Diane Lockward's Blog, page 30

Two Poetry Readings

Much as I hate to see summer approaching its end, it's exciting to have poetry season back again. Readings and festivals along with fall leaves.



I have two readings coming up and I hope that you can join me for one or both. The first will take me to the Jersey shore. The second will take me to Easton, Pennsylvania. Here they are.








Saturday, September 22

River Reads Series

reading with Rick Mullin

Red Bank Public Library

84 West Front St.

Red Bank, NJ

2:30 PM

Free and followed by an open mic


The above reading will be the first for this series in its new venue. This is a lovely library right in front of the ocean. Rick, by the way, lives in my same town. I wonder if there are more of our kind?





The next reading, at a festival, came about as a result of a cancellation. Gerald Stern was scheduled to read but cancelled, so I was invited to take over. Happy to do so. And to be joined by Harry Humes. Oddly, this reading is also along water.








Sunday, September 23

Riverside Festival of the Arts

reading with Harry Humes

Larry Holmes Drive

Easton, PA

12:00-1:30 PM

Reading, Q&A, Book Signing


This festival will also include a juried art show and music events.

Time, Creativity, and Productivity

The Devil's Plaything


Lately I've been hearing a number of poets complaining about their unproductive summer. There they were, many of them off from school jobs, with all that gorgeous time on their hands. They'd had exciting plans for lots of writing and lots of submitting. But now the summer's over and back to work they go—with big frowns on their faces because they somehow frittered away all that time and now find themselves with little or nothing to show. The folder is empty and the desk holds nothing. What went wrong?



I suspect that many of us are more productive when we have less time. I know that doesn't make sense, but it seems that a lot of time often means too much time. Then we get lazy. Because we have a bunch of time, it's just way too easy to put off that writing until tomorrow. Now all the tomorrows have been used up.



There's something about the crunch of time that forces us to be productive. When we have precious little time, what we have becomes more precious. We become better organized. It becomes easier to impose self-discipline. We find ourselves making use of snippets of time. We also become stressed and tense. Oddly, there's something about tension that's creative. Forces working in opposition to each other clash and sparks fly. Some of those sparks turn into flames.



There's something I've been noticing at Facebook that might also play a role in a poet's lack of productivity. The Games! I never got into Farmville or Mafia Wars, but I used to love all the word games. I also adored Bejeweled Blitz with its flashing lights. A year ago I found myself playing the games on a daily basis. I was playing rounds of games with other people. Some of those people challenged me to face-offs. I began to dislike several people who routinely beat me. I suspected several of those people of cheating.



But the worst part was frittering away huge chunks of my day. I became sort of obsessed. I'd sit down at the computer to check my email in the morning. Then I'd allow myself a few games. Then a few more. And a few more. When I was losing, I'd feel like I had to redeem myself. When I was winning, I wanted to top my best score. This morning time was my best writing time. I've known for years that my best head, my most creative head, is my morning head. But there I was using it up on those stupid games! After an hour or more at the games, I found myself feeling drained, numbed, cranky. I began to have days when my bad mood, a kind of depressed feeling, lasted all day.



One day I had a chat with myself and acknowledged that I suspected I was becoming addicted to the games. I didn't like that admission. I gave up the games, right then and there. Cold turkey. I've never played any of them again. Invitations to play get ignored. It wasn't hard. It really wasn't. My morning head came back and I began to write again. To return to productivity I had to figure out what was draining it. I had plenty of time. I just wasn't using it well.



What's your distraction?

Poems New and Old Here and There

I've had two more poems reprinted from my first book, Eve's Red Dress. "Feeding Habits" and "Losing the Blues" both appear online at Redux, a site run by writer Leslie Pietrzyk. This site is "invitation only," though there is a time when you can submit poems. Then if the poems pass Leslie's approval, you receive an invitation. Right now the submission window is closed. The policy is that the poems must first have appeared in print but not be available elsewhere online. The site features both prose and poetry. The online posts occur each Monday. Then on Tuesday the weekly post goes out to email subscribers. You can subscribe at the site.



I was also asked to send "The Story Behind the Poems," so that follows the two poems. My story begins, "We poets are multi-taskers. We are never just dining or driving; we are also gathering material for poems." Read more.



