Define "Essential"

I'm working to finish up my plan for my non-majors Intro to Lit. for the fall semester. When it comes right down to it, I have about 10 days to teach poetry without skimping on other genres which too must be taught. Ten days. If I can teach 3 poems a day, that's 30 poems with less than 20 minutes to talk about any given poem. If I teach 50 poems, that's 10 minutes a poem. I have an anthology selected, so I'm trying to pick a wide range from what is in the book.

It boils down to 400+ years of poetry in 10 days or less than one poem per decade. I can name at least 40 poems from the last 40 years that must be read. How do you decide on poems that will make students become readers? How can I make them fall in love with words?

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The poetry reading was quite lovely. We all crowded into the coffeeshop and drank lemonaide and chatted with conference attendees from all over the world and those from a bit closer to home. It was lovely to hear the poets' voices, the inflection they choose as they read their own work. We read in alphabetical order, which meant I was last, and was responsible for saying goodnight. When the poet before me stood up to read, my hands began to shake. I brought my youngest son out of necessity. I heard his every shuffle, wiggle, sneeze, whisper. Before I read, he asked if we were almost done. Yes, yes, after I go. I read my poems, I looked over my own shoulder and questioned if I was reading loud enough, if I was reading slowly enough, if I was making eye-contact. When I finished, the crowd clapped as they do, and my son cheered loudly. You Rock Mom! I think he cheered because we were finished and I'd promised him a cheeseburger on the way home. I couldn't stop smiling.

Word Cloud

I found this at C. Dale Young's blog. You can try it too: Snap Shirts' Word Cloud

Drawing In

The summer is reaching its height of broiling temperatures. The pots of herbs are baking in the sun; caterpillars have eaten the rue down to just stems. Still, a weed or two pops up from some seed blown in by the wind or gathered unknowingly in the handfuls of soil.

In the heat, the mob of kangaroos bathes in dust and watches without concern as we tread through their exhibit. At the sheep station, the tank is filled with cool water and my sons splash their faces and hands. The sheep doze in the shadow of the barn. The native art shows a waterhole and the tracks of many creatures that drink. It is a different way of seeing, all of our footsteps mingling, creatures of the light, of the dark, and of the half-light of dusk and dawn.

I am gathering in-- plans, perfect cherry tomatoes, the lazy laughter echoing through the house-- before the routine of the school year is upon us again.

Celebrating Kansas

There's a poetry reading Friday at Radina's Coffeehouse to celebrate the opening of the conference of "Nation, Region, and Frontiers." I'll be reading, along with 10 other Kansas poets, some of which I know and others I'm looking forward to meeting.

Freecyle, Hometown Parades, and other wonders of the Modern World

I've just recently discovered Free-cycle. It's a system where you can find new homes for items you no longer need or want. Or find items you might need or want. It's a way to keep used, yet still useful, goods out of the landfill. There's over a thousand participants in my area alone. It's a good sign, I think.

We went to the parade tonight. We have lived in one place for awhile now it would seem. I actually knew people who were on the sidewalk with me. My neighbors drove by with a flat-bed of 4Hers all chanting and screaming and waving. I saw children I recognized from my sons' school and they've grown into teens while I've watched. These are tendrils, roots, fine as cornsilk.

I've been assigned an office which must make it official that I'm going to be teaching here in the fall. A small place, but mine, for now. I can move my books in on Monday.

Rain, Vines, and "The Wild Iris"

This is the summer for vines. The summer squash and the watermelon are racing to fill their spaces before the other invades. The rain has fallen enough that the garden is growing without help from the water hose: lupines, oregano, flat italian parsley, short stocky sunflowers, coral bells, redbell peppers, russian sage.

There is something satisfying about finishing all the little projects that I had left undone out of necessity: putting the closets to order, tidying the bookshelves, pulling weed, and harvesting my herbs.

We are playing chess. The pieces march across, are knocked down, and set up again. My son is learning strategy. It no longer matters who wins. This is success.

I am reading Louise Glück's "The Wild Iris." It is cool water from a spring-fed well.
Do we choose the world we live in?

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From the Publisher's Desk

Not What I Expected: The Road from Womanhood to Motherhood,

ed. by Donya Currie and Hildie S. Block ISBN 0-931181-26-7 Due Fall 2006

An anthology of poetry, fiction, essays and artwork by Jody Bolz, Carole Burns, Grace Cavalieri, Christina Daub, Mary Doroshenk, Patricia Gray, Clarinda Harriss, Anne Hasselbrack, Jacqueline Jules, Mary Ann Larkin, Lyn Lifshin, Hilary Tham, Donna Vitucci, Mary-Sherman Willis, and tons more. (and me too!)

"A collection that is by turns heartening and harrowing, insightful and irreverent but, page after page, always honest. We don't remember our own birth, we can't reflect our own death, so the squawking arrival of parenthood and its glorious life tangle is our only true relationship with the cycle of creation. Here, in essays, poems and personal dispatches, is a sketch of that singular experience. The best thing you can say about book on birth? It delivers. And this one does."

--Geoff Boucher, Los Angeles Times

“I'm a father of seven and figured that by osmosis maybe I'd learned something about motherhood. But this book opened my eyes and my heart and made me realize how much I don't know and didn't understand. For me, Not What I Expected is a journey through the looking glass, to the other side of the miracle. Reading it is an experience that I will always treasure.”

--William Mckeen, Professor and Chair, University of Florida Department of Journalism. Author of Highway 6: A Father-and-Son Journey Through the Middle ofAmerica

This book, full of pathos and humor, explores every aspect of motherhood. The writers in this anthology take you on a ride to many unexpected places: from the terrifying terrain of losing a baby to the exaltation of a successful pregnancy against the odds. Here you'll find the blood and sweat and grit of parenthood, all the real secrets that nobody tells you before your baby is born.

--Jennifer Margulis, author of "Why Babies Do That" and "Toddler: Real-Life Stories of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love"