3 Poems: Revise, Change, Break the Rules!

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Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday! (see link at the end)

Before I forget, if you live near Los Angeles, author/illustrator Barney Saltzberg, author Alexis O'Neill and I are once again teaching our one day class at UCLA, Writing a Picture Book and Getting it Published on March 7, 2020.

This class is always a kick and a half.  I hope to see some of you there!

Today is TeachingAuthors final post on "Revisioning 20/20"...and, as usual, we're all looking at this through a different pair of glasses. Bobbi introduces the topic in a post called Unsinkable, Carmela's brings in author Shirin Shamsi for A Wednesday Writing Workout called Befriending the  Revision Monster,  Mary Ann's is Revision: Re-learning to See, Esther's is One Writer's Rx for Achieving 20/20 Vision in 2020!, Gwendolyn's is Revising My Writing Life, Carmela's is called Celebrating Post #1300 and Revision as Re-Seeing, and Esther brings us debut author Mary Sandford in A Wednesday Writing Workout called Seven Ways to Beat Writer's Block.

Today, for your listening pleasure, I will post three poems.

Please give a warm welcome to Poem #1, on REVISION (previously posted here in 2009):

A WRITER ON HALLOWEEN

by April Halprin Wayland

I push open

the heavy door.
I take out the cleaver, the machete,

the switchblade, the scalpel, the penknife,

the X-acto knife.

I plunge my arm into the oily black pile of drafts

and haul one out.

And though it screams a thousand deaths,

I stab it over and over and over with the cleaver,

hacking it in two.

Then I amputate.

I sever. I cut.

I carve.  I slice.

Finally,

I mince words.

I take a breath and step back to admire my bloody work.

Then…I drop it back into the oily depths,

pack away the knives,

wipe the black spots off my desk

and leave.

I close the heavy door.

I will come back.

Tomorrow.

To do it all

again.

Egad! That's a grim one. If my poems have been edited (that poem needs to be even shorter!), I've changed, too. Though it still scares the bejeebers out of me, I don't see revision as quite as grisly these days. My writing (my life) will never be perfect. 

And speaking of being scared, Poem #2, a poem about working with Play Doh, is about the fear of being edited. (For a nonfiction poem and my Play Doh related editing exercise, click here):

CHANGE

by April Halprin Wayland

I pinch a pink pig,

gash a green grape,

coil a coral curl,

roll a red rope,

bend a blue bow,

swerve a cyan swan,

then share what I make!

But...

hey, don't change that!

No pig wears a hat!

No swan puts rouge on!

Oh, wait—that's a squid.

I like

what you did.

In proposing this topic, Carmela brought a thread of tweets from Debbie Ridpath Ohi to our attention. One says: “I'm a big believer in stepping out of one's comfort zone on a regular basis to avoid complacency & getting into a rut. I may fail spectacularly (& have) but picking myself up & persevering makes me stronger. If I succeed, my comfort zone's a wee bit bigger.”

Well!  That sounds good!  To me, getting out of a rut means breaking the rules! This year I am becoming aware of all the rules I lock into my life...and I'm ditching some of them.

photo by stevesphar from pixabay

And so we come to our final poem, Poem #3:

GARDEN RULES

by April Halprin Wayland

She wants one of those adorable gardens

with straight mounds of earth labeled

carrots, radishes, peas.

She wishes her grandmother had made a video

explaining how, exactly, you're supposed to tamp down

all these leaves, sticks, clods, roots flat as a tabletop.

Who knows the garden rules?

What ifshe does it wrong?

drawings and poems © 2020 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

Thank you, Linda of TeacherDance for hosting Poetry Friday!

posted with love and a little help from Eli (my dog), Penny and Gin (our son and soon-to-be-daughter-in-law's dogs), shown here:

Thank you, Lee Bennett Hopkins

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Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday! My poem, the link to our current book giveaway, and the PF link are all below.

Our current Book Giveaway, which ends September 25th, is for a copy of Deanie Yasner's debut middle grade novel, Essie Rose's Revelation. To enter, go to Esther's latest Student Success Story.

