Interview by Steven Withrow

I was thrilled to read the recent announcement from Penn State University Libraries and the Pennsylvania Center for the Book that Kate Coombs was selected as the winner of the 2013 Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award for her brilliant book Water Sings Blue: Ocean Poems (illustrated by Meilo So and published by Chronicle Books).

Established in 1993, the Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award is presented annually to an American poet or anthologist for the most outstanding new book of poetry for children published in the previous calendar year.

The award and a $1,000 prize, courtesy of Lee Bennett Hopkins, will be presented on September 28 at Penn State.

Kate grew up near the Pacific Ocean in Southern California, and she started collecting shells and writing poems as a child. Now she likes going to the ocean aquarium to watch the moon jellyfish. Water Sings Blue is Kate’s first poetry collection. She is also the author of a picture book called The Secret-Keeper and two middle grade books, The Runaway Princess and The Runaway Dragon. Her other new book is Hans My Hedgehog: A Tale from the Brothers Grimm.

When was the earliest poem in the collection written? And did you have the idea for a collection in mind all along?

The first poem was “Jellyfish Kitchen,” which I wrote at least 15 years ago. At the time my poetry tended to be a real hodgepodge. Then I went to an SCBWI conference where I heard a workshop presenter say that a poetry collection should have a theme. Who knew? I thought about possible themes and remembered my jellyfish poem, not to mention how much I love the ocean. I made a list of ocean animals and topics like waves, giving each one a page in a long Word document.

After doing some research, I added more ocean animals to the list. Along the way I learned some amazing stuff: did you know a starfish pops out its stomach and inserts it into a clam, where it engulfs its prey before pulling the stomach back into its body? Thus armed with topics and knowledge, I started writing poems about whatever called out to me on a particular day. Eventually I had 80-plus poems.

Have you been writing poems throughout your life? How did you get started and what keeps you writing?

I was a complete bookworm by the age of three, when my appetite for “just one more story” was endless. I know I was writing plays and stories when I was eight. I’m not sure about the poetry, but I do remember a poem I wrote at nine or ten. I was into magic, unicorns, and fairy tales. The poem began, “The fairies are dancing in the fairy ring, / And if you listen carefully you’ll hear the songs they sing.”

I wrote my first sonnet when I was twelve and was very proud of myself. I wrote a lot of poetry in high school, dumping my first boyfriend because he didn’t get my poems. In college I took three independent studies in poetry, one of them with Welsh poet Leslie Norris. Whatever else I’ve written, I’ve kept the poetry going. At one point an agent was interested in working with me, but she said, “Don’t bother writing poetry. It’s a bad market.” I did not sign with her.

Along the way I’ve feasted on poetry by wonderful poets. I was very into Rainer Maria Rilke in college and even more into Sylvia Plath. In fact, my mentor professor and my best friend staged an intervention! They thought I must be suicidal to be so into Plath’s work. Later I fell for Mary Oliver’s poems and Annie Dillard’s prose, which I consider poetry. I was introduced to Billy Collins’ work much later, at an SCBWI workshop given by Arthur Levine. Now I have all of Collins’ books.

That’s not counting children’s poetry by so many talented poets: Deborah Chandra, Barbara Juster Esbensen, Tony Johnston, Karla Kuskin, Marilyn Singer, Alice Schertle, Kristine O’Connell George, Shel Silverstein, and many more. My favorite book of children’s poems is All the Small Things and Fourteen More by Valerie Worth.

Poems are an art form, miniature and precise, visceral and visual. Reading a good poem transforms me with wonder. I’ll never fall out of love with poetry.

Do you work differently when writing a poem for children than when writing a poem for adults? Do you write with a child audience in mind? And what makes a children’s poem a children’s poem?

I’m really not one for murky, obscure poetry, whether I’m writing for young or old. However, when I’m writing for grown-ups I’m more inclined to let the symbolism rip. Also, as a poet I prefer writing free verse, so my poems for adults are all free verse. Then again, my favorite poems for children are imagistic and a little haunting, not entirely without deeper meaning—and some of them are free verse. But I think you have to write better free verse to catch the attention of a child than you do an adult.

I generally write rhymed poems for children because they like rhyme so much. Of course, rhyme has its pitfalls. When I write funny poems, I’m especially worried about falling prey to what I call “rhymey rhymey thump thump.” You know, “Da DA da DA da DA da DA da DA,” where every accent feels like a punch in the nose. I try to flow my rhymes softly, deemphasizing them so that they don’t take over the poem like a herd of Tribbles.

A children’s poem tends to be less pompous than a poem for grown-ups. It also needs to be on a topic children care about. Kids don’t suffer fools gladly, and neither do they suffer poems about goldenrods in fall fields (sorry, Mary Oliver). This is not to say that children can’t appreciate beauty. It’s just that they’re easily bored and need a door into a poem. I can tell you which poems in Water Sings Blue they’re most likely to like, for example. They really do embrace humor, especially funny twists. But even though kids adore Shel Silverstein’s work, you’ll notice that he is more than funny; he’s a good poet. Kids are more discerning than we think.

I do not write with a specific child in mind—I write with many children in mind. I have a great regard and respect for children. I used to teach, and I loved my students dearly. I still do. They’re wonderful, wonderful people.

Tell me a little about the process of working with Melissa Manlove, your editor at Chronicle Books. What does a good editor bring to the revision and selection process? Were there particular challenges or surprises?

Melissa at her desk

Melissa is a superb editor. Thinking about the nuances of poetry takes a unique kind of focus and insight. Melissa pushes me to make every word, line, and poem the strongest it can be. For example, line 6 in my shark poem is now “like a rumor, like a sneer,” but it was originally “like an oil spill, like a curse.” Melissa didn’t like oil spill as a metaphor and thought my line 8, which rhymed “worse” with “curse,” was weak. I’d had a hard time finding a good rhyme for “curse,” so I couldn’t argue with that, but I was pretty attached to the oil spill. After tinkering a lot more, I came up with “sneer” and a new line 8 that definitely worked better; however, the word I had chosen to replace “oil spill” didn’t grab Melissa. I spent three or four days and some 30 possibilities coming up with just the right word: “rumor.” And it all clicked.

Melissa also balanced out my love of subtle, imagistic poems by asking me to include more funny ones. The collection ended up with a better mix and more kid appeal. But arguably, the most wonderful thing Melissa did for the book was to choose Meilo So as an illustrator. I knew the artwork would be good, but it turned out to be shockingly good and to mesh with the poems in a way I could not have imagined.

Are you taking your poems on the road for school visits, and do you write with reading aloud or performing in mind?

I’ve done a few author visits to schools and libraries, and they’re a lot of fun. But because I work full time, it’s hard to get away. I did have a book launch for Hans My Hedgehog and Water Sings Blue last spring at a terrific indie bookstore in Salt Lake City called The King’s English. Of course I read some ocean poems!

When I write, I start by listening to the words of a poem in my mind. After a draft or two, I read the poem out loud to hear if it’s working. I do that for long fiction, too—I read the entire manuscript out loud to myself. You catch things you wouldn’t notice otherwise. But ultimately, fiction is content to be read in silence. Poetry longs to become sound.

Could you talk a little about your path to publication for Water Sings Blue? How does it feel it to have won the Lee Bennett Hopkins Award?

I actually sold a different collection to Chronicle at first—Street of Songs, bilingual poems about a 9-year-old Latina girl living in Los Angeles. Chronicle had lined up a translator and everything. Then they had a budget meeting and decided to cancel the project. The editor who had acquired it was gone, and the new editor was Melissa Manlove. She asked me, “What else have you got?” By that time I had seven poetry collections on file. I sent her three, and she liked the ocean poems best.

Winning the Lee Bennett Hopkins Award makes me take a deep breath and let it out: “Aaah. I really am a poet, and somebody noticed!”

How does the grouping of three jellyfish poems connect in terms of craft, tone, and focus, and how does each one differ from the others?

I think what I call the jellyfish trio works because each one says something different and in quite a different way. “Jellyfish Kitchen” is kind of a showy poem in terms of presenting an extended metaphor using well-loved tools of poetry such as end rhyme and internal rhyme, alliteration, and that little twist we like to find in a poem’s last line. But perhaps I want to say the poem is showy because it reminds me of a grandmother’s front parlor, a bit formal and meant to be looked at, not touched—kind of like a jellyfish. Or, to come full circle, like the cake you weren’t allowed to have till after the grown-ups finished talking, when they measured out a too-thin slice.

“Not Really Jelly” is a pure kids’ poem, the kind that makes them giggle. Of the three, it’s the most fun to read out loud, nearly a tongue-twister. I think the noodle image is a good one, but the verbs-turned-nouns in the last two lines make the metaphor stronger. You could act those out with 6-year-olds and have a very good time.

As I said, my true love is haunting and imagistic free verse, so the haiku is probably my favorite of the three. Even without Meilo’s painting, I feel like the wind and kimono metaphors capture the jellyfish in a new way. Of course, the painting makes the poem that much better—it’s just breathtaking! I should add that I cheated on the haiku because they aren’t usually metaphoric. They’re supposed to use compact description to capture small, intriguing moments or tiny ironies in nature. But I figure you can reinvent a form if you can make it work!

