POETRY ~ "And Spring arose on the garden fair..." ~ By: Percy Bysshe Shelley

"And Spring arose on the garden fair,

Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;

And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast

rose from the dreams of its wintry rest."

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

POETRY & A QUESTION ~ "The Aliens Have Landed" ~ By: Kenn Nesbitt

THE ALIENS HAVE LANDED!

The aliens have landed!
It's distressing, but they're here.
They piloted their flying saucer
through our atmosphere.

They landed like a meteor
engulfed in smoke and flame.
Then out they climbed immersed in slime
and burbled as they came.

Their hands are greasy tentacles.
Their heads are weird machines.
Their bodies look like cauliflower
and smell like dead sardines.

Their blood is liquid helium.
Their eyes are made of granite.
Their breath exudes the stench of foods
from some unearthly planet.

And if you want to see these
sickly, unattractive creatures,
you'll find them working in your school;
they all got jobs as teachers!

                                                      --Kenn Nesbitt

***

Adam Revet, a young fellow in Class #9630 - Individual Verse, 10 and Under, recited this poem in the Battlefords Kiwanis Music Festival.  We happened to be there that afternoon, waiting for Alisdair's turn on stage, when Revet presented his recitation to the adjudicator. The boy also performed it again at the Gala Concert Friday evening, in Logie Hall at Third Avenue United Church.

***

On Saturday morning, the Saskatoon Star Phoenix had a large full colour photograph of Prime Minister Stephen Harper on the front page.  He had been campaigning in Saskatoon on Friday and coverage of the local event, got Alisdair thinking.

"Mum," he asked.  "You know how they say that if an alien landed he would say to you, 'Take me to your leader?' "

"Yes, " I said.

"Well, if you did come into contact with an alien and they asked you that question, who would you take him to see? Your Member of Parliament? The Prime Minister? Or the guy that runs the Province?"

"You mean Premier Brad Wall?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's him!"

I had to admit, I had never given that question any thought, and I wasn't sure what I would actually do if the unlikely situation arose.  Later, Alisdair was taking the paper to one of the houses on his route.  "Hey, there is another leader you could take the alien to visit," I told him.

"You're right," Alisdair said.  "I could also take him to see the Mayor of the Village of Neilburg!"

Later, when we returned home, Alisdair contacted three of his grandparents and asked them who they would visit with their newfound friend, Mr. Alien.  He got a variety of answers.

And so, dear reader,  we pose the question ~ "Who do you think the Alien should meet? A local leader?  A provincial or state representative?  A federal or national figure? Perhaps a reigning Monarch?  Or some other powerful political person?

... "Take us to your thoughts!"  We look forward to your comments.

SPEECH ARTS ~ Alisdair Wins A Scholarship!

I was out at choir practice tonight.  While I was gone, Alisdair got an exciting phone call.  Cathy Richardson, one of the ladies on the "Battlefords Kiwanis Music Festival" board telephoned with some very good news!  He won some kind of scholarship for his Speech Arts performances!

When I got home, I called back for more details.  Mrs. Richardson didn't have the list in front of her, so she wasn't sure exactly what the prize was, (or what it was for), but she said Alisdair would have his name on a plaque and would be receiving a cheque.

In order to receive his prize, we need to attend the Gala Concert at 7 PM on Friday, April 15th at Third Avenue United Church in North Battleford.  There is a $5 charge for everyone who attends (except all prize winners get in free).  After the gala concert (where selected people perform their pieces once again) Alisdair will be called to the stage to accept his prize.

He doesn't have to perform any of his pieces, but it's so encouraging to be singled out for recognition.  At this rate, I'm sure he'll be willing to participate again next year!

Blessings abound ... and surprises continue to pop out from behind the corner every now and again...  Not too shabby for a first time performer.  Good job, Alisdair!!