Lest you think that I'm only repeating myself these days, I'm also happy to report that I have two spanking new poems, "Your Blue Shirt" and "The Wrong Monkey," in the fall issue of Innisfree Poetry Journal. This issue is loaded with a terrific variety of poems and a number of book reviews. You'll find poems by at least four dozen poets, including Kim Bridgford, Grace Cavalieri, and Rosemary Winslow.





I've also just received my contributor's copy of Naugatuck River Review. How gorgeous is that cover? Publisher Lori Desrosiers has made a beautiful reality of her dream of having a print journal devoted to narrative poetry. My poem, "Warnings," is joined by poems by Pat Fargnoli, Michelle Bitting, Paul Scot August, and many others.



The journal is currently accepting online submissions for their annual contest which offers a $1000 prize. If interested, you'd better move fast as the deadline is September 1.



You can order a copy of the new issue at the website—and should do so!



One last thing—my poem, "Your Blue Shirt," was written to one of the prompts I created for my monthly Poetry Newsletter. Not yet subscribed? Head on over to the sidebar and sign up in time for the September 1 issue.

Writing As Addiction

In the July / August issue of American Poetry Review there's a wonderful article by C.K. Williams, "On Being Old." While I enjoyed the entire article, the following paragraph really grabbed my attention:



I used to believe what I thought was a metaphor about writing poetry: that it's addictive, like a drug. But I understand now that composing verse is actually, not metaphorically, addictive: there really is a kind of rush, to use the addicts' term, when you're generating or revising a poem. Busy the mind is, scurrying this way and that, spinning and soaring, and, as is apparently the case with stimulants, there's an altered experience of time and of the self as it moves through time—I'm sure other poets know what I mean by this. And they must know, too, that when one isn't working on a poem, doesn't have any poetry work to do, there are real withdrawal symptoms. In my case, I fall into something like depression, and as in other depressions, I begin to doubt, to ask questions I shouldn't, about my work, my life—all I grumbled about just now. Goethe put it succinctly: "The poet's requisite trance is the most fragile element in his armory."    



I think that I kept returning to this paragraph because I do indeed know what Williams means when he says that writing is more than a metaphorical addiction. I've felt the rush he mentions, the one that occurs during generating or revising, when the work is going well, when I'm onto something. This rush does not happen on those days when the work won't work for me, when nothing comes or only garbage comes or when I'm stalled thinking about something that's bugging me. But when that rush comes, it's wonderful. And it lasts all day. I feel more than happy—I feel exhilarated for the rest of the day. I seem to be on hyper-alert. I pay better attention to what people are saying. My word radar is on. But I also daydream more. The poem buzzes in my head. I'm working on lines, images, figures. When I wake up during the night or can't sleep, the poem is there like a sweet dream.



The depression that Williams mentions, that down feeling that comes when we can't work, when we go through one of those awful periods when we fear we're all washed up, that we've got nothing left to say, yes, I've felt that too, though I'm pretty good at talking myself out of it. I know that it won't last and that I need to get into poetry circuitously by going to a reading, by digging into someone else's poetry, by listening to poetry tapes, by allowing myself to write poorly. Eventually, something clicks and I'm back in love again.



Poetry is a curative drug. On any given day when I'm feeling less than good, maybe bummed out by a headache or fatigue or a cranky stomach, if I can drag myself to my writing table and get some writing started, something physical happens. Once I get into the writing, I forget about my woes. I get over the ailment. I feel better! But show up at the table I must. This thought reminds me of what sportswriter Red Smith said, "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open up a vein."



See that typewriter up above? There's the knife to open the vein. A metaphorical blood-letting can also be curative. First, show up at the desk.

Recycling Poetry

From time to time an opportunity to get more mileage out of a poem appears. If it seems like an attractive opportunity, I'll pursue it. For example, I'm really fond of having my poems appear in an anthology. I'm usually less enthusiastic about submitting to one that doesn't yet have a publisher as all too often the editor never finds a publisher. But if I know the editor's name, usually another poet, I'll go ahead. Thus it is that my sestina, "Why I Read True Crime Books," was recently accepted by Marilyn Krysl and Carolyn Beard Whitlow for a collection of sestinas called Obsession: Sestinas in the 21st Century. The collection will have an introduction from Lewis Turco. Fingers crossed that they find a publisher.



I've also recently come across two online publications that publish only previously published poems. So I submitted and am happy to say that each of these took one poem, both of which appeared this week. "Eve Argues Against Perfection" appears in Reprint Poetry. This publication features one poem at a time, along with a brief bio and the author's selection of one thing from the past she'd like to revive. Mine was a marshmallow sundae with black raspberry ice cream and chocolate sprinkles. They accept a maximum of 3 poems in a submission. Response time was remarkable: within an hour!