Additionally, in writing poetry, I’m not committed to regular feet. In fact, I find that a slightly ragged rhythm can sound more conversational. To me it’s like writing music—the measures are predictable, but the notes within them aren’t. I won’t write far too many syllables in a given line of a rhymed poem, but I do tend to count off accented syllables rather than specific feet.

For “Sea Turtle” and “Octopus Ink,” could you share any insights about how these two poems came to be written and revised?

My octopus poem was originally about a magician, but it never took off. So I tried another metaphor, this time focusing on connecting the idea of ink to writing and writers. I revised “Octopus Ink” over and over. For one thing, I tinkered quite a bit with the line breaks. “Shy” seems as if it should be an end rhyme, and it isn’t. You’ll notice “hesitates” rhymes with “wait,” though. So instead of having two cooperative sets of end rhymes, I wrote one set of end rhymes (or near rhymes) and another set where I paired an internal rhyme with an end rhyme. To top it off, the rhymes come in lines 1 and 3, then 3 and 6, which makes no sense. But the poem reads right, and that’s what matters. It’s okay to break the rules in all kinds of ways as long as the poem sings.

I don’t know why, but I didn’t include a sea turtle poem in the very large batch I sent Melissa. Months later, we were in the mulling-over process of narrowing the collection when I had lunch with an old friend. I told Devon I was working on a book of ocean poems, and she said, “Oh, good! Benjamin loves sea turtles!” I felt a real pang, picturing this little kid’s woeful face as I confessed I hadn’t written a sea turtle poem. “Maybe I’ll add one,” I told my friend. So I went home and began working on it. I had the idea of the green map in my head, but whatever else I was doing just didn’t jell. I wrote the poem over and over, trying to force my concept to work. After getting increasingly frustrated, I finally said to myself, “I need to try something else.” I took another tack and the poem sprang to life very quickly, green map and all.

For “What the Waves Say,” what did Meilo So bring to this poem through her beautiful illustration? Did you have any chance to interact with the artist during or after the production of the book?

I remember Melissa asked me about two of the poems, thinking they might be hard to illustrate. Or maybe there had been some talk between Meilo and the art director—I’m not sure. Anyway, one was “Water Artist” and the other was “What the Waves Say.” Of “Water Artist,” I said, “It’s about an artist! I’m sure she’ll get it.” I figured Meilo would come up with something for the other poem, too—and the illustration turned out to be just perfect, both in terms of how it represents the poem and as a piece of art.

One job of an editor is to protect illustrators from voracious writers. You know, “Can you put a pink puppy on page 6?” This means that normally I don’t have any interaction with the illustrator except sometimes to comment on the sketches or galleys, and even then, who knows how much is actually necessary and is therefore passed along? I did send little gifts to Meilo and Melissa after the book was finished to thank them. Then Meilo sent me a pretty rock which I added to the rocks and shells on my desk, pleased yet completely clueless. Since I didn’t catch on, she gently let me know that it is the very rock pictured on the endpapers of our book. What a keepsake! Meilo and I later exchanged e-mails because Lara Starr arranged for us to interview each other for Chronicle’s blog. Meilo lives in the Shetland Islands and has some great stories to tell.

Finally, do the poems feel different to you now that they are in print as a collection and paired with So’s immaculate artwork?

Oh, I like “immaculate artwork”! I’ve been swooning over the illustrations since I first saw them, just amazed by their beauty and by how they wrap around the poems and hold them the way the ocean holds a sea otter. As for the poems, I hadn’t read them in a while, but earlier this week I was doing an author visit to one of my mom’s book clubs and thought I’d reread Water Sings Blue. I went straight through it, and when I finished I said, “What good poems!” I laughed at myself, but it is nice to look at something you’ve made and feel it turned out well. I suspect starting off with 80 poems made it a lot easier to find enough cream to skim off the top.

I should probably tell you what I’m working on now. I recently finished writing a collection I was calling Halloween School, but now it’s Monster School. I have to wait to see if my publisher acquires the poems, and that’s always an unpredictable process. But I’m happy with the poems, which are strange and funny and a little scary. They’re intended for a slightly older reader—I’m thinking 4th through 6th graders would be about right.

One more thing: The book was originally named Octopus Ink, but Melissa thought that was a little young and cute considering that several of the poems attempt to capture the grandeur of the ocean and its denizens. She had this vision of vastness. I came up with a bunch of titles, but none of them was quite right. Eventually I hit on Water Sings Blue. I don’t think it was Melissa’s platonic ideal initially, but as you can see, it grew on her.

Other links about Kate’s work:

• http://www.chroniclebooks.com/blog/2012/04/06/poetry-puffins-and-little-handmade-books/
• http://poetryforchildren.blogspot.com/2012/04/5q-poet-interview-series-kate-coombs.html
• http://pabook.libraries.psu.edu/activities/hopkins/2013/press2013.html
• http://mirandapaulbooks.blogspot.com/2012/01/meet-kate-coombs-folk-tale-and.html
  http://katecoombs.com/

All poems © Kate Coombs and illustrations © Meilo So. All rights reserved.

No one asked me to deliver inviolable commandments on the writing of children’s poetry. It so happened that between sharpening a gross of Ticonderoga #2 pencils and awaiting an editor’s email—promised before the first moon landing—I was struck with the idea like the wolf descending on the fold. So get into your pj’s, pour yourself a cup of cocoa, and comfy down by the hearth. Here they come…with a disclaimer. If you find any of these admonitions offensive, actionable, or dead wrong, no harm was intended in their creation. I encourage you to devise your own list.

RULE ONE: Resist every temptation to ask your friends and family members what they think of your verse. The inevitable chorus of responses—“Miranda, this is brilliant,” “Bound to be a bestseller, Morty,” or “Sacheverell, you could be the next Dr. Seuss”—are words every writer might long to hear. Believe them only if they are delivered from several states away by a disinterested editor! Quite apart from the dicey issue of an intimate’s taste, a moment’s reflection will convince you that we call people “friends and family” for a reason: They dissemble (read: lie). Otherwise, they would not be our friends and family. The newly minted poet should resort to any tactic to silence them, short of a permanent restraining order or the gift of a muzzle. Hide your work from said “experts.”

If you feel compelled to ignore RULE ONE, make an ironclad promise to yourself that the print run of your self-published masterpiece will not exceed six copies, dispensed lovingly but exclusively to those earnest confidantes.

RULE TWO: If you think your work is brilliant because it is “just like Shel Silverstein,” think again, and then start over. We had one Silverstein. He was terrific, but one was quite enough. Check your driver’s license. The name that appears there is the one the world may well be waiting for, not some Silverstein or Seuss manqué.

RULE THREE: Never a writer be, only a rewriter. Robert Frost said that he once worked on a poem (“New Hampshire”) all through the night. Stunned by the sun, he got up from his chair, stretched, went out on the porch to welcome the dawn, and returned to his desk to write “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.” “My hand,” he said, “barely left the page.”

Frost’s experience with this one poem is so rare as to countervail the notion harbored by classrooms full of schoolchildren and many adults that writing without the prefix “re-” is the way it’s done. It’s not. Frost—and the rest of us now blessed with his immortal poem—got lucky. Writing without rewriting usually results in a poem with the half-life of lettuce, or what Donald Hall memorably called a “McPoem.” Whatever comes easy is cheesy. (Like that sentence.)

RULE FOUR: Making your verses sound like the Aurora borealis looks—creamy, dreamy, lambent, heartfelt—is akin to composing with ink manufactured by Mrs. Butterworth. Some adult suckers for smarm may reach for a hankie; some children, also overwhelmed, might flee for the toilet. Most of us are properly transfixed by this spectacular natural wonder for perhaps fifteen minutes before tweezering our chin hairs or a running to the dry cleaners. Try to imagine your poem having a slightly longer existence.

Corollary: Ugsome lines, calculated with the odious aim of putting emotions on sale, are best left to greeting cards. If your writing role model is a Hallmark employee, an operation may be required to uncongeal your aorta. Barring that, consider becoming an accountant or a bookie.

And another thing: Write a poem about a teddy bear or the marvel that is Aunt Sally’s peanut brittle only if your pen (or keyboard) is satiric, acidic, and possibly toxic.

RULE FIVE: Unless Yeats were to be reincarnated as a social networker, do not imagine that only blogs can make a poem. Like newspaper trifles, such poesy is usually composed in less time than it takes to wash your socks.

The first of the 21st century suns revealed a curious phenomenon: Nearly every American adult and child had become a poet. Poetry critics disappeared. Hence, the now nearly universal “critical” internet refrain—and acclaim—to blogger verse consists of two words: “Love it!” Or one, “Awesome.” If this is also your kneejerk response to most blog poems, count yourself among “friends and family”—the dissemblers.

Corollary: For those who are serious about poetry, spending large chunks of a day on Facebook and Twitter is time spent away from your avowed enthusiasm: poetry.

RULE SIX: For every day you write poetry, reserve the next one for reading it. Yes, you will have to slog through a slough of witless, mindless verse. I am not the first to remark that in any age most poets are bad. Reading poetry is much like digging for oil: Nineteen out of twenty wells are dry. But sooner or later, you will reach the Mother Lode Coasts of McCord, Causley, and Kennedy, where also dwell Merriam, Kuskin, and Worth.

