A Kick in the Head: An everyday guide to poetic forms

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A Kick in the Head:
An everyday guide to poetic forms
Selected by Paul B Janeczko
Illustrated by Chris Raschka
Published by Candlewick Press
Ages: 8+

Do you know what a couplet is? A quatrain? A haiku? A sonnet? A limerick? A ballad? An elegy? An ode? You do? Great!

Now, do you know what a clerihew is? A roundel? A triolet? A villanelle? A senryu? An aubade? An acrostic? A pantoum? A cinquain? No? Do all those words sound as if they were a set of carpenter's / goldsmith's tools? Or some kind of flowers or herbs? (That is what A thought they were.) Well, they're not. They're forms of poetry, which follow certain rules.

Let's take a senryu, for example. Our book explains a senryu thus: "I like to call senryu a 'haiku with an attitude.' A senryu follows the same pattern as a haiku -- three lines of 5-7-5 syllables -- but it is about human nature rather than the natural world around us."

Intrigued? Let's take the senryu in our book to illustrate the point.

First day, new school year,
backpack harbours a fossil...
last June's cheese sandwich.

Or let's take an acrostic- one of the simplest way for a child to write poetry. "Descriptive poems- when read downward, the first letter of each line must form a word or phrase, usually the subject of the poem." It is a form that any enterprising child can experiment with, using any word that they may. Even their own or their friends' names. And it can be so much fun!

Santa Claus will come out tonight
And deliver presents
Near the
Time of midnight you can hear him
And what you will hear are the words ho ho ho

OR

Father
And
Mother
I
Love
You!

All these poetic forms have certain rules that have to be followed, for them to fit in the particular category. Doesn't that make it more difficult in a way? Why not write in free verse?

Free verse does have its merits, especially in modern poetry, which often is an unfettered expression of thought and feelings, a way of writing prose with a cadence, if you may.

Having specific rules for poetry does make it that much more fun to write, though, as well as making it fun to enjoy and appreciate it. As Paul Janeczko explains in his foreword, "Knowing the rules makes poetry -- like sports -- more fun, for players and spectators alike."

Beautifully illustrated in quirky watercolours by Chris Raschka, the book can be read as a picture book for younger children too, as the lilt and rhythm will appeal to the little ones too. Older children can appreciate the poems better, the form, the themes and the beauty of them. High school kids? The details of each poetry form will make much sense to the student with a literary bent of mind. Adults too can take a lot away from the book. Great for learning a particular form at a time, researching it, dabbling in it. Or just to keep it on the shelf to dip into a bit of poetic joy from time to time!

Acrostics, opposites, riddles, limericks, tanka, haiku...A and I have tried our hand a little bit at each. Here's a site which makes it easy for children. Why don't you try it?

A multiple award winning book, this is a poetry anthology with a difference. A must read for anyone appreciative of fine poetry.

I will be entering this book for the Reading the World Challenge over at Papertigers for A, under US of A, poetry.

Review: A Poem for CRY

Pic courtesy infibeam

A Poem for CRY
Favourite poems of famous Indians
Compiled and edited by Avanti Maluste and Sudeep Doshi
Published by Viking: Penguin Group
Foreword by Amartya Sen

I borrowed this book from a friend. A perfect book for dipping into. A perfect book for a rainy day. Thanks P!

Human emotion can be a tricky thing. At once overwhelming and finely nuanced, it is a slippery being. It becomes difficult, sometimes impossible, to express what one wants to say, what one is feeling. Sometimes one does not want to express one's feelings, but just clarify, validate, what something nebulous that one feels is. Sometmes one is in search of that perfect punch line that is just there...at the tip of one's tongue, but elusive.

Poetry is the refuge of all such souls. Sometimes a few lines express so well what one has not even admitted to oneself that it makes us wonder - how did the poet know so well? And then one has one's favourite poet, favourite poems.

Amartya Sen says in his foreword - "If one can find the right poem, quoting someone else can be as much an expression of one's deeper self as anything one can write oneself. This is a remarkable collection not only for the beauty and reach of the poems themselves, but also for what it tells us about many people who have been active in one walk of life or another, since the selections allow us to have a quick peek into their minds." 

