• About Farm School

    "There are obviously two educations. One should teach us how to make a living and the other how to live."
    James Adams, from his essay "To 'Be' or to 'Do': A Note on American Education", 1929

    We're a Canadian family of five, farming and home schooling. I'm nowhere near as regular a blogger as I used to be.

    The kids are 17/Grade 12, 15/Grade 10, and 13/Grade 9.

    Contact me at becky.farmschool@gmail.com

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    "If you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."
    William Morris, from his lecture "The Beauty of Life"

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    Clarence Day

    "Anyone who has a library and a garden wants for nothing."
    Cicero

    "Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtile; natural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend."
    Sir Francis Bacon, "Essays"

    "The chief aim of education is to show you, after you make a livelihood, how to enjoy living; and you can live longest and best and most rewardingly by attaining and preserving the happiness of learning."
    Gilbert Highet, "The Immortal Profession: The Joys of Teaching and Learning"

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    "I'd like to give you a piece of my mind."
    "Oh, I couldn't take the last piece."
    Ginger Rogers to Frances Mercer in "Vivacious Lady" (1938)

    "No race can prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem."
    Booker T. Washington

    "Please accept my resignation. I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."
    Attributed to Groucho Marx in "The Groucho Letters" by Arthur Sheekman

    "If you can't say something good about someone, sit right here by me."
    Alice Roosevelt Longworth

    "If we bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, we feel all our hard work ain't been in vain for nothin'."
    Jean Hagen as "Lina Lamont" in "Singin' in the Rain" (1952)
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Poetry Friday: Festival entries

Happy first Poetry Friday of National Poetry Month 2009!

To celebrate the occasion, and also how well the kids did this week at the Music/Speech Arts festival, I have a selection of the poems they recited.  Davy (age eight) recited “Mother Doesn’t Want a Dog” and “The Brook in February” by Canadian poet Charles G.D. Roberts (one of his sister’s selections when she was eight); Daniel (almost 10) recited “Every Time I Climb a Tree” by one of his favorite poets, David McCord, and also “A Mosquito in the Cabin” by Canadian poet Myra Stilborn; and Laura (age 11-1/2) recited “Jim, Who Ran Away from His Nurse and Was Eaten by a Lion”, one of Hilaire Belloc’s cautionary tales as well as Lewis Carroll’s “Father William”.

If you have a local music, speech arts, or performing arts festival in your town or city, or somewhere nearby, I strongly suggest having your children enter. Not only is learning poetry by heart worthwhile — it’s good exercise for the memory muscle and gives you a good way of entertaining friends and family (Tom’s great uncle, now 92, can still wow a crowd with his dramatic renditions of “Casey at the Bat” and other classics) — but reciting poetry, and listening to it, is one of the best ways to appreciate what really is a spoken art.  Much like Shakespeare’s words, poetry is best off the printed page.  If you need more convincing, read this or go to the post directly above this one.  And most festivals are teaching festivals with adjudicators who are professionals — speech teachers, singers, and such — offering useful critiques to improve understanding and recitations.  Plus it’s a bang-up way to spend a morning or an afternoon.  I still remember the thrill of listening to a friend’s 17-year-old daughter’s stirring presentation of “The Highwayman” .

Mother Doesn’t Want a Dog
by Judith Viorst (b. 1931)

Mother doesn’t want a dog.
Mother says they smell,
And never sit when you say sit,
Or even when you yell.
And when you come home late at night
And there is ice and snow,
You have to go back out because
The dumb dog has to go.

Mother doesn’t want a dog.
Mother says they shed,
And always let the strangers in
And bark at friends instead,
And do disgraceful things on rugs,
And track mud on the floor,
And flop upon your bed at night
And snore their doggy snore.

Mother doesn’t want a dog.
She’s making a mistake.
Because, more than a dog, I think
She will not want this snake.

A Mosquito in the Cabin
by Myra Stilborn (b. 1916)

Although you bash her,
swat her, smash her,
and go to bed victorious,
happy and glorious
she will come winging,
zooming and zinging,
wickedly singing
over your bed.
You slap the air
but she’s in your hair
cackling with laughter.
You smack your head,
but she isn’t dead –
she’s on the rafter.
She’s out for blood –
yours, my friend,
and she will get it, in the end.
She brings it first to boiling point,
then lets it steam.
With a fee, fi, fo and contented fum
she sips it
while you dream.

Jim, Who Ran Away from His Nurse and Was Eaten by a Lion
by Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953)

There was a Boy whose name was Jim;
His Friends were very good to him.
They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam,
And slices of delicious Ham,
And Chocolate with pink inside
And little Tricycles to ride,
And read him Stories through and through,
And even took him to the Zoo –
But there it was the dreadful Fate
Befell him, which I now relate.

You know — or at least you ought to know,
For I have often told you so –
That Children never are allowed
To leave their Nurses in a Crowd;
Now this was Jim’s especial Foible,
He ran away when he was able,
And on this inauspicious day
He slipped his hand and ran away!

He hadn’t gone a yard when — Bang!
With open Jaws, a lion sprang,
And hungrily began to eat
The Boy: beginning at his feet.

Now, just imagine how it feels
When first your toes and then your heels,
And then by gradual degrees,
Your shins and ankles, calves and knees,
Are slowly eaten, bit by bit.

No wonder Jim detested it!
No wonder that he shouted “Hi!”
The Honest Keeper heard his cry,
Though very fat he almost ran
To help the little gentleman.
“Ponto!” he ordered as he came
(For Ponto was the Lion’s name),
“Ponto!” he cried, with angry Frown,
“Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!”
The Lion made a sudden stop,
He let the Dainty Morsel drop,
And slunk reluctant to his Cage,
Snarling with Disappointed Rage.
But when he bent him over Jim,
The Honest Keeper’s Eyes were dim.
The Lion having reached his Head,
The Miserable Boy was dead!

When Nurse informed his Parents, they
Were more Concerned than I can say: –
His Mother, as She dried her eyes,
Said, “Well — it gives me no surprise,
He would not do as he was told!”
His Father, who was self-controlled,
Bade all the children round attend
To James’s miserable end,
And always keep a-hold of Nurse
For fear of finding something worse.

*  *  *  *

Today’s Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by children’s librarian Amy Planchak Graves at ayuddah.net. Thank you, Amy!

By the way, don’t miss Sherry’s National Poetry Month round-up at her blog Semicolon.

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3 Responses

  1. Good words about poetry as a spoken art form. So true! Is that why I often tear up when I hear my children recite?

  2. Happy poetry!
    Although clearly your Laura did herself proud, it seems to me she missed a bet by not pairing “Jim, Who Ran Away From His Nurse and Was Eaten By A Lion” with Maurice Sendak’s “Pierre.”

  3. Janet, so true about the tearing up! I do it when they sing, too…

    Nozomi, don’t forget the granddaddy of all cautionary tales, old Struwwelpeter. I still have my old, terrifying German copy around here sometimes, and well recall the story of poor Pauline and the matches (one reason I *still* don’t like to use them!). She did indeed do herself proud and us, too, even without the awards on Monday (and two more big overall ones to come on Sunday, shhhh!). Her choices were based on what the provincial syllabus requires as well as the fact that adjudicators want to see two fairly different pieces. The other factor is that I’ve found my kids do far, far better jobs with their recitations when they’re allowed to make their own selections.

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