RULE SEVEN: Practice something other than common measures and ballad stanzas. True, the four-beat rhythm runs deep and insistent in us all, but give alternating tetrameter lines a rest. After a time, they become monotonous. Surprise yourself and your readers with, say, a foreign verse form you may have never heard of. (An exception: in the history of poetry, no one has ever written a readable diamante.)

RULE EIGHT: Describing the “purrfect cat,” a “moooving cow,” a “hissing snake,” or saying “bone voyage” to a runaway dog is cruel and unusual punnishment. Repeating pet puns—repeating any pun—provides readers with all the proof they need that you and your Muse are estranged. The cat, cow, snake, and dog examples were mildly amusing the first time they appeared, but Monty-Python-dead-parrot dead the second. And yet that has not discouraged some pet shop owners from memorializing stale onomatopoeia in neon or kept readers in grocery store aisles from emitting “awww” (not awe) sounds whenever they spot them on greeting cards.

(I speak with some authority on the subject, having shamefully committed to print these ignoble misdemeanors myself. Once.)

Corollary: Children may guffaw at booger/fart giggle verse. They are children after all. But this is not the stuff that will lead them to carry poetry with them beyond elementary school.

RULE NINE: If you are passionate about poetry, you will hardly need to be reminded of a truism: Unlike most of the world’s citizens, Americans stand almost alone in viewing poetry as slightly more interesting than curling and its practitioners enormously less interesting than curlers. Consider yourself a rebel. Let no one and nothing come between you and your passion for the high art.

Corollary: Disabuse yourself of the notion that poetry—for children or adults—will remunerate you with anything more glamorous than an occasional Happy Meal. But then, what poet was ever in it for the pelf?

RULE TEN: I have saved the most important rule for last simply because it is the most important: Learn the rules of prosody. Before committing a line—a word—to the page, immerse yourself in the details of metrics and form. The best free verse poets know this from the start: You are allowed to break the rules only after you have learned them.

Why people always stop at ten of anything befuddles me, but these ten rules may be sufficient (a) to pique your interest, or (b) to get your dander up. If either applies, I will be a happy sand boy.

J. Patrick Lewis is the U.S. Children’s Poet Laureate and the winner of the 2011 National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Award for Excellence in Children’s Poetry.

Interview by Matt Forrest Esenwine

Award-winning children’s poet and artist Douglas Florian has written and/or illustrated more than 40 books of children’s poetry, including Dinothesaurus, which received starred reviews in four major publications; Comet, Stars, The Moon and Mars, a Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Year and Horn Book Fanfare List selection; Bow Wow Meow Meow, winner of the Gryphon Award and a Parents Magazine Best Book of the Year; and Lizards, Frogs and Polliwogs, a Bulletin Blue Ribbon Book.

Born and raised in New York City, Florian attended Queens College and the School of Visual Art. In the past, Florian worked as a cartoonist for The New Yorker and also created more than 300 drawings for The New York Times, many on the Op-Ed page. He says the only “9-5″ job he ever had was working one summer as a messenger for Artone Associates, 342 Madison Avenue, a retouching and design firm when he was 15 years old. Florian’s paintings are represented by Bravin Lee Gallery in New York City and have been shown in more than 30 solo and group exhibitions.

After reading William Cole’s anthology, Oh, That’s Ridiculous (1977), Florian decided to begin writing and illustrating children’s poetry. His latest collection, Shiver Me Timbers!: Pirate Poems & Paintings (2012, Beach Lane Books), in which he teams up with illustrator Robert Neubecker, indicates he is still enjoying it!

You credit William Cole’s anthology of nonsense verse, Oh, That’s Ridiculous, as spurring you to enter the world of children’s literature. Was that the original version, illustrated by Tomi Ungerer, or the 1977 edition illustrated by Shel Silverstein, in which “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout” first appeared? What was it about that book in particular that got your creative juices flowing?

Many years ago, I purchased the original Tomi Ungerer version in a flea market for a pittance, and have always felt that his drawings greatly contributed to the irreverent quality of the book. I’ve yet to get rid of those fleas, though. And I don’t often carry a pittance around with me anymore.

Your abstract paintings are created for an adult audience, yet your writing is geared toward a much younger demographic. What is it about writing for children that is so satisfying, and do you have plans to write in any other genres? 

When writing for children I can exercise my basic juvenile mentality and draw in an uninhibited childish fashion. I do have to be careful to not paint too abstractly, as I find young people don’t often appreciate it, and will often get an abstract look on their curious little faces. There is, however, a cross-fertilization between my so-called fine art and my illustrations.

So are you an artist who writes poetry for children, or a children’s poet who is also an artist? Or is it preposterous to even make a distinction?

I consider myself an authorstrator. That is: I think of pictures while I write and occasionally words while I paint.

But if you could only do one – write or illustrate – which would it be, and why?

If I could only do one, I would illustwrite. Then again, maybe authorstrate.

An interview with Harcourt Trade Publishers said that your children’s illustrations use “watercolor, gouache, colored pencils, inks, tin foil, candy wrappers, shredded papers, stencils, rubber stamps, and much collage on primed brown paper bags.”  If so many mediums are up for grabs, how do you decide what an illustration should look like and how to create it?

I usually grab whatever is on my desk, my child’s desk, or my neighbor’s desk. I let the subject dictate what medium I use or abuse. In mammalabilia I wanted a crude simple look, so I created very simple naïve gouache paintings much like folk art. In insectlopedia I used a barrage of delicate detailed collage to match the catch. And in Comets, Stars, the Moon, and Mars I used die-cut holes to show that space is a continuum.

Which of your books or poems are you most proud of? What books by other authors or illustrators have you been especially impressed with?

I rather like the detailed illustrations and witty poems for Zoo’s Who, although it didn’t get much attention from the journals and such. Perhaps my favorite thus far is Dinothesaurus, which is quite lively and playful. My editor, Andrea Welch, helped me a great deal on that one, especially on the Glossarysaurus in the back.

I’m currently working on two chapter books that I’m fond of, a new chapter in my life. I enjoy a wide range of authors and artists, many from Europe such as Sara Fanelli and  Emily Gravett. I also favor the work of Rokuro Taniuchi of Japan and Etienne Delessert, now in America. I grew up loving Susan Perl’s wonderful illustrations and Saul Steinberg’s witty line drawings.

How difficult is it to know what children will like or not like – in your poetry or your illustrations? Do you lean on your kids for their feedback, or your own child within?

Yes, I do lean on my own kids for feedback, but they often lean back on me. I don’t think it’s very difficult to know what children will like, but it’s awfully tricky to know what adults will enjoy. Having a great editor is vital.

Some people look to their muse for inspiration, others look everywhere they can…and some, like Jane Yolen and J. Patrick Lewis, are firm believers in the BIC rule (Butt In Chair!). Which of these works best for you, and why?

I’m always jotting down ideas and drawings on tiny scraps of paper whilst sitting on a train, plane, or Lunar Excursion Module. But for writing a chapter book I do like the BIC Trick, although I try not to sit on a BIC pen, if possible.

Scenario:  You’ve been struggling with a book or poem for an excruciatingly long time. Do you (a) keep at it until something pops; (b) put it away and come back to it later; or (c) shelve it in a heat of disgust and go get some ice cream?

Answer: (d) Shred it into tiny bits and feed it to my pet piranha. Actually, I’ll try anything that works, but the solution usually just comes to me, like the flu or measles.

Looking back over the years, what was the worst idea you ever had for a children’s poem or illustration? Did you toss it, or rework it?

I’ve never had a worst idea, although The City, a wordless book I created sold very poorly. Perhaps the worst is yet to come. Sometimes the best poems come after bad starts.

Finally, what advice would you offer children’s writers and illustrators who have yet to be published? Is there anything that really surprised you when you began writing children’s literature – or anything that still surprises you about the industry? 

I would offer this advice: Work hard but work smart. Keep your eyes open, your ears open, and your mind open. But close your mouth. Talking too much about a book before you finish it is a mistake. What surprises me is how I’m still able to do this without getting bored or relying on formulas. The industry itself has become too industrious and not nearly illustrious enough. 

Well, thanks for taking the time for this interview, Douglas – and best wishes for a successful and creative 2013!

My pleasure, and best wishes to you!

To learn more about Douglas’s paintings, visit his website…and to read more of his children’s poetry, check out his blog!

Lee Bennett Hopkins encouraged me to query educators and poets about the controversial Common Core State Standards (CCSS) that have been adopted by 46 U.S. states and the District of Columbia. I sent the following statement to a number of them, and asked them to reply. Fourteen of their responses follow.  

In short, the CCSS call on public school teachers to strengthen nonfiction so that, according to the Washington Post, “by 12th grade students will be reading mostly ‘informational text’” in place of a sizable chunk of fiction and poetry.





This effort is being spearheaded by educational publisher Pearson, which stands to make millions through staff development, assessment materials, and the adoption of new CCSS textbooks.



One teacher “is mourning the six weeks’ worth of poetry she removed from her eighth-grade English class at Woodland Junior High School in Fayetteville, Arkansas.”





As someone who appreciates the impact this issue could have, would you kindly comment on what you think the CCSS are likely to mean, in your view, for the future of poetry and poetry teaching in American public schools, as well as children’s poetry publishing in general?