SPEECH ARTS ~ "Lord Ullin's Daughter" ~ By: Thomas Campbell ~ 87%

An old illustrated copy of the

first stanza of the poem

"Lord Ullin's Daughter"

Friday, April 1st was a busy day ... Alisdair was involved in the Sacred Reading category of the Battlefords Kiwanis Music Festival at 9 a.m.  Grandma and Grandpa had kept him overnight and they took him to the venue and watched his performance.  Meanwhile, I was at home quickly delivering the Saskatoon Star Phoenix to Alisdair's subscribers, stacking up our overdue library books that needed to be returned in North Battleford (our branch is only open a few hours per week), getting Alisdair's swimming gear organized, packing bottles to return (to the depot) and clothes (destined for the "Mennonite Community Closet") in the car, all the while repeating stanzas from the poem "Lord Ullin's Daughter" over and over in my head... 

This was no "April Fool's" joke... I didn't think it was fair to make Alisdair memorize a poem without being willing to do the same myself, and so when I handed in Alisdair's registration forms, I signed myself up too.  It all seemed logical back in January but when "doomsday" was suddenly upon us, I wondered why I willingly got myself into this!  I was quite tempted to back out but I kept repeating the words to the poem as I drove all the way to North Battleford.  I am sure it was a bit like torture for Isobel, who was strapped into her seatbelt in the back seat and couldn't escape the strains of my voice!

Alisdair finished reciting his poem only a few minutes before his first set of swimming lessons with the Battlefords Homeschool Association were about to begin.  There were still several other performers to recite before my turn would come at the front of the sanctuary.  Grandma to the rescue!  She took Alisdair to the pool while I waited.

Finally, it was my turn.  I got up and announced the title, "Lord Ullin's Daughter" and the author, "Thomas Campbell."

Thomas Campbell
July 27, 1777 - June 15, 1844

And then I focused on the pretty spring green stained glass windows as I stared out over the sparsely populated pews and plunged in...

"A chieftain to the Highlands bound cries boatman do not tarry...

Once, the adjudicator prompted softly as I stumbled and repeated, "The boat, the boat..."  She provided the phrase "has left a stormy land" and I was off again... but very relieved when Lord Ullin was left lamenting and I could bow and sit down in the front pew to await adjudication.

In the end, Phyllis Thomsen (the adjudicator) gave me a mark of 87% and "first in the class" (as I was the only adult entered!)  Her remarks included advice on the rhyming of the words "t a rry and f e rry" as well as the following:

"Some very fine work here.  You knew the poem well, actually and were able to express the pain, loss and regret with understanding.  Try always to feel the conversational aspects, the onward flow of the story.  Thank you for the care you took to prepare and present this poem for us."

The illustration for the final stanza where
Lord Ullin was  "left lamenting."

While researching "Lord Ullin's Daughter," I came across an interesting painting by Kate Underwood.  It was inspired by Campbell's poem.  She describes it as follows:

"June 2007. Largish canvas......acrylics...Scary picture! This is about control......& remorse.

I was working at my charity shop, & I found a book of British traditional poetry.......& on the bus journey home, it fell open at an old Scottish ballad , [the first page, as though meant!] so, by chance ... so I read it.......& it inspired me to paint this!"
(Kate Underwood's Flickr page can be found here.)



My Certificate



POETRY ~ Adventures of Isabel ~ By: Ogden Nash

Flipping through "The Random House Book of Poetry for Children:  A Treasury of 572 Poems for Today's Child," my attention was drawn to a poem by Ogden Nash.  Although the name "Isabel" is spelled slightly different than our own "Isobel," she especially enjoyed having this poem read to her! 

Ogden Nash
1902-1971

Adventures of Isabel

Isabel met an enormous bear,

Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;

The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,

The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.

The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,

How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!

Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.

Isabel didn't scream or scurry.

She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,

Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.

Once in a night as black as pitch

Isabel met a wicked old witch.

the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,

The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.

Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,

I'll turn you into an ugly toad!

Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,

Isabel didn't scream or scurry,

She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,

But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.

Isabel met a hideous giant,

Isabel continued self reliant.

The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,

He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.

Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,

I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.

Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,

Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.

She nibbled the zwieback that she always fed off,

And when it was gone, she cut the giant’s head off.

Isabel met a troublesome doctor,

He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.

The doctor’s talk was of coughs and chills

And the doctor’s satchel bulged with pills.

The doctor said unto Isabel,

Swallow this, it will make you well.

Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,

Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.

She took those pills from the pill concocter,

And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.

                                      ~ Ogden Nash

SPEECH ARTS: POETRY ~ "Lord Ullin's Daughter" ~ By: Thomas Campbell



"Lord Ullin's Daughter"
By:  Albert Pinkham Ryder
(1847-1917)
American

It's confession time... I'm starting to panic as its only a few days away... and I have eight more stanzas to commit to memory!

Have you ever signed up (or agreed to do something) several weeks or months in advance, and then procrastinated about preparations for the event? Well, that's what Alisdair and I are "up against" at the moment!

It all started back in January when I saw the advertising for the "Battlefords Kiwanis Music Festival" and decided that we should participate... The necessary forms were completed and handed in on Saturday, January 22nd, with the accompanying $12 fee per entry.

On the way home from North Battleford that winter evening, we encountered some troubles and ended up in the ditch. We were towed out and the car was brought back to the house but it needed costly repairs [a new power steering pump], which only just recently were completed.

Meanwhile, "the breadwinner" lost his job (the boss decided to go out-of-business) and he eventually found another.  I signed up for the "Ladies Choir" that will sing at church on Good Friday and Easter Sunday ... and with it, was required to attend the regular choir practice every Wednesday evening. And all that was on top of regular "day-to-day" living -- with meals and laundry, parent/teacher interviews, ballet lessons to go to, books to read and homeschooling exercises to complete. Now, the procrastination has officially ended and panic has set in!

Alisdair is doing remarkably well, learning to recite his poem for the Festival (Sir Smasham Uppe, By: E. V. Rieu). [See post from Thursday, January 27th for the full text]. He is very expressive and seems to have a photographic memory. He's even managed to recite his piece over the telephone for Grandma (with only a little prompting in a few places.) With a bit of polishing, he'll do fine.

But I'm not so sure about my own mental abilities. As I was stumbling around, the other day, repeating the lines of my own poem, for the Festival, I wondered aloud why Alisdair was finding the memorization so much easier. He laughed and informed me it was because "My brain is so much older!" I'm willing to concede there might be some truth to that, but it doesn't help my memorization efforts (or my self-confidence) Thanks, son!

In reality, I challenged myself to this task because it didn't seem fair to make Alisdair memorize a poem and then ask him to perform it, if I wasn't willing to do the same myself.

I chose the poem "Lord Ullin's Daughter" by Thomas Campbell [1777 -1844: Glasgow, Scotland] because of the ties between my family heritage and the Isle of Ulva. This tiny island, just of the coast of Mull, was once owned, for several generations, by my ancestors. I've been to Ulva, on at least two occasions, and have taken the small "ferry" across the sound. On one of these, the water was rather choppy and when someone in the boat commented on this fact, the boatman chuckled and said, "You remember 'Lord Ullin's Daughter?' " - which indeed we did! And so I'm frantically memorizing while waiting in the car, while ballet lesson is in progress, or repeating lines to myself while washing dishes...

The afternoon of Friday, April 1st will soon be upon us. It will find Alisdair and I (and a host of others) in the sanctuary at Third Avenue United Church in North Battleford as we participate in the Speech Arts section of the Festival. The coil-bound official schedule has been printed and although it is daunting to see my name therein (Page 39 - 10,970A Individual Verse, Adult, Open, Own Choice), we will both attempt to do our best to say, like "the hardy Highland wight, `I'll go, my chief--I'm ready!" I don't want to be "left lamenting" when the Festival is over.

