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Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Shrinklets--A way to summarize

My sister Robin is taking a class to renew her teacher's certification in Virginia. I'm working through it along with her. The teacher introduced her to the form called the shrinklet. A shrinklet helps you get at the key points of a piece of writing. For fiction, it might include the traditionals: setting, characters, plot, theme, and so on. For non-fiction, it might include key points, overall presentation, and purpose.

First, you write a short summary of what you read. Then you pick from the summary to write 5-6 rhyming couplets about the piece.

Robin challenged me to do a shrinklet of a book. First I chose Dr. Seuss's The Cat in the Hat, a favorite of mine that I have memorized visually and textually. Here it is:

The Cat in the Hat ShrinkletImage result for the cat in the hat book

The Summary
In The Cat in the Hat, a strange visitor enters the lives of two bored children who live in an ordinary house in an ordinary town. The Cat breaks all the rules the children have learned, leaving them both horrified and marvelously entertained. His cleanup crew, Thing 1 and Thing 2, take care of the mess with zany energy and machinery, just before mom gets home. Everything is as it was, except perhaps the imaginations of the children. Growth doesn’t come through sameness.

The Shrinklet
Ordinary house, ordinary town,
Ordinary kids, feeling a bit down.

In comes the Cat, the Cat in the Hat
He make dizzying disorder—how about that!

Mom’s on her way home, what will we do?
Cat has the answer, Thing 1 and Thing 2.

All is now clean, well-ordered, the same,
No sign at all that Cat in the Hat came.

But chaos once loosed set the kids free—
But we won’t tell Mom, we won’t, will we?

Tidy and ordinary is more than a bit of a bore.

Now that we know there’s so much-much-much more.

Robin liked it, but we both thought Seuss was a bit too easy, so to explore the shrinklet further, I did Austen's Pride and Prejudice, which I've read as many times as The Cat in the Hat. I realize the key feature I forgot to use was the absolute beauty of Austen's grammar and punctuation. I'll try to add a couplet about that.

Pride and Prejudice Shrinklet

He emerges from the pond and thereafter she admires his "house."
The Summary
Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. D’Arcy. Jane Bingley and Mr. Bingley. Lydia and Wickham. A tangled skein of misunderstandings, cross-purposes, lies believed to be truths, truths believed to be lies. And that terrible Mr. Collins. A cast of memorable characters well drawn. All around the getting of husbands and the traps and lures attendant thereupon. Jane Austen has the most superb punctuation and grammar of any author; it’s like reading art. Balls and stiff formality. Singing at the piano. I have read this book at least 10 times and continue to love it. The tension of wondering whether Elizabeth and D’Arcy would ever both be ready to love each other at the same time pulls the reader through. Oh, and that memorable scene when Elizabeth sees D’Arcy emerge from swimming the pond, his clothes all plastered to his well-formed body…and she then starts to compliment his marvelous "house." 

The Shrinklet
The class struggle imperils the romance,
Leading D’Arcy and Elizabeth a slow dance.

But after D’Arcy emerges magnificently from the pond
Elizabeth admires his "house," which goes far beyond

The love-sickliness of Bingley and Jane
And the calculations of Lydia, so vain.

Pride and prejudice both must give way
For true love to blossom and triumph o’er the day.

Hearts and minds in balance—it’s this
That guarantees Lizzie’s matrimonial bliss.

[added couplet]
Reading Austen is absolutely no chore.
Her grammar and punctuation are really top drawer.

Monday, May 18, 2015

Appalachian Reflections: I'm from...

I offer these two poems as a testament to my own Appalachian heritage. The first one was written recently as part of a class assignment on multigenre explorations. My sister is taking this class and we decided to do it together. The first poem was supposed to help us dig up key details from our pasts.

