Poetry Friday — Perspective

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I’ve been thinking lately that one of my purposes, in writing for children, is to honor their perspectives — 
wild, varied, inscrutable, sweet.

To empower through recognition.
To notice, to listen, to see.

That’s what I remember wanting as a kid.

Recently I was plowing through piles of my own poems and I found this one, written when my first baby was wee. 
I think this is when this whole idea must’ve started to coalesce for me. 

Don’t you love tracing your own paths backwards sometimes, to find out how you got where you are today?

Perspective

              

It is nearly impossible  — impossible —

to recognize the difference

between dog and bear

in the transmuting dark

and the long croony whistle of a train

sounds so much like moo

as to be four-legged and lonesome

 

A sock looks like a hat

but doesn’t fit and isn’t

a pear looks like an apple

apple sounds like happy

and is

 

Blowing on breakfast

cools it off, blowing

in the bath makes bubbles

and the wind blows

arms into fingered wings

 

Every man is Daddy

— the Wicked Witch

is Mama and so is the moon

in this afternoon’s sky

milky as the breast

at bedtime when who

will stay to keep things straight

 

who will name the sounds

that come in the night?

— Liz Garton Scanlon, 1999

 

 

48 Responses to “Poetry Friday — Perspective”

  1. Anonymous

    TadMack says:

    Wow, Liz.
    I love the idea of the world from a shorter stance. Something about this poem is like a palette of rich colors, all muted and waiting to be woken up and used boldly. As your child’s perspective changes, the colors brighten and sharpen — it’s a neat process. I hope I can identify at some point where the ideas for my books coalesce! But nothing quite this clear (or artistic!).

    • liz_scanlon

      Re: TadMack says:

      Oh, believe me. It doesn’t feel that clear or full of intention when I’m writing (from my gut). It’s only upon reflection that I think maybe this is what I’m up to, artistically speaking. I love the way you describe the evolution here — in colors. That was pretty clear and artistic 🙂

  3. saralholmes

    Oh, I love this so much that I feel like that child without words to say why. I think that’s one reason I love poetry so much—it takes me into that state before we knew (or thought we knew) what everything “really” is.

    This is just divine:

    A sock looks like a hat

    but doesn’t fit and isn’t

    a pear looks like an apple

    apple sounds like happy

    and is

  5. laurasalas

    Beautiful, Liz! And I love Sara’s comments about how poetry takes us to a state pre-reality (or at least outside of reality). I like all of it, but I especially like the deep darkness of these lines:

    in the transmuting dark

    and the long croony whistle of a train

    sounds so much like moo

    as to be four-legged and lonesome

  6. Anonymous

    This is really beautiful… and far more reflective and coherent and artistic than anything I was capable of perceiving when my own were “wee”! What lucky children to have poems as well as photos from mom.

  7. Anonymous

    Thanks for taking us back to when having this little baby opened up a door into another perspective. Whenever I substitute teach or spend time with my kids, I bend myself down to the kids’ level so that I can see things as they do. Worth it every time!

    Time travel can do great things for your smile too!

  10. Anonymous

    cloudsome says:

    Wow Liz – you’ve woken me up today. Honoring their perspective by noticing and name it. Yes. I love how you move through this poem in baby stream of consciousness. That last stanza really gets me –

    “the Wicked Witch
    is Mama and so is the moon
    in this afternoon’s sky
    milky as the breast
    at bedtime when who
    will stay to keep things straight

    who will name the sounds
    that come in the night?”

    Didn’t you get me feeling sympathetic for those night wakings last week too? You know I am stumbling down the hall all too often to re-tuck someone and quiet those cries, right?

    In this poem it’s the naming the sounds in the night that breaks open my heart.

    • liz_scanlon

      Re: cloudsome says:

      Honey, I’ve been there. Not anymore, but for YEARS. Not months… years. Sometimes it’s the exhaustion that breaks open our hearts, I’m sure of it…

  11. Anonymous

    You definitely got that tangled-up figuring-the-world-out point of view just right!

    Mary Lee
    A Year of Reading

  13. bernadettenoll

    love and noise and wings and all

    OOOOhhhhh Liz! I could see it all and hear the sounds and the wings and feel the love as well.

    Beautiful.