A Poem for Cry is an anthology of favourite poems by what sounds like the Who's Who of India. Adi Godrej, Rahul Dravid, Gulzar, Sachin Tendulkar, Jyotiraditya Scindia, Indira Hinduja, Anjolie Ela Menon, Sri Sri Ravishankar, Nandan Nilekani, Aparna Sen, Kiran Bedi, Shah Rukh Khan, Amartya Sen, Lata Mangeshkar, Tarun Tahliani, Vikram Seth, Zubin Mehta, Jayant Narlikar, Kiran Majumdar Shaw, Dom Moraes, Rahul Bajaj, Amitabh Bachchan, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Medha Patkar, Mulk Raj Anand, Derek O'Brien, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Justice Y. V. Chandrachud, Fareed Zakaria, Sonia Gandhi, Shyam Benegal, Pandit Ravi Shankar, Azim Premji ... You get the picture?

Some of the poems in this anthology?

Daffodils by William Wordsworth. Mulk Raj Anand, Vishwanathan Anand. Karan Johar.
If (If you can keep your head when all about you) by Rudyard Kipling. Lord Bagri. Farzana Contractor. Rahul Dravid. Adi Godrej. Parameshwar Godrej.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. Manvinder Singh Banga. Harsh Goenka. Uday Kotak. Azim Premji.
Epitaph on a Tyrant by W.H.Auden. Shyam Benegal.
Footprints In The Sand by Mary Stevenson.  Dr Indira Hinduja. Jyotiraditya Scindia.
Abraham Lincoln's letter to his son's teacher. Shah Rukh Khan.
And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. Malavika Sangghvi.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning. Naseeruddin Shah.
Speak Gently by David Bates. Brinda Somaya.
Where The Mind Is Without Fear by Rabindranath Tagore. Tariq Ansari. Rahul Bajaj. Nana Chudasama. Aamir Khan. Anand Patwardhan. Aruna Roy. Prannoy Roy. Mallika Sarabhai. Viren Shah. Kiran Majumdar Shaw. Kavitha Krishnamurthy Subramaniam.

And many more.

The anthology does not limit itself to poems from English. There are poems in Hindi, Marathi, Urdu, Gujarati, Bangla, Tamil, Sanskrit. I was thrilled to find the Gayatri Mantra recommended by Nandan Nilekani. These poems are printed in the original followed by an English translation.

Quite a few poems were not known to me, as were a few poets. Some intrigued me enough for me to do a search for more poetry by that poet. A learning experience.

For A too. I read Abraham Lincoln's letter to his son's teacher to her, and I could sense her paying very close attention. Why? Let me reproduce the poem here.

He will have to learn, I know
that all men are not just,
all men are not true.
But teach him also that
for ever scoundrel there is a hero;
that for every selfish politician,
there is a dedicated leader.
Teach him that for every enemy there is a friend.
Teach him to learn to lose...
and also to enjoy winning.
It will take time, I know;
but teach him, if you can,
that a dollar earned is of far more value
than five found...
Steer him away from envy,
if you can,
teach him the secret of
quiet laughter.
Let him learn early that
the bullies are the easiest to lick...
Teach him, if you can,
the wonder of books...
But also give him quiet time
to ponder over the eternal mystery of birds in the sky,
bees in the sun,
and flowers on a green hillside.
In school teach him
it is far more honourable to fail
than to cheat...
Teach him to have faith
in his own ideas,
even if every one tells him
they are wrong...
Teach him to be gentle
with gentle people,
and tough with the tough.
Try to give my son
the strength not to follow the crowd
when every one is getting on the bandwagon.
Teach him to listen to all men...
but teach him also to filter
all he hears on a screen of truth,
and take only the good
that comes through.
Teach him, if you can,
how to laugh when he is sad...
Teach him there is no shame in tears,
Teach him to scoff at cynics
and to beware of too much sweetness...
Teach him to sell his brawn
and brain to the highest bidders
but never to put a price tag
on his heart and soul.
Teach him to close his ears
to a howling mob
and to stand and fight
if he thinks he’s right.
Treat him gently;
but do not cuddle him,
because only the test of fire
makes fine steel.
Let him have the courage
to be impatient...
let him have the patience to be brave.
Teach him always
to have sublime faith in himself,
because then he will always have
sublime faith in mankind.
This is a big order;
but see what you can do...
He is such a fine little fellow,
my son!

As are our daughters! A was listening wide-eyed, and smiling as I ended it. As soon as I finished reading it, she got up and hugged me tight. Probably recognising the love behind all the scoldings I seem to be giving her currently. Pre-teens!

This is certainly a book I'll want to buy for my own collection. The copyright is held by CRY :Child Rights and You. All profits will go to them.