The other poem, "Pastiche for a Daughter's Absence," was taken by Re/Verse. This site posts just the poem, also one at a time. And you are allowed to submit only one poem at a time. Again, the response time was very nice: 3 days and then the poem was posted the next day.



Instant gratification is cool. Getting more mileage out of a poem is cool. The internet offers us the opportunity to extend our publications beyond the first or only place where they appeared. Both sites maintain Archives. Also cool.



Both are from my first book, Eve's Red Dress, which was published in 2003. "Eve Argues Against Perfection" first appeared in print in US 1 Worksheets, a NJ journal. "Pastiche for a Daughter's Absence" never appeared in a journal as I wrote it shortly before the book came out. So I'm happy to get this new exposure for both poems.

Another Publication Option: The Cooperative Press

I recently wrote about a new self-publication venture, She Writes Press, which evolved out of She Writes, a social network for women authors. Their price struck me as steep, and I'm not a fan of self-publication. But for those of you who plan to go that route, it's important that you be well-informed about your options. My sense about She Writes Press, which considers itself a hybrid, is that you will be dealing with people of integrity and will receive a quality product. How many poets, though, could justify an outlay of $3900?



I recently came across another new publication venture, World Enough Writers, a cooperative press for poets and fiction writers. What's the difference between a cooperative press and a self-publication press? Both require a monetary investment, but a cooperative also asks for an investment of your time and talent in helping the press to produce your book. It also expects that you will thereafter participate as a member of the cooperative. A typical self-publication press accepts any manuscript submitted as long as the check clears. With a cooperative, there is selectivity and editorial oversight. Only a limited number of books will be published per year. Since anyone could set up shop as a cooperative, you need to be sure that the founders and members know what they're doing and have high standards.



Typically, the publishers are themselves writers who initially banded together to publish their own books. Alice James began this way as did Marsh Hawk Press, both of which now have sizable catalogs and reputable authors. Both also run contests with submission fees and both do some advertising.



Alice James runs two contests each year, only one of which requires the winner to become a cooperative member. I don't think that the winner is required to pay towards publication costs which appear to be covered by contest fees. From their website: "The winners of the Kinereth Gensler Awards become active cooperative board members of Alice James Books when their manuscripts are selected for publication. These authors agree to a three-year commitment, during which they judge competitions, participate in the editorial and business decisions of the press, and participate in many aspects of their book's production. The process ensures that poets have a great deal of input into the final appearance of their finished books, as well as an integral post-publication role." The Marsh Hawk website does not specify if any investment of time or money is required. It appears that both of these presses have grown beyond the original model of the small cooperative press. Neither website provides historical background information. (Alice James has a link for History, but the page is empty.)



World Enough Writers appears to be following in their footsteps and starting out small. The founder of this press is Lana Hechtman Ayers, an accomplished poet with several books to her credit and a good deal of publishing experience. She is also the publisher behind Concrete Wolf Press, which has been publishing poetry chapbooks since 2001, and the publisher behind MoonPath Press, which publishes books by poets living in Northwest Pacific states.





Click Here for Amazon

So far, World Enough Writers has published just one title, Every Wound Has a Rhythm, by James Bertolino. If you visit the Amazon page, you can use the Search Inside feature to see publication credits and to sample some poems. I'm including the cover which has attractive artwork.



Submissions are read all year. You pay a $10 reading fee for 10 pages. These pages are then read by two members of the cooperative. If they like what they've received, they request the rest of the manuscript. Upon acceptance, the author is required to send a $100 fee for membership to the cooperative and $550 for the publication costs. The book is sold through Amazon but the author does not receive royalty payments for books sold there. The author is given a deep discount for copies from the press but should be prepared to do readings and promote his or her own book.



It's too early to say how either of these presses will thrive, but I suspect that World Enough Writers is better suited to poets; it's certainly more affordable.

Poetry Festival 2012: The Movie

Below is the video I recently made using photos from this year's Poetry Festival: A Celebration of Literary Journals, an event that took place on May 20. This was the 9th year I've run the festival. Each year I invite the editors of 12 journals to participate. Each journal gets half a table where the editor displays the most recent issue along with submission and subscription information. This part of the festival takes place in the Reference area.



