When it’s time to go home, it’s not easy to leave her cousins, but she invites them to visit and see the sights and sounds, lights, thumps, beeps and shines of the city where she returns to her loving mom and sisters. She takes a trip to visit her cousins in the country, where she finds cats for chasing, roads for racing down, ladders for leaping, and fields full of animals. City walls aren’t for climbing, city rooms aren’t for running, city shops and city yards are too crowded, and there are so many rules that Frances can’t seem to follow.Ī New York Times Best Children's Book of the Year To read everyone else’s take on Neruda, go here:Īnd Ruth is hosting Poetry Friday at There is No Such Thing as a God-forsaken Town.Frances is a city kid, but it’s hard for her to fit in. Most everything in here has a taproot into his work or biography, and I genuinely tried to think about his ‘style,’ slippery though it may be. I took his Book of Questions ( an excerpted and illustrated version of which is here) and decided to turn the tables on Neruda and ask questions of or about him. We talked about it as a group - what were some recognizable characteristics, patterns, watchwords? What exactly was this style in which we were supposed to write? We threw some good fodder on the table - sonnets, odes, lush and considered language, the natural world, love, love and more love. This month, though, we’re writing “In the Style of Pablo Neruda.” Ummmm. It felt like we could pick up what he’d put down. Cummings is far from easy but there is something so wildly distinct that it felt possible. Several times over the past several years, we’ve worked with the idea of writing “In the Style of…” The one I’m remembering right now is “In the Style of E.E. Stop mooning, I say to my starstrucky self,īecause even a sliver is plenty delightful.Īnd Patricia at Reverie is hosting Poetry Friday! Enjoy! Promises wane and the crops all go blight full. Reflecting my gaze the whole heavy night full.īut it’s just a phase, you go gibbous so soonĪnd I’m left again, wound-up way too tightful.Īnd then you are dark and impossibly cold, You swing back around with the seas at your feet, Oh, it’s you again, is it? Arising all bright full?Īll beamy and pulsey, magnetic, exciteful? Narrowing that down, I’ve been focused on particular scientific processes.Īnd this month, the prompt is to write a ghazal - a traditional Persian form made up of couplets and both end rhyme and internal rhyme that ends up feeling, to me at least, fussy. As a reminder, this year’s theme is transformation.
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