It is not necessary for us to know the names of every flowering plant. To be cooled by a breeze with the added benefit of a mysterious fragrance; what more is needed?

Have we arrived in Paradise? I think so.

Many of an'ya's haiku, like the one above and as mentioned previously, indirectly allude to the dark/light or black/white theme associated with the meaning of her penname.

An'ya is working in collaboration with a woman named Connie Johnson who owns a company in Arizona called Zephyrsymphony that makes and sells the most beautiful glass spiral wind chimes. She is painting one of An'ya's haiku on a new design of wind chime. Her haiku will soon be dancing
in the wind:

An'ya's haiku often contain sound elements that enhance them by adding a musical effect to the haiku such as the use of repeated words as in the haiku above and sound repetition in the use of assonance, alliteration, etc. as in the two haiku below for example:

a tangerine sunset
where hill meets dale
in the summertime

* * *

carnival nightfall
the harvest moon rises
over a ferris wheel

I love this last haiku. I'm on that Ferris wheel, riding to the top
where it suddenly stops. Hey, I've got the best view of all!

A very nice haiku. Nothing special, but a very true moment and
realization If only we could be like the sagebrush, sometimes.

It may be dismal above, but down there where an'ya is now, it's nice. Not everything is polluted; certainly not her mind and senses. Even in the most dismal and horrible situations, there is still natural beauty that can be found. The non-judgmental acceptance of things as they are, even the acceptance of pollution, makes this a very strong haiku. Protesting pollution on the other hand is also valid in haiku and some haiku poets have written equally effective haiku as either direct or indirect condemnation, but this is not an'ya's way. Again, there is a subtle allusion to the meaning of her penname, the dark sky and the surprise appearance of the white wildflowers.

The "h" sounds add a lot to this haiku. Collectively they resemble the sound of heavy breathing from the hard work and near exhaustion of the hired hands as they finally finish bringing in the last of the hay harvest. The creative use of the word high in the last line has a lot of merit, even though some critics may object.

Once again, the subtle allusion to the meaning of an'ya's penname, the black crows and the surprising cracking sound of the thin white ice.

The natural way to measure the depth of water there.

quiet woodlands
distinctly the drone
of a dragonfly

* * *

row after row
two draft horses plow –
the odor of potatoes

* * *

pink sunset
through each flamingo's stance
another flamingo

I enjoy this haiku for very personal reasons. I have been fond of
flamingoes ever since I was a little boy when our family lived in several cities and towns in Florida. They're usually very silent birds, but I can remember when one shrieked and scared the hell out of my mother as the flamingoes ran by quickly, flapping their wings, one behind the other through the shallow water. I got a good laugh at my mother's reaction. I've only been able to write a few haiku on flamingoes, but none this good.

tall thicket –
six baby quail scurry
helter skelter

* * *

snowed in –
watching the angelfish
swim back and forth

I'd like to see humor more often in an'ya's haiku, but it's certainly here in these last two. Those of you that have enjoyed reading an'ya's haiku here in this profile can send her an email at to inquire about the details in purchasing her first collection of haiku, moonless night – Volume 1, which is due out shortly.

Page Copyright © AHA Books 2001.
Read past Poet Profiles:
Helen Chenoweth.
Paul Reps
Beatrice Brissman Jane Andrew Evelyn Tooley Hunt Ana Takseena Roberta Stewart Magnus Mack Homestead Steve Thompson Viola Provenzano, Mentor Addicks, Harvey Hess, Mary Truth Fowler. Alan Pizzarelli, Ana Barton, Margaret G. Robinson, Mary Dragonetti:
Richard Wright
Janice Bostok
John J. Polozzolo ZOLO
José Juan Tablada
Anne McKay

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POET PROFILE OF THE MONTH by Ty Hadman My first several poet profiles have thus far featured either haiku poets of the past or ones that have been writing haiku for a very long time. This month is different.