Here are only two of the hundreds of relevant articles and blog pieces on the
subject: 
 
http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/education/common-core-state-standards-in-english-spark-war-over-words/2012/12/02/4a9701b0-38e1-11e2-8a97-363b0f9a0ab3_story.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alan-singer/protest-builds-against-pe_b_1586573.html?view=screen

Responses:
From Sylvia M. Vardell, Ph.D.
Professor
School of Library & Information Studies
Texas Woman’s University

I always have such mixed feelings whenever the topic of “standards” comes up. As a former classroom teacher, I understood the practical need to coordinate some set of expectations for teaching and learning across the grade levels, but I also know that teachers are feeling squeezed when it comes to bringing creativity and innovation into the classroom—in favor of “teaching to the test.” It’s a constant struggle for balance (between a coordinated curriculum and creative teaching). It may surprise you that I was actually pleased to see poetry incorporated into the new Common Core standards, since poetry is rarely mentioned in mandated standards and therefore rarely included in lesson plans and teaching. So, in a roundabout way, poetry might get MORE attention now that it’s “itemized” in the Common Core. The danger, of course, is that poetry may also be butchered in the name of test preparation. That’s why I’ve been working hard to help novice poetry teachers get comfortable with sharing poetry (through The Poetry Friday Anthology with Janet Wong) so that they see how gently the Common Core standards can be introduced and reinforced through weekly poem sharing. The standards include at least one poetry element in the Reading area of every grade level (K-5: RL. 1.4; 2.4; 3.5; 4.5; 5.4, 5.5, 5.6, 5.7) and mention alliteration, rhyme, rhythm, sensory images, metaphors, similes, structure, and point of view, to name a few. For those who already love poetry, this provides documentation for spending classroom time on poetry and for those who are new to poetry, I hope it will present a teachable moment for delving into what poetry has to offer. That is my hope!

From Georgia Heard
Children’s Poet and Teacher

Now, with the Common Core State Standards adopted by nearly every state, and its emphasis on poetry’s more pragmatic cousin—informative and explanatory reading and writing—I feared that poetry might not survive in schools. The truth is that poetry is included in every standard in the CCSS except for the writing standard. For K-5, poetry appears in Reading: Literature; Reading: Foundational Skills; Speaking and Listening; and Language, and for grades 6-12 reading poetry also has an essential place.

The CCSS attempts to set out a vision of what it means to be a literate person in the 21st century, and part of that vision is for students to partake in close, attentive, critical reading that is at the heart of understanding and enjoying works of literature including poetry. I believe that poetry will now have an even greater role in American classrooms, and, as a result, children’s poetry publishing will thrive.
   
For more on poetry in the CCSS, read Georgia Heard’s newest book, Poetry Lessons to Meet the Common Core State Standards (Scholastic, 2013), and check out an interview with Georgia Heard on Scholastic’s blog: http://oomscholasticblog.com/2012/12/teaching-poetry-with-a-common-core-edge.html

From Paul B. Janeczko
Children’s Poet and Anthologist

After working for 20 years as a high school English teacher and another 20 years as a visiting poet, I have been in hundreds of classrooms and worked with thousands of students and their teachers. I have become increasingly alarmed at the time schools are taking away from learning and enrichment to spend on testing, as measuring and comparing schools and students has become an end in itself.

With “No Child Left Behind,” and more recently with the frenzy for implementing Common Core School Standards, more and more teachers were forced to “teach for the test,” rather than teaching for the students. Teachers are forced to remove poetry from their curriculum in a frightfully unbalanced approach to educating children, with an unreasonable and unwise emphasis on “informational” texts.

I am alarmed that poetry reading and writing are becoming more marginalized in the classroom. We, as a society, do not read enough poetry. Writing in The New York Times Book Review some years ago, literary critic Anatole Broyard asked, “Where will our flair come from, our hyperbole, our mots justes? Unless we read poetry we’ll never have our hearts broken by language, which is an indispensable preliminary to a civilized life.” What better reason to demand that poetry takes its rightful place in the lives of school children?

From Douglas Florian
Children’s Poet and Illustrator

Can you name five works of fiction or poetry you read in high school? I can name at least 20, starting with Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, George Orwell’s 1984, and Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.

Now, can you name five works of nonfiction you read in high school? Not so easy this time. Why is that? Because fiction, poetry, and theater stick to our synapses. But they can also relate to real world issues. Think of how relevant The Ugly American, Failsafe, and Catch 22 were to the Vietnam War, disarmament, and the growing military industrial complex.

Lately there’s been a push towards facts, facts, and facts. “Just the facts, Ma’am.” But can the raven be reduced to feathers and bones? Can leaves of grass be reduced to stalks and blades? Can an Apple iPod be reduced to circuits and plastic? Go ask Poe. Go ask Whitman. Go ask Jobs.

From Barbara Kiefer, Ph.D.
Charlotte Huck Professor
Department of Early Childhood
The Ohio State University

I’m trying to organize my thoughts to say something intelligent in the face of such nonsense. I am a successful, fairly smart person. I read poetry, nonfiction, and lots of fiction. I read newspapers and magazines. I learn about history from Hilary Mantel and Barbara Tuchman. I learn about science in Barbara Kingsolver’s books and Joyce Sidman’s poems. I learn about dying from Mary Oliver and Dylan Thomas. William Shakespeare’s plays give me a framework for thinking about life. I hoard books in case I ever run out of something to read. I have books for airplanes, books for going to sleep, books for when I wake up at 3 o’clock in the morning and can’t go back to sleep. Thank heavens there is no common core board looking over my shoulder and telling me that my percentages are off. When will these “experts” who establish quotas look at real lifelong readers for their models of what children ought to be doing?    

From Jane Yolen
Children’s Poet and Author

There is often as much or more “common core” in poetry as there is in any nonfiction, and it does not go out of fashion or date as quickly.

Think of a poem like Emily Dickinson’s

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides—
You may have met Him—
did you not
His notice sudden is—

The Grass divides as with a Comb–
A spotted shaft is seen—
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on—

He likes a Boggy Acre
A Floor too cool for Corn—
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot—
I more than once at Noon

Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone—

Several of Nature’s People
I know, and they know me—
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality—

But never met this Fellow
Attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
And Zero at the Bone—

as the perfect opening for any in-depth study of snakes. It talks of their particular and peculiar locomotion, mentions several places where snakes may live, and comes around to fear of snakes, which therapists call Ophidiophobia but Dickinson nails with: “Zero at the bone.”

Think of Tennyson’s “The Eagle” whenever you begin a study of birds:

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
 
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
 
Or if studying famous artists and their art, this about a Chagall painting which I wrote.

The Flying Horse

There is no arguing with soldiers,
no pleading while wearing the yellow star.
There is only escape: on the rails, in the air,
on foot across mountains, one by one by one,
leaving behind the camps where men in stripes
and women with shaved heads, and children—
never forget the children—
rock to and fro with G-d’s name on their lips.
So you leave behind the bistros of Paris,
soldiers lurking in every corner;
leave behind a lifetime of work,
paintings of Vitebsk on every wall.
But Death, that old leveler,
can find you wherever you go,
even on a sledge pulled by a rooster,
even as you rise into the darkling skies.

Think of Leo Marks’s love poem to his dead fiancée, which when he was a codemaster in World War II he gave to the beautiful French agent Violette Szabo to use as her cipher before she was dropped into occupied France in 1944. What an opening for a study of codes and even World War II spying.

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
 
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
 
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
 
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.

No need to stop teaching poetry. Poets are the true codemasters of the world. Let the poetry teach you—and your students—and help you get to the real Common Core.

From Steven Withrow
Children’s Poet

A byproduct of imposing one-size-fits-all educational or artistic standards is the bypassing of genuine philosophical debate. The imposers assume they know more than the imposed-upon—that something is broken and must be fixed instantly—and the swiftness and extensiveness of the changes are often intended to avoid the very thing that poets prize most (or do they?): emotional ambiguity. As W.H. Auden pointed out, “Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings.”
 
To say that poetry is valuable for children in schools seems reasonable on its face, but underneath the statement flows a centuries-long river of conflicting opinions about the uses of imaginative literature, and verse especially.
 
My own blade in the battle is my belief that a good poem tells us something we don’t quite want to hear. Even the blithest of rhymes for the youngest of ears, odes to unabashed joy, remind us: This will not last. You will not keep this. And you can wail and go numb, or you can dance and rejoice—it’s your choice. Children sense this conclusion already; they carry the evidence in their cells. Poets give hope and hopelessness a durable form.
 
If poetry is valuable for children in schools then a poem is valuable as proof that we each deserve to choose for ourselves, at every moment, how we respond to life…and to death. Although the effects of such difficult and continual choices are seldom what we expect, the freedom to choose is the true common core we all sing about and some of us versify.

From Ralph Fletcher 
Children’s Poet and Teacher

I approach the Common Core from the perspective of a writing teacher. I’m not a big fan of these new standards, though admittedly not of all of it is bad. Should kids be writing more nonfiction? Should we help students learn how to make an argument in their writing? Probably yes and yes. What irks me is the extreme way the standards are interpreted, and the tendency in education to swing from one pole to another.

With the Common Core I worry that young writers will now spend less time writing stories. And I think that’s a mistake because telling stories is where kids find their stride as writers. I fear that poetry, too, will get less emphasis, both in reading and in writing. When young writers write poetry they learn the power of metaphor, compression, and image. They learn the sly, supple power of language.  