I also ask each editor to invite two poets who have appeared in the journal. So we end up with 24 poets, each of whom reads two poems. The readings take place in a separate area, the Community Room, which seats approximately 80 people and remains close to full throughout the readings.



The readings are divided into 4 sessions, each including 3 journals and 6 poets. In between readings there's a 20-minute break which gives visitors time to browse the journals and chat with the editors. Poets are invited to bring copies of one book to offer for sale in the book sale area at the front of the library, so visitors also use the break time to browse and buy those books and get them signed.



This event draws 200-250 people. Some come for part of the day. Others remain for the entire 4 hours. People meet for lunch before the Festival. People go out for dinner after the Festival. It really is a very festive event, a day filled with poems, poetry chatter, journals, and books.



This event takes place at the West Caldwell Public Library in West Caldwell, NJ, and is assisted by librarian, Ethan Galvin. He arranges for the Friends of the Library to provide volunteers to man the book sale table. He also runs off the program which is given to each visitor. And he sends out press releases. The local Shop-Rite donates cookies. Needless to say, the assistance Ethan and the volunteers provide is invaluable and deeply appreciated.



If you're nearby, plan to join us for next year's 10th anniversary Festival. In the meantime, please enjoy the movie.

She Writes Goes into Book Publishing

Okay, let me say upfront that self-publication is always something I advise against when someone asks me if he or she should self-publish a book. This question usually comes from one of two kinds of writer: 1) Someone with virtually no publication credits and little understanding of how publishing works, or 2) Someone with a good deal of publication credits but no success in finding a book publisher in spite of several years of trying.



The first person is just going to spend a lot of money and end up with a box of books in the basement. The second person, oh, the poor second person. I get the frustration. I had it. But I am so glad that I stuck it out those years of trying and kept trying, each summer refining the manuscript. As I look back now, I know that I would have regretted it if my first efforts had managed to find a publisher. I know I would have regretted it even more if I'd jumped the gun and self-published.



So I always advise the second person, especially if he or she is relatively young, to keep plugging away. Patience and persistence.



But the pros and cons of self-publishing is not really my topic today. I want to talk about the new venture just launched by She Writes, an online community for writers, primarily women writers. I joined a few years ago when the site was new. There were just around 300 members at that time. Now there are almost 20,000!



Now the site has found a way to "monetize"—I'm learning to hate that word, by the way. She Writes recently announced that they were launching a book publishing arm—She Writes Press—and were officially open for submissions from their members. As I read their newsletter, I realized that this is a self-publication venture, that is, selected authors will have to cover the publication costs. There is also a substantial $25 reading fee for the first 20 pages.



According to the press's website, the publishers, Kamy Wicoff, the founder of She Writes, and Brooke
Warren, will not automatically accept any manuscript that is submitted. They will be selective. If they like the first 20 pages and the project description, they will ask to see the entire manuscript. If accepted, the author pays $3900. That seems hefty to me, but I have no idea how the cost compares to that of other self-publication presses.



It is not clear to me how much editing is done as part of the package, but there are additional fees for additional services. Depending upon the readiness of the manuscript when submitted, some of these services may be required. The publishers suggest that the
author hire someone to proofread the first pdf. They then proofread the
final version as part of the package fee. They promise a good deal of oversight and editorial input—something that will distinguish them from other self-publication services.



I have no idea how many manuscripts were submitted, but the publishers soon posted an announcement of the selection of their first title. I rather poo-pooed that.



That is until I read the online excerpt at iPinion. I really really liked it! And I am now looking forward to reading Judith Newton's The Joys of Cooking: A Love Story. Newton, not surprisingly, is not an inexperienced writer. She is a well-seasoned teacher, author, and editor.



The publishers describe the
book as follows:



The Joys of Cooking: A Love Story is the history of a woman’s emotional
education, the romantic tale of a marriage between a straight woman and a
gay man, and an exploration of the ways in which cooking  can lay the
groundwork not only for personal healing and familial relation, but for
political community as well. Organized by decade and by the cookbooks
that shaped author Judith Newton’s life, it sensuously evokes the
cuisines, cultural spirit, and politics of the 1940s through 2011,
complete with recipes. 



Sounds rather delicious, doesn't it? I'm looking forward to the book and am curious to see how this new publishing venture will develop.