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Indigenous voices in Canadian poetry

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David Groulx

A black and white picture

The sun is shining through a window behind you

Your hair black short Your small brown hands folded neatly on a tiny wooden desk

Some of the girls in the picture are smiling You are not Your eyes staring into the camera Seem a million miles away

That stare I will see seldom and one day understand that storms begin millions of miles away

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On Seeing a Photograph of My Mother at St. Joseph Residential School for Girls

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A black and white picture The sun is shining through a window behind you Your hair black short Your small brown hands folded neatly on a tiny wooden desk Some of the girls in the picture are smiling You are not Your eyes staring into the camera Seem a million miles away That stare I will see seldom and one day understand that storms begin millions of miles away

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Senior Poems for grades 9-12

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Here is our ever-growing list of poems for students in grades 9-12. You can discover them using Poem Roulette or our Random Poem feature. Read our recently added poems, and pinpoint our small-but-mighty poems that have 25 lines or fewer. And did you know we have a massive French poetry anthology too?

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BY KIM STAFFORD

I guess you could call me broken,

says one. I’m still lonely, says another,

but now I can name it with a song.

In my poem, says another,

I can forget I am forgotten. Now

I understand being misunderstood,

says another. And another says,

in a bold, undeniable voice of power,

I won’t step down from myself again.

And they are beautiful, beautiful,

standing one by one at the mic

where they have come forth at last

from behind the curtain.

Source: Poetry (March 2021)

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by Mira McEwan

Committee Meeting.       Burden of Proof.
The Simple Truth.      Trying To Be Nice.
Honestly.   I Could Have Died.        I Almost Cried.
It's Only a Cold Sore.
It's My Night.     Trust Me.    Dead Serious.
I Have Everything All Under Control.
I'm Famous For My Honesty.
I'm Simply Beside Myself.      We're On The Same Page.
Let's Not Reinvent The Wheel.
For The Time Being.   There Is That.
I'm Not Just Saying That.
I Just Couldn't Help Myself.             I Mean It.

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by Mary Oliver

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Mary Oliver reads "The Summer Day" (aka "The Grasshopper")

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Amanda Gorman

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WATCH: Amanda Gorman reads inauguration poem, 'The Hill We Climb'

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One poem imagined 3 different ways by animators

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A poetic experiment: Walt Whitman, interpreted by three animators - Justin Moore

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by Billy Collins

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Billy Collins: Two poems about what dogs think (probably)

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As read by Patrick Stewart

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,

But as the riper should by time decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory;

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,

Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,

Making a famine where abundance lies,

Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament

And only herald to the gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy content,

And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.

Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

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Sonnet 1 by William Shakespeare (read by Sir Patrick Stewart) | 2020.03.23 | #ASonnetADay

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by Carol Jago - great ideas!

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Read by Patrick Stewart

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare (read by Sir Patrick Stewart) | 2020.04.07 | #ASonnetADay

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by Amanda Gorman 2021

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Amanda Gorman Recites 'Chorus of the Captains' at Super Bowl LV

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Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

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by Walt Whitman

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Song of the Open Road - Walt Whitman (Powerful Life Poetry)

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by Robert Frost

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The Road not Taken by Robert Frost (Read by Tom Hiddleston)

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by Rudyard Kipling

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IF by Rudyard Kipling (A Life Changing Poem)

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Mary Oliver

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by Shane Koyczan

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How To Be A Person - Shane Koyczan - Lyrics/words (spoken word)

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By Richard A. Jones

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by Emily Dickinson

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Hope is The Thing With Feathers - Emily Dickinson (Powerful Life Poetry)

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from Teaching Living Poets

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Last year, my students read RA Villanueva's Reliquaria (University of Nebraska Press) and Kaveh Akbar's chapbook Portrait of the Alcoholic (Sibling Rivalry Press) (which I am changing to his full collection for this year, Calling a Wolf a Wolf, Alice James Books). New this year in AP Literature will be Safia Elhillo's The January Children (University of Nebraska Press); and in American Literature, José Olivarez's Citizen Illegal and Eve Ewing's Electric Arches (both from Haymarket Books).

