Section One: What is Life?

It’s not always easy
To tell whether something is
Alive. Your teacher will give you
A wind-up toy. Observe.
Bring a slice of lemon
To your mouth. Describe.
The mildew in your bathroom
Will grow. Experiment.
Flies do not arise from
Rotting meat. Consider barnacles.
Obtain your teacher’s permission.

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

Last week Laura’s posts and original poetry at Author Amok inspired me to look at found poetry again. http://authoramok.blogspot.com/2012/03/poetry-friday-celebrity-found-poems.html This time with a lot more interest. I started looking around the internet and discovered some amazing found poetry written by students all over the country in response to the New York Times Found Poetry Challenge. http://learning.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/22/reflections-on-our-found-poem-challenge/  Of course I had to try. My first attempts were awful. Finding a poem is a lot harder than it might seem. Then I got out my son’s eight grade biology text book. Aha. I think I found something.

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Four Tanka

she says to copy

the night’s assignment

in my diary

a girl flies off

the point of my pencil

she says to read

the next twenty-eight pages

in the book

he tips on the edge between

tables in the lunchroom

leaving the orbit

of desks, white boards, and coat hooks,

he waves, explaining

black holes are extremely dark

but you can still survive them

raindrops spot the glass
with tiny gray-skied planets
one by one they fall
my outdoor voice is too big
for recess in the lunchroom
© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
I’ve spent the week exploring tanka. I’m drawn to the idea of two resonating images. I think perhaps tanka lend themselves to expressing some of the dilemmas of being a kid in a grown-up world.

I think it might be fun to do a tanka activity in a class of older elementary or middle school students. I can imagine giving everyone the same first three lines (maybe the first three of the last tanka above) and asking the kids to write the last two. It would be so interesting to see what everyone came up with.

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Two Tanka

reaching for more
I topple the glass
spilling tears
not for the milk
for the sighs
in the hall
we all laugh
not seeing the boy
stuffing himself

in his backpack

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

I’ve decided to dedicate the week to tanka. Tanka is an ancient Japanese form, even more ancient than haiku. Tanka consist of five lines. The first three lines offer an image. The last two lines offer a commentary on the first image, sometimes through an additional resonating image. In Japanese tanka use 5-7-5-7-7 “sounds.” In English one might use 5-7-5-7-7 syllables or fewer.

I’m personally drawn to tanka for the double, resonating images. I think the form might be particularly suited to middle school students who often seem to be thinking about what’s happening and what they think about what’s happening.

Here’s a link to my current favorite tanka: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/22339

More later.

Liz

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Valentine Poem in Candy Hearts

CUTIE PIE
I HOPE
MY WAY
SWEET TALK
BE GOOD
BE MINE
ALL MINE
I DO
BE KIND
I DO
LOVE YOU
TRUE LOVE
HUG ME
MY BABY
YOU RULE

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Blues
Pure blue is the sky
In the middle of July
When there isn’t a breath
And you’re lying in the lull
Squinting at the sun
That blinds your eye.
Lazy blue is the sea
Dancing loose and free
For a shell pink beach
Where all you do is drift
Rocked by a dream
Of a place you’ll never be.
Sudden blue is lightning
When there isn’t any biting
Of nails in the house
And you can hear it strike
The quiet in your heart
While you are writing. 
Sad blue is her eyes
Blinking away the lies
When she opens her door
And straightens her face
And smears her painted lips
And says Where was I?

Dizzy blue is your stand
On that lazy island sand
That scorches your hopes
As you beg selfish waves
For a song for your dream
As it slips from your hand.
Pure blue is the sky
In the middle of July
When there isn’t a breath
And you’re lying in the lull
Squinting at the sun
That blinds your eye.

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Snowbells

Snowbells in Cleveland Park

I nearly missed you

In my rush through the cold,
But the surprise of you caught
My eye: What was a flower
Doing out in the snow?
I saw you and I stopped.
But I couldn’t hear you.
My human ears failed
To hear your music.
What sound do you make
With your supple flesh?
Surely, not the tinkling
Of silver or crystal.
My human brain cannot
Imagine. Who can
Hear you? Mice? Fairies?
Flowers sleeping underground?
Do they waken to your song?

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass,
    all rights reserved

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Bad Homework

photo of Joe, a.k.a. Sophie by Susan Pittman

My homework was bad.
It was long and hard too,
but I’d heard people talk.
I knew what to do.

I found my dog Joe.
I showed him the stuff.
“Here, Joe!” I said.
All Joe said was “Ruff?”

I crumpled the pages.
“Fetch!” I told Joe,
but he sat by my feet
drooling, “Where did it go?”

I tore it to shreds.
I mixed it with stew.
I filled up his bowl.
I said, “Here, boy! For you!”

Joe took a good sniff.
He whined, then he beat it.
I had homework so bad,
my dog wouldn’t eat it.

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Reading in Bed

I open a book.
There’s someone there.
She’s a stranger at first,
But as I turn more pages,
I see her
Doing things
Saying things
Feeling things.
A few pages more
And I know her better
Than any real person.
I know her parents,
Her teachers,
Her friends,
Her enemies.
I hear her talking.
I hear her not talking. 
I’m worried.
Things are bad.
What will she do?
Will she lie?
Will she run?
Will she put herself in danger?
Will she change?
What?
No, I’m not asleep.
How can I sleep
When I’m already dreaming?

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Eternal Round Trips

If I leave now and give myself
An eternity, I’m told I’ll never
Reach the edge of our universe,
Whose incomprehensible contours
Would eventually deposit me
Back at my front door to which
I have just returned, arms laden
With chicken and eggs, thoroughly
Comprehending that I will never
Reach the end of my to-dos.

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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School in Ideograms

S            The way I get from here to everywhere.           
C            Maybe sometimes it looks like I’m not getting anywhere.
H            Bridges between lines. Bridges all over the place.  
O            Doors. Sometimes they’re open. Sometimes they’re not.
O            My mouth, full of words and sounds.
    Do you want to hear them? All of them?
L            My foot. I’m leaving. Are you ready?
© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
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