Poetica Magazine

I think receiving a toy typewriter as a child and reading Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl may have had a lot to do with my becoming a writer. Like millions of others, Anne’s diary left a real mark on my life. For Anne, writing was a way to reach beyond the secret walls that enclosed her. Wise beyond her years, she left behind a legacy of hope and encouragement in the face of danger.

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Upon reading her book, I tried to emulate her positive attitude and have only come to realize in recent days that she may have had more of an impact on me that I had acknowledged. As a young girl, what had me enthused was the fact that my middle name was Ann and I attended Holland Elementary school. Here was an Anne in another Holland. Visions of windmills, wooden shoes and tulips came to mind. Then, the visions of the atrocities and injustice rang loud. It haunted me and made me realize that I wanted her determination, compassion and courage.

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Like Anne, I had the same love of words and rhythm, something that developed when my dad read to me and my siblings every night, often from a poetry book. I still have the Child Craft book he read from.

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Anne loved celebrities, cutting and gluing their pictures to a wall. I came to appreciate acting and became an actress for the Discovery Channel, getting parts in FBI Files, New Detectives, Diagnosis Unknown and Psychic Investigator. It was another way I found myself in kinship with Anne’s mindset.

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When various forms of injustice bother me, I often think about Anne and her desire for world peace and equality. During the year of my book’s release, I contacted the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. I wanted my book to be posted at the Anne Frank Center in New York. I came in contact with Buddy Elias, Anne’s first cousin, who told me to send it to the Anne Frank Fonds in Switzerland. (Of which he is a CEO). After having it approved at both locations, I sent it to the center in New York where it is posted at the website bookstore. It is also archived at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. When I was in contact with Buddy, I had no idea he was Anne’s first cousin. He told me that Anne would have loved the book.

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Six months ago, I emailed Miep Gies and to my surprise, she emailed back. She requested copies of the book and CD, Being Frank with Anne. I excitedly sent them and heard from her. She expressed her gratitude for my having written the book. I was humbled beyond words. Now, at her recent passing, I am in awe of the fact that I had contact with a woman who risked her life to try and preserve the lives of others. That was truly admirable. God works in mysterious ways, somehow connecting me to Anne Frank, and allowing me to help continue her legacy.

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Thanks for reading JWorld Café, the Poetica Magazine Blog.

Phyllis Johnson, Guest Blogger

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Phyllis Johnson writes a weekly column for The Virginian-Pilot newspaper. Her work has also appeared in Tidewater Teacher magazine, The Sun, Woman's World, and Contempo magazine. She is the author of three books: Hot and Bothered by It, a book of midlife humor, Being Frank with Anne, a poetic interpretation of the Diary of Anne Frank, and Twelve is for More Than Doughnuts, a spiritual book of poems and essays. She is currently marketing Inkblot, a YA suspense novel co-written with Nancy Naigle. The mother of two daughters, she lives in Virginia with her husband and black lab, Maggie. Please visit her website: www.phyllisjohnson.net. - Linda Pressman, Blog Editor

When I was six years old and confined to bed with the flu, I decided to write a novel. After writing a few pages and realizing I had to define the characters and construct a story line, I became totally exhausted. That was the end of my life as a fiction writer.

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I didn’t think of writing professionally until I attended the University of Pennsylvania where we had to write loads of term papers. While other students were taking no-doze drugs the night before their papers were due, I slept peacefully because my research papers were happily completed before the deadline. Turns out I loved to do the research and writing. Now I write reference and instructional books, most notably my book, Weddings, Dating, and Love Customs of Cultures Worldwide, Including Royalty a book that has itself been used as a reference for countless student papers and is located in libraries in many countries.

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Most people think writers who work at home alone have plenty of time, that writers are always secretly watching television and "eating bonbons." I always do my writing at home because to avoid distractions. However, as soon at sit down to write, I get calls from friends, from companies that should be on my no-call list, and from doctors office assistants wanting me to confirm my appointments. I spend too much time looking for things.

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It shouldn’t be hard to find things; my writer’s study is essentially white - white walls with white furniture. Color therapists say white carries a full color light spectrum that resonates, energizes, and strengthens all organs of the body. I feel a sense of inspiration there that encourages me to write as the sun’s rays shine brightly through the long windows on both sides of my desk. On the walls are huge decorative acrylic paintings that display visible colors of the rainbow that always inspire hope to succeed in future writing endeavors.

