Xianna Michaels's Blog, page 11

BookReview.com Rates Mindel and The Misfit Dragons “Excellent!”

“Mindel and The Misfit Dragons” by Xianna Michaels is a beautiful fairy tale told in verse about a little girl of eight who has a serious problem to deal with and manages to solve it beautifully with the aid of three rather unorthodox dragons. To begin with, the book is printed in black and white in the manner of a medieval illustrated manuscript, with each page displaying decorated capital letters, the text inscribed in Carolingian minuscule (as best I can tell) and with miniatures or full illustrations on every page throughout.

Mindel and her parents live in a drafty castle called Draconmere and although they love their home dearly, it presents a number of problems that may require their leaving it. Sir Benjamin, Lady Leah and Mindel wish very much to keep the Laws of the Sabbath in proper Jewish fashion but there is the problem of the castle gate which relies on the grinding wheel for its power and alas, that is not allowed on the Sabbath. Further, Lady Leah’s cholent stew puts the guards to sleep and the drafty castle keeps blowing the Friday night candles out. Such unusual problems call for unusual solutions and this is where the three dragons—each unique in his or her own way—come to the rescue.

There are also some dastardly dragon eels, but you will get to them in good time and, as the book is in verse, you will get there all too swiftly as the story sings itself along before you can give each beautiful page the admiration it deserves.

Xianna Michaels has given us an unforgettable book perfect not only for her Jewish grandchildren to whom it is dedicated, but for all children who love castles and dragons and who, given pen and paper, could probably make some very wonderful decorated capital letters of their own. Bookreview.com suggests that, with a few simple art supplies tossed in, “Mindel and the Misfit Dragons” would make the perfect gift for the eight-twelve year olds on your list.

 

Rating: Excellent!

Reviewed by: M.K.Turner

Category: Children’s Books

Publisher: Alcabal Press

Web Page: www.alcabalpress.com

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My Life in Poems

I wrote my very first poem for a school assignment in the third grade. I remember the exhilaration I felt when the words came to me and I realized, “I can do this.” I wrote many poems for my teacher, Mrs. Blank, that year. I don’t remember them, but I remember the delight I felt in writing them.

As I look back, I realize that writing poetry rather quickly became a vital way for me to observe the world and process my life. I remember the poem about our backyard mimosa tree, that opened its leaves in the morning and closed them at night. There was the poem welcoming my mother home from the hospital with a new baby. Then came poems of unspeakable grief after my baby brother’s death of SIDS later that year, and poems of utter joy and the sense of the miraculous two years later when a new baby was born.

Others kept diaries; I wrote poems. Years later would come the one about my newlywed apartment with its peeling paint, decrepit pipes and army of cockroaches. There was the one about wanting desperately to be a good mother but feeling overwhelmed after my third – or was it fourth – C-section. There were poems about migraine, love, marriage, about having my two-day old first grandchild wrap her little fist around my finger.

There were the sonnets written in the hospital as a form of prayer while my teenage son underwent chemotherapy, and the sonnets of joy and gratitude when he came through it, thank G-d healthy and ready to take on the world.

There were poems about writing poems, poems that were stories and poems written for family occasions. There were those written to understand the spiritual lessons of a family conflict, a car accident, a terrible fall. There were poems of awe and sudden, unexpected connection with G-d.

And today, by the grace of G-d the poems keep coming – part meditation, part prayer, part art. They are my anchor in the visible world and the ribbon that connects me with the invisible.

Here are a few poems that I’ve written over the years. “Release Me” is a sonnet written during an unaccustomed period when I could not seem to carve out time to write. It is unnerving for me to read it today, because about two years after I wrote it I suffered a literal, catastrophic fall and broke my jaw and my ribs. It tells me we ignore our inner promptings at our peril.

Release Me

I prayed for light, dear G-d, so I could see;

I’d groped around in darkness far too long.

So You lit up my sacred path for me

With painful shocks whenever I went wrong.

And so I learned, but still my courage fails me.

But why? What power holds me in such thrall?

I beg You, G-d, please heal whatever ails me,

But I cannot take another major fall.

And while it’s true I know my path by now,

Yet others’ wishes still take precedence.

Does fear of censure override my vow

To You, or do I doubt my inner sense?

    Whatever phantom captor stills my pen,

    Release me, G-d, that I may write again.

“Formation” was written at the beach and completely surprised me. I thought I was simply writing about seagulls. But it turned out to be about something else entirely.

Formation

Seagulls in precise formation.

The shape: a children’s kite.

Above the waves a constellation

Of gulls in graceful flight.

Then one falls out, goes off alone.

The others circle round,

Escort him back, reclaim their own.

The raucous cries resound!

    Does he feel joyful, thus included,

    Or weep at freedom just eluded?

“Whispers” is a poem for children about writing poetry. It came unexpectedly to me as I prepared to give a poetry workshop to third grade girls!

Whispers

I do not know where morning went;

    It up and ran away.

I did not see the time I spent

    On my new poem today.

For I was caught surprised again;

    It nabbed me in the shower.

So dripping wet, I grabbed my pen

    And then forgot the hour.

I did not eat; I’m barely dressed.

    I know I’m running late.

But I’m elated, not distressed,

    For nothing feels so great

As when a poem is coming through

    And I am hardly there.

The only thing that I must do

    Is stay alert, aware.

With pen in hand I write the words

    Whispered in my ear

By fairies, elves, or little birds

    Or maybe… G-d is near,

Giving me these words to write –

    It’s been this way before.

I pray my poems will bring delight

    And please, G-d, give me more.

And last is the first. I don’t have most of my childhood poems, but I’ve never forgotten the very first one. Written at the beginning of the school year, it was called simply, “The Fall.”

 The Fall

(New York, 1959)

Some leaves turn red and some turn brown,

Then the leaves come tumbling down.

The birds fly south and go away;

They will come back in April and May.

Now we can’t go in the pool

Because we have to go to school.

Before we know it we’ll have snow –

I like the summer better, though.

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Beloved English Poet – Alfred, Lord Tennyson

August 6th is the birthday of Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), who was the Poet Laureate of Great Britain for more than 40 years during the reign of Queen Victoria. One of Britain’s most beloved poets, he was made a baron in 1883 and thus added “Lord” to his name. He is the author of Idylls of the King, a beautiful epic of twelve poems about King Arthur and his Round Table, written over a period of 20 years. He wrote many other books, poems, even plays, and is still widely read and anthologized today.

Some of the most famous lines in English literature come from Tennyson, although we don’t always remember the source. For example:

    “Theirs not to reason why,

    Theirs but to do or die.”

(From “The Charge of the Light Brigade”)

and another:

    “’Tis better to have loved and lost

    Than never to have loved at all.”

(from “I Envy Not in Any Moods”)

My very favorite poem by Tennyson – both to read and to teach – is “Crossing the Bar.” In it he creates a metaphor equating going out to sea with his own death, and he entreats the reader not to mourn for him:

    “And may there be no sadness of farewell

        When I embark;”

He doesn’t fear his own death. He uses the word “embark” because he sees it not as an ending but a beginning. He knows the journey may take him far from where he is, but concludes:

    “I hope to see my Pilot face to face

        When I have crossed the bar.”

It’s a beautiful poem, perhaps one of the strongest statements of faith in the English poetry canon.

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