Friday, December 1, 2017

THINGS TO DO IF YOU AN ALARM CLOCK: An Original List Poem



I got some great news recently. My book THINGS TO DO was named a Best Book of 2017 for Kids by the New York Public Library! Here are two links where you'll find the list of the NYPL's Best Books of 2017 for Kids:


In addition, Sammy Juliano of Wonders in the Dark wrote a wonderful review of THINGS TO DO. He thinks the book should be taken into consideration for a Caldecott Medal. I couldn't agree more. I love the artwork that Catia Chien did for the book!
Excerpt: Birds know well the consequence of missed opportunities and the likelihood of a second chance not availing itself anytime soon.  Magliaro implores our feathered friends to take full advantage of the unfaltering mantra, “Fist come, first served” by descending down to a lawn where feed has been offered up.  A delay will undoubtably result in other birds “seizing the day.”  When breakfast has been negotiated the poet advocates airborne tenacity:  Stretch out your wings on the brightening sky.  Morning’s upon us.  Get ready to fly!  Chien’s overhead capture is an impressionist gem, featuring the metaphorical image of a bird sporting the wing span and tail of an airplane in a now busy sky of many other airborne creatures evoking Richard Bach’s line from his famed 1970 novella:  and the word for breakfast flock flashed through the air, till a thousand seagulls came to dodge and fight for bits of food.”  The artist makes lush use of saturated acrylic red and green projecting out from the flicked brown and tan cross strokes in a scene witness by the intrepid young girl and her inveterate canine.


For this Poetry Friday, I thought I'd post one of the poems that I had to cut from my THINGS TO DO manuscript:

THINGS TO DO IF YOU ARE AN ALARM CLOCK

Don’t YELL at me!
Don’t DING-A-LING-LING
with a harsh metal voice
that makes my ears ring!
Don’t jolt me from my sleep
and start my day off wrong.
Sing me awake
with a soft morning song.



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 Here are two reasons why I don't have much time to blog these days. My girls keep me busy!




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Mary Lee has the POETRY FRIDAY ROUNDUP  over at A Year of Reading.








Friday, October 20, 2017

Poetry Friday: Autumn Celebration



AUTUMN CELEBRATION
by Elaine Magliaro

In October, colored leaves
Fall from oak and maple trees…
Bright confetti shaken down
From their boughs. All over town
Trees are celebrating fall,
Decorating every wall,
Sidewalk, yard, and flowerbed
With pumpkin-orange, gold, and red.
We stand out in the falling leaves
And catch confetti on our sleeves,
In our hands and in our hair. 
We party till the trees are bare.





 
I love autumn in New England! I love the colored foliage. I love watching my "grandgirls" playing in fallen leaves. The photos above were taken in October 2016. My girls had a true autumn celebration piling up and frisking in autumn leaves. I'm sure they'll celebrate again this year.
 
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The Poetry Friday Roundup can be found at A DAY IN THE LIFE.
 
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If you're wondering why I don't blog much these days, these pictures taken in my office/library may give you a clue:




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 


Friday, September 15, 2017

SUMMER RITUAL: A Poem about My Maternal Grandfather


My maternal grandfather with (L to R) my Great Aunt Agnes, my Aunt Helen, and my maternal grandmother.

 

 

SUMMER RITUAL

 
My mother and I arrive at my grandparents’ house
late one Sunday afternoon.
Babci greets us in the kitchen
with cold drinks clinking with ice cubes.
Dzidzi fetches a small wooden basket
from the cellar, takes my hand,
and walks me down the stone path to his garden.
He leans over a tomato plant,
holds a fat red globe in his cupped hand,
and looks at me. I nod approval.
I can almost taste the tomato’s warm, juicy flesh.
We choose a dozen more and place them in the basket.
We pick three green, glossy-skinned peppers,
pull up a bunch of feather-topped carrots,
enough beets for my mother to make a pot of zimny barszcz
thickened with sour cream and floating with cucumber slices.
Every visit to my grandparents’ house
is the same this season—
a small harvest of vegetables—
and when we leave, I take home
a little basket of Dzidzi’s garden.