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I research a lot because of the type of writing I do, but then I pile one research paper on top of another, ultimately unable to find the needed paper that's underneath. While working on the computer, I suddenly need technical computer support. Because it often comes from another country, the tech support person and I may have difficulty communicating with each other and that becomes another problem to be solved; another problem that keeps me from my writing.

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There are days when the mess is more compelling than the work, when I have to bless my mess in order to give myself permission to write. Conclusion: I don't have time to write. Yet I do.

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And when I’m done at the end of the day, I walk away from that white room, now dark, leaving my lonely Mac Pro, visions of its glowingly lit keyboard inspiring me to write.

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Thanks for reading JWorld Café, the Poetica Magazine Blog.

Carolyn Mordecai, Guest Blogger

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Carolyn Mordecai is the author of the books Weddings, Dating, and Love Customs of Cultures Worldwide, Including Royalty (winner of the Glyph Best Multicultural Award), Gourd Craft: Growing, Designing, and Decorating Ornamental and Hardshelled Gourds (Crown Publishers) and others. Her work has appeared in national women’s magazines, including Cosmopolitan. She has taught freelance writing courses at Allegheny Community College and at Pennsylvania State University. Visit her Amazon page. - Linda Pressman, Blog Editor

As I wrote in my guest blog last week, some of the individual poems in Blessings and Curses are about me, and some are about other people whose stories impressed themselves on me. In the case of Curse XXII (“On September 1, 1939...”;), the poem came as a pure gift from a Holocaust survivor who told me her story. Ms. E (the initial is invented) was in her nineties when I was asked to interview her through my job for a not-for-profit agency that serves the elderly. I arranged to visit her apartment one evening in early summer after work. Like most of the other ladies I interviewed, she was a widow living on her own in a neat one-bedroom apartment. First we sat down at a card table where she plied me with cookies and fruit, and then I pulled out my Palm with the folding keyboard and took notes as she spoke.

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Taller than average, slender, with thick white hair cut in a bang across her forehead and lively dark eyes, she expressed herself fluently in accented English. She had been widowed twice: her first husband was murdered in the Holocaust; the second was a survivor like herself. With her second husband, she had one son, who was her mainstay, and two grandchildren on whom she doted, both in college.

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She proudly showed me the framed photographs of her family, starting with the grandchildren and moving backwards in time. The last photograph she showed me became part of the poem.

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“No matter how many books or movies about the Holocaust one has read or seen, it is impossible to understand what it was like to survive it,” she claimed. She was born and raised in Poland, and for the duration of the war, she lived in hiding under an assumed name. “I was taught to tell the truth always,” she declared, “and it does something to your psyche to live a lie. You have to be careful to remember what you say. It’s harder than you think. Sometimes, when I think of what I survived, I can’t believe I did it.”

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Her story affected me strongly. Instead of going home when I left her apartment, I went to nearby Riverside Park. It was a beautiful summer evening. I sat down on a park bench. The peaceful green park enveloped me, and the poem poured out of me—her words in my voice. When the poem was accepted by the literary journal, Earth’s Daughter’s, I asked her permission to publish it and received her blessing.

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“On September 1, 1939,

when war broke out,

I locked myself in the bathroom

and wouldn’t come out.

I was crying; I knew

my world was ending.

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“We had a good life in Warsaw.

My father owned a business;

we kept two servants;

my sister and I went to private schools.

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“After one week the city was bombarded

from morning to night.

Warsaw was beautiful,

and it was completely destroyed.

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“No one knew at first

of Hitler and Stalin’s secret pact.

Soon the city was reorganized

and the ghetto set up.

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“Young Jews were going to Russia.

Before the ghetto was closed,

my fiancé and I escaped

across the green border to the East.

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“It wasn’t so easy.

He was very smart at arranging things

and on the black market bought me

an original birth certificate

of a person my age

who’d been taken to Siberia.

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“I spoke excellent Polish

because we’d spoken Polish at home.

He and I lived in the suburbs of a city

that was Judenrein.

I looked Jewish but he didn’t.

