Irene Latham's Blog, page 71

On Princesas, Peas, and Agua, Aguita

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit sweet, zany Jan at bookseedstudio for Roundup.

Once upon a time our eldest son confessed that that his biggest complaint about his childhood was that he isn't bilingual.

Well. Since WE are not bilingual, that's kind of up to him, isn't it? :)
But his comment has stuck with me because I, too, would love to be bilingual. (Maybe after I master the cello? Hmmm)

ANYHOW. I wish I could have shared with my son when he was wee THE PRINCESA AND THE PEA by Susan Middleton Elya, illus. by Juana Martine-Neal (G.P. Putnam's Sons). It tells the traditional story, but with a Latino twist: many of the words are Spanish! For instance, this passage:

Mama sneaked away
to the royal jardin
and found a small pea
that was fit for a queen.

Okay, so reader can tell from the picture that jardin means garden... and because of the rhyme scheme, readers learn how to pronounce jardin. (There's also a glossary in the book.) Isn't that brilliant?

Here's another passage:

The girl stretched her brazos
and yawned with her boca.
But the bed felt so lumpy,
like there was a roca.

Readers can tell from the picture that brazos means arms, and we yawn with our mouths, and roca is so similar to rock, it's easy to decode.

Who knew learning another language could be so much fun? Well, it SHOULD be fun, methinks.

There's an additional title by the same team I want to check out called LA MADRE GOOSE.

Another bilingual picture book book I've enjoyed recently is AGUA, AGUITA/ WATER, LITTLE WATER by Jorge Tetl Argueta, illus. by Felipe Ugalde Alcantara (Pinata Books). Readers learn about the water cycle in poems presented in Spanish and English -- in the voice of water.


Here is a passage:

Soy de todos los coloresy no tengo color.Soy de todos los saboresy no tengo sabor.Soy de todas las formasy no tengo formaSoy Agua,soy Aguita
I am all colorsand have not color.I am all flavorsand have no flavor.I am all shapesand am shapeless.I am Water,I am Little Water.------------What a fun way to learn Spanish! It's the best I can do for now. :)

New Business Cards for a New Me!

Every couple of years I create a new business card.

Sometimes I design a card related to a new book release -- the year FRESH DELICIOUS was released, my cards said on the front "Poetry is Delicious." and on the back featured a poem from the book.

Every time I design a card, I incorporate the color RED -- because once upon a time I read an article that reported the results of a business card experiment, and the most memorable cards all featured red.

This year my main reason to create a new card was the quest for accuracy -- I have a new mailing address! And as I have 3 books releasing within a year, I felt that instead of tying the card design to a particular title, I might get more mileage out of a more general approach.

A general approach -- with the color red.

Ta-da!


... and... there's a little surprise on the back that I'm not going to reveal, but if we meet in person, please ask me for a card and I'll share it with you! xo

Flashback to my Favorite Moment of Christmas 2017

Our three sons playing a tune together on the BIG piano.

(Youngest son's fashion statement is actually a survival technique for the itchy patch of poison ivy he acquired hiking around the lake!)

This is an especially special picture because  a) 3 very different sons I adore together  b) last Christmas before oldest son and wife move to New Mexico  c) last Christmas in that house -- #20!

There was a moment a few days after Christmas when I thought I had lost all my pictures -- including this one -- and I had a come-apart. 
As much as this move is exactly what we want, it still comes swaddled in a lot of loss. Downsizing is hard for a sentimental gal like me! But I am learning that all these things -- are just things. What they represent -- their meaning -- is inside me.
One way of coping as I've bagged and boxed, has been to take a picture. A picture doesn't take up any space, and it's a way to hold on to a memory of something. (Which is why I was devastated to think I'd lost all the pictures I've taken recently!) 
Funny thing: I have this memory of my father from just two months before he died, when he said, "sometimes I like the picture better than the thing." He was a lifelong photographer, and in that moment he was asking me to take a photo of him with a pair of pants that were now far too large, before we dropped them at a donation site. 
Papa was teaching me right up to the end, and in fact is still teaching me now! And you know what? I don't need a picture of that. It's imprinted on my heart. xo

Traveling the Blue Road: Poems of the Sea

Hello and Happy first Poetry Friday of 2018! Be sure to visit lovely Catherine at Reading to the Core for Roundup.

It's been a busy week -- and brrrr, COLD. I know I am not alone in this, and certainly not experiencing the worst of it (way down here in the south), but my face has very nearly frozen off on our afternoon walks by the lake! As must as it hurts (to have your face very nearly frozen off), it's also quite alive-making, invigorating, and strangely inspiring. Know what I mean?

