July came in with a poem from Grateful Living. A poem I know and love. One I’ve carried in my pocket often for Poem in your Pocket Day. It’s likely one that you know as well, Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye. In my notebook I wrote a riff on the line “You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.”
You Must Know
Sorrow buries itself in the marrow of your bones, zaps your energy so all you can do is stop, rest, breathe slow and steady.
Then you emerge, shedding a former skin to feel Love as the deepest thing, how sorrow lights on a fence post to show you what is true. All a part of you.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I pulled out an old library discarded book The Space Between Our Footsteps, an anthology of Middle Eastern art and poetry, edited by Naomi Shihab Nye, published in 1998. Our world news has been so harsh on the Middle East. I don’t know how much my young students know, but I was sure I could find an empathetic poem to share with them. Naomi’s introduction speaks of the prejudice of Americans toward Middle Easterners. She turns the table to tell what Middle Easterners might say about Americans. The truth is we are all humans. We all have thoughts and feelings, love, and tragedy.
The poem I chose for Poetry Friday was “I Have No Address” by Hamza El Din.
I Have No Address
I am a sparrow with a white heart and a thousand tongues. I fly around the globe Singing for peace, love and humanity In every place. I have no address.
My address is lines ornamented by dreams, beating hearts united by smiling hope For people who wish good for other people all the time. I sing, smile and cry. My tears wash away pain In every place.
Our paths are boats of longing, turning round and round with us— One day to the east, another to the west, to tranquil moorings. And when the waves go against us and cast us away, Then the echo of my sounds at midnight will be a dock at the shore of tranquility, In every place.
The day we join hands with others’ hands, our universe is A rose garden blooming in the holy night. It contains us, with hope, love and alleluias.
And I am the sparrow on the branch. I sleep, dream and fly happily In every place. I have no address.
Hamza El Din
How do we build empathy in our students when the news is anything but? Where do we direct them to find peace and understanding? I believe literature, poetry can do this. But is it enough? I don’t know.
My student Kailyn is a first generation American whose father immigrated from Laos with his family. She has heard first hand from her grandfather what the land of the free means. Currently she is reading Refugee. She saw the title in my classroom and identified with it immediately. I warned her that it’s a tough book. Sad things happen. She took it anyway. Her poetic response to I Have No Address came from her reading.
Freedom
I am free, I have peace. I can wander without anyone judging me.
Freedom is a privilege, One wrong move and, Boom!
Josef, Isabel, and Mahmoud, Aren’t free; They’re controlled.
I am free, I am free from controlling, I am free from fear.
Awakening the Heart by Georgia Heard is a go-to book for me. I recently came back to it to find an inspiring poetry lesson (page 48) around a stanza of Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem Valentine for Ernest Mann.
We watched this video of Naomi reading it and telling the story of its inception. Then we borrowed the words poems hide for our own poems. Avalyn says it’s the best poem she’s ever written (in her year of writing poetry with me.)
I was reminded of a resident at my parents’ retirement home. When my father was ill, I stayed with my mother in her apartment and got to know many of her friends. This is a true story about Angel, but after I gave her a copy of the poem, she had to correct me that the cats do trust her and let her pet them.
Poems Hide in an Instagram image of sunrise a small songbird the trickle of water over a streambed.
Poems hide in the calico that lost its tail in the woman named Angel who sits on the ground to feed the lonely cat, her hand out, longing for trust.
Angel laughs in poetry.
She gives me a Styrofoam cup of cut roses aflame in her hand. I find poetry in the things I touch and in your forever love.
Margaret Simon, all rights reserved
Poetry Hides by Avalyn, 2nd grade
poetry hides in talent,
poetry hides in your favorite stuffed toy
poetry hides in the beautiful Robin you saw hurt on the ground
poetry hides in yourself and all beings
poetry hides in magnolia flowers
poetry hides in the things you love most
poetry hides in the ones that helped you get awards and medals
poetry hides in the lost and found shared memories
poetry hides in your life and soul
poetry hides in the book of quotes that helps you feel grateful
I am hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today. Please join by placing your link using Inlinkz at the end of the page.
Today is the monthly gathering of Sunday Night Poetry Swaggers posts. This month Heidi Mordhorst challenged us to write a farewell letter to our students. We finished out the official school year 2 weeks ago, but truthfully, our school year ended on March 13th.
My emotions have been so torn by the pandemic and recent protests that I am unsure how I would talk to my students about it all. And then once again Naomi Shihab Nye’s Kindness crossed my path. That poem always moves me. “Before you know what kindness really is,/ you must lose things.” I decided to take a striking line for a golden shovel.
When I use another poet’s line to create a poem, I feel that poet is somehow writing alongside me. There is comfort in that. However, from the decision to write a golden shovel to the poem I am sharing, I’ve started and stopped many times. I am still not sure it’s what I want to say, but it’s getting there. I plan to mail both poems to my students as a way to say goodbye.
Dear students, we were together one day, then pandemic stay-at-home made it hard to know what is good and real and right. Our only idea of kindness included a drive-by party that makes sense, but may not comfort you anymore.
My only hope is you keep kindness in front of all that worries you. Focus on what ties you to others. Hold on to your ability to walk in someone else’s shoes and empathize with a character who sends you into their world. You can make a difference out of your choices. Lean into what you know is good. Be the best you can be every day.
The Winter Poetry Swap has arrived. Our friend Tabatha Yeatts matches us up for a rich exchange of poetry inspired gifts. This year I was paired with Tricia Stohr-Hunt. This week I received her gift.