Last year, while teaching both Villanueva and Akbar's collections, never did I ever stand in front of the room and "teach the poem." Instead, we learned through class discussion and group collaboration. Each night, students read five poems for homework. They were to read the poem, and annotate it for things that they noticed, which could entail poetic devices, words that stuck out to them, thoughts on structure, questions brought up by the poem, or anything they felt like making note of on the page. Having read the poems and bringing them annotated to class the next day made sure students were prepared with some thoughts to discuss and engage with their peers. Five poems a night seemed a good number, as it wasn't too much that they weren't reading the poems closely, and it kept us at a steady pace working through the book.

Here are three of my favorite activities you could do with any poetry collection:

1. Poem Posters

This activity is ideal for early on in the collection or in the middle. I printed out each of the five poems they had read for homework and taped each one (separately) into the middle of a five larger poster boards. I created five groups of students, one for each poem. Each group had a different color marker, so I would know what each group had written. The groups would each start with one of the five poems/poster-boards, read it out loud, then write their answer to question number 1 (see below) in the blank space of the poster board. After about 8-10 minutes, they would switch to the next poem, read it out loud, and answer question number 2. Again, they would spend about 10 minutes, then rotate again until all 5 poems and questions were covered. The final task was to return to the very first original poem poster they had, read everything and discuss everything together. Do they agree with the other groups' notes? Do they have anything to add? They could discuss the poem further either in conversation, or you could also have them reflect on the poem one last time in writing.

5 QUESTIONS:

1) What is the poem about? Define unknown words.

2) Consider structure - couplets, tercets, prose, other? Also any use of italics.

3) Unique or surprising images - what do they convey to you?

4) Line breaks - end-stopped vs enjambed lines, caesura, punctuation

5) What else? Fig language, word play, title significance, POV, shift

I have 50-minute class periods, so by the time we got settled, explained the directions, made groups, and spent time rotating, it took us almost two full class periods to finish the five poems.

VARIATION: I did the same exact poster-board set up with the next five poems in the book, made five student groups again (different people this time in the groups), but instead of rotating poems for each question, the groups all stayed with the same poem for the whole time. Meaning that they answered all five questions for the same poem, no rotating. I offered an extra credit point for the best poster, which helped them to be more motivated to write quality annotations. It was spring and they were seniors, so any extra motivation boosts are always a bonus.

2. Graffiti Wordle

In a small group, students chose a poem from last night's reading to create a graffiti wordle for. Well, it's not technically a wordle, because it's not the frequency of individual words that matters, but the importance of them. This activity is great for thinking analytically about diction in a poem. As a group, they decide which three words in the poem are the most important to feature as the biggest-sized words in their wordle. Being that this is a modified wordle, I couldn't find any online generators that would allow students to create a wordle any other kind of way than by word frequency. Hence, my calling it a graffiti wordle. The graffiti aspect comes in because they draw it by hand. Students continue to rank word importance and add to their wordle accordingly until all words in the poem are included. This activity is ideal for early on in the collection or in the middle. Here are some things I asked them to consider while crafting the graffiti wordle, which you could have them write up into a reflection.

color choices for each word

direction on the page words are placed

word proximity (which words are near each other and why)

overall shape of wordle

3. Theme Debate

This one was my favorite of the three and really got the students motivated. Ideally, this activity would be best at the end of the collection, probably on the day they return from reading the last five poems. Again, I used extra credit to the winning group for encouragement, along with bragging rights for crushing their opponents. Either from the poet themself, or as a class, you need to create a list of theme seeds explored throughout the collection. We were fortunate to be able ask RA Villanueva (via Twitter DM) which particular themes he would like us to explore in his book, to which he responded: memory, masculinity, joy and grief, faith, and family. You need as many theme seeds as however many groups you would like to have. We were given five themes, so we had five groups, with each group being assigned a different theme. Students had an entire class period to go through the collection and find textual evidence to argue that their theme was the most important theme to the book. Students gathered ideas, collected quotes, and prepared a list of reasons to use the next day in our debate.