So today I have a look at a new book of poems TRAVELING THE BLUE ROAD: Poems of the Sea, collected by Lee Bennett Hopkins, illustrated by Bob Hansman & Jovan Hansman (a father-son team), and brought to us by Seagrass Press. It's filled with poems by a league of poetic luminaries and takes readers on a series of (difficult) sea journeys from Columbus's voyage through the current refugee crisis in the Mediterranean Sea. This is not a dolphins-leaping-for-joy kind of book. Instead it illuminates the darkness of the sea, its power, and the cruel/heartbreaking ways humans have experienced it.

I love this quote from Lee's introduction:  "Meticulously crafted poems stir us, shake us, cause us to think, wander, ponder, imagining what might have been, bringing to life imagery only poets can convey via the power of words."
Now there's something to aspire to!

Here are two poems I'd like to share:
 
Mediterranean Blue
by Naomi Shihab Nye

If you are the child of a refugee, you do not
sleep easily when they are crossing the sea
on small rafts and you know they can't swim.
My father couldn't swim either. He swam through
sorrow, though, and made it to the other side
on a ship, pitching his old clothes overboard
at landing, then tried to be happy, make a new life.
But something inside him was always paddling home,
clinging to anything that floated - a story, a food or face.
They are the bravest people on earth right now,
don't dare look down on them. Each mind a universe
swirling as many details as yours, as much love for
a humble place. Now the shirt is torn,
the sea too wide for comfort, and nowhere
to receive a letter for a very long time.

And if we can reach out a hand, we better.

----------------
Seas Seas
by Lee Bennett Hopkins

Seas seas seas seas seas seas seas seas
Seas seas sweeping seas whispering seas
seas seas violating seas massive seas unknown seas
seas seas smooth seas unfathomable seas titan seas
seas seas blue seas warning seas swooping seas
seas seas clinging seas breathing seas
seas seas seas seas seas seas seas seas

---------------
Aren't those wonderful? I love the first for its relevance and the way it reminds us of us of our connectedness to things that may be happening far away, but are part of us, too. And the second for its music and truth. I love when poets use sound like this. Beautiful!

And now a poem I wrote some years ago when I was working on a collection of ocean poems that was much more a celebration of sea life. Some of those poems found homes in WHEN THE SUN SHINES ON ANTARCTICA, which of course features marine life. Others, like the one below, have been swimming unseen in that file for years now. Thank you for reading!



The Ocean Opens Its Arms
by Irene Latham

Come to me, oh hungry ones,
Come to me, explorers.
Come and tip your toes in surf,
then tumble
            surge
                    submerge.

Let me paint your skin with salt,
adorn your hair with kelp --
Let me show you living shipwrecks
and riotous fields of reef.

Come to me, oh bravest ones.
Dive past your fear and listen:
Let me show you a universe
deeper
              than blue.

*all photos taken on our Mediterranean cruise summer 2017 -- the blue road has many faces, doesn't it?

Behold, My 2018 One Little Word!

Hello and welcome to Spiritual Journey Thursday! This month we are gathering at Reflections on the Teche to share about the words we've selected as 2018 One Little Word. Please join us! Spiritual Journey Thursday is open to anyone and everyone, whatever your faith.

I *thought* I knew what my OLW for 2018 would be, but then I heard my friend say THIS word, and I knew instantly it was the one!

photo by Eric
BEHOLD. It means to look at something closely, and with enthusiasm. To be filled with wonder. To pay attention. To be present. I want all of those things in my life! It just sounds like a celebration, doesn't it? In fact, I do believe simply by beholding, we create a sacred space through which we may more deeply experience meaning and connection. And then when I read the quote, "We become what we behold," I thought, YES. 'Tis true. And choosing this word will make me more mindful of what I am choosing.

"Behold" brings to mind things that are greater than ourselves -- God, the Universe, a Higher Power. And one of the ways I want to practice beholding in my life this year is with other people, as in "I see you." So many people feel invisible at one time or another... what would happen if we all greeted one another with joy? What if we were to behold each other every single day?

I'm going to try. For I do believe it's true: To love another person is to see the face of God.

Looking forward to reading about everyone else's words... Happy New Year!

Welcome to the World, CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR?

Hello and Happy New Year!

Before anything else, a hearty CONGRATULATIONS to the finalists in the 2018 CYBILS Award for Poetry! Yay for great, kid-friendly poetry!

Today is also special because it marks the official release of CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? Poems of Race, Mistakes and Friendship, written by me and Charles Waters, illustrated by Sean Qualls and Selina Alko, and delivered to the world by Carolrhoda/Lerner Publishing. What a team! I'm so grateful to be part of it.