From Joyce Sidman
Children’s Poet

Please don’t lose literature in this effort to standardize! Any interest most of us have ever had in history has been sparked by literature—the stories of people, told well. Stories that echo in the heart. Poems that reveal a different way of looking at the world. Surely literature can be paired with high-quality informational text—to provide context, emotion, and understanding. Without the stories, history (and social studies, and even science) is dead.

From Peggy Oxley
Grade 2 Teacher
St. Paul School, Westerville, Ohio

If the Common Core standard on nonfiction is strictly enforced, it will certainly impact the study and enjoyment of poetry and fiction adversely, which will deprive students of two of the richest and most important parts of language arts education. People have been reading, writing, and studying poetry and fiction of all kinds down through the ages. They have always been essential vehicles of communication between people of all cultures as well as strong links between people and cultures of all historical ages. I would certainly advise Common Core advocates to include strong components of poetry and all genres of fiction as well as nonfiction in our educational requirements to maintain and strengthen our understanding of and relationships with all those with whom we share the planet.

From Janet Wong
Children’s Poet and Anthologist

Most of the arguments about the Common Core seem to come from the poor application of the standards, not the standards themselves. The standards clearly provide for poetry to be taught; this is actually something to celebrate. Teachers who have been neglecting poetry are now required to teach it. 

If you are a teacher who is being pressured to teach in a certain way “because of the Common Core”: copy, read, highlight, and make sure that you understand the standards so that you can defend your practices with section citations. Fight for the right to teach poetry—and recognize that poetry should not be limited to the language arts curriculum. If you teach at the elementary level, use poetry to teach history, math, and science. If you teach middle or high school, make it easy for your history, math, and science colleagues to use poems; provide them with poems that have clear curriculum connections. While you’re at it, give a book of sports poems or yoga poems to the P.E. teacher. I will repeat myself here because I want it to become our mantra: The standards clearly provide for poetry. And this is something to celebrate!

From Marilyn Singer
Children’s Poet

To be honest, I have not read much yet about the Common Core Standards. However, it’s my understanding that poetry is very much a part of them and that the suggestion is to spend more time and depth on each individual poem. To me, this can have pluses and minuses. The pluses include greater comprehension, respect for craft, and what I call “cross-pollination”—pairing poetry with other literature and subjects, such as science and math. The minuses? Over-analysis leading to antipathy—the same problems that less effective teachers and their suffering students have always had with poetry. When I was a high school English teacher, I spent a great deal of time with each poem. But that time always started with 1) choosing poems I loved; 2) reading the poems out loud. It seems to me that Common Core or no Common Core, teachers themselves must learn to love poetry, and that starts with hearing poetry read aloud and, understanding, as that wonderful teacher and poet Georgia Heard put it, “Don’t forget that literature is heart work.” 

From Bev. Gallagher
Grade 3 Teacher
Princeton Day School
Princeton, New Jersey

As a teacher of third graders, one of my profound delights is opening up the world of books to my children. How they ooh and aah when they discover new books. Whether they are learning about Roberto Clemente or dipping into the tale of Half a Moon Inn or hearing a delicious poem in Black Swan White Crow they are fully immersed in the world of literature. What a treat it is to use such fine works to teach accompanying reading strategies so students can navigate their way—whether they need to understand characters’ intentions, unpack salient information, or pay attention to language. To do that well and become strategic readers, my students need to have all genres available to them—poetry, fiction, nonfiction, plays, etc. How can they create an authentic toolbox of skills if we limit their choices? How can we not let them marinate in the finest literature? These 21st century learners need to have all options available so that they can use their skill set strategically and masterfully. That certainly would not be a possibility if we limit the richness available in their lives.

From Mary Lee Hahn
A Year of Reading Blog
Grade 5 Language Arts Teacher
Daniel Wright Elementary, Dublin, Ohio

I’m approaching the switch to the Common Core Standards on a “need to know” basis. They aren’t exactly giving me hives, but I’m on the apprehensive side of curious to find out how they’ll impact the way I do business in my 4th grade classroom.

Georgia Heard’s session at All Write, “Understanding the Core Standards: Reading Standards for Literature—Poetry,” seemed like a good place to dip my toes in. And the main message I got from this session? Good teaching is good teaching, no matter what labels they give us to name the pieces and parts.

Georgia started with the big lessons that poetry teaches—lessons of language. Poetry is filled with figurative language, and with the language of heart and soul: rhythm and sound, compression and precision, images, and figures of speech. (And she showed us where all of these pieces and parts and labels can be found in the Common Core standards.)

She named the questions we need to ask of poems we read and write:

• What makes this a poem?
• What is this poem about?
• What is the poet’s message?
• What tools did the poet use to help show his/her meaning?

(The standards these questions address already exist in our state standards…nothing new here…)

And she showed us how, by living with and climbing inside one poem a week, students would build knowledge about poems for their “music” and for their “meaning” toolboxes for reading and writing poetry.

Monday: read the poem aloud. Make sure students can see the poem. Read it again. Turn and talk. What do you notice? What’s it about?
Tuesday—Thursday: illustrate it, act it out, read it chorally, do quick-writes about the poem/off of the poem.

Friday: Now that you love and understand the poem, dig into the craft tools the poet used. Talk about how the poem’s built, how the poet uses compressed language (not ALL of the words another writer might use on the same topic).

Georgia’s final message:

Don’t forget that literature is heart work.

______________________

Interview by Robyn Hood Black

Joyce Sidman, winner of the 2013 NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children, celebrates the world’s wonders through innovative poetry. Part scientific observation, part whimsy, part invitation—her writing beckons readers of all ages and lends itself to some of the most exquisite illustrations in the field.

Her Dark Emperor and Other Poems of the Night (illustrated by Rick Allen) won a Newbery Honor, and Song of the Water Boatman (illustrated by Beckie Prange) garnered her the Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award. Song of the Water Boatman and Other Pond Poems and Red Sings from Treetops – A Year in Colors (illustrated by Pamela Zagarenski) were Caldecott Honor winners. Prange also illustrated the incredible Ubiquitous – Celebrating Nature’s Survivors, and Zagarenski also illustrated This is Just to Say: Poems of Apology and Forgiveness, winner of the Claudia Lewis Poetry Award (and a Cybils award and a Lee Bennett Hopkins honor award).

Caldecott Medalist Beth Krommes illustrated Butterfly Eyes and Other Secrets of the Meadow, a Cybils winner, and she and Sidman collaborated on 2011’s  Swirl by Swirl: Spirals in Nature, “one of the most beautiful books of the year,” according to The Horn Book. All of these books were published by Houghton Mifflin. Please see Sidman’s website for several other award-winning titles, and look for her work in noted anthologies.

In the meantime, here is a taste of her poetry.

Since this is a wintertime interview, here are the first few stanzas of “WINTER” from Red Sings from Treetops:

In the WINTER dawn,
Pink blooms
powder-soft
over pastel hills.

Pink prickles:
warm fingers
against cold cheeks

Blue breathes,
deep and lustrous overhead:
a glimmering dark
that slowly
turns
light.

Below,
Blue smiles
from shadows
amongst the White.

©Joyce Sidman. All rights reserved.

And, from Ubiquitous, a celebration of coyotes:

Come with Us

Come, come with us!
Come into the woods at evening.
Come canter across the cornfields,
come slink in the dusk like smoke.

Come, come with us!
Come plunder the wind’s riches.
Come drink in the hot odors,
Come parry and mark and pounce.

Come, come with us!
Come kindle the blue twilight.
Come croon in the wild chorus,
come vanquish the tranquil night.

©Joyce Sidman. All rights reserved.

****

Thank you for joining us, Joyce Sidman! According to your rich website, you began writing in grade school. What do you remember about reading and writing as a youngster?

I read a lot as a child, especially books with a sense of mystery, like the Joan Aiken books. The Diamond in the Window, by Jane Langton, was a favorite in fifth grade. Actually, I loved everything to do with literature and books, but was not a true bookworm—I also loved singing and art and recess and being outdoors with my friends.

Writing was always a favorite occupation. I kept journals and made illustrated books, composed poems for family events, etc. Teachers encouraged me; I learned early that words were powerful and could move people, and that hooked me.

When did poetry call to you, and how did you answer?

Looking back, I realize that although I read children’s poetry, it didn’t have a tremendous impact on me. What moved me—and what I was drawn to—was the language of folk music. I had a set of records, kind of an Encyclopedia of Music, and I played the old folk songs over and over again. They had power and emotion and I loved them.

Later, in my high school years, I was exposed to Frost and Eliot and Conrad Aiken and Emily Dickinson, and fell in love all over again. I began reading and writing poetry in earnest. One teacher in particular was extremely patient and always found ways to encourage me.

A notion I’ve always appreciated in your interviews and on your website is your sanctioning of “pondering time.” Why is time to ponder essential for writers?

There are two parts to writing, I think: inspiration and craft. Craft involves what Jane Yolen calls “butt in chair.” Working, day after day, putting your ideas down and honing your language. But inspiration is wily. It lurks, it floats around, it disappears. Pondering time helps my mind disengage from worldly pursuits and open itself to inspiration, in whatever form that might take.

What about your own work habits—do you keep a strict writing schedule or have a most productive time of day (or night) to create?

