|File size||17.7 MB|
Marianne Moore has
discovers that there
after all, a place for
the genuine." Imaginary Gardens
genuine poems by America's own poets some
famous, some lesser-known, some recently discovered
the work of America's master
the book to any page and begin reading.
Imaginary Gardens has no adult-imposed cate-
no chapter divisions. Young readers can
make their own discoveries,
select their favorite
Carl Sandburg speaks of skyscrapers, Robert
Frost of roads not taken.
May Swenson of light-
ning and baseball; Shel Silverstein imagines
being in a rock
band; a Native American
John Singer Sargent and David Hock-
ney bring to the poetry vibrant gardens, Alexander Calder an imaginary horse, and Keith
Haring 60 delightful
There are historic pho-
Mathew B. Brady; there is cartoon
humor from Gary Larson. And much more.
young people of all ages. Imaginary Gara book to grow with, a reading companion through life's trials and pleasures
dazzling foray into word and image.
80 illustrations, including 40 plates in full color
. did V
^1f as stone
„ stt" ^^ * „^, spoke?
*^^ ^^^^ ^.s,
by David Hockney, 1980
who taught me how
and the mouse
and other things
CAROL ANN ROBSON
Rights and Reproductions:
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Imaginary gardens American poetry and
by Charles Sullivan,
young people / edited
a selection of poems by American poets and works
of art by a variety of artists.
ISBN 0-8109-1 130-2
1. Young adult poetry, American.
American poetry— Collections.
Children's poetry, American.
1989 Charles Sullivan
1989 Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Published in 1989 by Harry N. Abrams, Incorporated, New York
No part of the contents of this book may be
reproduced without the written permission of the publisher
All rights reserved.
A Times Mirror Company
bound in Hong Kong
TO THE READER
bought my son a Talking Heads tape for his birthday, this year, and played some
wrapped it up to mail to him. didn't understand very much the music
was loud, the words hard to hear, hard for me to understand. Then I discovered a little
booklet in the tape box, which contained the lyrics to each of the songs. tried reading
them while the tape was playing, and this helped a little. tried reading them while
the tape was not playing, and this helped a lot. Suddenly I could understand what the
song "Ruby Dear" was all about:
of it before
'Round and 'round and we won't let go
stop no one knows
And where we
Down and down
in a spin
Think about what ev'ryone
Oh don't you hear
Late at night
So looky here
Oh, this record's broken ....
isn't just noise,
said to myself, this is poetry. can understand the words of
and can feel the feelings, too sometimes get so confused that I 'm spinning like a
broken record, moving around but getting nowhere fast. You may be a lot younger
than I, butyou have probably felt this also. And your parents have they ever felt it?
doubt if there is much of a generation gap in basic human feelings. But when turn the
tape back on, there's a difference between us. You (like my son) can still hear the
words and understand them and relate to them. (like your parents) may be baffled by
the music, by the "noise."
which is usually words without
people to understand rock. You don't think so? Try this:
to understand poetry
maggie and milly and molly and may
to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered
a shell that
so sweetly she couldn't
milly befriended a stranded star
rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and
may came home with
as small as a world
smooth round stone
as large as alone.
lose (like a
or a me)
in the sea.
know what it's like to be alone how
And if you've ever stood or walked quietly on
the beach, just you, paying attention to nothing else but the sea, you don't need me to
explain what the last line of this poem means.
You've seen shells, starfish, crabs, stones. You
to that bigness.
But a lot of poetry isn't like that, you say? A lot of it is old and hard to understand
and boring, you think? think so, too. But this doesn't mean that all poetry is bad; it
means that we need to be selective, to pick out what is good from what isn't just as
we do with movies, clothes, teachers, or friends. Or rock music. "Good" means what is
good for you; somebody else may like something that you dislike. And that's all right.
What 1 like best is the kind of poem that talks about something very real and true
to me. It may be silly or serious; it may be old-fashioned or new; it may be written in
simple words or it may take me a while to understand. But it has to be believable. As
one poet said, we want to see "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." We can
imagine almost anything a poet asks us to a garden or a beach or a broken record
if it touches our feelings in a way that we know is true.
spinning on a turntable
The poems in this book are about many different things including a garden, a
beach, a record, but also including pets and families, war, sports, outer space, living in
silly things and serious things that get all mixed together in this wonderful,
scary adventure that
Combined with the poetry
"Houseboat Mouse," you'll see a little drawing of
a mouse dancing, like the one in the poem; you'll also find a painting of a houseboat
the wooden kind that some people lived on in years gone by. If my poem is a good
poem, then you don't need these pictures to make the mouse and the houseboat real
your own imagination can do that. But the pictures may help you to see
what was looking at (or perhaps imagining) when wrote this poem:
about. For example, with
are pictures of things that the poets
My house is a boat,
my boat is a house,
I live on the river
with Morris the mouse ....
Did this ever really happen? Who knows? It's happening now, in your imagination
(and in mine) You'll just have to keep on wondering if ever lived on a houseboat, or
any kind of a boat, with or without a mouse.
This book has no rules. You don't have to read it if you don't want to. If you do
want to read it, you can start anywhere you like at the beginning, at the end, or in
the middle. You can read one poem, or several, or all of them. You can sleep with this
book under your pillow, or hide it in the wastebasket and hope that it will get thrown
out with the trash. You are the boss of this book!
Naturally (being a parent) hope thatyou won't throw the book away; somebody
had to work hard to get it for you, and and other people had to work hard to put it
together. But a gift is not truly a gift if it has any "shoulds" tied to it. So what you do
with this gift is up to you.
hope you learn to enjoy it, but
In fact, what you do with poetry is up to you.
would bite my tongue rather than say that you should enjoy it. That's your decision.
will ask a favor of you, however. Please write and tell me how you like this book.