We lost a great one in August—"passionate educator and prolific children's poet and anthologist,* Lee Bennett Hopkins.  

Towards the end of August, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater offered her blog, The Poetry Farm, as a space to honor Lee, who died on August 8th. We at TeachingAuthors are celebrating Lee today.

I first met Lee about 35 years ago through my teacher, poet Myra Cohn Livingston, who was one of Lee's good friends. Over the years, Lee's praise, his honest--and at times, blunt--editorial notes, and the hand he held out to me to write my own books and to write poems for his anthologies, changed my life. Thank you, Lee.

Lee Bennett Hopkins ~ photo by Charles J Egita 

One of Lee's suggestions that I hear every time I write a poem or teach poetry, is: consider each time you use "the" and "a;" can you delete them?  It's amazing how intimate a poem can become without them.

Here is the cover of his anthology, SURPRISES (Harper and Row, 1984), which was the first I CAN READ poetry book.

And here is "Last Laugh," from that collection, one of my favorite LBH poems. (Keep in mind that in an I CAN READ book, there could only be 36 characters per line, including punctuation and spaces.)

LAST LAUGH
by Lee Bennett Hopkins

They all laughed when I told them
I wanted to be

A woman in space
Floating so free.

But they won't laugh at me
When they finally see
My feet up on Mars
And my face on TV.

Thank you, Lee.

Fellow TeachingAuthor Esther Herschenhorn writes: "Lee's Pass the Poetry, Please! remains my go-to book on poetry for children - re the poems, the reading, the writing."

"He shared what he called his signature poem, "Good Books, Good Times!" in the Afterword of the 1998 Third Edition of this book. He created this poem in 1985 when he was chosen the Children's Book Council's National Book Week Poet. I love the poem. I also love the book's dedication - "To my Poet-friends who make it all possible.'" Click here for the full poem.

In 2009, when Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong asked me to write a poem to be included in their anthology honoring Lee for winning the 2009 NCTE Excellence in Children's Poetry award, I was scared. 

What could I contribute that others wouldn't?  I thought about Lee--what did I really know about him?  I knew that he loved Sondheim. I knew that his mailing address included the word "cove" in it. I pictured a cabin next to a quiet lake. Then I thought about the art of being an anthologist. What must it entail? Gathering, collecting, arranging.  

Although an early draft was from a poem's point of view, I'm glad that this is the version that was published:
.COLLECTOR 

for LBH 

by April Halprin Wayland

Walking along the shore at sunset in sandals,

you bend to collect the right rock, the best twig,

the perfect poem.

Washing them in a blue enamel bowl,

you turn on Mozart low,

barefoot in your kitchen by the cove.

Sitting on your heels on the wooden porch,

you position, then reposition each piece.

Here?  Here?

Stomping inside, slamming the door,

you turn on Sondheim

LOUD. 

At sunrise in your slippers,

you come out on the porch

to shuffle them again.

Suddenly seeing it:

sequence, order, symmetry—

done.

poem © 2019 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

How I imagine an anthologist works...
collecting, rearranging, creating unity.
photo by April Halprin Wayland

Hark! One more of Lee's anthologies is coming soon!  According to *Publishers Weekly obituary, "His most recently completed work, I Remember: Poems and Pictures of Heritage, features poems from award-winning, diverse authors paired with artwork from illustrators of similar backgrounds, providing portraits of growing up in America. It will be published by Lee & Low in October."

Lee Bennett Hopkins expanded the world of poetry for children. 

Thank you, Lee.

To find out more about him, start with Renee Latulippe's 2013 interview of him at No Water River.

And don’t forget to enter our latest Book Giveaway: win a copy of Deanie Yasner's Essie Rose’s Revelation Summer!  Details here.

Thank you, wonderful Linda B, for hosting at TeacherDance today!

posted with love by April Halprin Wayland with help from Eli, Penny and Gin (Penny and Gin are short-term rentals)

MARJORY STONEMAN DOUGLAS ~an activist wow!

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Howdy, Campers and happy Poetry Friday!

The link to PF and my rough draft poems are below, along with a Poetry Challenge to you. I really want to read what you've written!