He had blond hair and blue eyes.

“One day he left in the morning

and didn’t come back.

I still don’t know what happened to him.

The Germans picked him up.

They killed people for nothing.

With men, it was simple,

‘Pull down your pants.’

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“My parents perished

in the Warsaw Ghetto.

My sister died with her daughter

in a terrible concentration camp.

She couldn’t think like a person

after her husband died

in the Army in the short war.

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“He was wounded at the front

and brought to a hospital in Warsaw.

The Germans used poisoned bullets.

His wounds weren’t mortal,

but infections developed.

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“My second husband

saw his wife and daughter

killed before his eyes.

There are things you don’t talk about

or understand.

Until the end of his life

he screamed in his sleep

and I would hold him.

He was a good husband,

a good father, a good man.

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“For a year and a half,

until the end of the war,

I survived on my own without means,

with no family or home.

I had a twenty dollar bill

to buy my life if I were arrested.

No one knew I existed.

I believe I was fated to live;

I don’t know why.

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“Truman is my favorite president

because he let us in the U.S. after the war.

In New York I found my cousin.

She took me into her bedroom

and showed me her photo albums.

‘Take what you want,’ she said.

Can you imagine what it meant to me

to have a picture of my parents?”

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Thank you for reading JWorld Café, the Poetica Magazine Blog

Anne Whitehouse, Guest Blogger

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Anne Whitehouse’s books include the poetry collections, BLESSINGS AND

CURSES and THE SURVEYOR’S HAND. Her chapbook BEAR IN MIND is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in 2010. She is the author of the novel FALL LOVE, now available as a free e-book from Amazon Kindle as well as Feedbooks and Smashwords. Please visit her website at http://annewhitehouse.com.  - Linda Pressman, Blog Editor

My poetry collection Blessings and Curses was born out of a wish to make

poetry out of everyday life - mine and other people’s. I no longer remember

whether the first poem I wrote in the series was a Blessing or a Curse.

The subsequent Blessings and Curses are numbered in consecutive order of

their composition. At the outset I didn’t intend to make a series, but

suddenly there it was. With each poem, I asked myself, Is this a Blessing

or a Curse?

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As long as I could answer, I could keep the series going. It may sound

strange, but there were times when I wasn’t quite sure if the poem in

question was a Blessing or a Curse, even though I knew it was one thing or

the other. In other words, some of the Blessings are decidedly mixed, and

some of the Curses have silver linings.

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I had been writing the series for about a year when I wrote what became

the title poem. I grew up in Reform Judaism, where the parasha Nitzavim

(Deuteronomy 29:9-30:19) is substituted for the traditional parasha at

the Yom Kippur service, and I am in agreement with the rabbis and

teachers who see Nitzavim as a key Jewish text. It also happened that

Nitzavim was to be my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah parasha, traditionally read

the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah. In the months of preparation before the

Bat Mitzvah, we all had the opportunity to reflect on this parasha’s

meanings, and out of these reflections, the poem was born.

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To me it seems significant that God asked Moses to make His teachings into

a song. In other words, God’s words were translated into human art - to

make them more memorable perhaps? More meaningful? More acceptable?

The Torah tells us that this song came to Moses instantly. What artist

doesn’t wish for perfect ease of creation? I haven’t experienced it often,

but when I have, it is a compensation for when creation is laborious and

difficult.

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The title poem expresses the religious ideals I grew up with and the

traditional belief that art is divinely inspired. God’s message is the

power of human beings to choose good over evil and stresses the

importance of intentions, good behavior and proper speech over worship

that is symbolic display. This emphasis has always been and continues to

be one of my favorite qualities of Judaism.

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Here is the poem:

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BLESSINGS AND CURSES

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At the end of the Torah,

God appears to Moses

and tells him his life is over.

He will see the Promised Land

but not set foot in it.

Like his brother Aaron before him,

he will ascend the mountain and die,

but first he must address his people one last time.

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Moses says to his people,

It is up to you to obey God’s commandments.

This is more important to God

than ritual acts of sacrifice.

You must look into your hearts

and choose the words from your mouths.

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Through Moses, God speaks directly,

“I call heaven and earth

to witness against you this day

that I have set before you life and death,

the blessing and the curse;

therefore choose life, that you may live,

you and your seed.”

