Narrative Poetry for Kids

Another couple of weeks of radio silence, and I guess that it's time to confess to those who don't know that I can very easily get knocked off my rhythm. This time it was the combination of a nasty case of mastitis, which means that basically the only thing I cared about was sleep and nursing, and then recovering from that.

This week we had quite a haul of Tomie dePaola. In this house, we are of the opinion that, like Eric Carle and Jan Brett, Mr. dePaola would have to really check out for his book to not be awesome. At that point it might just be "good." That's not to say, however, that all of his books are for all kids at all times. We have several on our shelf that are waiting for EJ to get a little older, and the batch we got this week (The Song of Francis; Angels, Angels Everywhere; and Days of the Blackbird: A Tale of Northern Italy).

For poetry, we had:

Ox-Cart Man by Donald Hall. Illustrated by Barbara Cooney.

This is a children's adaptation of the lyric poem "Ox Cart Man," featured on Ep. 1, Season 2 (1983) of "Reading Rainbow" (which, by the way, is available for a steal on iTunes). EJ has it memorized. Seriously. When my 2 year old hears "In October," her response is "He backed his ox into his cart" and sets off through the poem. It's a very straightforward poem about self-sufficient life on a New England farm in the 1800s and the sale of excess at the Plymouth market. There is no rhyme, but there is a measured pacing from the sometimes-repeated phrasing and sequencing of the events that mimics the pace of a 10-day walk to market. I remember loving this book when I watched the RR episode when I was little, and delight in watching  my daughters do the same.

Tyranosaurus Drip by Julia Donaldson. Illustrated by David Roberts

In another poem, this time with both rhyme and meter, the narrator describes the experience of a misplaced duckbill egg that hatches as a rather awkward T Rex. The poet's skill is evident in her ability to fit "compsognathus" into a verse:

"Now a little Compsognathus (but for short, we'll call her Comp)
Found a duckbill egg and stole it from a nest beside the swamp.
And she swam with it, and ran with it, and murmured, "Clever me!"
And, "Won't the baby Comps be thrilled with duckbill egg for...T!"

The pacing never waivers and the verse never gets clunky, and as an added bonus, the moral--everyone fits somewhere, you just have to find your tribe--is clear without being overbearing.

Contrast that with another didactically narrative poem about sharing called "The Mine-o-saur" by Sudiptha Bardan-Quallen. As the title implies, the story tells of the schoolyard tyranny of the Mine-o-saur, who claims all things as his own until he loses both friends and recess privileges. The plot is just fine, though if your kiddo hasn't hit the "mine" stage this might introduce an awkward period into your home if you don't stress that what the Mine-o-saur is doing is wrong.

The problem with "The Mine-o-saur" is the noncommittal poetry. Some parts, in red text, are rhymed and metered. Others, in black text, are prose. Except the prose parts that happen to also rhyme or feel metered but are NOT in red text. Basically it feels like the author was going for a long poem but couldn't pull it together and instead of keeping at it, surrendered. It is one example of what I hate about some so-called kid's lit: it feels like the author or the publisher thought "It's for kids, so they won't mind/notice/care." Well, parents have to read it. We care. And you're teaching my kids about poetry, so I care for them. Not everything needs to be Roald Dahl, but straight up bad writing bothers me less than writing from clearly talented writers who don't bother to polish their writing for children.