Marilyn’s blog

I had a birthday this week, a yearly reminder the world is still orbiting the sun. Some people stress and obsess about their age. I am not one of those people. I honestly forget most of the time how old, or young, I actually am and have to do some quick mental math whenever I am asked. And though I honestly don’t care about the grey hair or the fire hazard that is my birthday cake, I know my life has seasons, a finite number of them.

Not so with poetry. I believe this because I have been reading “children’s” poetry and “adult” poetry and poetry for middle schoolers and poetry for teens. And you know what? I could, in many cases, plop one age category of poetry into a collection for older/younger readers and you’d be hard-pressed to find the outlier. For example:

Be Like the Bird

Be like the bird who,
Pausing in his flight,
On a twig too slight,
Feels it bend beneath him,
Yet sings,
Knowing he has wings.

This translated little ray of empowerment was written by Victor Hugo. Yes, that Victor Hugo who is not particularly known as a children’s poet. Yet I came across this poem in a book for young children. Granted, this is an excerpt from a larger piece, but that actually proves my point. A poem that speaks to adults can also speak to children. I doubt Hugo intended this as a sweet little piece that kids could appreciate and ponder, but there it is.

And in another collection for young readers:

September Twelfth, 2001 by X.J. Kennedy

Two caught on film who hurtle
from the eighty-second floor,
choosing between a fireball
and to jump holding hands,

aren’t us. I wake beside you,
Stretch, stretch, taste the air,
the incredible joy of coffee
and morning light.

Alive, we open eyelids
on our pitiful share of time,
we bubbles rising and bursting
in a boiling pot.

Wow! This is powerful and dark and celebratory all at the same time.

I am old enough to remember the events of September 11, 2001, but there are no school children today who were alive when it happened. None. For them, this is a poem about ancient history. There are a myriad of ways to use a poem like this in a classroom, which is great. But I’m betting a lot of us folks “of a certain age” will miss out on a piece such as this because it is placed in a collection for young readers.

And that’s a shame.

I say, who cares where they place the poetry on the book store or library shelf? Poetry is for ALL. Amazing nuggets of wisdom and serenity and beautiful language are found in every poetry collection, for every age, from pre-school to adult. Explore it all.

I will leave you with a little “pre-school” verse I wrote. I didn’t think I was writing this poem for myself, but I clearly was. (Spoiler alert: I am not a pre-schooler.) Maybe this poem is for you, too, no matter how old you are.

Untitled

Sometimes I zoom

                                I race

                                                I fly.

Sometimes I fall

                                I scrape

                                                I cry.

Sometimes I am upset and blue
Sometimes I need a minute or two

                To calm myself

Then off I’ll go –

                                Good as new.

© 2022, Marilyn Garcia

Happy Poetry Friday! Visit Jan at Bookseed Studio for the whole poetry roundup!

Here in the Mid-Atlantic, we have finally made the turn into warm weather and this week I have been reading poems about camping.

Full disclosure, I put this book on my to-read list because I was interested in the illustrations. (It’s Matthew Cordell – can you blame me?) Lucky me, Tamera Wissinger wrote a truly delightful little verse novel about camping and family and overcoming fear. Bonus – it has great back matter on poetry craft and form.

If you have plans for some outdoor adventures and may or may not be in love with the idea of sleeping in a tent, far away from a comfy bed and a familiar bathroom, this might be the inspiration you need. For me, it certainly brought back memories of an old backyard tent.

Kids and a Summer Night

We were given an old tent –
an old tent from the old couple next door
an old tent with old stains and wooden poles
an old tent with a rusty zipper and old smells
smoke, basement, mold.
We wrestled it into shape
willed it to stand tall
crawled into our old canvas triangle
and from inside
everything was new.
©2022, Marilyn Garcia

Now go grab a tent, make some s’mores, and snuggle in with someone you love!