Oh, I’m not terrifically strict! I play hooky. But I do try to get up to my workspace every weekday morning, when my mind is clearest. I write for several hours, then take a walk. After lunch, I take care of the “business” side of my work—email, website updates, preparing for presentations, etc. There is a surprising amount of busy work attached to being an author, and each book adds a bit more. But it is work I love, all of it.

You write poetry in free verse and also in a variety of forms. Does either way appeal to you more, and do you have a favorite form?

The poem chooses its form: that is, the subject matter, emotion, and message all steer me toward one form or another. Sometimes a line will drop into my head and I just go with it. I love the power of rhyming poems, but I love the surprise of free verse, how it can start in one place and end up somewhere else completely. When I get bored with my own work, I read for inspiration—I have an extensive poetry library. It’s always interesting to see how other poets push the limits of language.

You spend a lot of time outdoors. Is that where most of your ideas present themselves?

I’ll often get ideas while outdoors, especially on my daily walks. But being outside is more to me than that. I need the sights, smells, and sounds of the natural world. They fill me up somehow, fill my well of joy and creativity.

You also spend a lot of time in schools and have discussed that many students today do not spend time outdoors. How can poetry help connect kids to the natural world?

I believe poetry is a shortcut to wonder. I believe that reading poetry helps kids grasp and understand beauty—something they need in their lives. Writing poetry helps them really look at the world around them, in all its sensory detail. And using metaphor and imagery helps them build connections between that world and themselves.

What else can poetry do for children?

Help them understand themselves better: what’s important to them, what they treasure. Give them a sense of power. Allow them to see the world from a different point of view. Play! Poetry helps them play with words. “This is so fun!” kids say to me in the classroom, as if they don’t quite believe it.

Many of your books have involved extensive scientific research. Can you describe how you tackle this side of your writing, and what it’s like working with experts?

I love research, mainly because no one is making me do it (!). I follow my own interests, seeking out subjects that fascinate me. (Also, it’s easier than writing.) I use lots of different sources, trying to make sure the facts on which I base my poems and nonfiction notes are rock-solid. And the scientists who have helped me are so kind. I don’t know most of them—I find their names through their research—and they’re so willing to help me, because they feel so passionate about their subjects. And they love the fact that I am sharing their expertise with children.

There has been much discussion on this blog about the future of children’s poetry—the bleak budgetary outlook for new anthologies and collections—as well as the challenges/opportunities surrounding e-publishing. Any thoughts on this topic?

Poetry is remarkably resilient. It’s short, sleek, and powerful. It’s adaptable—always seeking new forms. I think it will weather this rough patch. It will embrace technology and become stronger.

Finally, in Swirl by Swirl, you write of the spiral shape:

It stretches starry arms
through space,
spinning and sparkling,
forever expanding…

and I wonder if your poetry isn’t like that, too? Do you have any projects on the horizon that you’re at liberty to mention?

Yes, the arms of poetry are forever expanding . . . . Several books are on their way. A teen book, What The Heart Says: Chants, Charms & Blessings, will come out in Fall 2013. It’s a book of poems for times when you need a little magic—to be brave, to find your socks, to slow down time, etc. Winter Bees and Other Poems of the Cold will come out in Fall 2014—it’s about about how creatures deal with winter. It’s illustrated by Rick Allen, who did Dark Emperor. I can’t wait to see his art! A few other projects are in the pipeline. I have an immense sense of gratitude that I am able to be involved in this work. I feel lucky every day.

Many thanks for spending time with us today, and congratulations on the NCTE award!

My pleasure!  Thanks so much.

(Be sure to visit joycesidman.com for extensive resources for readers, writers, and teachers—plus some really fun dog pictures. All poems ©Joyce Sidman. All rights reserved.)

Thank you to everyone who visited Poetry at Play and took part in Poetry Advocates for Children & Young Adults in 2012! This has been a very successful year in fulfilling our mission to remain an important resource for all those interested in poetry for kids and teens–past, present, and future–worldwide.

In the coming months, we will share interviews with top poets, essays by talented writers, and other features still in the works. Wishing you a joyful and peaceful 2013, and may it be filled with poetry!

Interview by Matt Forrest Esenwine

J. Patrick Lewis was born and raised in Gary, Indiana, and was 56 years old when, in 1998, he decided to retire early from his position as professor of economics at Otterbein College in Ohio to become a full-time writer.  He already had 10 books published at the time, along with numerous individual poems in magazines such as Cricket. Since then, he has gone on to write a total of more than 80 books in verse and prose, and has been the recipient of numerous awards.

In addition to receiving the 2011 Poetry Award from the National Council of Teachers of English, Lewis’s The Shoe Tree of Chagrin (2001, illustrated by Chris Sheban) won the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators Golden Kite Award, and The Last Resort (2002, illustrated by Roberto Innocenti) was named the New York Times Best Illustrated Book and has been translated into more than a dozen languages). In 2011, Lewis was named 2011-13 U.S. Children’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation.

Lewis has also collaborated with other children’s poets including Jane Yolen, Rebecca Kai Dotlich, and Paul B. Janeczko on various poetry collections and anthologies, and his first book of adult poetry, Gulls Hold Up the Sky, was published in 2010. One of his most recent projects was The National Geographic Book of Animal Poetry (2012), a giant anthology on which he worked as editor and contributor.

First, let me congratulate you on your position as 2011 U.S. Children’s Poet Laureate! As only the third person to receive this honor from the Poetry Foundation (the position was previously held by Mary Ann Hoberman and the inaugural Children’s Poet Laureate, Jack Prelutsky), it brings with it great responsibility. How do you feel about holding a title this prestigious, and what have you been doing to fulfill your obligation to promote children’s poetry?

Despite the Poetry Foundation’s claim that the responsibilities of the laureateship would be “light,” I’ve been extremely busy, especially with travel. Speaking at conferences, giving talks to teachers and librarians, and school visits have kept me hopping. But that’s the role of the children’s poet laureate, isn’t it? To go piping down the valleys wild as the herald for poetry at every possible venue. The thrill of being so named has generated in me an enthusiasm equal to it. It seems a bit comparable to the thrill of carrying a country’s flag at the initial Olympic ceremonies.

So how did a fellow with a PhD in economics end up writing more than 80 children’s books and winning numerous awards such as the 2011 NCTE Award in Children’s Poetry and the 2001 SCBWI Golden Kite Award? You had already had 10 children’s books published by the time you decided to become a full-time writer in 1998…what level of success (a word we all define differently) had you hoped to reach when you were first starting out?

My first book—an original and fanciful folktale I set in my beloved Russia—kept me in a dreamlike state for perhaps a semester! I remember when it first arrived in my mailbox I couldn’t believe I had made this physical thing, an honest-to-goodness book. I took the book to bed with me for three nights. I don’t sleep with my books any longer, but the arrival of each new one is a pinch-me revelation.

I had no idea what I was “hoping for” when I first began writing children’s books for I had not yet become a court jester, a traveling salesman, a Pied Piper for children’s poetry. Once discovered, poetry kindled “a frosted fire,” as I’ve always said, that I expect will burn until I myself have joined the ashes.

What would you say is the most satisfying aspect of writing for children? It’s easy to say it’s the joy that the kids receive from reading – and perhaps that’s true – but the creative process, the collaborations, and the relationships that are built all must certainly be enjoyable, too.

Without being either glib or dismissive, I must say that I really don’t write for children. My audience of one is myself. If poems please me, then I hold out a soupçon of hope that children might enjoy them too. Apart from making school visits and talking about poetry—a joy unimaginable to me 500 school visits ago—the greatest part of writing . . . is writing. Juggling words 10 hours a day. It’s not hard work, not work at all. It’s “hard love.”

As writers, we draw inspiration from all around us – our homes, our families, pretty much anything and everything. Who – or what – inspires you? Who do you trust to critique your material?

In my opinion, no doubt a minority view, inspiration is overrated. Occasionally, lightning strikes with a word/phrase/or rhyme, but for me poems come from dedication. Strapped to a chair. I do wish my Muse were a reliable fixture on my desk, but she is usually off shopping, perhaps because she feels unwanted, which isn’t true of course, but there it is.

The only person I ask to take a critical look at my work (before it goes to an editor) is my living doppelganger, my twin brother, whose opinion I value more than he knows.

Describe your approach to writing poetry: the poem’s creation, its evolution, and its completion – assuming a poem is ever truly “completed.”

A poem does not begin with an idea but with a word, a phrase. Of course, I know beforehand what subject I intend to write about, but I can sit here endlessly thinking of words before liftoff. Since I write on a computer, I keep no first drafts. I just keep rewriting the same poem for hours or days—or I put the poem away for awhile to let it settle, or throw it away altogether. There are more than a few published poems I wish I could take back and rewrite—poets are inveterate tinkerers—but once the poems make their way to the printed page, you must let them go.

Which of your poems would you say you’re the most proud of, and why? What poem or poems have given you the most grief in trying to write?

I wrote a poem for Jesse Owens (“I Could Stay Up in the Air . . . Forever”) and another for Satchel Paige (“Father Time Is Coming”) that I would stand behind. In general, as much as I love writing nonsense verse, I am quite taken with biographical poems, distilling other people’s lives into one-page wonders. Of course, that doesn’t always, or even often, happen, but when was that ever a reason not to try?

And the poem that was the most difficult or laborious to complete?