We started the next day off with opening arguments. Each group had one minute to present a little introduction to their theme. After all groups shared, each group then had three minutes to argue in Round 1. I allowed groups to make the decision of presenting - they could all take turns talking in the group, one person could talk for three minutes straight - it was up to them. After each group presented their Round 1 argument, I had the rest of the groups take a one-minute break to jot down notes for crafting a formal rebuttal later. After all Round 1s went, it was time to start the Rebuttals. Each group had 1.5 minutes to address the other groups and negate the Round 1 arguments. After all groups had a chance to rebuttal, I as the official judge, ruled out two of the five groups with the weakest arguments. These two groups now became my co-judges to decide the overall debate winner. The remaining three groups had a two-minute Round 2, after which we ruled out another group. The last two groups presented their closing arguments.

After the closing arguments, the groups no longer in the running helped me to choose the winner. It was a lot of fun; the kids got really into the competition, and everyone was engaged the entire time. In total, from gathering textual evidence to picking a winner, it took us three class period to complete.

I hope you can use some of these ideas in your own classroom with poetry collections you choose to teach to your students. You can also check out aplithelp.com and the Poetry Foundation for more useful ideas for teaching poetry. This post on aplithelp.com is also about teaching a poetry collection and offers more engaging ideas for activities.

Thank you for reading! Do you have a story, lesson, activity, or something else to share with TeachLivingPoets.com? Be a guest author! Email me at msmith@lncharter.org.

If you want to order a #TeachLivingPoets shirt, check out my awesome sister-in-law's Facebook store Megan's Makes and support a small business owner! Shirt options are: gray/blue/black/white/red/green/purple unisex crew-neck S-XXXL and white/black women's v-neck S-XL. All shirts are $20, PayPal accepted.

You can follow me on Twitter at @MelAlterSmith and please tweet all the awesome things you are doing in your class with the #TeachLivingPoets hashtag!

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Teaching poetry collections: 3 engaging activity ideas to get your students thinking

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Last year, my students read RA Villanueva's Reliquaria (University of Nebraska Press) and Kaveh Akbar's chapbook Portrait of the Alcoholic (Sibling Rivalry Press) (which I am changing to his full collection for this year, Calling a Wolf a Wolf, Alice James Books). New this year in AP Literature will be Safia Elhillo's The January Children (University...

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using Hexagon tiles
Reflect on the process afterwrds

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Today's post is brought to you by guest author Tia Miller. Tia teaches AP Literature, AP Language, AP Seminar, and Dual Credit English at Chapmanville Regional High School in southern West Virginia. She is currently working on her doctorate in Curriculum and Instruction from Marshall University.

This past semester, inspired by Melissa Smith and other awesome teachers in my PLN and encouraged by some extra money to spend on books for my classroom, I decided to teach my first poetry collection. Mind you, the very notion of reading a poetry collection, personally, was a rather exceptional idea for me, much less the attempt to teach one, but I took the leap anyway and found an exciting new addition for my curriculum.

The collection I chose was Muriel Rukeyser's The Book of the Dead which is a collection of poems written in the 1930s about the Hawks Nest Tunnel disaster near Gauley Bridge, WV. Hawks Nest is only about two hours away from our part of the state and the disaster is a little known bit of state history, so I was hoping the collection would both educate and connect with my students.

Thanks to ideas collected from my friends, Adrian Nester's post on teaching Counting Descent, and Susan Barber's post on APLitHelp, I had a pretty good idea of how to begin and where I wanted to end. My problem came when we hit the middle of the collection. We had already discussed what I had wanted to from the first half of the poems, and I couldn't start them on their final project until we had completely read the entire collection. I ended up smashing together ideas from several different places and came up with what turned out to be a definite "keeper."