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Afterwards, God returns

when Moses is alone.

He predicts, after Moses is dead,

His people will betray Him.

They will turn to false gods,

and He will punish them.

God asks Moses to compose a song

to remind the people of their obligations,

which Moses does instantly

and sings it to them,

enumerating God’s blessings and curses.

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Moses is as mysterious

in death as in life.

He died on Mount Nebo,

at the summit of Pisgah,

and was buried below

on the steppes of Moab,

but no one knows his grave.

The Torah tells us, absolutely,

Moses is the greatest leader

the Jewish people ever had.

Not since Moses has God

appeared face-to-face to any human being.

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When Moses died, he left us

with God’s blessings and curses

falling on us equally.

This is the life we are given.

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Thank you for reading JWorld Café, the Poetica Magazine Blog

Anne Whitehouse, Guest Blogger

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Anne Whitehouse’s books include the poetry collections, BLESSINGS AND

CURSES and THE SURVEYOR’S HAND. Her chapbook BEAR IN MIND is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in 2010. She is the author of the novel FALL LOVE, now available as a free e-book from Amazon Kindle as well as Feedbooks and Smashwords. Please visit her website at http://annewhitehouse.com. - Linda Pressman, Blog Editor 

When I teach creative writing, I stress the significance of writing by hand. I make a little speech about how the smoothness of a pen between one's fingers, the scent of crisp, white paper, is a sensory pleasure that is lost with technology. Then, I explain how the writing hand is connected to the creative part of the brain and touches the unconscious in a way the click clack of computer keys cannot possibly.

All true (I think), and in fact, writing by hand has in the past given me some of my most surprising work. I mentionl this because I was asked the other day about my "writing habits." And I then realized, it had been too long since I had written by hand, since I'd returned to what Natalie Goldberg terms "Beginner's Mind," a kind of writing that asks for nothing other than for words (or a mish-mosh of letters) to be released on paper.

One of the reasons I've bypassed this early (and often glorious) step is that I've become glued to what I want to write. I sit down with an agenda and an insistence that I stick to it. I tap tap tap away (90 wpm), revising this, rewording that, reworking the same old essays, no surprises. A large part of what drives this, is my desire to publish stuff, so close to being ready, but not quite.  Publishing stuff is great, but at the same time, I'm losing the sheer delight of surprise by what landed on the page, sans agenda.

The other night I was an hour early for my yoga class. So, I sat in this most peaceful place and asked the yogi at the front desk if I could borrow a pen and a scrap of paper.  I lighted up inside, felt new to writing, to this gift so readily available, and I scribbled like crazy. By the time class started I had two pages, and I wasn't done. And, the thing is, I doubt if typing would have helped me discover these characters who seemed to reside in my spleen, my belly, so deep, I felt an ache in releasing them. A good ache.

There's little I need to do today; days like this sometimes scare me. Too many hours to call up negativity, guilt, feelings that need little coaxing. And so, I'll go to yoga. I'll get there early.  Maybe I'll get a little more familiar with these characters in me, or I might let my words wander. Today, I'll put pen to paper, begin, and try to not care where it ends up. Today I'll be my own student.          

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Thanks for reading JWorld Cafe, the Poetica Magazine Blog

Sandra Hurtes, Guest Blogger

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Sandra Hurtes is the author of the essay collection, On My Way To Someplace Else (Poetica Publishing 2009). She's written essays and articles for The New York Times, The Washington Post, Poets & Writers and many other publications. Visit her website: http://www.sandrahurtes.com/.

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Linda Pressman, Blog Editor

Selecting an appropriate topic is the first step in conducting a poetry workshop for youngsters. This was discussed in Part I. Of equal importance is the warm-up. To stand in front of a class and say, “Write about the color red,” won’t do the trick. Better to begin with a round of favorite colors from as many students as you can, talk about why a certain color appeals, how it makes you feel and what a color might say if it could speak. Generally this introduction serves as a warm-up and enough guidance to get the children going without inhibition.