 In some ways it feels like this book has been out for a while, as Charles and I did some pre-pub promotional events at AASL and NCTE, where the publisher gifted books to excited teachers and librarians. We're so grateful for this early enthusiasm! We have been moved to tears more than once, listening to others' stories about race, mistakes and friendship. It reminds me of John Truby's advice to "write a book that will change your life." This book is a life-changer for me. It forced me to practice being a brave writer... and it brought me a new "Forever Friend" in Charles!

And now the fun continues... we've got school visits and podcasts and webinars... readings and interviews and questionnaires... and readers! In-the-wild readers! That's the best part, every time: connecting with readers.

Charles and me on the panel at AASLTo celebrate the release, Charles and I are doing a second installment of "Two Truths & a Lie." I'm featuring Charles here, along with one of his poems from the book. Head over to Poetry Time to read about me! And here are links to the first installment from cover release day at Charles' Poetry Time blog and Live Your Poem.

Charles Waters!Of the 3 statements below, two are truths and one is a lie. You guess! Answers below.
1. An author came to Charles' school like Nikki Grimes does in the book. 
2. Charles grew up with a mother and father. 
3. Charles wasn't a very good basketball player in school.

Okay... got it? Know what your answers are? Read on to find out if you're right!

........................1. Lie. "Which is a shame because I daresay I would have gotten into writing a lot sooner if an author had come to my school growing up."
2. True!
3. True! "I wasn't horrible at it but I was no Lebron. Sadly, one time in 7th grade my shot did go over the backboard, the trajectory looked good for a hot second until the ball sailed away with the speed of a cheetah."
And now for a poem from the book, on the topic of shoes:
Shopping with Dad
Dad doesn't think shoes have anything to do withfashion. "Shoes are like your complexion," he says."They're supposed to fit you perfectly."I'd rather get a pair of neon high-topswith tie-dye laces like I've seen on commercials.Maybe they make my feet hurt sometimes,and maybe they don't last as long,but at least I fit in with my classmates.Dad hands me a pair of low tops,no cool design or dynamite laces.I tie them up, walk around. "Wow," I say."This pair feels like I'm wearing slippers."Dad tells me, "The decision is yours."
- Charles Waters
You can read my poem about shoes over at Poetry Time -- and poems about family dinner, punishment, police brutality, the N word, etc. -- in the book! Thanks so much for reading. Happy 2018! xo

Do Rabbits Have Christmas?

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Buffy's Blog for Roundup.

We are snug together for the holiday weekend, reading and cooking and tending to other holiday joys like last-minute gifting and wrapping and visiting... and reading poetry, of course!

In that spirit I wanted to share with you DO RABBITS HAVE CHRISTMAS? by Aileen Fisher, illus. by Sarah Fox Davies.

Confession: I am not all that familiar with Aileen Fisher's work, and it was Charles Waters who said I must watch the video about her done by Lee Bennett Hopkins and Renee LaTulippe over at No Water River... so I did! I learned Aileen loved nature and did NOT love any sort of public life. I was happy to find her book DO RABBITS HAVE CHRISTMAS at my library, and I've got to say: she had me at that wonderful wonder-ing question of a title! The poem with the same title closes the book -- I will leave you to discover it. Meanwhile I'd like to share these two favorites, both of which (interestingly) have some sewing/garment analogies:

December

I like days
with a snow-white collar,
and nights when the moon
is a silver dollar,
and hills are filled
with eiderdown stuffing
and your breath makes smoke
like an engine puffing.

I like days
when feathers are snowing,
and all the eaves
have petticoats showing,
and the air is cold
and the wires are humming,
but you feel all warm . . .
with Christmas coming.

- Aileen Fisher


Snow Stitches

Who's the one
in winter's house
who likes to stitch and sew?

Around the meadow's
new white blouse
some dainty footprints go.

No, not a hare.
No not a grouse.
But just a plucky little Mouse. . .

That's the one
whose footprints show
like stitches in the new white snow.

- Aileen Fisher

Happy Holidays to all! Wishing each a rabbit-y winter. xo

I'm Just No Good at Rhyming and Other Nonsense

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Diane at Random Noodling for Roundup.

I'm in today with a look at I'M JUST NOT GOOD AT RHYMING AND OTHER NONSENSE FOR MISCHIEVOUS KIDS AND IMMATURE GROWN-UPS by Chris Harris, illus. by Lane Smith.

How's that for a title? This book is really a throw-back to Shel Silverstein, except with more structure? (I've been trying to figure out how best to describe it!) It's fun, irreverent, witty, and gets high high marks for its kid appeal.

The author actually is very good at rhyming, and I liked how "The Door" poem kept showing up, serving as a narrative thread. And the fun continues through the back matter.. ever heard of an "Outdex"? "For titles that did not make the final cut," of course! (My favorite: "Unpoemed Title".... NOT IN BOOK) Ha! The Acknowledgments page actually has a measure from "not very grateful at all" to "extremely grateful." I especially like one that falls somewhere in the middle: "- That guy who told me this book would never sell. (It kind of motivated me.)"

