© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
February 28, 2012
February 27, 2012
A SPARKling Day!--Part 2
Yesterday I shared the inspiration piece that was sent to me, and my response to it, as part of the SPARK art from writing: writing from art challenge (the 15th quarterly challenge since the program began). Today, I have the inspiration piece that I sent to Channie Greenberg, and her poetic response.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Carnival Provocations
Carnival provocations, very harpy-like, beckon via cotton candy sweetness,
The smell of doughnuts, impossibly deep-fried pickles, also Oreos.
Among those funhouse calories, brave hearts gasp, drool, inhale, then pull away.
There’s no stuffed or laminated prize in greasing one’s innards with fabricated offal.
Kewpie dolls excluded, likewise not the Ferris Wheel, this county’s annual contests,
Blue ribbon madness, stampeding crowds, comforts 4H-ers, makes BBQ call girls happy.
Us other folk pay fees, taxes, levies, to point at neon-haired elders, kids sucking
Multiple pacifiers; their parents already sloshed from troughs of ale, gin, malt whiskey.
Once upon a fair, some pink pony, trotting ahead of a buffalo, equine-winked me,
That miniature mentioned forgetting horses, suggested driving away.
Accordingly, I smashed go carts, rode a mangy camel, considered roughing up
The Weight and Age Guess ‘Em barker, but threw twice at milk bottles, instead.
When that not-quite-giraffe tossed a shoe, I got suckered into buying penny sours,
Licorice whips, candy cigarettes, caramels, at five dollars a pound.
Meanwhile, shrills multiplied, pushed ticketers so as to yield better fireworks, fistfights.
Miss Pumpkin Queen gestured Joes, too, toward chugging more chocolate-coated corndogs.
Morning, ghosts, ground crews, hung-over hash slingers picked at wrappers.
A couple kids, gone AWOL from school, asked a few carneys for work.
Remember: all that is neon, sprayed in glitter, maybe coated with florescent paint,
Can be swept up, fixed, reconfigured, for minimum wage, all by willing underachievers.
© KJ Hannah Greenberg, all rights reserved.
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.Carnival Provocations
Carnival provocations, very harpy-like, beckon via cotton candy sweetness,
The smell of doughnuts, impossibly deep-fried pickles, also Oreos.
Among those funhouse calories, brave hearts gasp, drool, inhale, then pull away.
There’s no stuffed or laminated prize in greasing one’s innards with fabricated offal.
Kewpie dolls excluded, likewise not the Ferris Wheel, this county’s annual contests,
Blue ribbon madness, stampeding crowds, comforts 4H-ers, makes BBQ call girls happy.
Us other folk pay fees, taxes, levies, to point at neon-haired elders, kids sucking
Multiple pacifiers; their parents already sloshed from troughs of ale, gin, malt whiskey.
Once upon a fair, some pink pony, trotting ahead of a buffalo, equine-winked me,
That miniature mentioned forgetting horses, suggested driving away.
Accordingly, I smashed go carts, rode a mangy camel, considered roughing up
The Weight and Age Guess ‘Em barker, but threw twice at milk bottles, instead.
When that not-quite-giraffe tossed a shoe, I got suckered into buying penny sours,
Licorice whips, candy cigarettes, caramels, at five dollars a pound.
Meanwhile, shrills multiplied, pushed ticketers so as to yield better fireworks, fistfights.
Miss Pumpkin Queen gestured Joes, too, toward chugging more chocolate-coated corndogs.
Morning, ghosts, ground crews, hung-over hash slingers picked at wrappers.
A couple kids, gone AWOL from school, asked a few carneys for work.
Remember: all that is neon, sprayed in glitter, maybe coated with florescent paint,
Can be swept up, fixed, reconfigured, for minimum wage, all by willing underachievers.
© KJ Hannah Greenberg, all rights reserved.
February 26, 2012
A SPARKling Day!
I participated for the first time in SPARK art from writing: writing from art. The artist in an assigned team of two sends an inspiration piece to the the writer, and vice versa. There is a period of 10 days to complete a response.
Since there was an imbalance between the number of writers wishing to participate, and the number of artists, I signed up as an artist. (Most of the time I consider myself a fraud for claiming to be a poet, so I figured it wouldn't hurt my chances of getting into heaven if I also claimed to be an artist.)