We TeachingAuthors are doing a round robin, of course, but first: Bobbi Miller has written a timely post about the power of students which you should not miss (it goes without saying, of course, that you shouldn't miss any of our delicious posts!)

Now it's time to leap into our Women's History Month extravaganza. First is Carmela's Women's History Month Sonnet (the first she's ever written!), then Esther offers an explosion of resources on women's history as well as a top ten books list about powerful, creative women.

What woman in history could I write a poem about? My subject was hiding in plain sight.

Marjory Stoneman Douglas was an environmentalist, author, journalist, feminist, civil rights defender for whom the now-famous Parkland, Florida high school was named.

(Note: all quotes are from this Wikipedia article, which is particularly well written.)

Born in 1890, Marjory changed the state of Florida. Her book "The Everglades: River of Grass was published in 1947 and sold out of its first printing in a month. The book's first line, 'There are no other Everglades in the world', has been called the 'most famous passage ever written about the Everglades'...It "galvanized people...[and] has been compared to Rachel Carson's 1962 exposé of the harmful effects of DDT, Silent Spring; both books are 'groundbreaking calls to action that made citizens and politicians take notice' [and]'remains the definitive reference on the plight of the Florida Everglades.'"

"Mrs. Douglas was half the size of her fellow speakers [5'2”, 100 lbs] and she wore huge dark glasses, which along with the huge floppy hat made her look like Scarlett O'Hara as played by Igor Stravinsky"

"At the age of 79...Douglas founded Friends of the Everglades to protest the construction of a jetport in the Big Cypress portion of the Everglades. She justified her involvement saying, 'It is a woman's business to be interested in the environment. It's an extended form of housekeeping.'"

What a tireless, funny, cunning, strong-willed woman!  Of course there should be a high school named after her! 

Here are rough drafts of two poems about her. The first I wrote before I had read very much about her. The second was written after I had read more and was zinging with excitement. But I was also overwhelmed; there was too much wrap my arms around!

I have new respect for those of you who unwrap layers of  history to make it concise, exciting, lyrical and accessible. How do you non-fiction writers DO it?!?! 

I don't have much distance from either poem...which works best for you?

MARJORY STONEMAN DOUGLAS
by April Halprin Wayland

This building

this hallway

we crouched there

in darkness

we fled it

in terror

this woman

before us

was gutsy

courageous

our candles

are lit by

her insight,

her fire.

MARJORY STONEMAN DOUGLAS ~ In Defense Of The Everglades

a found poem
by April Halprin Wayland

5 feet 2

huge dark glasses

huge floppy hat

quirky

independent

with a tongue like a switchblade 

she was not impressed

Can't you boo any louder?

everybody stopped slapping mosquitoes...

nobody can stop me

And

nobody did.

.............................................................................................
poems © 2018 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

Marjory Stoneman Douglas

Don't you just know Marjory would be proud of the students who are stepping up and speaking out?

Here's my challenge to you, dear Readers: read the Wikipedia article (and/or other sources) and write your own poem about her...then share it in our comments. I really want to read what you come up with!

PS: Consider joining KidLit Marches for Kids on March 24th. Here's the Publishers Weekly article about this organization.

And thank you for hosting PF on TeacherDance, Linda!

READING ALOUD TO MY DOG IN MY PJS

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Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday!  (Can you tell I had no idea what to title this post?)

Guess what? February 1st was #WorldReadAloudDay, and we TeachingAuthors are celebrating all week long!

Carmela's post started us out, Esther reads poetry aloud to her grandson via Skype with glee, and now it's my turn!

This is going to be a quick post, as my To Do list is sky high (raise your hand if you can relate), so here's me with the book I'm currently
reading aloud to my dog Eli, in my favorite flannels:

photo by Gary Wayland

If you can't read the title, it's our very own Carmela Martino's marvelous historical novel, Playing By Heart. Her sumptuous descriptions of life in 18th century Milan have me right there, in teen composer Emilia Salvini's music room. 

Eli and I agree: her book's delicious!