Probably NOT surprising to regular readers of this blog, my favorite poem of the bunch is not a silly/clever one, but a lovely unexpectedly tender one I'd like to share here:

Under My Dragon's Wing

Nothing can hurt me,
Nothing can sting,
When I'm hiding under my dragon's wing.

No one can find me,
No one can fight.
Under my dragon's wing, all is all right.

I hear them outside,
Asking, "Where can she be?
Look in the car! Now look in the tree!

Check the gazebo,
Peek in the wagon.
Search everywhere - but don't bother that dragon..."

And they'd never guess
That the dragon's my friend
And I'll hide by his side till the day meets its end.

I feel all his strength
And his warmth and his guile,
And I hear them all calling for me... and I smile.

For no one says "No" here,
And no one tells lies,
And here I can dream and I'm just the right size.

I'm all that I want;
I don't need a think,
Here at home... under my dragon's wing.

- Chris Harris
-----------------
We all need a dragon's wing, don't we?

A Black Naturalist, A Book, and Hair

I've just been reading THE HOME PLACE: Memoirs of a Colored Man's Love Affair with Nature by J. Drew Lanham. It's a memoir in which the author talks about his connection to the land and nature, and what it's like to be a black naturalist.

So many passages spoke to me! About being possessed by the land and fascinated by flight. About the power of nature to erase racial (and other divides). About wildness and water, and yes, also the impact of TV!

The author describes how watching ROOTS as a child changed his life. First he was filled with pride -- these were his people. But as the miniseries continued, those feelings got more complicated. He felt out-ed, and "even blacker." He understood, suddenly, racism.

Here's the passage I'd like to share today, in part, because it includes a "hair" experience -- and something I'm learning from early readers of CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? is that pretty much everyone has a hair story.

“It was the first time I'd had to grapple with race in a significant way. The most racist slights I'd dealt with to that point often took form in people not anticipating or misunderstanding the differences that made me me. I'd learned quickly, for example, that the brittle plastic combs handed out on picture day weren't meant to groom tightly packed black-boy hair. When one of the combs broke off in my little Afro, classmates laughed. Afterward, I asked to wear my hair cut short so that grooming wasn't an issue. And for as long as I can remember others had observed that I “talked white.” This somehow was supposed to make me better or smarter? For a few it make me a “sellout,” an Oreo – black on the outside and white within. But up to that point in my life, I hadn't yet taken a full-on gut punch of racism or truth and questioned my reality.

Roots set me- and the country- straight."-------------If you love nature -- and even if you don't -- read this book!

Whatever you feel, it's okay.

I've been reading like a madwoman lately -- so many amazing fall releases! One of my favorites so far is THE WAR I FINALLY WON by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley. This should come as no surprise, as I loved THE WAR THAT SAVED MY LIFE... and everything else that Kim has ever written! See my post from earlier this year on JEFFERSON'S SONS.

Here's the thing about Ada: she has a hard time trusting. Being unloved by her mother -- the one person who is supposed to love you no matter what -- has done quite a number on her feelings of worth and loveability. Even when adoptive mother Susan's love is steadfast, Ada still doubts and does things to self-sabotage.

I am no expert, but I do have loved ones with exactly this issue! Which is why Ada feels so real to me. I love that Kim takes us into the confusion of Ada's emotions. Ada's such a strong heroine -- and yet so needy! It reminds me to reach out to those people in my life who appear strong, but maybe need love. And when they reject my efforts, to reach again. To never stop reaching.

Here's a favorite passage:

"On May 13, 1941, I celebrated my real birthday for the first time. I was twelve years old.
I hadn't known my birthday until I'd found my birth certificate last September. Susan had made up dates to put on our identity cards. She had celebrated our pretend birthdays too.
Mam never celebrated birthdays. Mam never celebrated anything.
Maggie was back at school, but Ruth and Jamie picked flowers from the hedgerows and covered the breakfast table with them. Susan gave me a piece of bacon and a whole fried egg for breakfast. She and Lady Thorton stacked presents by my plate – new books, three of them.
It was too much. Church-steeple panic crawled across my skin. I handed the bacon to Jamie. I pushed the books out of sight. I made myself choke down the egg. Susan would be angry if I wasted it. I should have been used to birthdays. Man should have celebrated my birthdays.
“It's okay,” Susan said, watching my face. “Whatever you feel, it's okay.” She put her arms around me.
“Why didn't she love me?” I whispered.
“Because she was broken,” she said. “Remember that. She was broken, not you.”

I had the bad foot, but the foot worked better now. The foot wasn't the reason. Something else must be wrong with me. Most mothers loved their children.”"
Please don't miss this wonderful book!