My teammate was poet, Channie Greenberg, and she sent me the following for inspiration:
Parenting’s Saxophone Smiles
When lads do play a piccolo, girls tweet upon a flute,
Bray a brassy trumpet or pluck chords upon a lute,
Then blow a fife, sound a horn, bang a drum, to boot;
Parenting gives me saxophone smiles.
Pellucid jars, small shiny things, some mother’s pride, what’s more,
Diaper bins, mache birds on wing, some blocks spilled on the floor,
Library books strewn all around, amongst stuffed beasts’ mute roar;
Such bedlam makes me dance insanely.
Bright crayon wax shaved between carrots, peas, potatoes,
My children’s favorite meals make mounds on chairs, rugs, tables,
Nonetheless, I serve up more with gravy since I’m able;
Their messes inspire me to write.
Wee athletes, whom I’ll emulate, "one thousand years from now,"
Leap over laundry, hesitate, don't think to grab their towels,
Dear star-kissed heads nod in the bath, lull cradled on warm boughs;
My offsprings’ nap time can’t come too soon.
© KJ Hannah Greenberg, all rights reserved.
Here's my response:
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Come back tomorrow for the piece I sent to Channie, and her delightful response! Visit the SPARK site for the other teams' responses. And come back here next Sunday when Happy Haiga Day! will return.
Since there was an imbalance between the number of writers wishing to participate, and the number of artists, I signed up as an artist. (Most of the time I consider myself a fraud for claiming to be a poet, so I figured it wouldn't hurt my chances of getting into heaven if I also claimed to be an artist.)
My teammate was poet, Channie Greenberg, and she sent me the following for inspiration:
Parenting’s Saxophone Smiles
When lads do play a piccolo, girls tweet upon a flute,
Bray a brassy trumpet or pluck chords upon a lute,
Then blow a fife, sound a horn, bang a drum, to boot;
Parenting gives me saxophone smiles.
Pellucid jars, small shiny things, some mother’s pride, what’s more,
Diaper bins, mache birds on wing, some blocks spilled on the floor,
Library books strewn all around, amongst stuffed beasts’ mute roar;
Such bedlam makes me dance insanely.
Bright crayon wax shaved between carrots, peas, potatoes,
My children’s favorite meals make mounds on chairs, rugs, tables,
Nonetheless, I serve up more with gravy since I’m able;
Their messes inspire me to write.
Wee athletes, whom I’ll emulate, "one thousand years from now,"
Leap over laundry, hesitate, don't think to grab their towels,
Dear star-kissed heads nod in the bath, lull cradled on warm boughs;
My offsprings’ nap time can’t come too soon.
© KJ Hannah Greenberg, all rights reserved.
Here's my response:
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
Come back tomorrow for the piece I sent to Channie, and her delightful response! Visit the SPARK site for the other teams' responses. And come back here next Sunday when Happy Haiga Day! will return.
February 24, 2012
Poetry Friday--More Poehistry
As you may have guessed, if you follow this or my Kids of the Homefront Army blog, I'm a big advocate of using old photographs as inspiration for poems about history. I refer to the resulting poems as "poehistry." If you'd like to see examples from this blog, click on the label (on the right hand side of the page) "poehistry."
Here's a list poem inspired by the Civil War tintype above:
Reasons to Volunteer for the Band
Foot soldiers love music.
It incites them to heroic deeds.
Politicians love music
With which to bury the heroic dead.
The Ladies love music.
Savage breast and all that.
Splendid uniforms.
The Ladies love splendid uniforms.
The carrying of a saxhorn or drum
Is easier than carrying a dying brother.
There is only so much a man
Can do when all men are brothers.
Musicians are respected,
Whether or not is it warranted.
When you are in hell
Respect is meaningless.
Why not blow a horn?
© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.
For this week's Poetry Friday Round-Up, visit Jone at the school library and Check It Out!
Photo [Ten unidentified soldiers that form a Union regimental band with saxhorns and drums] courtesy Library of Congress.
February 21, 2012
February 19, 2012
February 17, 2012
Poetry Friday--And the Winner Is...
This past Tuesday the winners of the 2011 Cybils: Children's and Young Adult Bloggers' Literary Awards were announced on the Cybils site.
Congratulations to all the winners!
