When the cane gave way to cane sugar

Poetry Month, Day 30. When it comes to general poetry collections for children, I can't help but wonder when the sanitization of children's poetry began in earnest. Sure, we all expect to be shocked by the violence of Hoffman's Struwwelpeter (1845)

from "Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb"

and stunned by the colonial mindset and racism that constitute the weeds in Stevenson's otherwise fragrant, A Child's Garden of Verses (1885). The nursery rhyme collection, Lavender's Blue, was published in the 1950s and is pretty tame, all things considered. Sure there's the odd "don't walk on thin ice" or "don't play in the cinders" verse, but, by and large, the cautionary tone of the verses is minimal.

As I was diving through edited collections of children's poetry to create this 30 day, 30 title feast, I was intrigued by just how much stamina verses involving corporal punishment had with editors. While you'd be hard pressed to find a recent collection of poetry that references corporal punishment or that reprints some of the more gruesome cautionary verses of old (such poems are increasingly relegated to academic tomes for the study of children's literature), just 20 years ago such poems were commonplace in edited editions.

The 1963 Oxford Book of Poetry for Children (Edward Blishen, editor; Brian Wildsmith illustrator) that was reissued in paperback format as late as 1996, includes a short chapter of cautionary verses including Hilaire Belloc's "Matilda (Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death)" and this gem from Lewis Carroll:

Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes;
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.
Wow! Wow! Wow!

I speak severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he pleases!
Wow! Wow! Wow!

Similarly, The Random House Book of Poetry for Children (selected by Jack Prelutsky; illustrated by Arnold Lobel) first published in 1983 includes Hoffmann's "The Story of Augustus Who Would Not Have Any Soup" and this tribute to spanking from Charles Henry Ross:

That's Jack;
Lay a stick on his back!
What's he done? I cannot say.
We'll find out tomorrow,
And beat him today.

The Kingfisher Book of Children's Poetry, selected by Michael Rosen (1985) includes Hoffmann's "Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb," albeit with a slightly less sinsiter illustration than the original. It also includes this more contemporary poem by Britain's Allan Ahlberg (of Peepo and Jolly Postman fame), which I find intriguing and refreshing, for there is a perverse pleasure in wondering about the unknown, isn't there?

The Cane

The teacher
had some thin springy sticks
for making kites.

Reminds me
of the old days, he said;
and swished one.

The children
near his desk laughed nervously,
and pushed closer.

A cheeky girl
held out her cheeky hand.
Go on, Sir!

said her friends.
Give her the stick, she’s always
playing up!

The teacher
paused, then did as he was told.
Just a tap.

Oh, Sir!
We’re going to tell on you,
the children said.

Other children
left their seats and crowded round
the teacher’s desk.

Other hands
went out. Making kites was soon
forgotten.

My turn next!
He’s had one go already!
That’s not fair!

Soon the teacher,
to save himself from the crush,
called a halt.

(It was
either that or use the cane
for real.)

Reluctantly,
the children did as they were told
and sat down.

If you behave
yourselves, the teacher said,
I’ll cane you later.

--Allan Ahlberg

(Note: when quoting poems online, always include a full citation for the collection from which the poem originated. If the poem is not in the public domain (i.e. is still in copyright) abide by the principle of Fair Dealing in your use of the work.)

__________________

Well, there you have it: 30 days of poetry collections all wrapped up. Ta-da! If any of you would like me to post all the collections I mentioned in a single post, let me know in the comments and I will put it up early in May. It never hurts to have a wallet-sized list to take to the library or to the book store.

As comfortable as a cotton dress

Poetry month, Day 29: I love Eleanor Farjeon's poetry and I bet you will too--that is if a little cat hasn't already whispered its worth into your ear.

A Morning Song
For the First Day of Spring

Morning has broken
like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken
   Like the first bird.
Praise for the singing!
Praise for the morning!
Praise for them, springing
   From the first Word.

Sweet the rain's new fall
Sunlit from heaven,
Like the first dewfall
   In the first hour.
Praise for the sweetness
Of the wet garden,
Sprung in completeness
   From the first shower.

Mine is the sunlight!
Mine is the morning
Born of the one light
   Eden saw play.
Praise with elation,
Praise every morning
Spring's re-creation
   Of the First Day!


Pencil and Paint
Winter has a pencil
For pictures clear and neat,
She traces the black tree-tops
Upon a snowy sheet.
But autumn has a palette
And a painting brush instead,
And daubs the leaves for pleasure
With yellow, brown, and red.


Cotton
My wedding-gown's cotton,
My wedding-gown's cheap,
It's crisper than sea foam
And whiter than sheep,
Printed with daisies
In yellow and green,
A prettier wedding-gown
Never was seen!
Light-heart and light-foot
I'll walk into church
As straight and as slim
As a silvery birch,
And after my wedding
I never will lay
Like ladies my wedding-gown
Lightly away.

I'll wash it in soapsuds
As fresh as when new,
And rinse it in rainwater
Softer than dew,
And peg it on Saturdays
High on the line,
And wear it on Sundays
Full of sunshine.
My wedding-gown's cotton,
It cost me a crown,
Was ever girl wed in
A commoner gown?--
As birds on the branches,
As flowers on the green,
The commonest wedding-gown
Ever was seen!

--Eleanor Farjeon

from Something I Remember: Selected Poems for Young Children by Eleanor Farjeon. Edited byAnne Harvey. Blackie, 1987.

How can you be a poet when your last name rhymes with historian?

