Cleaning Up

It's Poem in your Pocket Day, so here is my favorite childhood poem . . .

"Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout 
Would not Take the Garbage Out!"


Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout 
Would not take the garbage out! 
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans, 
Candy the yams and spice the hams, 
And though her daddy would scream and shout, 
She simply would not take the garbage out. 
And so it piled up to the ceilings: 
Coffee grounds, potato peelings, 
Brown bananas, rotten peas, 
Chunks of sour cottage cheese. 
It filled the can, it covered the floor, 
It cracked the window and blocked the door 
With bacon rinds and chicken bones, 
Drippy ends of ice cream cones, 
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel, 
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal, 
Pizza crusts and withered greens, 
Soggy beans and tangerines, 
Crusts of black burned buttered toast, 
Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . . 
The garbage rolled on down the hall, 
It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . . 
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs, 
Globs of gooey bubble gum, 
Cellophane from green baloney, 
Rubbery blubbery macaroni, 
Peanut butter, caked and dry, 
Curdled milk and crusts of pie, 
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard, 
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard, 
Cold french fried and rancid meat, 
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat. 
At last the garbage reached so high 
That it finally touched the sky. 
And all the neighbors moved away, 
And none of her friends would come to play. 
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said, 
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!" 
But then, of course, it was too late. . . 
The garbage reached across the state, 
From New York to the Golden Gate. 
And there, in the garbage she did hate, 
Poor Sarah met an awful fate, 
That I cannot now relate 
Because the hour is much too late. 
But children, remember Sarah Stout 
And always take the garbage out!


by Shel Silverstein (from Where the Sidewalk Ends, pg. 70)

I Know, I Know . . .

I promised this would not be a daily homage to Shel Silverstein.  Notice, please, that yesterday's poem was by Ken Nesbitt.  And I know that it is no longer April 1st, but this poem was too fun not to include.  No foolin'.

Oh Have You Heard

Oh have you heard it’s time for vaccinations?

I think someone put salt into your tea.

They’re giving us eleven-month vacations.

And Florida has sunk into the sea.

Oh have you heard the President has measles?

The principal has just burned down the school.

Your hair is full of ants and purple weasels—

                APRIL FOOL!

(from Where the Sidewalk Ends, pg 75)

Rhyme Time

Apparently I need a challenge to make sure I post regularly.  So, I am giving myself one, again.  April is National Poetry Month and I will be posting a poem a day.  Most of them will be children's poems, but some will not.

Though I was an English major, poetry is not my thing.  I was one of those who had any love of poetry that was in me thoroughly crushed in high school, then college, English classes.  But, to be honest, there wasn't much poetry love there to start with, so the crushing process was fairly simple.  I am a realist ( I resist the pessimist label) -- give me a good ole American Realism novel by Twain or Dreiser any day over an obscure line of verse.  The darker the better.

I have rediscovered poetry since I began teaching, children's poetry anyway.  I have even been meeting with some students this year in a Haiku club and have planned events at school to celebrate National Poetry Month. So I will be posting some of my favorite poems over the next 30 days, and some that I will discover as I am sure I will run out of poems by the middle of the month.  And I will try to make sure I am not just going through our collection of Shel Silverstein poems -- variety is the spice of life after all.

This idea came to me after I read to Isaac from Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends, which contains my overall favorite poem from my childhood.  (You will have to check back each day to find out which one it is.)  The last poem I read was "Merry . . ." (pg 164).

No one's hangin' stockin's up,
No one's bakin' pie,
No one's lookin' up to see
A new star in the sky.
No one's talkin' brotherhood,
No one's givin' gifts,
And no one loves a Christmas tree
On March the twenty-fifth.

The night I read that to Isaac was March 25th. Hmmmmmm.  If I weren't such a realist/pessimist, I might have taken that to be some kind of sign.  Instead, I just decided to challenge myself to post a poem a day.  So, let's get started  . . . . and feel free to share some of your favorite poems as the month progresses.