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Another way to trigger the muse with young poets is reading the poems of others. A model poem on the theme of the day by one of the great poets of our time can set the bar. It’s not necessary to use poems for children. Some of the poems of Emily Dickenson, William Carlos Williams and Robert Frost and others are easily understood particularly when we discuss and explain the hard parts. For example, Margaret Atwood’ in her poem, “Dreams of Animals,” writes that animals dream “each according to its kind.” Pause a minute and talk about our kind, a pig’s kind, a dog’s kind and soon Atwood’s meaning comes through.

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But the model poem is not enough. Supplementing it with a few peer poems on the day’s theme gives the students a standard they know they can attain. Here is a typical poem on dreams of animals, written in terms of “wishes.” This fourth grader combined his general knowledge with his imagination to create a knock-out poem.

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A WHALE’S WISH

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I wish I was skinny and I lost weight

I wish there were no pirates

because I am an endangered species.

I wish that Moby Dick never existed

because they killed my aunt and sisters

I wish that one day my wish will be granted

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Although it is painful for some at first, every student should read his or her poem out loud. Sound is such a critical part of absorbing poetry that all of us who write poems need to hear what we have written. The youngest of the young poets, first through third grade, love to read their poems out loud. They beg to be the first to read and beam with pride afterward.

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Poetry lessons can be adapted to the needs of the teacher or the student. For example, classes can focus on themes that reinforce the information learned in other classes. One fifth grade was studying colonial life in early America. We adapted the “I Remember” theme to reflect what a child in colonial time might remember. Memories for this exercise included building a log cabin, stitching a sampler and shooting a bear with an arrow. Again, if teachers want the class to learn specific poetic forms it is easily done by simply attaching the term, simile, alliteration or onomatopoeia whenever such terms apply.

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Poetry classes can be effective with all levels of ability, from gifted to learning disabled students. Each child responds from his/her own level of experience and knowledge. Learning disabled children have written beautiful poems. Sometimes a teacher has to do the physical handwriting and even recite the poem but the young poet can still stand in front of the class with pride and pleasure. My observation is that this is the child who will get the loudest applause from the class.

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One class at Maryland Hall collaborated to express the importance of poetry from their collective point of view:

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ODE TO A POEM

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Oh poem, Oh poem

You have rhythm, rhythm, rhythm, rhyme

Happy, sad, jealous, mad

Pretty poem by proud poets

This is the essence of life.

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Thank you for reading JWorld Cafe, the Poetica Magazine Blog

Natalie Lobe, Guest Blogger

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Natalie Lobe’s poetry collection, Connected Voices, was published in 2006; Island Time in 2008. Her most recent publications are in Blue Unicorn, Iconoclast and Comstock Review. Ms. Lobe is a Poet in the Schools for Maryland and Anne Arundel County and teaches at Maryland Hall for the Creative Arts in Annapolis, Maryland. She is also a reviewer for the on-line Montserrat Review. Ms. Lobe lives in Annapolis with her husband, Bernard.

Linda Pressman, Blog Editor

A few years ago Zachary's Mom hailed me outside the center where I teach a class for young poets. She said her son’s third grade teacher remarked on Zach’s new self confidence and wondered what had happened. The mom said, “I told her he had taken a Young Poets Workshop.

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Granted, a short series of workshops for young poets does not always have such dramatic results, but it may present a rare opportunity for a child to develop self esteem by expressing, in a poem, his or her unique thoughts and feelings. The medium itself permits a great deal of freedom. Two major ground rules -- don’t worry about telling the exact truth or spelling all the words right—allows children to express themselves without inhibition.

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The late Kenneth Koch, founder of the nationwide Poets in the Schools Program, wrote, "Children have a natural talent for writing poetry and anyone who teaches them should know that. Teaching is really not the right word for what takes place. It is more like permitting the children to discover something they already have."

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He goes on to say that removing the obstacles that intimidate children, like rhyming and special forms, allows them to tune in to their own feelings and let inhibition give way to “carefree inventiveness."(1) The so called crazy ideas that come from children are welcomed in this environment as they are the fuel for invention, enjoyment and self-confidence. Here are two examples:

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I used to be a cloud floating in the sky

But now I’m a pencil. Work, work, work!

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Frustration tastes like Domino’s pizza burned black.

Frustration smells like Brussels sprouts for dessert.