I searched and searched my poem files for poems about reading aloud. I tried to write one, too, about a mama mountain lion reading aloud to her cubs. But it was too syrupy sweet and I don't think I want it wandering around as internet corn...I know you understand.  So here's one I wrote for an anthology in 2009 that hasn't come out yet (if it ever does):

BOOKTIME
by April Halprin Wayland

I stand on our couch
closing windows,
pulling down shades,
shutting out shouting streets.

Wheels, squeals and dust driven past
disappear.
Those constant distant drums outside
are gone.

Inside I sit close to Mom.
I lay my head against her.
Listen to her heart
Listen to the words.

Listen to the whisper
of each
turned
page.

poem (c) 2018 April Halprin Wayland all rights reserved.

(If you'd like another poem on listening, here's one I wrote for World Read Aloud Day in 2016--this one is about not listening to your inner critic as you write--click here).

Lots of love to Friday Poets, all!

Thank you, Donna, at MainelyWrite for hosting Poetry Friday!

posted by April Halprin Wayland, Eli, the eight or nine 10-cent goldfish (all grown-up), and the five red-eared slider turtles in her pond, all very fine listeners.

3 Terrific Quotes on Character Flaws and a Poem

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Howdy, Campers ~ and Happy Poetry Friday! The link to today's PF host is below, as is my poem.

TeachingAuthors' current topic is Creating Characters. Bobbi started this series, discussing characters' inner struggles. JoAnn gives us the questionnaire she uses to get to know her characters, Carla shows us concrete examples of how small details reveal character in nonfiction characters, and each Wednesday in May, Esther offered us Wednesday Writing Workouts.

And me? I need help pulling 3-D characters from the blank page.

One criticism of my W.I.P. novel in poems is that except for the narrator, the other characters are one dimensional. Ouch! As a teen, I saw everyone as black and white. It's still hard for me to see people as three dimensional, hard to accept the fact that they are/we humans are imperfect. But we all have flaws, darn it.

I'll never forget the example Barbara Bottner gave in a class at Otis Parsons in the 1980's. The gist of what she said is this:

Let's say you want to tell a story about three characters in search of buried treasure. 

Okay--that's fine. 

But what if you told a story about 

Richard Nixon

Lucille Ball 

and Godzilla 

searching for buried treasure? 

NOW you have a story.

(I've forgotten the specific characters Barbara suggested--insert your own favorites.)

Wow. Talk about flawed characters! That's the moment I began to understand the interconnectedness between real characters (with real bitten fingernails and real raspberry jam stains on their clothes, who sometimes stomp on their little brother's toe) and story.

illustration from my book, New Year at the Pier by Stéphane Jorisch (Dial)

Still I struggle--both on the page and in real life--to see flaws in those I love. Or alternately, I dismiss a person entirely if I do discover a flaw.

One evening at a memorial service, I realized that everything that annoys me about my friends will be exactly what I remember fondly when they die. 

Ann Whitford Paul agrees:
"We all have flaws. Our characters must have flaws, too....Think about your imperfections. Think about imperfections in others that annoy you or maybe tug at your heart...Often...the strength and weakness are two sides of the same issue. Think of Frances in Russell Hoban's Bedtime for Frances. Her great imagination is exactly what makes her so fearful. It's what makes her sure spiders and tigers and monsters lurk in her room...Whatever the specifics, the main characters in our picture books must be human, and that means imperfect." ~ Ann Whitford Paul in Writing Picture Books

Ann Lamott makes this point, too:
"[Characters] shouldn't be too perfect; perfect means shallow and unreal and fatally uninteresting...I like them to be mentally ill in the same sorts of ways that I am; for instance, I have a friend who said one day, 'I could resent the ocean if I tried,'and I realized that I love that in a guy." ~ Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird

As does Madeleine L'Engle:

"I like the fact that in ancient Chinese art the great painters always included a deliberate flaw in their work: human creation is never perfect." ~ Madeleine L'Engle

For today's poem I thought I'd describe a character by including a flaw and some eye-poppingly original details. But that's not exactly what turned out. The first line came to me immediately: "She takes out her teeth to chew on that." Hmm, I thought. We know who that must be.