The Poet on the Poem: Ann Fisher-Wirth

I am happy to have Ann Fisher-Wirth here today to discuss one of her poems. This is one I selected last year for the inaugural issue of Adanna for which I was the Guest Editor. I loved the poem then and I love it now.










Ann Fisher-Wirth is the author of four books of poems: Blue Window (Archer Books, 2003), Five Terraces (Wind Publications, 2005), Carta Marina: A Poem in Three Parts (Wings, 2009) and Dream Cabinet (Wings, 2012). The Ecopoetry Anthology, which she is coediting with Laura-Gray Street, will be published by Trinity University Press early in 2013. Her awards include the Rita Dove Poetry Award, a Poetry Award from the Mississippi Institute of Arts and Letters, and two Poetry Fellowships from the Mississippi Arts Commission. She teaches English and Environmental Studies at the University of Mississippi.




Today's poem comes from Dream Cabinet.




 Click Cover for Amazon







It Was Snowing and It Was Going to Snow

Unseasonal weird once in a green moon Mississippi beauty—

deep deep snow. We woke early, dressed,

walked through the silent town and Bailey’s Woods

to Faulkner’s house, before anyone but a deer

had made prints, we trudged through abundance.

I held my husband’s arm down the uneven trail,

the snow-mound stairs of the woods,

because I was afraid to fall, knowing how suddenly

bones break. Again and again when I touch him

I am filled with joy for the sheer fact of him

among all the infinite spaces—this burly,

beetle-browed man with the muscular legs

and fine-pored skin. Now, through my window,

grays and taupes of gingko and maple,

fractals of branches softened and warmed with snow,

then the greens of privets massed shabby beyond them,

and way down the hill, the Methodist Church

just barely red, a smudge through the trees. Someone

has built a snowman, someone is romping with a dog.

Soon night will climb the hill outside the window

where I wait for the white bees to swarm,

surrounding the branches, the house,

surrounding my sleep, scattering their cold pollen again.







DL: Tell us about your title's allusion to Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." Why those lines for your poem? What do you think they add to your poem? At what point did they occur to you as just right for the title?




AFW: In Mississippi, we get heat that will fry your eyeballs and humidity that will curl your toes. The spring and fall are balmy, and it almost always freezes for a while each winter. Nearly every year, there’s a smattering of snow that melts almost as soon as it falls. But we hardly ever have the chance to imitate a Northern climate, such as Wallace Stevens refers to in “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.”  We hardly ever have real snow, deep snow, strange and continuing snow. This is why the title stolen from Stevens seemed right, once it popped into my head. The overnight snow reached shin-high—and best of all, we could tell it would not immediately be over. It was snowing and then it stopped, yet we knew it was still going to snow.




DL: The syntax of your first line is immediately arresting and engaging. How did you arrive at that line? What kind of revision did it undergo? Or was it a gift?




AFW: This poem began as a prose free-write; in the lull after Christmas, when I had a lot of free time before the new semester began, I vowed I would keep a journal every day. Since not much was happening except weather, I wrote about weather. I wanted to write a poem from this day’s prose paragraph and to begin the poem with a rush and tumble of adjectives to convey how surprising, how wonderful this snow was. The line just leapt into my mind. I have to admit, the next day I nearly cut the line. Why? My hyper-rational mind took over and told me there is no such thing as a “green moon” or even a saying “once in a green moon.” Luckily someone told me I was crazy.




DL: Your use of pronouns is intriguing and subtle. You begin, in line 2, with the first person plural "We." In line 6, you split that pronoun in half and speak as "I." This allows a shift from description of landscape to contemplation of love—for the other half of the We. What's said in these middle lines could only be said by the singular I. This movement from exterior to interior also parallels the action of the poem. Finally, this shift brings warmth into a poem about snow. Was any of this on your mind when you made the switch? What was your intention?




AFW: The “we” at the poem’s beginning refers to my husband and me; we took a walk together. “I” takes over when I begin to contemplate my feelings. You are right that the poem shifts at that point to become more inward; I did intend that, as I wanted to poem to expand beyond narrative or description to include this realm of self-awareness about feelings.  I broke my knee about ten months before the day of this snowfall, and had surgery and a long recovery.  That made my progress down this specific snow-covered trail gingerly, but it has also made me intensely aware of the everyday gifts--starting with life itself.    But that is the nature of “I” and “we” anyway: my thoughts are always solitary, even if what I am thinking about is the person walking beside me.