Tricia spent some time on my gift. That impresses me because these days, especially in December, time is precious and small. She cross-stitched my favorite line of poetry from Naomi Shihab Nye. Now to know this, she had to read my blog posts. Then design and stitch.
And to top it all off, she wrote a wonderful golden shovel using the line.
Golden Shovel for Advent
It is not the season of me or I. nor the season of greed and want. It is time for reflection, time to prepare for the guest. We must be ready to reach out to someone, anyone who needs, anyone who asks. Let us draw nearer to what makes us whole. As the year crowns, it is music that fills the air and our hearts with expectation. Stars keep watch. My, how they shine! Rejoice, for the Lord is coming.
Naomi Shihab Nye has been named the Young People’s Poet Laureate of the US. I can’t think of anyone better. I’ve met Naomi on a few occasions, most recently when I moderated an NCTE presentation in November, 2018. Her gentle manner and down-to-earth style is just right for these times. She’s comfortable and makes you feel comfortable, too.
One of my favorite young people’s poetry book by Naomi Shihab Nye is A Maze Me. For one, this is a great title with multiple meanings. It’s a book of poems specifically for girls. The poems comfort, amaze, and give readers a sense of the timelessness of childhood.
My favorite line of poetry appears in the poem Ringing that seems to be about all the sounds of ringing a child may hear. The vegetable truck, milk truck, and the ever-ringing ice-cream truck. “They are all bringers.”
The last line reads “I want to be someone making music with my coming.”
Along with all the luscious on the lips m-sounds is a deeper meaning. A longing we can all relate to. We want to be expected. We want to be adored. We want to be loved. Naomi captures this universal longing in one simple line. That is the genius of her poetry.
I sing lullabies to my grandson. I am embarrassed if anyone hears me. But I shouldn’t care. I want to be the someone in his life who makes music with my coming. This is love.
Reach. Be still. Ride the tide. Climb on a branch. Read a moon story. Look beyond horizons. Play your instrument for her.
–Margaret Simon
Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day. Are you carrying a poem? Today I will carry two poems, one in each pocket. I hold Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem Kindness.
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things...
I will also hold a poem from one of Kim Douillard's students, Avi.
She posted this poem on her blog, and it touched me.
Poetry Is
Poetry is like the last rays of sun on a sunset
it leaves with beauty and sadness at the same time
I think one of the most enjoyable things about writing poetry is playing with words. I’ve been known to have multiple tabs open on my computer to dictionary and thesaurus sites as well as research sites. I’ll Google a word and get lost in the direction it takes me.
This week one of my self-assigned poetry writing activities was to play with the juxtaposition of words. Inspired by activities in the book Rip the Page: Adventures in Creative Writing, I filled a few pages in my notebook with “words that need a friend.”
Then I wondered what I should do with these lists. I found more inspiration from Naomi Shihab Nye’s book A Maze Me. The poem “Where are You?” included this line that I borrowed, “I’m tucked inside each fresh paper page.” My friend Dani calls this “Taking a line for a walk” from her recent institute with the Montana Writing Project.
By giving myself the discipline of writing a poem every day, I am finding new and innovative ways to encourage my students’ writing when school begins again.
Pixabay photo
A Poem is Waiting
I’m tucked inside
each fresh paper page–
feathery poems
softly drizzled on Tuesday,
a perfumed whir,
blink in the sunshine
of your imagination.
A poem is salty chatter
of newly hatched chick-a-dees
twittering in the nest of cloud-joy.
A poem is a twister of whispers
rising on the weather front
of waving slurps of watermelon.
A poem is a show-off peacock
emerging from the bush
of brain bellows,
a scented thunder
from afternoon rain
sprinkling my face,
touching my hand,
this page.
Open gently.
I notice the light,
how today
the first day of spring,
the light is brighter
reflecting off the shiny Grumman canoe
propped against the satsuma tree,
reddening the shasta daisies
that just opened today
in time to say “Welcome spring.”
This light
intensifies the green,
illuminates Spanish moss
that hangs like abandoned spider webs.
This light ripples the bayou
in gentle wrinkles.
No rain in days,
so I water.
The spray from the hose
rainbows–
I remember…
how she loves rainbows.
That’s how this light is:
full of itself, showing off,
making love with life.
Poetry Friday round-up is with Amy at The Poem Farm.
Naomi Shihab Nye visited our classroom this week. We watched her video of Valentine for Ernest Mann. Showing the video made it feel like she was right there with us having a conversation. Then we read the poem again and again, talking about it at length. This poem can start a classroom controversy over whether or not skunks are really beautiful.
I asked my students to re-read the poem again and find some words that speak to them and try out their own poem. I shared my poem. (posted here)
Sometimes poetry magic happens. It happened for Lani. She sat quietly with her notebook for a while and came to me to share this poem. She was proud that she wrote the poem from the point of view of the poem. I think she caught the golden fish on the first try.
You can try to look for me
and I won’t be there
I won’t be in a drawer or
in your pocket. I won’t be
on a shiny plate ready to
share. Since you can’t order
me like you order a
Big Mac at McDonalds
You will have to search for
me like archeologists search
for bones. It will take a
while to find me and
it won’t be easy if
I’m in your hair or in
a skunk’s eyes. You
just have to look. I can
be anywhere from the
outside to inside your home.
The most likely place that
I will be is in the back
of your mind, ready to
happen and be shared.
–Lani, 5th grade (after Naomi Shihab Nye’s Valentine for Ernest Mann)
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 