But...you're a writer--you know how it goes. You fiddle and rearrange and think and unthink and finally that first line seems too cliche, so out it goes.
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I didn't include a fatal flaw or raspberry jam on her skirt, but here's a draft that came from my tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumming today:

CLARICE

by April Halprin Wayland

Ding-a-ling-ding, the telephone rings.

Her cat bats away a spec on wings.

She doesn't answer that telephone call.

Forget them all,

forget them all.

She watches this brave day's afterglow

then picks up the cat, tunes her radio,

leans into the umpire's gritty call.

It didn't have to happen at all,

it didn't have to happen at all.

She stares into space, chewing on that.

Her cat jumps into her tired lap.

How can it be the sun still sets

since Daniel's death,

since Daniel's death?

poem (c) 2017 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

Thank you, Buffy for hosting Poetry Friday!

posted with love by April Halprin Wayland with help from an invisible bee named Spinach.

REVISION Without (too much) Blood

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Howdy, Campers!

Happy Poetry Friday!  My poem's below, as is the link to this week's PF host...and a link to a Poetry Camp for Grown-ups!

I'm the caboose on this TeachingAuthors train; this round we're discussing After the First Draft: Revision.Mary Ann starts us off with Congratulations! It's a First Draft!, JoAnn continues with Spring--and Revision--in the Air, Bobbi inspires (actually, each of these inspires...) with Facing The Words, Carmela continues with 3 Revision Tools for Seeing the Big Picture. 'Tis my turn.

*   *   *

I just wrapped another class, and it's like semi-sweet chocolate:

from Pixabay.com

...I'm eager to get back to my own projects, and I'm sorry to disconnect from these complicated, wonderful humans I've gotten to know over six tightly-packed weeks.

And like so many of you, I learn from every student.

One student in particular from this class, Mary Mahon (who gave me permission to use her name), has taught me how to take criticism. No matter what I threw at her in written critiques, no matter what the class said in group critiques, this woman took in everything without defensiveness, without slumping in her chair, without the shadow of a cloud crossing her face.

Each week.

Every story.

Last night, I took a new picture book in to my critique group.  This is usually my suck-in-my-breath time. My oh-I'm-just-fine time.

Cut! my group said. Cut the last part!  And, Why are these two characters even here? Kill them off! And, No--that's not where it should end...this is where it should end!

Last night, though, I did not shrink. I did not sag. I did not feel crushed or cornered or less-than.  I didn't feel like my critique group had their gloved hands inside my stomach and were re-arranging my guts.

Okay, the simile may be just a tad over-the-top...
my critique group is kinder than this.
from Pixabay.com

I felt like an adult. I heard my student saying brightly, "I learn from all your comments!"

...I learned from all their comments.

This is revelatory. This is spectacular. I am a walking miracle (no sutures!)

INSTANT GRATIFICATION
by April Halprin Wayland

I have been chiseling 

Each.Word.

In.Stone.

Year.

     By year

          By year.

But rewriting 

this story 

today...

I'm catching perfect waves,

racing my bike down hills,

riding shooting stars!
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poem © 2016 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved
                    .
So, hopefully, reading about how my student changed me will help you. Some of us need to see and hear how others take in things differently. How they walk lightly.

Can you channel my student's voice as you work on that next draft? Maybe you'll hear content, not censure; new ideas, not attacks.

And me? I can't wait to kill off two of my characters.

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Now fly over to Check it Out, where MsMac is hosting Poetry Friday...

...then check out this one-day Poetry Camp for Grown-ups...
and 
DearEditor.com's 4th annual Revision Week,
in which Deborah Halverson asks five best-selling writers
to weigh-in on revision....
and
check out Laurie Purdie Salas' reflections on revision here

Posted by April Halprin Wayland...shown working on her second draft

DECONSTRUCTING A POEM...and Happy Last Poetry Friday of National Poetry Month 2014!

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Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday!  

Today's host is Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference.
Thank you, Tabatha!

Our Carmela is out to make trouble.  I swear...she's a full-blown cyclone blowing through Poetry Month!

(Actually, she's not.  I'm just playin' with you.  I've been on the look-out for metaphors all month on my website, and that was a metaphor, blowing by...the poem on my site today compares writing to a challenging walk...)