Poetry Month; Day 28: Douglas Florian is one of several poet/artist combinations I've featured this month. To see his artwork, you can go to his artist's website; alternatively, you can check out his poetry books, Beast Feast and Dinothesaurus, the next time you're at the library. The poem I'm featuring today comes from a different collection altogether:

Commas
Do commas have mommas
Who teach them to pause,
Who comfort and calm them,
And clean their sharp claws?
Who tell them short stories
Of uncommon commas
And send them to bed
In their comma pajamas?

--Douglas Florian

from Bing Bang Boing, poems and drawings by Douglas Florian. Harcourt, 1994.

(Note: when quoting poems online, always include a full citation for the collection from which the poem originated. If the poem is not in the public domain (i.e. is still in copyright) abide by the principle of Fair Dealing in your use of the work.)

I love it when the words 'big' and 'poetry' appear together in a title

Poetry Month: Day 27: When this month ends, I do sincerely hope that none of you come back asking for a recommendation for a general purpose poetry anthology, 'cause I think I've now sent a stack of 'em your way. Today's entry was compiled by Bill Martin Jr before his death in 2004 and was brought to fruition by his collaborator, Michael Sampson.

To My Valentine
If apples were pears,
And peaches were plums,
And the rose had a different name,
If tigers were bears,
And fingers were thumbs,
I'd love you just the same!

--Anonymous


April Rain Song
Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops,
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night--

And I love the rain.

--Langston Hughes



from The Bill Martin Jr. Big Book of Poetry, edited by Bill Martin Jr. with Michael Sampson. Foreword by Eric Carle; Afterword by Steven Kellogg. Illustrated by Ashley Bryan, Lois Ehlert, Steven Kellogg, Chris Raschka, Dan Yaccarino, Nancy Tafuri, and Derek Anderson. Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2008.

(Note: when quoting poems online, always include a full citation for the collection from which the poem originated. If the poem is not in the public domain (i.e. is still in copyright) abide by the principle of Fair Dealing in your use of the work.)

What rhymes with Shel? Swell.

Poetry Month, Day 26: One mustn't ignore Shel Silverstein, must one? Not if one likes humour and whimsy.

Hat
Teddy said is was a hat,
So I put it on.
Now Dad is saying,
"Where the heck's
the toilet plunger gone?

Recipe for a Hippopotamus Sandwich
A hippo sandwich is easy to make.
All you do is simply take
One slice of bread,
One slice of cake,
Some mayonnaise,
One onion ring,
One hippopotamus,
One piece of string,
A dash of pepper--
That out to do it,
And now comes the problem . . .
Biting into it!

--Shel Silverstein

from Where the Sidewalk Ends, poems and drawings by Shel Silverstein. Evil Eye Music, 1974.

(Note: when quoting poems online, always include a full citation for the collection from which the poem originated. If the poem is not in the public domain (i.e. is still in copyright) abide by the principle of Fair Dealing in your use of the work.)

He's a funny, lefty, enviro, poet-guy

Poetry month, Day 25: British poet, Benjamin Zephaniah, is all that and a whole lot more besides.

Solidarity
An army of militant greens
In bio-degradable genes
Shout 'Give peas a chance
And lettuce all dance
In unity wid butter beans.'


Who's Who
I used to think nurses
Were women,
I used to think police
Were men,
I used to think poets
Were boring,
Until I became one of them.

--Benjamin Zephaniah


from Talking Turkeys by Benjamin Zephaniah. Puffin Books, 1994.

(Note: when quoting poems online, always include a full citation for the collection from which the poem originated. If the poem is not in the public domain (i.e. is still in copyright) abide by the principle of Fair Dealing in your use of the work.)

Poetry Month, Day 24: Personal ... Political

I love this collection. It carries in its pages the beauty of fig trees and lemons, as well as the indigestible truth of olive pits.

Red Brocade
The Arabs used to say
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he's come from,
where he's headed.
That way, he'll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you'll be
such good friends
you don't care.

Let's go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That's the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.


All Things Not Considered
You cannot stitch the breath
back into this boy.

A brother and sister were playing with toys
when their room exploded.

In what language
is this holy?

The Jewish boys in the cave
were skipping school, having an adventure.

Asel Asleh, Palestinian, age 17, believed in the field
beyond right and wrong where people come together

to talk. He kneeled to help someone else
stand up before he was shot.

If this is holy,
could we have some new religions please?

Mohammed al-Durra huddled against his father
in the street, terrified. The whole world saw him die.

An Arab father on crutches burying his 4 month girl weeps,
"I spit in the face of this ugly world."

*

Most of us would take our children over land.
We would walk the fields forever homeless
with our children,
huddle under cliffs, eat crumbs and berries,
to keep our children.
This is what we say from a distance
because we can say whatever we want.

*

No one was right.
Everyone was wrong.
What if they'd get together
and say that?
At a certain point
the flawed narrator wins.

People made mistakes for decades.
Everyone hurts in similar ways
at different times.
Some picked up guns because guns were given.

If they were holy it was okay to use guns.
Some picked up stones because they had them.
They had millions of them.
They might have picked up turnip roots
or olive pits.
Picking up things to throw and shoot:
at the same time people were studying history,
going to school.

*

The curl of a baby's graceful ear.

The calm of a bucket
waiting for water.

Orchards of the old Arab men
who knew each tree.

Jewish and Arab women
standing silently together.

Generations of black.

Are people the only holy land?

--Naomi Shihab Nye


from 19 Varieties of Gazelle: Poems of the Middle East by Naomi Shihab Nye. Greenwillow, 2002.

(Note: when quoting poems online, always include a full citation for the collection from which the poem originated. If the poem is not in the public domain (i.e. is still in copyright) abide by the principle of Fair Dealing in your use of the work.)