Frustration feels like a $100 bill lost down the sewer

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As will be discussed later, classes or workshops that work on these principles are important and available in most areas of the country. This is also an opportunity for poets who wish to teach.

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One key to success in teaching young poets is to offer a variety of themes over a series of workshops and to make sure the each of the subjects grabs them. Whereas most of the topics in poetry workshops for young people work well for all age groups, very young children may prefer to write about a favorite food or amazing things they have never seen. They enjoy comparing themselves to an animal, weather or musical instrument. The comparison poem introduces the concept of “simile,” as well. Here is an example from a third grader:

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ME

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I am like a fast fox in the woods

I am as loud as a drum or as quiet as a harp

I am as strong as a tornado or as weak as the rain

I am like a squirrel climbing a tree.

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Older children like to write about sports, the environment, feelings and social interactions. One approach that appeals to pre-teens and teens is writing a letter that cannot be answered: to the sun, to peace, to Thomas Jefferson. An eighth grader wrote the following poem, which stands out for its rhythm and simple but powerful expression of feeling.

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DEAR KATRINA

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You came, we ran, some stayed and fought,

You made havoc in four of our states.

You hit us hard,

You killed our people,

You tore us apart,

Trashed our homes, flooded our streets

Treated us like little ants.

You killed our young, you killed our old,

You took our friends and families.

You left nothing but painful memories,

Now we have to clean the mess

While you go into hiding.

Katrina, you made us turn on each other.

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Part 2 of this article will cover other techniques that trigger the young poet’s muse: the warm-up, reading the poems of others as well as student poems and adapting the classes to the needs both of the children and teachers.

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  (1) Koch, Kenneth, Wishes, Lies, and Dreams, p.25

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Thank you for reading JWorld Café, The Poetica Magazine Blog

Natalie Lobe, Guest Blogger

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Natalie Lobe’s poetry collection, Connected Voices, was published in 2006; Island Time in 2008. Her most recent publications are in Blue Unicorn, Iconoclast and Comstock Review. Ms. Lobe is a Poet in the Schools for Maryland and Anne Arundel County and teaches at Maryland Hall for the Creative Arts in Annapolis, Maryland. She is also a reviewer for the on-line Montserrat Review. Ms. Lobe lives in Annapolis with her husband, Bernard.

I’m back with more adventures to report from the Jewish Book Council tour of Yiddish Yoga: Ruthie’s Adventures in Love, Loss and the Lotus Position.

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In Houston, Texas, everything is big – breakfast, hair, the state itself. I arrived on a Monday night at 6 pm, but by the time I schlepped my bags to the fancy schmancy limousine waiting for me, (the benefits of celebrity!) it was close to 7 pm. The room at the Marriott is pleasant enough (with an excellent view of Starbucks) and I sleep like a baby, looking forward to a hot cup of strong coffee.

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I am invited to speak to the Beth Yeshurun’s Sisterhood’s Annual Luncheon at the local synagogue. Sandy, my escort, grabs my hand and with a mild drawl, says, "tell me about the rock" (my engagement ring). And so it goes. She tells me she is married to a “jubba” – a Jewish Bubba, who happens to be a doctor, a Dr. Jubba. Later, over delicious raspberry sorbet, as I was signing books, I find out that in Yiddish, jubba means frog in Yiddish!

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The Texan ladies are charming. One woman, though, sticks in my mind. She said, “darlin’, you were fabulous this mornin’! I really enjoyed your reading, But you read so much from your charmin’ book, that I don’t feel compelled to buy it now. Good luck, sweetie pie!”

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Oy vey. I sold quite a few books, and signed a few gals up for my Yiddish Yoga Cruise to Aruba and Curacao (March, 2010!) and headed to Indianapolis where I was treated to the most delicious Greek food I’ve ever had by my lovely hostess. I also reunited with an old friend from the University of Chicago Divinity School. My poor mother thought I’d be a rabbi, and I ended up studying Protestants and Capitalism. I’m happy to report there is a vibrant Jewish community in Indianapolis.

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P.S. If you are interested in joining Ruthie and Lisa for the First Annual Yoga Cruise on Holland America Line please call 1-800-695-5253. Lisa will teach yoga classes and a writing class called Facing the Blank Page, Facing the Yoga Mat. Hope to see you at sea kvetching and stretching, twisting and schvtizing!