Carmela has posted (and reads aloud) two versions of one of my poems, and she suggested I talk about the process of writing and revising it.

So...here's the story behind HOW TO READ A POEM ALOUD:

I was asked to help organize a poetry coffee house night for teens, and I wanted to teach them how to read aloud. Could I smush all the information into a poem, I wondered?  My teacher Myra Cohn Livingston always read poems aloud twice; I knew I wanted to include that in my instructions.

I've found nine versions of this poem; there may be more.  But don't panic--I won't make you read every draft!  Here's the very first version:

2/8/07  

READ ALOUD HOWS

Take a sip of water.

Read the title to your daughter. 

Pause.

Read the poet’s name.

Read the poem.

Read it once again

Take your time.

Say each word slowly

Let each word shine.

Take a breath and sigh.

Then think of how the poet put her hand to pen 

and why.

=========================

and here are the next several versions mashed together so you can see the ideas I tried and discarded...

HOW TO READ A POEM ALOUD

[Sit down in a meadow with a friend.

Tell the poet’s name and the title—

Now begin.]

[Stand up in your kitchen with your friend.

Tell the poet’s name and the title—

Now begin.]

[Walk home from the bus stop with your friend.

Tell the poet’s name and the title—

Now begin.]

[Take a sip of tea.

Tell the poet’s name to your friend.]

[Take a sip of tea.
Read the poet’s name
and say its title deliciously
to me.]

[To begin,
say the title
and the poet’s name
with a small smile.]

[To begin,
announce the title of the poem
and the poet’s name.
Make sure to pronounce it clearly]

[To begin,
read the title of the poem
and the poet’s name.
Be clear.]

Now—[your job is to] completely disappear

Say [taste] its title

deliciously.

Tell the poet’s name to me.

[Tell the poet’s name to me.

Taste her title deliciously.]

Pause. 

[Be sure you’re heard

so I can savour every word.]

Now:

   savour  [polish]

     every 

       word.

Let 

  each

    shine.

Then—read it one more time.

Next, take a breath

and sigh.

Then think about the poet 

at her desk

late at night

picking up her pen to write—

and why.

*   *   *   *   *   

 And here some of my moods as I write
and rewrite and write and rewrite (can you relate?):

...confused...

...determined...

...patient...

At some point on this journey, I read Marilyn Singer's prose,"How to Read a Poem Aloud"...and though it's a terrific list, it made my head spin, so I decided to stick with just the few points I'd been working with.

*   *   *   *   *  

And finally, here are the two versions Carmela posted (they've been floating around the internet, passing each other in the night, for years)...which do you like best?

            Version #1

            HOW TO READ A POEM ALOUD

            First, read the title of the poem

            and the poet’s name.

            Be clear.

            Now completely

            disappear.

            Let each line

            shine.

            Then read it

            one more time.

            When the poem

            ends, sigh.

            Think about the poet at her desk,

            late at night, picking up her pen to write--

            and why.

                             

*   *   *   *   *

Version #2 (as published in Sylvia Vardell's book, 

Poetry Aloud Here 2 ~ Sharing Poetry with Children)

HOW TO READ A POEM ALOUD

            To begin,

            tell the poet’s name 

            and the title 

            to your friend.

            Savor every word—

            let 

                each 

                        line 

                              shine.

          Then—

          read it one more time.

          Now, take a breath—

          and sigh.

          Then think about the poet,

          at her desk,

          late at night,

          picking up her pen to write—

          and why.

                             © April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved. 

Do I like one version better than the other?  Depends on what day you catch me.  That's the trick in creating something, isn't it: sometimes I know, I just know when it's finished: there's that satisfying click of the lasts puzzle piece...

from morguefile.com

 But just as often, I just...get...(yawn) t i r e d...so...I stop.

And that, dear campers, is the story behind HOW TO READ A POEM ALOUD!

Now, go outside and play.

posted with a glue gun by April Halprin Wayland.
(p.s: I've just been interviewed by author
and Seminar on Jewish Story organizer Barbara Krasner here.)

from mykidcraft.com