A Keeper of Dreams

The Dream Keeper and Other Poems by Langston Hughes. Knopf, 1932, 1994.

Reminiscent of Hailstones and Halibut Bones with the imagery and simplicity. All the poems employ specific and unique language, and often surprise with contrasting images like the sea being like a desert of waves or new leaves singing in the rain.

Incredible rhythm in the blues set. “And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red/Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain./Sweet silver trumpets,/Jesus!” Amen to that!

Interesting, too, how varied the poems are. Universal, global, modern somehow, despite being three quarters of a century old.

Long Titles, Short Books

I Thought My Soul Would Rise and Fly: The Diary of Patsy, a Freed Girl by Joyce Hansen. Scholastic, 1997.

Delightful voice and vivid research. The research shows and adds layers to the text. The diary form is highly personal, sort of like a verse novel. I found the premise compelling but the setting just seemed a little claustrophobic. I guess that’s the downfall of a diary novel—you’re stuck in one person’s head, and if that person is a girl who stutters and limps and doesn’t leave the plantation, well, you’re limited to her experience. For a book in a series, however, this one was far and away beyond what I expected. Not formulaic, and with a fabulous historical note at the end with photos and tons of detail.

I wish I lived on Neighborhood Street!

Night on Neighborhood Street by Eloise Greenfield. Dial, 1991.

The illustrations feel sort of 1970s (which is odd given the pub date); makes it seem dated. The poems, however, give snapshots into life, like the “Little Boy Blues” which is a play on the musical blues and the Mother Goose rhyme. It’s tender and lovely with strong rhythm. “The Seller” and various other poems make me wonder if this book is for children or adults, though. There’s a sophistication that might be over the picture-book-reader’s head.

Rats of NIMH and other Rodent Themed Books

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. 1971.

There’s a certain sameness to rodent-themed books, I’ve noticed. Velveteen Rabbit (ok, not quite, but ...), Ralph and the Motorcycle, Borrowers. Most have a lot of “critter skittering about for food” along with lots of scurrying, scraping and scampering. This one is the same, and the anthropomorphism (done well) is the hook here. On page 21 we get a description of Dragon, the cat: “He was enormous, with a huge, broad head and large mouth full of curving fangs, needle sharp.” Vivid, as a cat would be to a mouse, then the monstrous and mythical take over, “He had seven claws on each foot and a thick, furry tail, which lashed angrily from side to side.” Other thoughts—

• Honor and respect are heavy themes. In the first scene with the crow, throughout. The nature of true nobility. And a great quote from p. 32, “All doors are hard to unlock until you have the key.” 
• Little details like the smell of frost melting make the reading delightful. Twists and turns in plot too, like the drugged cat, the backstory, overhearing the family planning to poison the rats. There’s adventure and death/violence on a level that would not be possible for this age group with human characters.

I love Snuggly picture books!

Max’s Dragon Shirt by Rosemary Wells. Puffin 1991.

I had a horrid time finding any Wells book I hadn’t already read 100+ times. Fish LOVED Yoko and the various Max and Ruby books. I’d have to say Yoko is probably the loveliest of the Wells books with it’s gentle rhythm and touching relationships. So much is communicated and it’s a pleasure to read. The Dragon Shirt is funny and just a little silly. I love how Wells takes the child’s world seriously, smilingly, and employs a tender, gentle tone. Her books are so ... snuggly! Holly Hobbie in her Toot & Puddle books does the same.

Traditional African Tale

Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters: An African Tale by John Steptoe. 1987

Any MFA in Children's Writing must have this book on it's required reading list -- such an important tale. Uniquely South African and full of stunning, authentic illustrations. This morality story is much like an Aesop’s fable. The kind girl is favored over the nasty one. The plotting is tight, the storytelling clear with a voice like a classic folktale. A favorite.

Spring

Mud Pie just took off into the front yard singing a funny little song only she can sing. She runs back so excited she can hardly get the words out. "Mommy I found a BIG yellow flower!" We talk about it for a minute, then she plays chase with Oscar for a minute, and now he's resting on the deck and Pie is standing, simply standing in the yard listening. It's a noisy place, the forest.

We never had this in the city, and not just because Pie wasn't walking well yet. We had two or three doors, sets of stairs, cracked porch to navigate just to touch anything green. The fragrance of lilacs was tinged with the neighbors' stale cigarettes, their leftover beers toppled in the grass, rotting things in trash bags.

We had a small maple in our backyard. Only one branch had leaves. Every time I looked at it, I felt sad. It was dying, as trees do, but it was our tree, our only glimpse of heaven amidst cracked concrete and urban blight. I felt like that tree, strangled by the city, by its dangers and mess and stench and constant closeness to humanity in all their unpredictability. I seldom fought the doors and cracked porch and uneven sidewalks.

There is a dying tree in the forest out back, but I won't let Dr. D cut it down as he would love to do. I love the tree's stark symmetry, its leafless tallness against the lush green of the woods. Here dead things are not blight, they point the way to life. In the city our maple would be cut down, hauled away or chipped. Here, if left to nature and not Dr. D's chainsaw, it will fuel generations of life of all different sorts. Bugs, birds, moss. Even if felled by Dr. D, it would fuel our stove all winter.

Here my brokenness is not death. My soul-darkness does not make me useless, fit only for the flames (or wood chipper). I may feel stripped to nothing, gangly and lifeless, but I can still grow.

And maybe, just maybe Mud Pie, Fish, St. Nick can flourish too.