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You can read more about Ruthie’s adventures and memories as she kvetches and stretches her way through yoga poses and braids the yoga tradition with her Jewish tradition, like a braided challah bread in the book Yiddish Yoga: Ruthy’s Adventures in Love, Loss and the Lotus Position.

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Thank you for reading JWorld Cafe, The Poetica Magazine Blog

Lisa Grunberger, Guest Blogger

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Lisa Grunberger was raised in Long Island, NY, by an Israeli mother and a Viennese Father. She holds a doctorate in Comparative Religions from the University of Chicago Divinity School, is a Yoga teacher, a college professor and a published writer. Her chapbook of poems, Root Canal: Love Poems is forthcoming from Poets Wear Prada Press (Roxeanne Hoffman, editor, Hoboken, NJ). She has been published in such journals as The Paterson Literary Review, Mudfish, Nimrod, The Drunken Boat, and Bridges: A Jewish Feminist Journal. She has taught at universities including Hofstra, the Bronx Community College, SUNY at Old Westbury and Parsons, and the School of Design at The New School. She is currently an Assistant Professor in English at Temple University in Philadelphia. Her illustrated gift book, Yiddish Yoga: Ruthy’s Adventures in Love, Loss and the Lotus Pose was published by New Market Press in September, 2009.

Like many authors, I get e-mails through my website from aspiring writers requesting advice on how to get published. The question, “What advice would you give aspiring children’s writers?” is also frequently asked in media interviews. What is my answer? In the past, I have offered the following responses. Read! Read! Read! A strong knowledge of literature and the market is important. Find a critique group. Revise! Revise! Revise! Don’t give up! Persistence is key.

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But recently, I read a book that I would like to add to my list of advice to aspiring authors. It is How I Came To Be a Writer, an autobiography by the Newbery award-winning author Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. I read this book because it is part of the gifted curriculum at the elementary school where I teach. But the entire time I read it, I kept saying to myself, “This book should be recommended to all writers.” Naylor is the author of over 80 books for young people. While she did have enviable success from an early age at her efforts to publish, she also devoted the hours necessary to earn her success. In How I Came to be a Writer, Naylor explains that she wrote as a young child--not just the occasional story or poem most children produce, but hundreds of stories. She says she enjoyed rainy or snowy nights as a teenager because she knew she could write undisturbed.

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Last August, I posted a Poetica guest blog about another book I would recommend to writers--Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell. Outliers provides a convincing argument for the “ten thousand hour rule,” saying it takes about ten thousand hours of practice to excel at something. In How I Came to Be a Writer, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor clearly explains how she followed the “ten thousand hour rule.” She didn’t (and still doesn’t) write just when inspiration hits. She writes everyday for a considerable number of hours. Naylor discusses how she struggled with plot and character development in many of her books. She even admits she had to re-write one of her books EIGHTEEN times. A particularly helpful chapter discusses why an author must be able to look at his or her work through the eyes of an editor. Naylor gives many examples of what she learned from editors and how this knowledge helped her grow as a writer. But most important, How I Came to Be a Writer describes how much work and dedication it takes to become a prolific author. One needs to be willing to spend hour upon hour learning the craft, marketing work, and revising with an editor. The next e-mail I answer with “Request for Advice” subject heading will contain a book recommendation: How I Came to Be a Writer by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor.

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Thank you for reading JWorld Café, the Poetica Magazine Blog

Jacqueline Jules, Guest Blogger

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Jacqueline Jules is the author of fifteen children's books including Sarah Laughs, a 2009 Sydney Taylor Honor Award book and Unite or Die: How Thirteen States Became a Nation, a New York Public Library Recommended Reading List book. Please visit her at www.jacquelinejules.com/

I will let Ruthie, the recently widowed Jewish grandmother, who is the narrator of my book, Yiddish Yoga, tell you her story about books, reading and Chanukah, the festival of light. (Ruthie sometime turns her personal stories into folk tales).

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It is said that the Jewish people are “people of the Book.” To my Harry I owe an understanding of what this means, because of his gift to me of one book, The Joys of Yiddish by Leo Rosten. This is a humorous collection of popular Yiddish words each illustrated by a joke.