Another Classic

There is a new book of Shel Silverstein poetry out.  It is a collection of poems that have never been published selected by his family members.  There was a segment about the book on Morning Edition a few weeks ago.

I remember being read Shel Silverstein as a kid in school -- A Light in the Attic was published the year I was born and Where the Sidewalk Ends came out when I was in first or second grade.  As I went through school I wished many times that poetry had stayed as simple as it was when I was in elementary school.

Isaac has been introduced to Shel Silverstein, but his poetry was not his first taste of the poet's humor.  Matt and I have passed on to Isaac our love of Johnny Cash who made Silverstein's poem/song "A Boy Named Sue" famous. We do also have two of his previously published collections of poetry which we read from occasionally.  But if you tell Isaac that he is the man who wrote the song about the boy whose name was Sue, you will get a faster reaction.

This new collection of poetry is called Everything on It.  We bought a copy for our niece for Christmas (don't spoil the surprise, please) and I will probably buy my own copy (for Isaac, of course) at my book fair in a few weeks.   As I flip through the book, there are many poems that I would like to share here.  But I will limit myself to two of my favorites. Don't worry they are short.  But very poignant when you remember that the poet is no longer here.

This is the first poem in the book:

"YEARS FROM NOW"

Although I cannot see your face

As you flip these poems awhile,

Somewhere from some far-off place

I hear you laughing -- and smile.

This is the last:

"WHEN I AM GONE"

When I am gone what will you do?

Who will write and draw for you?

Someone smarter -- someone new?

Someone better -- maybe YOU!

Bedtime Poetry

One of the books Isaac picked for storytime tonight was My Parents Think I'm Sleeping, which is a short collection of poems by the first Children's Poet Laureate, Jack Prelutsky. I was glad that Isaac picked it for a few reasons. First, Jack Prelustky is a wonderful children's poet. He knows how to capture their voice and speak to their sense of the absurd. And he is funny. I like to read funny books at bedtime because I like to hear Isaac laugh. I was also glad that Isaac chose this book because I hope that he has a better experience with poetry as he goes through school than I did. I figure if he begins developing an appreciation for it now, maybe it will survive the endless forced analyses that he will have to sit through in English class.

So, from that last sentence you can probably figure out my problem with poetry. I can remember listening to my 6th grade teacher read Shel Silverstein to us and loving it. I can still recite the first few lines of "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out." Then I went to middle school, and then high school, and finally college, and I hated poetry by the end. Well, maybe I didn't hate poetry. I hated picking a poem apart to get at the "meaning." I could never "see" the meaning behind the words that the teacher wanted me to "see." I am very literal and most of the time just didn't get it.

But I have found a new appreciation for poetry since teaching and working with children, and having a child of my own. Children's poetry doesn't have to be about anything, it just has to be fun or interesting to read. That is why I like Jack Prelutsky. Whether he is being funny or poignant, he is always writing for kids, not to kids or at kids.

The book that Isaac chose tonight was a collection of poems about bedtime. They are all written from the perspective of a little boy and they explore the same issues that we go through every night as we put Isaac to bed: making your parents think you are asleep while you are really playing, seeing weird shadows on the wall or hearing weird noises, being hungry after the lights go out, wanting to stay up and play. All of the experiences that boys and girls everywhere go through to avoid going to sleep. But Prelutsky doesn't just bring out the humor of childhood, he also captures the wonder. Here is my favorite poem from the book we read tonight:

"A Million Candles"

A million candles fill the night,
they glister in the dark,
and though by day they hide their glow,
now each displays its spark.

Amidst them all, there is one light
that has a special shine,
and that's the one whose name I know ...
I think that it knows mine.

We try to read Isaac poetry every now and then, but we don't force it on him. I want him to enjoy it and seek it out on his own, as he did tonight. I know he will be forced to write the papers and pick apart the poems just as I had to, but I also hope that he will remember the poems that made him laugh and enjoy revisiting them when he is older.