Spring in New Hampshire

The sixth poem in our collection is "Spring in New Hampshire" by Claude McKay. We talked about this poem in class on Monday, October 25.

Click here to read Mr. McKay's biography on poets.org. You can visit the poem on poets.org by clicking on its title (below).

Spring in New Hampshire

by Claude McKay

Too green the springing April grass,

Too blue the silver-speckled sky,

For me to linger here, alas,

While happy winds go laughing by,

Wasting the golden hours indoors,

Washing windows and scrubbing floors.

Too wonderful the April night,

Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,

The stars too gloriously bright,

For me to spend the evening hours,

When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,

Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.

Still I Rise

The fifth poem in our collection is "Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou. We talked about this poem in class on Thursday, October 21. KW requested that we read this poem, and KS, KW, and DW read the poem to our class.

Click here to read Ms. Angelou's biography on poets.org. You can visit the poem on poets.org by clicking on the title (below).

Still I Rise

by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you best with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries,

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

From And Still I Rise, by Maya Angelou. Copyright 1978 by Maya Angelou. Reprinted by permission of Random House, Inc.

We listened to Ben Harper's interpretation of Ms. Angelou's poem in class. His song, entitled "I'll Rise," is from his first album Welcome to the Cruel World. You can listen to the song by clicking play on the video (below).

Butterfly, Butterfly

The poem "Butterfly, Butterfly" was written by Sharon Adamson. This poem was brought to class by DG and can be found online by clicking on the poem title (below).

We discussed "Butterfly, Butterfly" in class on Tuesday, October 19.

Butterfly, Butterfly

Sharon Adamson

Hoping to catch your eye

Circling around you, oh my

Butterfly, butterfly, come into the light

Oh, what a beautiful sight

Flying so gracefully

Into the sky, the butterfly

Trying to catch a butterfly

Fly, fly, fly, butterfly

There he sets upon the mums

I'm having so much fun

Here's another on the sill

Your standing so still

You go to touch him

There he goes, the butterfly

I hear a tapping on the window

It's the butterfly, fly, fly, fly

There he goes into the sky

Flying so high, the butterfly

I'll see you another day

Butterfly, butterfly, away

The third poem in our poetry club is "Who burns for the perfection of paper" by Martín Espada. We talked about this poem in class on Thursday, October 14.

Click here to read Mr. Espada's biography on poets.org. You can visit the poem on Poetry 180 by clicking on the title (below). It is poem #136.

Who Burns for the Perfection of Paper

Martín Espada

At sixteen, I worked after high school hours
at a printing plant
that manufactured legal pads:
Yellow paper
stacked seven feet high
and leaning
as I slipped cardboard
between the pages,
then brushed red glue
up and down the stack.
No gloves: fingertips required
for the perfection of paper,
smoothing the exact rectangle.
Sluggish by 9 PM, the hands
would slide along suddenly sharp paper,
and gather slits thinner than the crevices
of the skin, hidden.
The glue would sting,
hands oozing
till both palms burned
at the punch clock.

Ten years later, in law school,
I knew that every legal pad
was glued with the sting of hidden cuts,
that every open law book
was a pair of hands
upturned and burning.

from City of Coughing and Dead Radiators, 1993. W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., New York, NY.

Copyright 1993 by Martín Espada. All rights reserved.

cutting greens

The second poem in our poetry club is "cutting greens" by Lucille Clifton. We talked about this poem in class on Monday, October 11.

Click here to read Ms. Clifton's poem on poets.org. You can visit the poem on poets.org by clicking on the title (below).

cutting greens

by Lucille Clifton curling them around i hold their bodies in obscene embrace thinking of everything but kinship. collards and kale strain against each strange other away from my kissmaking hand and the iron bedpot. the pot is black. the cutting board is black, my hand, and just for a minute the greens roll black under the knife, and the kitchen twists dark on its spine and i taste in my natural appetite the bond of live things everywhere. From An Ordinary Woman by Lucille Clifton published by Random House. Copyright © 1974 Lucille Clifton. Used with permission.

My First Memory (of Librarians)

Our first poem in the EMS Poetry Club is "My First Memory (of Librarians)" by Nikki Giovanni. We talked about this poem in class on Monday, October 4, 2010.

Click here to read Ms. Giovanni's biography on poets.org. You can visit the poem on poets.org by clicking on the title (below).

My First Memory (of Librarians) by Nikki Giovanni This is my first memory: A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky wood floor A line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the center Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply too short For me to sit in and read So my first book was always big In the foyer up four steps a semi-circle desk presided To the left side the card catalogue On the right newspapers draped over what looked like a quilt rack Magazines face out from the wall The welcoming smile of my librarian The anticipation in my heart All those books—another world—just waiting At my fingertips. From Acolytes by Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 2007 by Nikki Giovanni. Published by arrangement with William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

Poetry @ EMS

Welcome to the EMS poetry blog! We will use this blog to chronicle the poems read in Ms. R's class. We will share poems that can be found on www.poets.org, http://www.poetryfoundation.org/, and http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/.

In addition to sharing the poems that are read in class, we'll also use this blog to share our ideas and thoughts about each poem. Thanks for stopping by!

Ms. Miller

EMS student teacher