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One Chanukah early in our marriage, we visited my parents, who spoke Yiddish at home. Momma put out a plate of golden potato pancakes with apple sauce and sour cream and a plate of hot suvganiyot, fried doughnuts dusted with confectioner’s sugar filled with apricot preserves.

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“Harry, why don’t you read to us from The Joys of Yiddish?”

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I wanted Momma and Poppa to see how funny Harry was. How heimish, which means homey, like family. Harry picks up the book, and I could tell he was nervous, for he was perspiring. It was hot in my parents’ NYC apartment. where you couldn’t adjust the heat. He turns to a random page.

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“Chozzerai: pronounced kho-zair-eye to rhyme with “roz her eye.” A Yiddish derivation from the Hebrew “khazir,” pig.

Food that is awful. “Who can eat such chozzerai?”

Junk, trash.

Anything disgusting.

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“In modern terms, chozzerai means crap. This may be a gross libel on the innocent pig since the pig, contrary to popular belief, is a quite tidy creature; he wallows in mud because he likes to stay cool.”

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“So Harry, you think I serve you chozzerai? You eat pig? You feed my daughter meat that is not kosher? You don’t like my baking? You think we’re not fancy enough?”

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Harry composed himself. “Mrs. Greenberg, Jewish tradition tells us that Elijah, the perpetually journeying prophet, appears in many unexpected guises in order to help people recover the spark of their lives. Books that we love are our lights, that help us dedicate and re-dedicate ourselves, which is the meaning of Chanukah, for the temple was rededicated. I am a lawyer, and I love words and books and New York, and culture and Yiddish and Hebrew. . . and your daughter, Ruthie. She is my light, my book, my miracle. I have dedicated my life to hers, we are building a Jewish life, a Jewish home together. And by the way, these are the most delicious suvganiyot I’ve ever tasted. A real mekhaye, a real joy.”

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My mother looked at the table full of food, the Chanukah candles burning in the living room, my father half asleep in the leather armchair, the Jewish Forward in his lap. Tears poured from her eyes, and she gave him many kisses and hugs. “You speak Yiddish, a learned man, a modern man, a mensch with golden words, words he makes dance. My son, my son, may you be happy together, with pigs, without pigs, with books, with children, with each other’s light.”

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Each Chanukah we made a tradition of remembering Momma’s blessing and reading from The Joys of Yiddish. And it’s such a funny book, we kept a box of Kleenex beside us because we all laughed so hard we’d cry.

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Now I bring in The Joys of Yiddish to my yoga classes and read to my students some of the strange sounding words and phrases. It makes them laugh, and Harry and Momma agreed this is the most pleasing sound to God. I have often said that I dedicate my yoga practice to my Harry. It’s like lighting a yahrzeit candle for him daily. My body is the dancing flame that continues to burn for him.

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You can read more about Ruthie’s adventures and memories as she kvetches and stretches her way through yoga poses and braids the yoga tradition with her Jewish tradition, like a braided challah bread, in the book Yiddish Yoga: Ruthie’s Adventures in Love, Loss and the Lotus Position.

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Thanks for reading JWorld Cafe, the Poetica Magazine Blog

Lisa Grunberger, Guest Blogger

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Lisa Grunberger was raised in Long Island, NY, by an Israeli mother and a Viennese Father. With a doctorate in Comparative Religions from the University of Chicago Divinity School, as a Yoga teacher, a college professor and published writer, Lisa Grunberger is an entertaining and passionate public speaker. Her chapbook of poems, Root Canal: Love Poems is forthcoming from Poets Wear Prada Press (Roxeanne Hoffman, editor, Hoboken, NJ). She has been published in such journals as The Paterson Literary Review, Mudfish, Nimrod, The Drunken Boat, and Bridges: A Jewish Feminist Journal. She has taught at universities including Hofstra, the Bronx Community College, SUNY at Old Westbury and Parsons, and the The New School School of Design. She is currently an Assistant Professor in English at Temple University in Philadelphia. Her illustrated gift book, Yiddish Yoga: Ruthie’s Adventures in Love, Loss and the Lotus Pose was published by New Market Press in September, 2009.

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www.yiddishyoga.com

lisa@yiddishyoga.com