The book-length poem, The House, illustrated by the inestimable Roberto Innocenti. I did my damnedest to make that poem grace the art with an equivalent beauty. The poem’s text went through at least 20 rewrites, quite properly, before the publisher accepted it. And I must say I’m extremely proud of that book. It could stand alone as a legacy.

You write in a wide variety of styles, from touching, introspective poems like “The Seeker” (about Helen Keller) to fun, rhyming picture books like Kindergarten Cat, and even books like the hugely popular The Last Resort. How does a writer as prolific as J. Patrick Lewis continue to come up with fresh ideas? You’ve been writing for a long time; is it now easier or more difficult to find new things to say and new ways to say them?

That’s a great question because it’s so difficult to answer. More than any other children’s writer I can think of, Dr. Seuss found his own voice, which is the first lesson one learns (they tell me) in creative writing courses. And there must be something to it: Look at Seuss’s success! But from the very first, I never wanted to find my own voice. The goal for me was, and still is, to find a hundred voices, to write so that no one can guess the author.

It does become more difficult over time to uncover new subjects that grab an editor’s attention, in large part because there are so many wonderful writers creating fabulous books. This is not to say that the subjects from which to choose are limited or exhausted. Far from it. Putting them together in truly inventive ways is an endless challenge, and in these dark times for publishing—and children’s poetry in particular!—it borders sometimes on hopelessness.

The children’s publishing industry is, indeed, in a state of flux these days; between independent publishers, self-publishers, print-on-demand, e-books, and e-readers like the Kindle and Nook, it seems editors and agents are more selective than ever. How have these changes affected you and other children’s writers, and what do you foresee as the future of children’s lit?

I’m afraid I was born too soon for the digital age. Figuring out an iPhone is quantum physics to me. In short, I’m probably not the person to ask about such things. What self-publishing, print-on-demand, and e-books will mean for those of us coming late to the party? I dare not prognosticate, but if wishes counted for anything, I can only hope that the physicality of the book—sitting in a parent’s lap and turning the pages of a picture book—will never lose its allure.

Finally, knowing what you know now, and having experienced all that you have…what advice would you give your 56-year-old self, as you contemplated retiring early to become a full-time writer? Would you still give yourself that same advice if you were taking that leap in 2012? And what would you tell poets who have yet to be published?

Back then, the advice that I gave myself—and took!—was that reading is always more important than writing. So many have forsaken reading the classics at their peril.

It seems to me, and I hope that I’m wrong, that too many younger poets are compelled to get into print now. No matter how successful you are at getting your first or second book of poems accepted for publication, don’t let it go to your head. Don’t quit your day job. I didn’t quit mine for a decade after my first book was published, thinking, finally, that I could become a full-time writer.

Writing children’s poetry, though, is mostly a pauper’s trade. Not the destitution of a John Clare or a William Blake, of course, but as far as I know, money has never been the primum mobile behind the poet’s pen.

Mr. Lewis asked us to include the following essay, which provides some insight on his thoughts about poetry, its words, its sounds…and its importance:

Sound, Interrupted

Moscow, 1921: Alexander Blok, then perhaps Russia’s premier poet, is sitting inconspicuously in the back row of a poetry reading with his friend, the famed master of children’s verse Kornei Chukovsky. A contemptuous young bard on stage declaims: “Blok is already dead!” At which point, Blok leans over to Chukovsky and whispers, “That’s true. He’s telling the truth, I’m dead.”

Known for composing tightrope poetry with neither net nor bar, forever teetering between hope and despair, Blok tells Chukovsky he simply can’t write anymore. “All sounds have stopped,” he says. “Can’t you hear that there are no longer any sounds?”

He died two months later.

I mention this tragedy not to recount one more Russian poet’s inevitable rendezvous with ruin, but to reinforce Blok’s point about the importance of sound.

Rude intrusion: I spent half my life as an economics professor, tone deaf to sound, except the deathless prose of wonky, unicorn fantasies for which the discipline prides itself. How could such a thing happen?  Shocking to relate, I grew up in an atonal atmosphere. I listened to rock ‘n’ roll but only on somebody else’s nickel in jukebox diners. I collected no record albums, rarely turned on the radio. Classical music, I thought, rivaled corsets and bullwhips in a race to antiquity. Music of any kind captivated me almost as much as lawn darts. The ear can be a shamefully ignored organ.

I won’t denigrate my elementary teachers, who were genuinely concerned with my welfare, but what little poetry I was exposed to didn’t resonate. Or if it did, I wouldn’t have heard it. The finger of fault points to me. Evidently, I just wasn’t listening . . . until I got to college. There, in a poetry class disguised as a chem lab, students armed with droppers and stoppers took an entire semester to reduce the acidic “My Last Duchess” of Browning to baseness. Fra Pandolf’s hands finally reached out and slapped me awake.

My ear’s rebellion needed no more reinforcements.

Fast forward two decades: . . . and then, and then . . . just as I was crossing what might well have been the equator of my life, I met a saucy English professor who peppered her speech with thigh-slappers like carpe diem, ad nauseum, favete linguis! (shut up). And she introduced me to . . . It.  (If her ship should pass in the night again, and she runs aground on these rocky words, let me just say: “Ethyl, I am finally compos mentis.”)

By “It,” I mean she sang in two-part poetry: sound and sense. Eventually, she did. First, she had me at ‘Twas brillig . . . . Hearing her recite her favorite poems, I assumed that she had enlisted Wallace Stevens to describe herself: She sang beyond the genius of the sea. Come again? in Just-/spring when the world is mud-/luscious the little/lame balloonman/whistles far and wee— Where? Wee? It didn’t matter that I had no idea what the words meant. I’d been catapulted skyward by a zaftig, nonstop sound machine. The sunlight on the garden/Hardens and grows cold,/We cannot cage a minute/ Within its nets of gold. Pass the smelling salts, Thyllie, this was a language worthy of the seraphim. She read with such infectious brio, I could almost believe Messrs. Carroll, Stevens, cummings, and MacNiece, respectively, self-exhumed to applaud.

Ethyl lent me her Norton’s doorstop with the admonition that I begin, after several decades of disuse, putting my slacker right brain through its paces. Thus began our nightly rituals of reading desultory poems to each other, poems that could charm the chill off a tin ear. I can’t say the experience moved me to embrace the viola or the flugelhorn, though I eventually quit my day job to become a wandering minstrel of sorts. But those first poems began to strum, hum, come to me as the music I had relegated to the benighted. From there it was a short step to a long and endless journey of understanding prosody, and everything else in the poet’s handbag of techniques for producing sound: assonance, alliteration, euphony, meter, and heretofore unheard of rhyme.

Imagine how reading Auden’s “The Fall of Rome” ruffled a misspent youth dawdling in the social sciences: Altogether elsewhere, vast/Herds of reindeer move across/Miles and miles of golden moss,/Silently and very fast. And what was I to do with Roethke’s I wake to sleep and take my waking slow? Or the triple-tongue-tempest Gerard Manley Hopkins’s Caught this morning morning’s minion, king-/dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding . . . .

Equally smitten with the lions of children’s poetry—Edward Lear, Lewis Carroll, and lesser lights now all but forgotten—I took to piping down valleys wild with Milne’s James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George DuPree on [a] capital ship for an ocean trip … the Walloping Window Blind (Charles Carryl). Even “mere verse” like Gelett Burgess’s “The Purple Cow,” Morris Bishop’s “Song of the Pop-Bottlers,” and Eliot’s wildly inventive naming of cats served as an affront to tone-deaf economists, lips firmly pursed, who most likely were innocent of ever having been young and easy under the apple boughs. But pity not economists: They don’t know any better. Save compassion for poets like Blok who crash into a wall of silence and are denied the sounds that defined their entire lives.

I learned early that Emily Dickinson’s star shone brightest in the constellation of sound singers. (The woman levitated over Amherst, Massachusetts, a century and a half ago, and the mention of her first name alone, like that of “Abe,” brings instant recognition.) As the British poet and critic Clive James wrote: “[She] could enamel the inside of a raindrop.”

Most readers, even non-poets, might recognize the first couplet in her homage to a train: I like to see it lap the Miles—/And lick the Valleys up. Lap, lick? Of course. No other verbs could do. But to stop there without reading the full four quatrains of the poem is inexplicably to don earmuffs. I’ll wager you cannot think of a single thing to do in the next minute of your life that is as soothing to the ear as reading the entire poem. One minute. And it’s even odds that the memory of the poem, two hours from now, will linger longer than the memory of sex. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

- J. Patrick Lewis

For more information about Pat, his books, awards, and school visit schedule, check out his website here!

The National Council of Teachers of English Poetry Committee, gathering in Las Vegas, announced yesterday that Joyce Sidman has won the 2013 NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children. The award was established in 1977 to honor a living American poet for his or her aggregate work for children ages 3 to 13 and is now given every other year. PACYA will feature Joyce and her meticulously crafted verse in the near future on Poetry at Play. Kudos to Joyce!

 Lee Bennett Hopkins
Interview by Matt Forrest Esenwine

Lee Bennett Hopkins’ name is synonymous with children’s literature. He has written and edited numerous award-winning books for children and young adults as well as professional texts and curriculum materials; he has worked with many of the best-loved children’s authors, from Dr. Seuss to Madeleine L’Engle; and has taught elementary school and served as a consultant to school systems throughout the country. In 2011, Hopkins was recognized by Guinness World Records as the world’s most prolific anthologist of poetry for children, with 113 titles to his credit; that number continues to rise.