To begin, I created a series of hexagons. (You can find some blank ones here.) Inside each hexagon, I placed the title of one of the poems my students had already been assigned to read, leaving plenty of white space around the text. The next morning, I copied a set of hexagons (they had been assigned 15 poems at this point) for each group. Once each group had cut apart their shapes, I explained their task.

One of the things my PLN had encouraged me to emphasize was the nature of a poetry collection. These poems have been collected together and placed in this particular order for a reason; one way of approaching the study of a collection is to figure out why. I told my students that they had a hexagon representing each of the poems they had read. Their job was to determine connections between the poems and show those by matching edge to edge on the corresponding shapes then writing the connection between the two touching edges.

I encouraged them to think outside the box. After all, these poems all revolve around the same topic - the disaster and its effects - and many people named in one poem show up again in another poem. I tried to push them to think about other connections between the poems such as structure or techniques the author used.

I explained that they were essentially making a map of connections between poems. If they put two edges together, a connection had to be found between those poems. If they felt more than two poems connected in some way, corners could also be used, but in the end, if two "poems" were touching, there had to be an established connection between them.

What excited me most about this activity was that no two final maps were the same. Each group found different ways of connecting and making sense out of the poems as you can see from the pictures.

The next time I do this activity, I'll make sure to take some time at the end to have students be reflective about the process and to share out, perhaps the two most insightful connections each group made.

What I loved about this activity the most was how engaged the students were. I was just standing back, watching them discuss, flip through pages in their books, argue their points, and rearrange their shapes over and over. Any time I can be extraneous in my own classroom is a win in my book.

I'm very glad I took the chance on teaching a poetry collection. As a whole, the class responded quite positively. I look forward to trying it again next year!

Thank you, Tia, for sharing this inventive hands-on activity with us! I will definitely be trying this one myself when we read our poetry collections in the spring. This year, my seniors will read RA Villanueva's Reliquaria, Safia Elhillo's The January Children, and Kaveh Akbar's Calling a Wolf a Wolf. My juniors will read Eve Ewing's Electric Arches and Jose Olivarez's Citizen Illegal.

More helpful posts on teaching poetry collections can be found here:
Highlights reel of #THEBOOKCHAT & #TeachLivingPoets chat on José Olivarez's Citizen Illegal Teaching poetry collections: 3 engaging activity ideas to get your students thinking
Please share the awesome things you do in your classroom with contemporary poetry on Twitter using the hashtag #TeachLivingPoets.

Thank you for reading!

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Get your students engaged with poetry collections with this hands-on hexagon activity!

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Today's post is brought to you by guest author Tia Miller. Tia teaches AP Literature, AP Language, AP Seminar, and Dual Credit English at Chapmanville Regional High School in southern West Virginia. She is currently working on her doctorate in Curriculum and Instruction from Marshall University.

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Terrific Resources
Also opportunity for regional and national competition.

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Explore our poem anthology

Discover everything Poetry In Voice has to offer, whether you're looking for a specific poet, tools to analyze your favourite poem, or poetry on a subject you're passionate about. Take some time to explore - there's something for everyone!

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Discover everything Poetry In Voice has to offer, whether you're looking for a specific poet, tools to analyze your favourite poem, or poetry on a subject you're passionate about. Take some time to explore - there's something for everyone!

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Dear Future Generations,
I think I speak for the rest of us when I say
Sorry, sorry we left you with our mess of a planet
Sorry that we were too caught up in our own doings to do something
Sorry we listened to people who made excuses
To do nothing
I hope you forgive us
We just didn't realize how special the earth was
Like a marriage going wrong
We didn't know what we had until it was gone

For example
I'm guessing you probably know what is the Amazon Desert, right?
Well believe it or not
It was once called once called the Amazon Rain Forest
And there were billions of trees there
And all of them gorgeous and just um..
Oh, you don't know much about trees, do you?
Well let me tell you that trees are amazing
And I mean, we literally breath the air
They are creating, and they clean up our pollution
Our carbon, they store and purify water,
Give us medicine that cures ours diseases , food that feeds us
Which is why I am so sorry, to tell you that
We burned them down
Cut them down with brutal machines, horrific
At a rate of 40 football fields every minute
That's 50% of all the trees in the world all gone
In the last 100 years
Why? .