Lord Ullin's Daughter

A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, ``Boatman, do not tarry!

And I'll give thee a silver pound

To row us o'er the ferry!''--

``Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water?''

``O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.--

``And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together,

For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

``His horsemen hard behind us ride;

Should they our steps discover,

Then who will cheer my bonny bride

When they have slain her lover?''--

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,--

``I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:--

It is not for your silver bright;

But for your winsome lady:

``And by my word! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;

So, though the waves are raging white,

I'll row you o'er the ferry.''--

By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer,

Adown the glen rode armèd men,

Their trampling sounded nearer.--

``O haste thee, haste!'' the lady cries,

``Though tempests round us gather;

I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father.''--

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,--

When, O! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,--

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd through storm and shade,

His child he did discover:--

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.

``Come back! come back!'' he cried in grief

``Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!--O my daughter!''

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

     ~Thomas Campbell



Lord Ullin's Daughter from a long ago publication...

POEM ~ Martin Luther King ~ By: Myra Cohn Livingston



Image from timmilburn.com

 Reorganizing the "library box" today, I took a moment to leaf through "The Random House Book of Poetry for Children:  A Treasury of 572 Poems for Today's Child."   A poem titled "Martin Luther King" caught my eye:

Martin Luther King

Got me a special place

For Martin Luther King,

His picture on the wall

Makes me sing.

I look at it for a long time

And think of some

Real good ways

We will overcome.

   ~ Myra Colin Livingston

For many thought provoking quotes by Dr. King, check out Tim Milburn's website and his post titled "Martin Luther King Jr. Said...."  It was originally posted for Martin Luther King Day in 2010.

Encouragement ~ An Apple For The Teacher....

Photo ~ communities.canada.com

Sorting through a stack of papers today, I came across a little rectangle of bright red paper with a four line poem printed on it.  When I saw it, I remembered the encouragement the words had been to me, back at the beginning of the school year.

Written on the paper, in extra large letters were these words:

An Apple for the teacher

Is really nothing new

Except when you remember

Parents are teachers too!

To complete the theme, the slip of paper was inside a plastic sandwich baggie, with (of course) a big red apple!  Ms. Weekes, Isobel's Kindergarten teacher (who has recently become Mrs. Winsor!), kindly gave one of these to each parent of her new students.

I was especially touched because, although I realized that the words were true for everyone (and each of our youngsters had developed and learned many things since birth), ~ they were even more appropriate for me.  I was taking on the role as Alisdair's full-time teacher and, at the time, I didn't fully comprehend the magnitude of that responsibility!

Although the paper can be put into the recycling box, the vital encouragement it gave will remain with me in the days and weeks to come.

Perhaps you know a homeschooling Mum that might need a boost.  Maybe this poem and a crunchy apple is just the encouragement the Doctor ordered! 

RHYMES - "Noah's Ark Game" ~ The Phoenix and the Carpet

Three lovely little poems for small children appear in "The Phoenix and the Carpet" on pages 32 and 33.  They are part of a "Noah's Ark" game that I have never heard of before.  I don't know if this is an old fashioned British game, for young children, or if it is something that came solely from Edith Nesbit's own imagination.  She wrote:

"You can always keep the Lamb good and happy for quite a long time if you play the Noah's Ark game with him. It is quite simple. He just sits on your lap and tells you what animal he is, and then you say the little poetry piece about whatever animal he chooses to be.  Of course, some of the animals, like the zebra and the tiger, haven't got any poetry, because they are so difficult to rhyme to. The Lamb knows quite well which are the poetry animals.

'I'm a baby bear!' said the Lamb, snugging down; and Anthea began:

'I love my little baby bear,
I love his nose and toes and hair;
I like to hold him in my arm,
And keep him VERY safe and warm.'

And when she said 'very', of course there was a real bear's hug.


