Posts Tagged ‘teaching’

The View from Mattie’s Pillow

July 28, 2009

ASRA is in week 2 and the kids are writing along.  Here’s a poem that I wrote in response to a journal prompt the other day:

Farm Stand, Snow Hill

I can see the top of the plank

that holds cantaloupe, slices of watermelon,

tightly wrapped corn–the green seersucker

husks, the ragged brown tassel–every

splinter jagged through white paint,

every fly walking squat-legged,

tapping its tongue on sweetness.

My grandfather’s hand rests on my head

as he talks.  The man with the fruit

looks down at me from shimmering

air.  They laugh.  I feel the heat

on parts of my hair that stick

out from his shading


“There,” the man says,

“she’ll like this.”

He hands down a white paper

dish.  In it, golden, glistening

the perfect hexagons

of wax pressing against each

other, ragged at the edges,

honey so sweet I cough

on sweetness, then chew

and chew and chew.

View from Mattie’s Pillow

February 6, 2009

Yesterday I went with Mary Beth and the kids from Effie Kokrine Charter School who are taking part in a “Climate Change and Creative Expression” class to the Large Animal Research Station to visit the musk ox herd. The day was bright, warming to around zero, and we stood by the heavy metal fence and watched as a student worker drove through the herd of cows and calves on a four-wheeler, dropping off rubber dishes of musk ox food (they prepare the pellets there especially for the musk ox diet).

Like horses, musk ox have a herd hierarchy, and these animals–like giant dust mops with horns–played a game of musical food dishes, chasing each other with growly grunts, the one chased in turn chasing another lowlier cow. As the adults kept busy with the work of maintaining herd order, the calves slipped in to eat from the dishes, enacting their own hornless dominancy. The smallest calf stood alone in the middle of the herd, looking through the fence at us, waiting till a dish was left unattended before he bent his nose to it.

These are such ancient animals. With their long brown guard hairs and thick quiviut underlayer, they look like large hay bales from a distance. Up close, they look like tussocks covered in long lichen or dead grass, but moving slowly while grazing or quickly when dashing across the field to chase away a rival. They have large faces, like the cartoon faces drawn for cows-big gentle-looking mouths, brown eyes, and droopy horns that seem to melt down the sides of their heads like lop-ears on a rabbit. But the look is misleading. The ends of the horns curve up to a sharp point and they have the ability to stomp their foes with their hooves and half-ton weight. Observing the males, we saw several pairs line up and run at each other, whacking the flat horn at the top of their heads with a loud crack. And, though these musk ox are familiar with humans, they have no instincts of friendliness with the weaker creatures who feed them, only a watchful tolerance.

After watching the musk ox and the reindeer for a while, we were thoroughly cold-some of the teens were colder than others, wearing hoodies and tennis shoes rather than boots and parkas, so we went inside to the classroom where Lindsey made us all hot chocolate. We sipped the warm sugary chocolate and I gave the students a writing prompt, and. for fifteen minutes, the room fell into silence. Outside the window, the white fields edged with spruce, dotted with the humped backs of musk ox. From time to time, one would pass below the window, brown fur fading to frost along the back, startling to see, like a moving bush or a small hill passing by.

They wrote some wonderful fragments in the short time we had. I look forward to seeing what they produce when they have time to revise. More on this project as it progresses.

Poetry Challenge 5

January 30, 2009

This comes from a Creative Movement exercise today at the Effie Kokrine Science and Creative Expression class with Ruth Merriman from North Star Ballet. 

Negative space:

In art, this involves drawing what’s around the object, rather than the object itself; in dance, it’s using the shape of the space made by the movement or gesture of the body; in a poem, it’s writing about everything but the thing you’re focusing on–the objects, background, shadow, sounds, smells, textures, rather than the thing itself.  For examples see Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons.

So, choose an object.  Write about what’s all around the object or what it displaces.   Don’t mention the object.

Feb 3–

Here’s the poem I wrote today while working with the kids (we selected objects from a bag; mine was a horse bit):

Light glints on metal:
a bridge, a curve,
a circle of cold.
No leather attaches
but the soft gums
in the mare’s mouth
remember it even now.

The air chills
to its chill, light
bends to it;
a horse’s neck arches
and turns. Weight
and firm touch,
a bitter taste:
pennies, nickels
turned in the mouth,
a hard pebble
through which we
speak, then
trot on.


Glow sent this:


making love under a ceiling fan,
my Beloved asked,
“what is that sound?”
A rattle, a misplaced hum,
a rasping breath,
an uneven gasp.
On the bed in the corner,
orange as a persimmon,
lay purring contentment.
Not a loose bearing after all.

View from Mattie’s Pillow

January 9, 2009

Sun on the eaves again today. Though the sun is lovely to see, clear skies mean more cold weather as the heat radiates away from the ground and off into the atmosphere. On the radio today, I heard that Tok, down the Alaska Highway, had 78 below. These are North Slope temperatures-minus the wind. They say we’ll enter a warming trend over the weekend. We’ll see.

I may write this entry in phases. Today, I’m headed out to a meeting to talk about a project I’m involved with this spring-a high school outreach program involving science, writing (my part), and dance. We’ll be working with rural Alaskan and Alaska native Junior High kids who have selected this class as an elective. How this will all go together will be interesting to see, but the writing part will be about observation in the natural and human world and translating that into language. We’ll work with poetry to start, then touch on prose. Ultimately, there will be a presentation involving movement, storytelling, poetry. The wonderful part for me will be working with dancers I know and sharing the creative impulse with them and with kids who are at a wonderfully inventive stage of life. An added plus is that I will be working with my dancer son, Ira, who is coming up from NYC to work on the performance part of the project. The idea for Mattie’s Pillow evolved, in part, from long discussions with him about what’s happening in the arts in New York and what Alaska has to offer that no other place does.

More later.

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