And that wouldn't make me so sad
If there weren't so many pictures of leaves on it
You know when I was a child
I read how the Native Americans had such consideration
For the planet that they felt responsible
For how they left the land for the next 7 generations
Which brings me great sorrow, because most of us today
Don't even care about tomorrow
So I'm sorry, I'm sorry that we put profit above people
Greed over need, the rule of gold above the golden rule
I'm sorry we used nature as a credit card with no spending limit
Over drafting animals to extinction
Stealing your chance to ever see their uniqueness
Or become friends with them
Sorry we poison the oceans so much that you can't even swim in them
But most of all, i'm sorry about our mindset
'cause we had the nerve to call this destruction
"Progress"

Hey Fox News, if you don't think climate change is a threat
I dare you to interview the thousands of homeless people in Bangladesh
See, while you was in your penthouse nestled
Their homes were literally washed away
Beneath their feet due to the rising sea levels
And Sara Palin, you said that you love the smell of fossil fuels
Well I urge you to talk to the kids of Beijing
Who are forced to wear pollution masks just to go to school
See, you can ignore this, but the thing about truth is
It can be denied, not avoided
So I'm sorry future generation
I'm sorry that our footprints became a sinkhole and not a garden
I'm sorry that we paid so much attention to ISIS
And very little how fast the ice is melting in the arctic
I'm sorry we doomed you
And I'm sorry we didn't find another planet in time to move to
I am s...

You know what, cut the beat, I'm not sorry
This future I do not accept it
Because an error does not become a mistake
Until you refuse to correct it
We can redirect this, how?
Let me suggest that if a farmer sees a tree that is unhealthy
They don't look at the branches to diagnosis it
They look at the root, so like that farmer
We must look at the root
And not to the branches of the government
Not to the politicians run by corporations
We are the root, we are the foundation, this generation
It is up to us to take care of this planet
It is our only home, we must globally warm our hearts
And change the climate of our souls
And realize that we are not apart from nature
We are a part of nature
And to betray nature is to betray us
To save nature, is to save us
Because whatever you're fighting for:
Racism, Poverty, Feminism, Gay Rights
Or any type of Equality
It won't matter in the least
Because if we don't all work together to save the environment
We will be equally extinct

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Prince Ea - Dear Future Generations: Sorry

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Dear Future Generations, / I think I speak for the rest of us when I say / Sorry, sorry we left you with our mess of a planet / Sorry that we were too caught up in our own doings

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Poems for Second Grade - The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets.

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"There's a Poem for that!" - at least 89 poems that have been made into animations.

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Talks, people, playlists, topics, and events about "There's a poem for that" on TED.com

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An Ecology of Intimacy: Through the Lens of Poetry

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An Ecology of Intimacy: Through the Lens of Poetry

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From Intimacy to Intimate, sans Intimidation. When asked to write a piece for National Poetry Month on Intimacy, who's intimidated? Not me. I'll just skip that 'id' and intimate softly what my heart wants...Yes, the heart wants intimacy, and who's getting any, who's getting too much in the last two years of involuntary isolation?

My thoughts ran in several directions toward an exploration of intimacy that was both internal and external. An external examination of the theme was easiest. I'd read about intimacy coordinators who counsel actors in sex scenes. As a formerly shy introvert, I'd learnt to perform my poems with ease. So perhaps I could offer suggestions for poets in how to achieve a delight in performance: why suffer stage fright when presenting your poetry can be fun? I could offer a slight push toward joy in performance. How to put your work out there? How do you feel when you really communicate your poems to others? A performance coach for poets.

