Collaboration

We all have the same roots and we are all branches of the same tree.  ~Aang (in Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Collaboration

Testing means work silently (all by yourself) but we

are accustomed to collaboration. We know we are all

smarter when we work together, but we have

to take the

test alone. It is not the same

as (all those times) when we discovered how our (very different) roots

could lead us to common understanding. Testing is too quiet and

the air is filled with tension. We

struggle silently (on our own) until we are

all finished. At last we get our voices back and we are all

of us (once again) like branches

(grafted from many nations and cultures) of

the

(strong enough to support us all and tested by time) same

(collaboration makes us all smarter) tree.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2018

Legos

We are strong as one, but we are stronger together.  ~Brennan

Legos

Like Legos, we

stick together. We are

not just strong,

we are as creative as

the wildest imagination. Like Legos, you start with one

but

you end with something surprising and new. We

really are

stronger

together.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2018

Poetry Friday -- On Collaboration

via Unsplash

THE TUFT OF FLOWERS
by Robert Frost

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

As all must be,' I said within my heart,
Whether they work together or apart.'

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

Men work together,' I told him from the heart,
Whether they work together or apart.'

This poem goes out to Heidi Mordhorst, with appreciation for her burst of submit-a-proposal-for-NCTE16 energy and the lingering joy of drafting and editing together on a Google Doc until the words (and word count!) (and presenters!) slipped into place like the proverbial hand in glove (with two hours to spare on Wednesday night!). Fingers crossed that our session is accepted!

Keri has the Poetry Friday roundup this week at Keri Recommends.

Poetry Friday -- as the hummingbird sips the nectar

Flickr Creative Commons photo by Bill Gracey

Jan Burkins, Steve Peterson and I have collaborated on another renga. Our first renga (and notes about the form) are here. Here's our second renga:

as the hummingbird sips the nectar

I.

round moon not yet full

finds my cracker--full ‘til bitten

life full with roundness

sharp as a wheel of cheddar

smooth and creamy as brie

under the gnarled oak

an old couple tosses

dry crusts to the pigeons

we become what we take in

fresh foods, sour moods, vast ideas

II.

mountain peaks tower

above the endless plains

full -- sharp -- old -- vast -- inspiring

toward evening, golden sunlight

settled on her wrinkled face

inside she’s a girl

surprised by her reflection

in her dreams she runs

river carries silt downstream

building up the new island

III.

sweet alchemy --

orchard apples filled

by the light of a star

loose tooth lost with first bite

red orb of bittersweet

cold front passes through

scrubs away humidity

wren sings from the fence

once, he learned to see rainbows

in the oil on a street puddle

a skill important

for grownups who are often

too busy measuring

too concerned with to-do to

barter duty for beauty



When we chatted via conference call about the finished poem (on the afternoon before Steve's first day back), I loved what Jan said about the process, how it's like laying one stone out at a time, building a path as we walk forward.

As we talked about our inspirations for each of our stanzas, or the stories behind our words, it was amazing (again) to learn from where in our lives these words had come.

I was the one who divided the poem into sections this time. I was working (probably too left-brainedly) to find a flow of meaning throughout the whole poem. While I couldn't find it throughout the whole, I did find it in these sets. 

Steve gave us our title, and I think it's quite brilliant. 

This is what I'm learning from Steve and Jan as we write together -- how to string pearls.

Sylvia has the Poetry Friday roundup this week at Poetry For Children.

Poetry Friday -- Renga With Friends

About a month ago, Steve Peterson (@insidethedog) invited me and Jan Burkins (@janmillburk) to try writing a renga with him. Renga is an ancient collaborative poetic form, and is actually where haiku was born!

Steve gave us these directions and resources:

Directions

• 3 line haiku-like poem 

• 2 longer lines (sort of like a tanka form when you put them together). Another person writes this. 

• 2 lines are inspired by the haiku immediately above. 

• then, 3-line haiku poem inspired by the 2 previous lines, 

• and so on like a game of telephone until we reach 35 lines total.

And some resources

     a description of the form.
     some examples.

The order of play went Steve, me, Jan (repeat). Here's our first renga:

in the prairie dawn

a spider's web snares the sun  --

cricket rejoices

meadowlark joins the chorus

breeze bends ripening wheat heads

whose lanky bodies

bow, sun’s church--peace be with wheat

and also with corn

they gather on folding chairs,

jello melts while the preacher prays

white-robed acolytes

shoulders shaking with giggles

two clouds hide the sun

even the adolescent stalks are sober today

word of fire in the neighboring field

this dark sky --

thunderheads poke fingers

at a thirsty land

near the abandoned homestead

ditch lilies toss flaming heads

who called this place home

does the ground remember

stories brought to earth

a faded calendar tacked

to the wall above the stove

try to imagine

the layers of memories

beneath the dust

how much memory is imagination

how much dust is history

sun slants through wavy glass

in the stale air

motes rise to dance

down the road, far down the road

reverberations can be felt

After we came to the 35th line, we gathered via conference call from Mountain, Central, and Eastern time zones to discuss the process and the product.

Steve instigated this poem writing adventure because of a desire to try collaborative writing, and to practice the haiku and tanka forms, but he found himself meditating on Jan and me as he chose the words he thought would best fit with what we were trying to say.

For me, it was like trying to catch a tune and sing along.

Jan was continually looking for the meaning in each set of 5 lines alongside the meaning of the poem as a whole.

Our memories of church and our ideas of "prairie" were very different, but we realized that Rosenblatt's reader response theory was alive and well as we wrote together -- each of us as reader/writer could bring ourselves to the text and make our own meaning, independent of the two others.

For me, the prairie in the poem is the flat, dry landscape of Eastern Colorado, where I've spent this month with my mom. Wheat harvest has been in full swing, but no one is complaining about the rains that might have delayed some of the harvest -- they were good for the corn. Those white-robed acolytes are my childhood friend Barbie and me, trying to be solemn in our candle lighting duties, but invariably giggling all the way down to the altar and back. The end of the poem is woven with images of change, home, memory, and loss -- all of which have been bitter and sweet in this month of helping my mom transition from her home of 60 years to a new home in assisted living.

Jan and Steve found echoes of current events that I can see now, but that didn't occur to me as we wrote.

We have plans to play with revising this poem, and we are fifteen lines into another. It has been fabulous to take risks together, to watch the poem unfold, and to hear each other's actual voices over the phone after listening so closely to each other's writerly voices on the page. Thank you, Steve and Jan!

Steve's post about this adventure is here.

Jan's post about this adventure is here.

Margaret has the Poetry Friday Roundup today at Reflections on the Teche.

Wednesday

Wednesday

by Anne Bertier
translated from the French by Claudia Z. Bedrick

first American edition: Enchanted Lion Books, 2014

Brain Pickings' Best Children's Books of 2014 strikes yet again!

I am adding this book to my collection of "books to read at the beginning of the school year." It will also be good for discussions of theme.

Little Round and Big Square begin the book playing nicely together, even though they are different. In their favorite game, one says a word and they both transform into that thing. By splitting in half and flipping their halves, both are able to become butterflies, for instance.

Soon, Big Square is suggesting shapes that Little Round cannot make. Both retreat to their corners.

Until Little Round suggests that they work together. Then the fun really begins.