Even if you don't like some of it (or all of it) am interested in your opinions. Here's
my name and address. (Do you think it's real?)
P.O. Box 1775
Annapolis, Maryland 21404
John Singer Sargent, 1885-86
THERE ARE DIFFERENT GARDENS
lowers can be cousins of the
and speaking lips of the lily
And the warning of the fire and the dust
They are in the gardens and the sky of stars.
Beyond the shots of the light of this sun
Are the little sprinkles, the little twinklers
Of suns to whose lips this lily never sent
A whisper from its closing and speaking lips.
there are things that are important
Reading it, however, with
all this fiddle.
discovers that there
after all, a place for the genuine.
can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
must, these things are important not because a
high sounding interpretation can be put upon them but
because they are
they become so derivative as to become
the same thing
be said for
of us, that
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the bat,
holding on upside down or in quest of something to
elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a
roll, a tireless
a tree, the
twitching his skin like a horse
that feels a flea, the baseball fan, the statistician
to discriminate against "business
all these phenomena are important. One must
make a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
among us can be
insolence and triviality and can present
imaginary gardens with real toads in them,
In the meantime, if you demand on one hand,
the raw material of poetry in
on the other hand
genuine, then you are interested in poetry.
by Alexander Calder. 1976
A GIGANTIC BEAUTY OF A STALLION
from Song of Myself
and responsive to
wide between the ears,
gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh
in the forehead,
Limbs glossy and supple,
dusting the ground,
of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His nostrils dilate as
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as
race around and return.
n her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows
are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.
in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.
Young as she
life is a
A stillness greatens,
is at it
The whole house seems
and some of it heavy:
to be thinking.
again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again
remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years
How we stole in,
And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through
We watched the sleek, wild, dark
the crack of the door,
And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard
or the desk-top,
For the wits to try
and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,
from a chair-back.
Beating a smooth course for the right
of the world.
Of life or death, as had forgotten. wish
What wished you before, but harder
James Jebusa Shannon, 1895
When Mother reads aloud,
Seem very near and
cross the desert's
Or hunt the jungle's prowling bands,
Or sail the ocean blue.
Far heights, whose peaks the cold mists shroud,
scale, when Mother reads aloud.
hen Mother reads aloud, the past
Seems real as every day;
I hear the tramp of armies vast,
I see the spears and lances cast,
join the trilling fray;
Brave knights and ladies
meet when Mother reads aloud.
When Mother reads aloud,
For noble deeds to do
To help the right, redress the wrong;
It seems so easy to be strong.
So simple to be true.
Oh, thick and fast the visions crowd
My eyes, when Mother reads aloud.
Alexander Cassatt and His Son Robert
by Mary Cassatt, 1884-85
more coal on the
And while we
are waiting for dinner to cook.
A story that he
has read in a book.
And Charles and Will and Dick and
And all of us but Clarence are there.
And some of us sit on Father's legs,
But one has to
And when we are sitting very still.
He sings us a song or tells a piece;
He sings Dan Tucker Went to Town,
us about the golden fleece.
He tells us about the golden wool.
And some of it is about a boy
Named Jason, and
And some is about
And while he
about a ship.
telling or singing
stand by his arm, for that
is my place.
And push my fingers into his skin
To make little dents in his big round face.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
etween the dark and the daylight,
When the night is
beginning to lower,
pause in the day's occupations
as the Children's
hear in the chamber above
The patter of little feet.
The sound of a door that is opened.
see in the lamplight.
are plotting and planning together
me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors
They enter my
They climb up
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
the broad hall stair
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair
voices soft and sweet.
try to escape, they
to be everywhere.
The Daughters of Edward D. Boit
John Singer Sargent, 1882
They almost devour me with
Their arms about
think of the Bishop of Bingen
Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as am
not a match for you
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
will keep you forever,
the wall shall crumble to ruin,
And molder in dust away!
The Old Woman
Who Lived in a Shoe
THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN
WHO LIVED IN A SHOE
here was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn't know what to do.
She gave them some broth, without any bread.
She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
There was an
soundly, and put
There Was An Old
Woman Who Lived in
Author Charles Sullivan Isbn 978-0810911307 File size 17.7 MB Year 1989 Pages 111 Language English File format PDF Category Art Book Description: FacebookTwitterGoogle+TumblrDiggMySpaceShare The juxtaposition of art and poetry is not an original concept, but this volume contains an especially felicitous selection. The collection of photographs, superb artwork and splendidly varied poems–both silly and serious–is eclectic and historically comprehensive. Winslow Homer’s 19th-century “The Fox Hunt” with its rook shadow accompanies Valerie Worth’s “Crows” and Barbara Angell’s “Fox’s Song.” Carl Sandburg’s “Milk-white Moon, Put the Cows to Sleep” is paired with Roy Lichtenstein’s “Cow Triptych.” Whitman’s moving “The Words of the True Poems” and two of Dickinson’s poems about death are aligned with a photograph of the late teacher/astronaut Christa McAuliffe. Poet Sullivan ( American in Poetry ) has a discerning eye, and has chosen poems and art that not only reflect the breadth and depth of the American experience, but are accessible to children of varying ages. From the startling Chippewa Indian song about greatness to the brilliant photograph of the earth as seen from the Apollo 17 spacecraft, each page is a dazzling surprise. All ages. Download (17.7 MB) The Poet Edgar Allan Poe: Alien Angel Poetry In Painting: Writings On Contemporary Arts And Aesthetics Whitman Illuminated: Song of Myself Emily Dickinsons Gardens: A Celebration of a Poet and Gardener by Marta Mcdowell The Poetry of Roses Load more posts