Intimacy on a personal life was trickier. The theme touched an all too raw nerve. What to reveal? Okay, be brave. Go for it. Here goes. My beloved husband, Gavin Stairs, died last Fall unexpectedly, so of necessity I've been pondering intimacy and its loss.

What consoles, what is solace?
Only the long view, wider than
self. Only your voice alive
at the back of my head. Only
presence, yours, with a tower
of gurus rising above you.

How can I be other than grateful,
when you so generously left in
timing that confounds me?

No, not lonely, with you still

here, memories of decades to
keep me company, hovering a-
round back of mind, at nape
of neck.

Although you are now dead and
your ashes rest in the hall outside
our bedroom door, you are closer
to me now than you've ever been.

Because you live inside my head.
Sometimes I hear you speaking.
More often you nod approval or
shake your head to comment, no.

Do you live in my occipital lobe?
I don't know the brain's mechanism
well enough to tell. You live on in
replay, in dream,

Of course you're apart from me, in
some dimension I cannot
fathom until I too am gone-
more a part of me than ever
you could be in flesh.

Grieving, gift bereft. Leaving
left. Well enough
alone, an intimate
presence
sent

*

A poem begins in the deep intimacy of pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. A wo/manual act. Eighteen months hunkered down in cosy comfort, sometimes too close companionship, and six months since my husband's death, six months figuring out the mobius strip of grief, bureaucracy spiralling back on itself. What is intimacy in a relationship, even or especially after death? Communication falters but does not stop in the space of silence. I listen to the quiet between the lines. I wait for the word to drop into a poem. One word, then the next, and the pause between.

How deep is intimacy involved in self-expression? Is there a limit to the subjectivity of expressing feelings and experience in poetry? When does self-expression become narcissistic, given the difficulties in the world we inhabit? What would be worthwhile to communicate?

The Oxford English Dictionary defines intimacy as the "inmost thoughts or feelings; proceeding from, concerning, or affecting one's inmost self: closely personal." The word intimacy is derived from the Latin word "intimus," which means 'inner' or 'innermost', refering to a person's innermost qualities. According to Google, there are four types of intimacy to focus on fostering to create a more holistic connection: "Types Of Intimacy That Exist (Besides Sex)". These intimacies are: Emotional, Intellectual, Experiential, and Spiritual.

The greatest intimacy is with oneself, alone, and finding the freedom in full expression, on one's own. For me, this new solitude is literal in the isolation, aloneness that the poem requires

And yet, how utterly moving to be with dear Ellen Jaffe, LCP member, as she received poems read to her, both by and for her in a Zoom. Poets from Israel, Toronto and Vancouver gathered to greet her as she lay in hospice. What could be more intimate?

Homage for Ellen S. Jaffe, Poet
Ellen, dying in hospice, listens in on
Zoom as Voices Israel read her poems.

How wonderful to be read to at last,
at the last, her own poems reflected

in words uttered. Ellen, grey, lying on
pillows, blows us kisses from her bed.

Responding to writers who've written,
she riffs on Emily Dickinson's "letter
to the world That never wrote to me".

How utterly moving to share this sacred
passage, live to the end and in real time.

Love to her in that seventh heaven where
poets gather, and here, now in last days.

May we too respond to "The simple news
that Nature told, With tender majesty.

Her message is committed To hands
I cannot see; For love of her, sweet
countrymen, Judge tenderly of me!"

My reading of this homage for Ellen's funeral is up here. She died on March 16, 2022, a day after her 77th birthday on the Ides.

*

Die Verse
Our beloved dead are more intimate
now than ever they could be in flesh.

Only poetry can convey their message,
intimations of immortality, sly slips

we grasp as truth, not knowing for sure
what is real, what is fantasy and false,
what lies somewhere in between as true.

Only poems can transcribe, translate into
lines of verse as mysterium tremendum-
reality felt embodied. For me. For you.