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September is my favorite month. I love the weather here in New England at this time of year. We still have warm days--usually without the summer humidity. Nights are cooler and comfortable for sleeping.

This month  brings to mind my Dzidzi--my maternal grandfather. He passed away in late September of 1984. It was the first real loss of a beloved family member that I suffered. It was traumatic for me.
 
Dzidzi with my father

Dzidzi was a Polish immigrant...a peasant from the Old Country. For many years, he worked at a leather factory in Peabody, Massachusetts, which is known as the Tanner City. He also worked in his garden behind his house. He grew many different kinds of vegetables--including onions, peppers, carrots, and beets. He cared for his fruit trees (apple, pear, and plum). His cherry tree was felled by a hurricane in the 1950s. He LOVED tending to his garden almost as much as he loved his family--and he loved sharing the food he grew in it.
 

Babci and Dzidzi with my older sister
 
My poem Summer Ritual is a remembrance of the times I'd visit my maternal grandparents in summer and early fall--and return home with a bounty of fresh-picked vegetables and fruit from Dzidzi's garden.

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A few weeks ago, I posted a poem about my maternal grandmother titled CROCHETING.

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Michelle has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Today's Little Ditty.

 

Friday, August 25, 2017

CROCHETING: A Poem about My Maternal Grandmother

 My Babci: Anna Chalupka Kozicka

CROCHETING
By Elaine Magliaro

The crowns of blossoming fruit trees
are pink and white clouds.
We sit under the apple tree,
petals falling around us like spring snow.
Nearby Babci relaxes in the wide Adirondack chair
crocheting an earth-brown afghan
for our summertime picnics.
Her nimble fingers dance
as she hooks and loops
the dark yarn into intricate designs.
From a single strand
she creates a lacy island
where we will float
on a sea of soft green grass
near Dzidzi’s garden,
eating ham sandwiches,
crunching homemade pickles,
savoring our summer afternoons.

 
 
Why I chose to post this poem today: We have had some fine summer weather here this week--sunny, warm, breezy, and dry. Two days ago, my older granddaughter asked if we could have a picnic in our yard. I thought it was a wonderful idea! I lay down a blanket on the lawn in the shade of our old ash tree. Julia and Ali and I had a lovely lunch of red grapes, fontina cheese, and yogurt. The next day, we did it again. My husband joined us for our picnic this time. In addition to grapes, cheese, and yogurt, we had some leftover shrimp and pasta with pesto sauce that I had made with basil from our garden. The girls gobbled up the pasta! Our picnics brought back memories of some of the childhood days that I spent at the home of my beloved maternal grandparents.

Years ago, I wrote a collection of memoir poems about my Babci and Dzidzi. Babci loved to crochet and make food for and feed her family. She also canned fruits and vegetables from their garden. One of her specialties was homemade piccalilli.

My Babci is the one on the right.

 

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Jone has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Check It Out.

 

 

 

 

 


 

Friday, August 4, 2017

Statue in the Park Poem



Laura Purdie Salas wrote on her blog that the Poetry Princess challenge (her choice) for this month was "a poem of any kind, mood, or topic to go with the title 'Statues in the Park.'"

I am no "Poetry Princess"--but when I heard about this challenge, it brought to mind a poem that I wrote about the George Washington statue that is displayed in Boston's Public Garden. I wrote the poem about thirty-five years ago. I don't know where the poem is at the moment so I am doing my best to write it down from memory.
 
Statue in the Park
by Elaine Magliaro

In the city park, I know
a famous man from long ago.
Astride his horse, George Washington--
father of his countrymen--
tall, majestic, cast in bronze,
he guards the Public Garden's swans,
benches, and the tulip beds...
with pigeons sitting on his head.

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Donna has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Mainely Write.