9 July 2005

where I am from

The other day I came to Mojavi's Simple Things and was led to a beautiful poem and open project. Fred, a teacher, has taken George Ella Lyons' poem Where I'm From and asked his students to write their own story, using Lyons' poem as a base.

He then opened this project to the world, inviting people to participate via the internet. I copied the poem, and the template, intending to have a go over the next day or so. Then bombs exploded in the city of my birth and I have been thinking a lot about where I'm from. And I found I had tears in my eyes as I wrote.

I invite you to have a look at the original poem and the template and try writing your own poem. Play around with it. Share it with me if you wish. Or not.

Here's mine.

Thank you for this gift Mojavi, and may your god go with you.


Where I'm From

I am from a blue coin purse, Matchbox cars in a drawstring bag, running along the railing in a new country, and the sari pin with mismatched stones - one blue, one turquoise.
I am from the homemade school uniform that came down to my knees, the handknitted jumpers and the maryjane schoolshoes.
I am from the summer-sweet apricot trees, from my very own Faraway Tree conquered at noon with gumboots on the wrong feet.
I am from lick the bowl and summer canasta and The Perry Bladder, from Lace, and Moon.
I am from the non-campers and the Home for Deaf Dogs and not with the good scissors.
From half-pint and you'll grow into it, eat your peas and I've told you a million times not to exaggerate.
I am from god bless and gobblers. The Sunday School bible of the most glorious blue. From goodnight and may your god go with you.
I am from this green and pleasant land, egg and chips and roast lamb. From Wait and See Pie and beef stroganoff with a ring of peas.
From the Domesday Book, the Cockney girl and the Oxbridge boy, the Nightingale who died before her time and Gethin pulling brother Harry off the barbed wire at the Western Front, both dead.
I am from the Jacobean wine chest filled with dusty projector-less films that once showed a tantrum at Regents Park Zoo, the wooden slide my uncle built and the nose bleed.
I am from beauty, rich and rare.

12 comments:

blackbird said...

Lovely.

Good morning.
And good night.

Susie Sunshine said...

I liked this very much.

Mojavi said...

awesome, so moving isn't it. I just love it

BabelBabe said...

I did it, and I will tell you it was a lot of fun. And a little sad, and definitely full of nostalgia. I also probably wrote way too much, as is my wont. I love the idea of sharing it within one's blogging community. Thx for clueing me in on it.

Barb said...

I'm so glad you posted this. It's quite revealing. I asked my three closest friends to write their own, and we could compare. It's such an intimate way to get to know one another.

julie persons said...

that is just beautiful!! Julie

daysgoby said...

HOW did I miss this?

This was beautiful.

23rdspiral said...

this is beautiful. thanks to whoever 'memed you' (for you mentioning it now). i've now written my own, and am thankful for this way of preserving memories. i think the poem will be put at the start of my next journal. thankyou.

Sussanah said...

Wow this is wonderful. I have backtracked to you and your gorgeous post. I love the 'not with the good scissors' I can hear that voice.

thanks

Maddy said...

I came here via Two Lime Leaves and I have read many now, but yours has made me cry because I am there with you.

twolimeleaves said...

This is an almost overwhelming thing to write! And so moving to read these all over the net. Thanks for sharing such a great idea.

Lynn said...

This left me still, and sighing.