DL: What governed your line breaks? Also, I can see spots where your poem might have been broken into stanzas. Why did you opt for one stanza?




AFW: In this poem most of the line breaks are syntactic yet there is quite a bit of enjambment; only three of twenty-three lines end at the end of a sentence. I wanted a fluid, meditative quality to infuse the narrative, which describes a single arc from daybreak to gathering night. This is why, though the poem is broken into sentences rather than being one long continuing sentence, there are not stanza breaks, and the sentences are handled with variously placed caesurae. One of my favorite poems in the world is Robert Frost’s “After Apple-Picking,” and it just occurs to me that his great poem, too, enacts an arc in a single stanza (admittedly partly through flashback) from sleep to waking to impending sleep.




DL: The "white bees" metaphor that closes the poem is so wonderful. How did you land on that?

AFW: My children had a beautiful book, illustrated by Susan Jeffers, of Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Snow Queen.” The Snow Queen comes to little Kai to carry him off in a blur and flurry of snow like bees. That, of course, is a malevolent image. But it lingered in my mind for its beauty and—if snow is likened to bees—in some weird way, its potential fertility and sweetness. Also, like the blank white screen with the film projector running that always used to come at the end of my father’s slide shows, the snow-bees create an atmosphere of obliteration that is both ominous and comforting. “It Was Snowing and It Was Going to Snow” is the last poem in my book Dream Cabinet. The book begins with “Slow Rain, October,” also a poem about love and family, the natural world, the liminal states between day and night, waking and sleeping. Dream Cabinet as a whole looks back and through the course of a life with its places, events, concerns, and larger historical context, always conscious nevertheless of death and dream.


Readers, please enjoy Ann's recording of her poem.

Bumblebee Flies All the Way to Italy

Several weeks ago Alessandro Panciroli, a translator who lives in Italy, translated some poems by Adele Kenny from English into Italian. When Adele recently used my poem, "Invective Against the Bumblebee," as the model poem for a prompt on invective poems at her blog, Alessandro saw the poem and asked if he could translate it into Italian. Of course, I was happy to say yes. He has now posted the translation of the poem at his blog.

Here are the first two stanzas in English:

Invective Against the Bumblebee

Escapee from a tight cell, yellow-streaked,
sex-deprived sycophant to a queen,
you have dug divots in my yard
and like a squatter trespassed in my garage.

I despise you for you have swooped down
on my baby boy, harmless on a blanket of lawn,
his belly plumping through his orange stretch suit,
yellow hat over the fuzz of his head.
Though you mistook him for a sunflower,
I do not exonerate you,
for he weeps in my arms, trembles, and drools,
finger swollen like a breakfast sausage.
Now my son knows pain.
Now he fears the grass.


Here's what they look like in Italian:

Evaso da una angusta cella,  giallo-striato,
smidollato sicofante di una  regina,
hai scavato zolle nel mio giardino
ti sei introdotto nel mio garage come un abusivo.

Ti  disprezzo per esser piombato
sul mio bambino, indifeso  su un prato verdeggiante,
con la pancetta cicciottella , la sua tutina arancione,
ed un cappelletto giallo sulla testa.
Certamente lo avrai confuso per un girasole,
ma non per questo ti perdono,
lo hai fatto piangere tra le mie  braccia, tremare, e sbavare,
il dito gonfio come un salsicciotto.
Adesso mio figlio conosce il dolore.
Adesso ha paura dell' erba.





I wish I could hear Alessandro read the poem in Italian. He also posted the movie I made of the poem. You can see it at his site or at my blog in my post about Adele's prompt.



The second stanza of my poem reveals that the baby is a boy. However, the only photo I could find that seemed right wasn't really right because it was obviously of a baby girl. Here's a bit of what I did to get my baby boy.










The original photo, clearly a girl, all dressed in pink. But my poem specifies a boy baby in an orange stretch suit and a yellow hat.



I uploaded the photo to Picnik. (That photo editor site has been shut but happily replaced by Ribbet which has all the same features.) Then I opened the Doodle feature and carefully colored in the suit and the hat. Now I had my dear little baby boy. Next I needed a bumblebee.



And here it is. But I needed to get that bumblebee close to the baby.



So I opened up Keynote and dragged in the photo of the baby. I got rid of the background and added a green one to suggest the grass.



Finally, I dragged in the bumblebee, but I wanted him to move, to fly towards the baby. I found just the right transition in Keynote and that simulated flying.