Then came the eel, and the Lamb was tickled till he wriggled exactly like a real one:

'I love my little baby eel,
He is so squidglety to feel;
He'll be an eel when he is big -
But now he's just - a - tiny SNIG!'

Perhaps you didn't know that a snig was a baby eel? It is, though, and the Lamb knew it. 'Hedgehog now-!' he said; and Anthea went on:

A Hedgehog

'My baby hedgehog, how I like ye,
Though your back's so prickly-spiky;
Your front is very soft, I've found,
So I must love you front ways round!'

And then she loved him front ways round, while he squealed with pleasure.

It is a very baby game, and, of course, the rhymes are only meant for very, very small people - not for people who are old enough to read books, so I won't tell you any more of them.

By the time the Lamb had been a baby lion and a baby weasel, and a baby rabbit and a baby rat, mother was ready; and she and the Lamb, having been kissed by everybody and hugged as thoroughly as it is possible to be when you're dressed for out-of-doors, were seen to the tram by the boys."

I, for one, wish Nesbit HAD told her readers a few more of these delightful poems!

POEM - Dedication to "The Phoenix and the Carpet"

Just one Chapter left in "Five Children and It,"
 so will probably start this one today....

Not sure why I like these little poems on the dedication pages of Edith Nesbit's books, but I do!

"The Phoenix and the Carpet" is dedicated to her "dear godson, Hubert Griffith and his sister, Margaret" and the poem is as follows:

Dear Hubert, if I ever found

A wishing carpet lying round,

I'd stand upon it, and I'd say

"Take me to Hubert, right away!"

And then we'd travel very far

To where the magic countries are

That you and I will never see,

And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me.

But oh!  alack! and well-a-day!

No wishing carpets come my way.

I never found a Phoenix yet,

And Psammeads are so hard to get!

So I can give you nothing fine

Only this book, your book and mine,

And hers, whose name by yours is set;

Your book, my book, the book of Margaret!

DYMCHURCH
September 1904

POEM - Dedication to "Five Children and It"

Mothers, the world over, lament their children are growing up too quickly.  The same, no doubt, rang true for the author, E. Nesbit as observed on the flyleaf of "Five Children and It."  The book, first published in 1902,  is dedicated to JOHN BLAND, who most likely was her son (Edith Nesbit was married to a Hubert Bland and she had a "growing family").  With Isobel already in Kindergarten and learning her letters, I can concur with the sentiments in this poem:

My Lamb, you are so very small,

You have not learned to read at all.

Yet never a printed book withstands

The urgence of your dimpled hands.

So, though this book is for yourself,

Let mother keep it on the shelf

Till you can read. O days that pass,

That day will come too soon, alas!

Alisdair and I began reading "Five Children and It" on Tuesday afternoon and we are almost finished already ~ just two chapters left! And then it is on to "The Phoenix and the Carpet" ~ so many exciting adventures, we can't help reading onward to find out what will happen next!

POETRY - The Bastables - "Secret Oath"

Alisdair and I are almost finished reading "The Bastables" by E. Nesbit (just two chapters to go.)  I had to smile at a little poem on Page 279 in the chapter called "Hunting the Fox."  It reminded me of a made-up ritual my brother and I used to do - shaking hands while jumping up and down and saying (too loudly at times, as our parents overheard us, on at least one occasion) - "I won't tell if you won't tell"  The secret oath the Bastable children used sounds so much more official!

They said:

I will not tell, I will not reveal,
I will not touch, or try to steal;
And may I be called a beastly sneak,
If this great secret I ever repeat.

POEM - "When Santa Claus Was Ill"

Father Christmas

The Lloydminster Homeschool Association is hosting a Christmas Showcase during the afternoon of Sunday, December 5th, at the Lloydminster Gospel Fellowship (LGF) church.  Each student has been given the opportunity to make a 4-minute presentation as part of the program.  Our homeschoolers can also either display some of the items they have been working on, or enter a science fair type project.  Alisdair hasn't been sure what he wanted to present - A speech?  A song? Or maybe a poem?