*

How does a poem like the ones above, at its roots so personal, become universal? How can poetry, this most private art, interact in the public domain, once published? An introvert is comfortable sharing because she is writing to herself, speaking to that part of the listener who is attuned and responds. Recognizing the other, the reader out there, the poem calls out, "- hypocrite lecteur!- mon semblable,- mon frère!'"

Tutoyer. I'm writing to you, toi, the reader whom I love even if I don't know you. The poem is always addressing the lover, the listener, whoever can hear. The poem itself emerges from the depth of heart/ soul/being. Once it has found its community, as a piece published or performed, the poem begins to intimate. Not intim id ate, (what a difference that 'id' makes!)

The language signifies the shift. The poem suggests; it intimates. When we switch from intimate as adjective to the verb or present participle, intimating, we switch from the poem as written to the performance of that poem. In delivering her piece aloud, the poet embodies the poem. The performing introvert is no oxymoron. She considers the audience to be a plurality of intimates, so that she is addressing the respective soul in each person, separately and together.

Would that English had an equivalent for the Spanish word for the expanded you: "vosotros". With Spanish, you have two choices of saying "you all". You can use "vosotros" or you can choose, more formally, "ustedes". "Vosotros" is the personal plural form of tú. "Ustedes" is the plural form of "usted." Such fine distinctions would be useful as the poet addresses different audiences.

*

An Ecology of Intimacy: at the intersection of poetry and performance. A third discussion involves the role of media, poetry and intimacy. As pandemic restrictions lift, we emerge, blinking like moles in spring sun, expectant, whether hopeful or cautious. Our tentacles inch out to community, to the suffering and strife beyond the hearth and intruding on the heart. The televised terror, two-dimensional on the screen, takes on new aspects, homing in. Tentatively, we negotiate new rules of communication, new challenges in the face of all that is happening in the world, all that encroaches.

*

With every new technology, is intimacy compromised? It is certainly different. In pandemic isolation, we lost touch, physically and literally, with the real presence of people. Touch and non-verbal signals that indicate intimacy are necessarily limited on participatory media, the media that so lacks nuance, despite the gratification of immediacy. Relationships through Messenger can easily skip cues or switch codes in confusion and misunderstandings. And yet the isolation we have habituated to means that many of us now correspond more often online: we keep up with Facebook friends, Instagrammers, Tweeters. Poets and poetry spring up everywhere. We are LinkedIn, despite the limitations of social technologies. The effects are ambiguous, sometimes displaying a generational shift: my granddaughter regards a telephone call as aggressive: that demanding ring interrupts her personal space. Poems abound in my Twitter feed: often they respond to my need at the time, as synchronicity. The 'page' still rules as words on the screen: the poem lives in the widespread community of poets in a new intimacy.
*
Check out more of Penn's reflections on poetry, intimacy, and the war in Ukraine: A Gathering of Poets in Response to Peril

Poet, performer and playwright Penn Kemp has been celebrated as a trailblazer since her first publication of poetry by Coach House (1972). She has participated in Canadian cultural life for over 50 years, writing, editing, and publishing poetry and plays as well as giving poetry workshops world-wide. She has published 30 books of poetry, prose and drama, and multimedia galore, much of which is devoted to ecopoetry. Recent collections are A NEAR MEMOIR: NEW POEMS (Beliveau Books, Stratford) and P.S., a chapbook of poetry. Out now is POEMS IN RESPONSE TO PERIL: an anthology for Ukraine. See www.riverrevery.ca, www.wordpress.com, and www.pennkemp.weebly.com.

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NPM22 Blog: An Ecology of Intimacy: Through the Lens of Poetry by Penn Kemp

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From Intimacy to Intimate, sans Intimidation. When asked to write a piece for National Poetry Month on Intimacy, who's intimidated? Not me. I'll just skip that 'id' and intimate softly what my heart wants...Yes, the heart wants intimacy, and who's getting any, who's getting too much in the last two years of involuntary isolation?