Local Learning: Poetry and Sense of Place

Where I'm From
by George Ella Lyons

I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the black porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.

I'm from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I'm from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I'm from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.

I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments-
snapped before I budded-
leaf-fall from the family tree.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Where I'm From" appears in George Ella Lyon's Where I'm From, Where Poems Come From, a poetry workshop-book for teachers and students, illustrated with photographs by Robert Hoskins and published by Absey & Co, Spring, Texas, 1999.

The book can be purchased at www.absey.com.
The poem is reprinted with permission from the author and the publisher.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ms. Lyons is the author of picture books and novels as well as poetry for children. She is available for school and conference presentations. See visitingauthors.com for more information.

 




Louisiana Voices
by Summer 2000 Institute participants

All: We are Louisiana voices
Northern Voices: A patchwork quilt
Southern Voices: A spicy gumbo
Central Voices: Crossroads connecting
All: We are Louisiana voices

Sally
I am from hands
pushing into dark, rich soil
on the bayou's bank
I'm from slapped hands
humiliated, ridiculed
punctuating the forbidden
French language
I am from blistered hands
holding hammers not plows
in New Iberia, Ibeia, the Queen City.

Christine
I am from
the second migration
away from the roots of
Spanish moss
Evangeline oaks
Bayou Teche
I return
to the land of
Arceneaux, Broussard, Maraist, Lake Peigneur
I am deeply rooted in the Grand Marais
the sugar cane, the traiteur, and the loup garou
the Iberians of Ma Louisiane.

Martha
I am from the
North and the South,
A steel magnolia,
Easily bruised yet
Strong and bold.

Maria
I am from bayous of gumbo water.
From Angelle, Alceé, Marie,
A-ma, A-pa, Ma-Maw, and Paw.
And Mama saying, "The years may come
And the years may go,
But there will always be a Babineaux."

Cindy
I am from everyday bridges
Of ageless cypress and muscadine vines
Crossing time and Bayou Teche.

Danette
I am from swift running racehorse legs,
Sprinting to buy Lea's infamous pies,
Cool creek water chilling the bones
Of any brave soul who dares to intrude.

Cindi
I am from my Grandma Stype, long gone,
The keeper of ponies, chickens, and "wooper" dogs.

Dixie
I am from the death scent of
wild rabbit, dove, and quail in my father's hunting vest.

Jo Lynn
I am from the watermelon thump parades,
Rainbow Girls and air-raid drills.
I'm "A Daydream Believer"
Who "Can't Get No Satisfaction."

Brenda
I am from
the aroma of Community Coffee,
small hands serving Grandfather
his morning cup on the back porch,
oak trees behind us.

Angi
I am from the circle oaks
Where I stand as gusts of warm winds
Gather up my every hair
And make a dancer of me.

Kim
I'm from the Smith and Meaux branch,
Coffee milk and coush coush
Oilfield sweat and pennies pinched
From hand-me-downs,
From garfish balls and from boiled eggs in gumbo.

Wendy
I am from the slow moving waters
Of Atchafalaya week-ends,
Dripping from fat full moons,
Fitted piece by piece
Into the quilting frame
Stretched across the pinewood floor
Upstairs
Where the sun is best
Where everything is clear.

Gayle
I am from store-bought dresses and handmade quilts.

Sandy
I am from "Je vous salue Marie, pleine de grace" and
"Notre Père, qui est au ciel..."
from "Et cum spiritu tou," "Ora pro nobis" and "Mea culpa,
mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."

Vicki
I am from pine trees, magnolia leaves,
Sugar cane and cotton fields crisscrossing Bayou Boeuf
From fishing holes and barbeques
From a sense that He is in charge.

Sally
I am from calloused hands
soothed in the earth
of backyard gardens,
cultivating tomatoes, okra, sweet corn
I am from celebrating hands
passing a good time
squeezing accordions
fingering fiddles
peeling crawfish
holding a bourré hand
I am from protective hands
pushing offspring
deeper into the city
spreading fingers to allow
glimpses to the past
I am from reaching hands
replanting roots
reweaving threads
of a rich heritage
I am from
Acadian Hands

Claire
I am from bayous of
Fiddles, accordions, and the fais - do - do.

All: We are Louisiana voices
Northern Voices: A patchwork quilt
Southern Voices: A spicy gumbo
Central Voices: Crossroads connecting
All: We are Louisiana voices.