I was extremely fortunate to be a judge of the 2011 award for poetry, Requiem: Poems of the Terezin Ghetto by Paul B. Janeczko. Working with four others, and our mediator, we read and reread the finalists, had lots of online discussion, and came to a well thought out conclusion--Requiem was a book worthy of the prize.
Considering that the six finalists ran the gamut from the humorous treatment of everyday items, such as a toothbrush, to the portrayal of the hatred and despair experienced during the holocaust, and, that the intended audiences ranged from kindergarten to teen, how did the committee decide upon a winner?
I'm glad you asked. We devised a system whereby we judged each book on its own according to certain criteria, these being "kid appeal," originality, musicality, technical skill, and total package.
Kid appeal is obvious. Does the book appeal to its intended audience, as opposed to its appeal being primarily to the adult gatekeepers--teachers, librarians, parents, critics?
Originality, too, is obvious.
Musicality? We decided to look at the language used by the poet. How did it sound to the ear? Was the word choice ordinary or unexpected? This can be rather subjective!
Technical skill had to do with things like line breaks, rhyme, form, and other mechanics of poetry.
Finally, we looked at the total package. Since these books are intended for children, they were illustrated. Did the illustrations add to or detract from the poetry? Were they appealing? Was there enough white space? Too much clutter? Problems with the design? Etc.
It's funny, but none of the criteria listed above had to do with how the poems made the reader feel, and yet, after all the finalists had been studied and judged, it was how the winner affected us that became the deciding factor. Here's how the committee described the winner:
Myra will be hosting the Poetry Friday Round-Up at Gathering Books. Stop by!
Congratulations to all the winners!
I was extremely fortunate to be a judge of the 2011 award for poetry, Requiem: Poems of the Terezin Ghetto by Paul B. Janeczko. Working with four others, and our mediator, we read and reread the finalists, had lots of online discussion, and came to a well thought out conclusion--Requiem was a book worthy of the prize.
Considering that the six finalists ran the gamut from the humorous treatment of everyday items, such as a toothbrush, to the portrayal of the hatred and despair experienced during the holocaust, and, that the intended audiences ranged from kindergarten to teen, how did the committee decide upon a winner?
I'm glad you asked. We devised a system whereby we judged each book on its own according to certain criteria, these being "kid appeal," originality, musicality, technical skill, and total package.
Kid appeal is obvious. Does the book appeal to its intended audience, as opposed to its appeal being primarily to the adult gatekeepers--teachers, librarians, parents, critics?
Originality, too, is obvious.
Musicality? We decided to look at the language used by the poet. How did it sound to the ear? Was the word choice ordinary or unexpected? This can be rather subjective!
Technical skill had to do with things like line breaks, rhyme, form, and other mechanics of poetry.
Finally, we looked at the total package. Since these books are intended for children, they were illustrated. Did the illustrations add to or detract from the poetry? Were they appealing? Was there enough white space? Too much clutter? Problems with the design? Etc.
It's funny, but none of the criteria listed above had to do with how the poems made the reader feel, and yet, after all the finalists had been studied and judged, it was how the winner affected us that became the deciding factor. Here's how the committee described the winner:
"I am a watcher/sitting with those about to die." These are the words of Elisha Schorr/25565 as imagined by poet Paul Janeczko. In Requiem: Poems of the Terezin Ghetto, we all become watchers, viewing snapshots of the Holocaust, one after the other, each one deepening the grief and raising questions to which there are no answers.I could share one of the poems from Requiem, but I'd rather you take a look at the book as a whole. Its illustrations taken from the sketches of the artists who lived in the ghetto, the choice of font, the choice of titles, the layout and design, and the poems themselves--titled with the names of the narrators (and in some cases, their "numbers"), interspersed with snippets of poems set in italics--make for a well-conceived, total package. And I doubt you will be left unmoved...
We watch, but we also hear the story of Terezin, voice by voice, insistent and haunting, so that the effect by the end of the collection is almost choral. For each song of despair, there is a concordant and essential song of anger, tenderness or resignation; like a recurring melodic theme, the voice of one child appears and fades and appears again. We hear the violin of one victim playing "as only the heartbroken can play."
Cybils committee members agreed early in the deliberations that this slim volume of poems was a strong contender for the prize, with words like "stunning" and "haunting" coming up repeatedly in our conversation. Ultimately, the voices Janeczko created could not be forgotten.
Myra will be hosting the Poetry Friday Round-Up at Gathering Books. Stop by!
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