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2.
AOTW: Do you have a poem that you think defines you?
Mary Ann Hoberman: After such a highfalutin first answer, my response to this question may come as a surprise. But of all the hundreds of poems for children (and many others for adults) that I have written, both funny and serious, "Brother" is my very favorite. Does it define me? Perhaps, in that it rhymes, is strongly rhythmical, delights in wordplay, rolls off the tongue easily, and uses particular attributes of the English language --- in this case the fortuitous rhyming and near-rhyming terms for three members of the nuclear family --- to work its magic. Add to that the fact that I did have a little brother exactly like the one in the poem and you have a verse very dear to my heart:
BROTHER
I had a little brother
And I brought him to my mother
And I said I want another
Little brother for a change.
But she said don't be a bother
So I took him to my father
And I said this little bother
Of a brother's very strange.
But he said, one little brother
Is exactly like another
And every little brother
Misbehaves a bit, he said.
So I took the little bother
From my mother and my father
And I put the little bother
Of a brother back to bed.
Alan Katz: From Bathtub: (to the tune of "Home on the Range")
Oh give me a break
'Cause I made a mistake
And my library book's overdue
The fault is all mine
Oh boy, what a fine
It was due way back in '92!
Home, home's where it's hid
This is such a bad thing that I did
And you might say "gee whiz!"
'Cause the book's title is
How to Be a Responsible Kid!
That says it all about me.
Betsy Franco: The poems in my upcoming picture book Mathematickles (McElderry/Simon & Schuster, 2003) define my view of life. The book consists of math poems that show how my mind works.
leaves
wind ) fall
- colors
winter
crisp air
shadowstall
+cat's thick coat
signsof fall
Paul B. Janeczko: I don't think that I have one poem that "defines" me because I'm a moving target. I'm still changing, still growing.
X. J. Kennedy: Yes. It's called "Ars Poetica," and is about how not to write a poem:
The goose that laid the golden egg
Died looking up its crotch
To find out how its sphincter worked.
Would you lay well? Don't watch.
Robin Hirsch: One of mine? Perhaps "You Enter A Room," which is about reading poetry. Here it is:
YOU ENTER A POEM . . .
You enter a poem
Just like you enter a room.
You open the door
And what do you see?
A sink, for example,
A bathtub, a toilet
(Does a toilet belong in a poem?)
And you say to yourself, "Aha!
It's a bathroom."
The next time you enter
You know it's a bathroom
And you notice
The towels on the rack
And their color,
The mirror, the tiles, the sofa
(What? There's a sofa? In the bathroom?)
And you say: "Aha!
It's that kind of a bathroom."
The third time you enter
You realize
One of the towels is frayed
There are streaks on the mirror
And the person who did the grouting
Messed up in that corner.
You open the drawers and the cabinets.
You empty them,
You take an inventory:
Toothbrushes, toothpaste, cotton balls, cleanser,
Toilet paper
(Does toilet paper belong in a poem?)
Not to mention
The child-proof bottles of pills--
Which you know of course how to open--
And you say to yourself: "Aha!
It's that kind of a
This is how you enter a
I'm beginning to know this
Poem."
[The poems in FEG come replete with commentary. The commentary for "You Enter a Poem" goes like this:
It was bedtime. We were reading a poem by Frank O'Hara called "A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island." It's a favorite of ours, partly because we have a little beach house on Fire Island, but it's not exactly easy to follow. We had read it dozens of times. We still didn't have any easy answers. We went into the bathroom to brush our various teeth. Benjy said "I don't understand. Every time we read it, we see different things." Aha! Never be afraid to say you don't understand. Sometimes not understanding is the beginning of wisdom. This is how "You Enter a Poem" came into being. It goes to show that anything --- even something you don't quite understand --- can be an inspiration; any place --- no matter how humble --- can be a setting; and all sorts of everyday objects --- no matter how prosaic --- can be the stuff of poetry.]
Sonya Sones: Asking me to choose just one poem that defines me is a bit like asking me to choose just one word to describe myself. I don't think any one poem can do that --- there are too many poems and too many "me"s. If I'm doing it right, each poem I write will define a different part of me. I guess I'm in defiance of defining myself. I am one ornery poet.
Marilyn Singer: I don't know if I have a single poem that defines me. A lot of people think of me as a "nature poet" because I love writing about the natural world. But I also like to create characters and use them as narrators, and I'm fond of really silly verse. I'd say that in FOOTPRINTS ON THE ROOF: Poems About the Earth (Knopf, 2003), the poem "Burrows," from which the book takes its title, sums up my feelings about respect for nature, and it uses many of the devices I favor --- short descriptive lists (in this case, of animals), straightforward voice, sense of wonder about the world.
"Burrows"
Out in the country I walk across towns
I'll never see
Mazy metropolises
under the earth
where rabbits hide from foxes
foxes hide from dogs
full-bellied snakes sleep snugly
worms work uncomplaining
Where what you see is nothing
What counts is what you smell
or hear or feel
I try to tread softly--
a quiet giant
leaving only footprints
on the roof
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