Born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, Hopkins graduated from Kean University and Bank Street College of Education, and holds a Professional Diploma in Educational Supervision and Administration from Hunter College. In 1980 he was awarded an honorary Doctor of Laws degree from Kean University.

Over the years, he has received numerous awards and accolades, including the University of Southern Mississippi Medallion for “outstanding contributions to the field of children’s literature;” the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Excellence in Poetry for Children in 2009; and the Florida Libraries’ Lifetime Achievement Award.  He also has established two major awards:  the Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award, presented annually by Penn State University for a single volume of poetry, and the Lee Bennett Hopkins/International Reading Association Promising Poet Award.

In addition to his anthologies, his own works include:

•Been to Yesterdays: Poems of a Life (Boyds Mills Press), an autobiographical book of poetry that received the prestigious Christopher Medal and a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) Golden Kite Honor Award

•Mary’s Song (Eerdman’s Books for Young Readers), illustrated by Stephen Alcorn

•City I Love (Abrams), illustrated by jazz musician Marcellus Hall

Hopkins’ forthcoming anthology, All The World’s a Stage, based on William Shakespeare’s monologue from As You Like It, will appear next year with Creative Editions, illustrated by Guy Billout.

Lee, you’re not just a poet or writer; you are an acclaimed anthologist, as well, so you probably get to see a far more diverse representation of children’s poetry than most people. What is the current state of children’s poetry, and how does it compare to that which was being written 20, 30, 40, or even 50 years ago?

True. I see, have seen, a great deal of poetry. My library houses thousands of volumes by every major American poet. Entire walls are filled with single collections as well as anthologies dating back to 1915 when Emilie Kip Baker’s THE CHILDREN’S FIRST BOOK OF POETRY (American Book Company) appeared.

Like any other genre, poetry changes as society changes.

Poetry in America is still the baby of children’s literature, less than 100 years old, beginning in the 1920s with Hilda Conkling, a 10-year old prodigy, who published POEMS BY A LITTLE GIRL (Lippincott).

And, yes, we are still hearing about the place poetry has in our society. Get this:

“We hear much nowadays about the decline of poetry. No one reads poetry anymore. Poets cannot make a living…we are living in a reflective, a scientific, a prose age.”

This gem was written by Franklin T. Baker at Teachers College, Columbia University, in 1915 in the Introduction to Emilie Kip Baker’s anthology! It is interesting to note that between 1950 and 1970 poetry flourished with over 30 poets making debuts, incredible voices as Gwendolyn Brooks, Myra Cohn Livingston, Arnold Adoff, Shel Silverstein, and Eve Merriam.

A lull occurred in the 1980s with only four voices rising – Nancy Willard, Jane Yolen, Marilyn Singer, and Paul Fleischman – all of whom created a wide genre of books from picture books to young adult and adult works. In the 1990s more poets were published than in any other decade.

A horrible fact of 21st century publishing is that few anthologies are appearing. In 2011, three; 2012, five. Another concept is that publishers only want theme collections. Rarely does one see a BOOK of poetry offering one gem after another about a multitude of things. There aren’t any more collections such as Myra Cohn Livingston’s THE MALIBU AND OTHER POEMS (Atheneum, 1972) where one can read about “A Book”, turn pages to read “Father,” or empathize with “Little Dead” about burying birds, where the poet writes: “…I’ll dig a bed / warm and dark to rest your heads / and keep you singing with my words.”

If only one editor would take a chance, let a voice voice about his/her feelings, thoughts, wishes, wonders.

Today, with technology, it seems anyone can post a poem anytime they want to. It is instant-poetry-time. In previous decades, one had to “wait” for poetry, and for the most part it was worth the wait. No more. A click of Google will bring you globs of verse – some of which is very good, some awful, some of the worst verse ever seen. It is now, literally, a free-for-all. But free isn’t always the best we can give children. 

When creating a poem, a self-penned book, or an anthology, are there ideas, words, or emotions that you have to wrestle with more than others, and how big a role does marketability play?

It is not the role of any true writer to write for a market. You must write for yourself, from within. Each book, each poem, each anthology poses its own set of problems and pleasures. The last concern would be marketability. It is up to the publisher to take care of this.

Once I delve into a subject, I research it to the fullest. Perhaps the most challenging series I did was based on Americana: HAND IN HAND: AN AMERICAN HISTORY THROUGH POETRY; MY AMERICA: A POETRY ATLAS OF THE UNITED STATES; and AMERICA AT WAR (all Simon & Schuster). All three volumes are rather large, definitive topics presented in poetry to complement studies and appreciation of our great United States.

Between e-books, e-readers like the Kindle and Nook, independent publishers, self-publishers, and print-on-demand services, technology has certainly thrown the children’s publishing industry for a loop. How is the industry evolving, and do you view these changes as positives or negatives?

Kindles, Nooks, and other varied forms of today’s technology are here, will stay, hopefully evolve for the better, and others will die out as quickly as boom boxes or 50 shades of any color one might think of!

Looking at something as wondrous as Maurice Sendak’s WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE (HarperCollins) on a tiny machine’s screen is like watching GONE WITH THE WIND on an iPhone. A book is to hold, turn a page, relish words and/or pictures, keep in one’s mind and heart forever.

Is it possible to describe the perfect poem, or define the difference between a good poem and a great one? Having read so many, what is it you look for – in your work, as well as that of others?

The difference for me between a good poem and a great one is that a good poem is simply good. But a great poem such as Langston Hughes’ “Dreams” – a mere 8 lines – or his “Poem” – 21 words – show what a master of language can produce. When I read a work and utter “oooohhh,” I know in my soul it is a great poem. I’ve always gone on the “oooohhh” factor when selecting work for a collection.

You’ve been fortunate to know a number of wonderful, iconic children’s writers, like Theodor Geisel, Maurice Sendak (who would probably argue he didn’t write for kids), and current U.S. Children’s Poet Laureate J. Patrick Lewis, among others. What are the most important things you’ve learned from these relationships?

My earliest professional book, BOOKS ARE BY PEOPLE (Citation Press/Scholastic), was published in 1969. Over the course of my career, I have interviewed and/or met hundreds of writers and illustrators…writers are indeed people. They have lives as diverse as any other group of people. They have their successes, failures, life problems and pleasures, tragedies and triumphs. Being with, for example, Madeleine L’Engle or Lloyd Alexander, Ezra Jack Keats or Maurice Sendak, was no different than talking to a family member. They were people first, they became illustrious, but at the heart of it all they were real souls. And how I miss them. They not only gave love to their readers, they gave love to and for one another.

You have won numerous awards, like the NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children and the SCBWI’s Golden Kite Award; however, a rather unusual honor you received, of which many readers may not be aware, is recognition by Guinness World Records as the world’s most prolific anthologist of poetry for children. With more than 113 titles and more on the way, what have you learned about poetry, publishing, and people?

It was an astonishing moment in my life when I learned I was to be included in Guinness World Records. It was sparked by Sylvia Vardell at Texas Women’s University; Elizabeth Enochs, an elementary school librarian in Ft. Worth, Texas; and her then 13-year old son, Jeff. Thirteen seems to be a lucky number for me. At the time, the number of anthologies was 113, Jeff was 13, I lived a good part of my childhood at 113 Seth Boyden Terrace in Newark, New Jersey, and I was born on April 13th!

I have learned a great deal about poetry, too much about publishing, and I have gained a sincere appreciation of people who read and share poetry.

You’ve been receiving very positive reviews for your most recent book, Mary’s Song, which is a story about Jesus’ mother – told from her perspective – yet it’s not really about Christmas. You’ve even stated that you initially didn’t realize you were writing it in her voice! How did the concept develop for this book, and why did you choose to write it in poetic prose, rather than traditional free verse?

I always wanted to write about Mary as a tribute to Motherhood. I don’t truly recall writing the book. It seemingly just came, flowed. I knew deep inside it had to be about her being with her baby alone without all the fuss, hubbub we usually read about the birth of Jesus.  What mother doesn’t want to hold her child, hum to her son, bond with him/her without a host of people around? I wanted the one word – QUIET – emphasized. Stephen Alcorn created a work of splendor in the double-page spread with simply the one word.

Over the years, you’ve worked with countless authors, poets, and illustrators…written or anthologized more than one hundred books…given who-knows-how-many speeches, interviews, and classes…does anything surprise Lee Bennett Hopkins these days?

The things that surprise me could fill volumes. As for this moment, I’m still here and hope to offer some new surprises in the future!

And for aspiring writers and poets who may or may not yet be published – what advice would you offer?

If you want to write poetry, READ poetry. You must learn what is out there and learn from it. You might begin reading works by winners of the NCTE Poetry Award. Practice, practice, practice. Do not accept first, third, or even fifth drafts. Look at every single word, even each syllable. Writing is REWRITING. Learn your craft as you would if you wanted to be a baseball player, an artist, or chef. And don’t give up. We all started someplace, sometime. If the world needs anything more right now, it needs another Hughes or Livingston, a McCord or Sandburg. It might be you.

For more information about Lee, his books, awards, and journal, check out his website here!