Crossposted at Bookreviews.

I am entering this book for the 2011 South Asian Challenge and the Reading the World Challenge 2011 at Papertigers. India. Non-fiction. Poetry. 

More of my grandmother's songs.

What else do I remember of my grandmother's songs? As a response to Tulika books' Blogathon 4 I wrote a quickie post with a few songs that came to my mind immediately. It triggered off an avalanche of many such memorable songs from my childhood, and I would love to share those too. Mindful Meanderer reminded me of this one in her comments. Loosely translated, it speaks of the gold and silver jewellery worn by the baby and ends by putting a 'kala-tikka' on the baby to ward off the 'evil eye.'
Adgula madgula
Sonyacha kadbola
Rupyacha vala
Sonya bala
Teet lav

Sometimes when I got annoyed with my grandmother and went and sat in the corner- a self imposed timeout of sorts- she would sing
Rusu bai rusu
Annoyed little girl
Kopryat basu
Sitting in a corner
Tikdun ala___ (insert name of someone I liked)
Someone__ has come here
Khudkan hasu!
Suddenly you laugh!

Girls played a lot more with dolls in those days. OK, there was no Barbie (I'm talking about mid-70s to mid-80s. I suppose a childhood around that time makes me ancient. Never mind.) and no teddy bears to speak of. We had well-loved rag dolls, and would celebrate doll weddings if anyone among friends had a boy-doll. Hmmm...nostalgia. But I digress. Back to the topic at hand. This is a song we sang to our dolls. Now A, my daughter, has well-loved dolls, and this is one she loves.
Ya bai ya
Come O you girls
Bagha bagha kashi mazhi basali baya
See how my little one is sitting
Iku na yete
She cannot hear 
Bagha bagha kashi mazhi soni baghate
See how my lovely one looks at me.

All children are fascinated by the moon. We were too. My grandmother sang this one for us.
Chandoba chandoba bhagalas ka?
Moon, moon, are you tired?
Limbonichya zhadamage lapalas ka?
Why are you hiding behind the neem tree?
Limbonicha zhaad karavandi
The neem tree is heavy with fruit
Mamacha wada chirebandi
My mama's (maternal uncle) house is strong and big
Mamachya wadyat yeun ja
Come to my mama's house
Tooproti khaun ja
Eat ghee and roti
Toopat padli mashi
Oh! there is a fly in the ghee
Chandomama rahila upashi!
The moon has remained hungry!
This song was followed by a lot of gleeful clapping. Why we were amused by the moon remaining hungry is something my adult self does not understand.

The maternal uncle's home is associated with a lot of fun. Even while addressing the Mama, we say "Tu" which is different from the "Tumhi" used for the paternal uncle. Somehow the use of "Tu" is for someone who is emotionally closer. A song for going to the mama's house-
Zuk zuk zuk zuk ageen gaadi
Dhuranchya resha havet kadhi 
Palti zade pahuya
Mamachya gawala jauya
Mama motha talewar
Reshim gheyi hazar war
(something...something)
Mamachi bayako sugrana
Roj roj poli shikarana
Gulabjam khau ya
Mamachya gawala jauya
This song is about going to mama's house or "Ajol" as it is called in marathi. It sings the praises of the mama and of the mami's (aunt's) culinary skills. Shikarana poli is roti eaten with a mash of ripe banana with milk and sugar- a delicacy for a small child.

Then there were the songs we sang in the monsoon. Maharashtra is originally a region of farmers, and it is quite recently that it has become (in)famous for other things. This song invites the rains to come and promise it some money.(as bribe?) But the song tells us that the rain does not like the bribe and only comes down when the paisa is not a real one. The song is from those days when one paisa was a large amount. Juxtapose this with the "Rain rain go away", which is not from a primarily agrarian society.
Ye re Ye re pausa
Tula deto paisa
Paisa zala khota
Paus ala motha
Ye ga Ye ga sari
Mazhe madke bhari
Sar ali dhun
Madke gele vahun!

Then there was a game in which we ran amok- I forget the actual game- and sang
Dongrala aag lagli
Pala re pala
Something along the lines of 'Fire on the mountain.'

And the game we girls played along the lines of 'Oranges and lemons' And sang
Chincha limbu paishya paishyala
Shaletlya mooli alya kashala
Khaun khaun khokla zala
Mamachya wadyat chor shirla
And the 'chor' who was caught was out.