I was searching online for ideas, and came across this poem in a book called "Christmas Selections for Readings and Recitations," complied by Rosamond Livingstone McNaught.  The book was online (in its entirety) and is part of the collection of the University of California at Los Angeles.  Its contents are copyright 1906 but the frontspiece gives the date 1911.  The printer was "The Penn Publishing Co."

Although it is too long to memorize, I thought it might be appropriate - we would just have to change "Fourth of July" to "First of July" to Canadianize the poem.  And, as I said to Alisdair, with a selection that old, we are guaranteed that no one else will be doing the same piece!

When Santa Claus Was Ill 

Old Father Time, on Christmas Eve,

Said anxiously, "I do believe

That Father Christmas will be late,

He ought to start, it's half-past eight

At midnight he is due on earth,

He'll have to rush for all he's worth,

It is a shame, upon my word!" --

Just then the telephone was heard.

"Hello," said Time.  "Hello, who's this?"

"A messenger from Father Kris,

He has a bad attack of gout

And won't be able to go out,

And so he hopes you can supply

A substitute for him.  Good-bye."

"I feared that this would come to pass,

For Father Christmas has grown old

And cannot stand the frost and cold.

But to the waiting human race

I must send some one in his place,

I'd go myself if 'twas not now

My busiest day, I don't see how

I can be spared, 'tis almost nine."

Ting-ting!  "Hello, St. Valentine!"

"Who's this?"  "I'm Time."  "Hello, hello,

Christmas is ill, so can't you go

And take his place on earth to-night?

You're just about his size and height,

The difference none would ever know,

Come, hurry up, old chap, and go."

"I can't," St. Valentine replied,

"I've caught a cold, and then beside

I'm very busy writing lines

And making up my Valentines.

I'm sorry, Father Time, but I

Can't go, get some one else.  Good-bye."

Then Father Time was very vexed,

First of July he called up next,

But that young urchin laughed in glee,

And said, "No Christmases for me:

Too well my face each youngster knows,

Besides, I have no winter clothes."

"I'll go," the little New Year said,

Time patted the small curly head,

And kindly said, "No boy, not so,

But next week, Sunday, you may go."

And just then April Fool came by

With mischief in his twinkling eye,

He heard the trouble, and said he,

"Why Father Time, I'll go, send me,

I know the customs of old Yule,

I'll wear a long white beard and wig,

And make myself look old and big,

And do the best I can for you."

As there was nothing else to do

Old Time was forced to give consent,

And to the April Fool he lent

Old Father Christmas' robe and cap.

Arrayed in these the merry chap

Was sure he'd fool the wisest folk.

And went off chuckling at the joke.

He reached the earth just at the time

The bells rang out their midnight chime,

And through the whole of Christmas Day

That tricky April Fool held sway.

He thought up all that he could plan

To tease the heart of mortal man.

Instead of snow and frost and storm

The weather was quite mild and warm,

The fields were gay with budding flowers,

The clouds gave hints of April showers,

Instead of Christmas songs all day

They heard the street hand-organs play,

The children who had hoped to see

A Spruce or Hemlock Christmas Tree

Discovered in the best front room

A Peach or Cherry Tree in bloom.

Even the candies were no good,

Just cotton, wool or bits of wood,

And somehow no one thought it droll

To find salt in the sugar bowl.

He mixed up all the children's toys,

Gave drums to girls and dolls to boys,

He gave the ladies pipes and canes,

And to the men, fans and gold chains,

Gave specks to babies in long frocks,

And to their grandpas, building blocks,

Until each woman, man and child

With indignation went quite wild,

But never did they know or guess

Why Christmas wasn't a success.

And mischief-loving April Fool

Laughed at the topsy-turvy Yule.

Unfortunately, the author of this imaginative poem is not given.