JOYCE'S JOTS

Yesterday was Walt Whitman's Birthday.  I love his  Leaves of Grass.  My favorite poem in that book is A Child went "Forth.  In the poem he describes all the things that a child encounters during a cay and how those things all become a part of him.

It always takes me back to when I taught Kindergarten.  Each thing those kids did each day became part of them.  In fact, when you stop to think about it, everything that we come in contact each day also becomes a part of us.  The way we thin,k the way we react to scents and sounds, etc. 

A few years ago,I took a class in creative writing with a group of kids that had just graduated from high school.  I wasn't sure how they would react to an older woman in their class, but not to worry.  We had a blast and I really enjoyed it.  Our instructor asked us to pick one of our favorite poets and write a poem using his or her style.  I would like to share the poem I wrote using A child went Forth  as the style I chose.



    An old woman went out every day
and each thing she saw, that  thing she became,
and that thing became part of her for the day
              or a certain part of
  the day or for many years, or styretching' \
                cycles of years.
    The misting pond b became a part
              of this woman,
and ducks, and brown and orange lilies, and

           brown and
   orange leaves, and the whistle of
          the meadow lark,
and the eight-month corn, and the tomatoes'
         red shining skins,
  and the green-bean vines, and the
           verdant cukes
and the abundant harvest of the field, or in the
           kitchen garden.
   And the ants, trudging slowly
       through there, and
      the rich, moist earth,
and the wiggling worms with their long, thin
        forms all became a part of her.

The school books of ninth-month and tenth
              month became a part of her.
             Osmiroid-lettering pens, and
                   black ink and the
parchment paper in profusion, and the paint
         post filled with color and the
               pictures afterward.
And note-books, and the simplest pencils in
                 their box,
      and the young girl of aubergine-hair
                 and rose tattoo,
drawing pictures on the chalk board, and the
      boy that swaggered past on
         his way to the library,
  and the happy girls that past
        and the lonely girls,
and the tall word-wise professor, and the
   colorful art instructor, and the new
   attitude in both school and public
          wherever she went.
This became a part of that old woman who
           went out every day, and who
          now becomes, and will always
              become every day.
                 Thanks Walt

So, until next time
Be Kind to One-Another

Joyce