Image result for old quilts ocean wave


Where I’m From
By Joy Dickerson

I am from an old quilt stitched by a grandmother
            From pin-curls in front of Lawrence Welk
            And now from Spiker Hair gel
I am from an older home
            Repair-needing, well porched
            Well-settled on its foundation, in its yard, in its town
I’m from pink petunias
            From maple trees, seeds helicoptering down
I’m from singing and planning
            From Grandma Dickerson and Homer Burton
            And close-knit sisters
I’m from fear and anger
            “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” and
            “My little Dickie birds”
I’m from preposterous doctrine and an antique god with rapid mood swings
I’m from Appalachians who refugeed to Springfield, Ohio,
            Apple pie, string beans
I’m from the time Mom told Dad she wouldn’t go any further without a ring on her finger
            From driving the lawn mower up over a big rock (a capital offense)
            From family photos scattered now across miles, households, hearts
I’m from the music that spanned the lives of my grandparents, my parents, myself
            You Are My Sunshine, Your Cheatin’ Heart
            Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose
            I Am the Egg Man, I Am the Egg Man, goo-goo-ga-joob
            Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone
            Stayin’ Alive, Stayin’ Alive
            Beautiful Ohio, in Dreams again I’ll see
            Visions of what used to be.

The second poem, "I'm from Grandpa," was produced from a writing conference and was an exercise in character development. I selected my grandfather Homer Burton as the character and then, as instructed, brainstormed a myriad of details from my memories. When organized, they became a poem.

Image result for dahlias in tin can

I’m From… Grandpa

                                        By Joy E. Dickerson, April, 1999
                                                For Homer Wesley Burton, 1901-1976

I’m from…
            Jelly glasses painted with pansies
            Corn on the cob
            Hot dogs on white bread
            Mashed potatoes in a big brown crock

I’m from…
            Soap rough with pumice
            Sink stained with rust
            Potato peels in enamel pan tossed out to the chickens

I’m from…
            Cookie jar on kitchen table, reliably full
            Dahlias in tin cans
            Christmas candy in crystal dishes
            Big Chief tablet and a pencil of my own

I’m from…
            Gnarled trees humming with cicadas
            Buckeyes snarling the lawnmower
            Kittens born on smokehouse steps
            Black angus cow in bathroom window chewing cud while I peed

I’m from…
            You Are My Sunshine, Down in the Valley
            Your Cheatin’ Heart
Harmonicas, harmonies, and hymns

I’m from…
            McGuffey Readers and the King James Bible
            Murmured prayers at dawn    
Amazing Grace
            Just As I Am

I’m from…
One Sunday suit
Finding comfort in the words of Jesus
A better home a-waiting
            And a mansion with many rooms—even one for Grandpa


I’m from…
Castrating calves, baling hay
            Decapitating hens with an ax
            Manure-stained overalls, sweat-soaked shirts
            Sun-reddened forearms and neck, lily-white legs
Farm work that wouldn’t wait for guests

I’m from…
            Old rail fences
            Old red barn
                        Stairs and chutes ending nowhere
                        Sliding doors, screen doors
                        Half doors, trap doors
Gates, latches, hatches

I’m from…
            Farming someone else’s land
            Tending someone else’s stock
            Work horses broad as elephants
            Racehorses slim as reeds
            Black Angus and white Charolais
                        Calves of charcoal gray

I’m from…
            Coalton Cemetery where Anise is buried
            His name carved next to hers all his life
                        All my mom’s life
            Dahlias in a tin can on the grave

I’m from…
Descending whine of semis out on old route 35
            The highway breaking up the farm
            Barns and stables abandoned
            As old age came to them—and him

I’m from…
            Tunes, tasks, outbuildings, barns, abandonings
            Ghosts, shadows, songs, silences
            Grandpa’s grief, Grandpa’s blood
Grandpa’s farm, Grandpa’s love

I’m from…
            A lot uncried and a lot unsaid
            Lost love—and love not being enough
            That’s what I’m from 

            Amen, Grandpa, amen.