Then here is something all mumbaikars will recognise. It is something we say as the idols of Ganesha are immersed at the end of the festival.
Ganapati bappa morya
Pudhchya varshi lavakar ya
Ganapati challe gavala
Chain padena amhala

There are so many more I could go on and on. There were the prayers my grandmother taught me. We would come home in the evening at the time the lights would come on "Divelagani" in marathi. Then we would say the "Shubhang Karoti", "Ram-raksha" and other shlokas. These are too long and many to write about here. Maybe another post sometime. I try to teach A whatever I can. A lot of it has been eclipsed by other, more pressing things like homework and after-school classes, and so many other trappings of our current existence. I would like to thank Tulika books for triggering off this line of thought. And I would like to end the post with a favourite of my grandmother's, a verse by the celebrated marathi poetess who was born in 1880, Bahinabai Chaudhari who has written some very down-to-earth and heartfelt poetry.
Are Saunsaar saunsaar
Jasa Tawa Chulyhawar
Aadhi Hatala Chatake
Teva Milate Bhakar  

Loosely translated- The world is like a pan on the fire. Only if we can take the heat on our hand, can we get the bread-bhakar

My grandmother's songs

Tulika books keep challenging us bloggers with new topics to blog about. Blogathon 4 is here. Let me see what I can make of it.

When my brothers and I were growing up, my maternal grandmother lived with us. My parents both worked, and we came home usually to a grandmother who welcomed us with her yummy food. Most of my memories of TLC are to do with her.

Aaji (grandmother in Marathi) was a very intelligent and well-read woman, inspite of not having had much schooling. She had been married at a tender age of 13, a common thing to happen in pre-independence India. She educated herself by reading all that she could get her hands on, and was a treasure trove of stories and songs. My early introduction to mythology has much to do with her. She knew a lot of songs that were sung by women as they went about their daily chores. Many songs are to do with mundane, everyday things like food, playing and sleeping.

I do not remember all the songs she sang to us, but some have remained, and I, in my turn, have sung them to my daughter. Here is one we sing to a baby, just able to sit on your lap, hold it's head up, and recognise birds and animals. The singer points with her finger at the baby's open palm--

Ithe ithe bus re moraa
Sit here O peacock
Bal ghaltay chaaraa
Baby's giving you food
Chaara kha, paani pi
Eat the food, drink water
Shetala ja,
Go to the field,
Shenga kha,
Eat the beans/corn
Balachya dokyavarun bhoor udun ja.
Fly over the baby's head and fly far away.

Another one, for a game- the singer and the baby clap one hand over the other in rhythm.

Aapdi thapdi
Gulachi papdi
Dhammaka laadu
Tel kadhu
Telangicha ekach haath
Dhar ga bala mazach kaan
Chyau mau
Patrvalicha paani piu
Handa paani gud-d-d-uppp!

Can't really translate this word-for-word. This is a sort of nonsense verse where we talk about food like the laadu- or laddu in Hindi- and gulachi papdi which is a kind of roti stuffed with jaggery. The song ends with drinking water- paani- from the handa or water-vessel, and both mother and singer enjoy the ending sound of gudupp, which translated loosely means finished/dissappeared. A song depicting finishing a satisfying meal in a way.

This was a song for a game played by at least two girls. The participants clap and give sort of both-hand-high-fives intermittently in time with the rhythm. Being women's songs, most of them featured girls. This game is played at one of those all-women events when we have pooja in the month of 'Shravan', and married women are visiting their parents' homes. Underlying the festive mood of the song and game is an undercurrent of the realisation that they can be so carefree only because they are in their 'maaher' or mother's home. "Laad sangu baapala" literally means that we can tell only our parent about the things that we enjoy. Things are changing now, but this still applies across a large feminine population in India, even today.

Zim pori zim
Kapalache bhing
Bhing gele phutun
Pori gelya rusun
Chal chal govinda yeto
Majavari gulaal phekito
Ya ya gullaalachya ya
Amchya venya zalya lal
Amchya venya mokalya
Soniyachya sakhalya
Ghadav ghadav re sonara
Soniyachya bilwara
Bilwarala khidkya
Amhi donhi bahini laadakya
Laad sangu baapala
Koni sangu aamhala

And here is a lullaby she sang to put us to sleep. It is a song from a 50s marathi movie, "Bala gau kashi aangai". Nimbonichya zadamage.  Not being a good enough singer, I only ever sang lullabies to A when only the two of us were together.