Not long ago, Corinne did a post on a children’s poetry festival in El Salvador.  The post piqued my interest in one of the hosts of the event,  poet Jorge Argueta,  whose books I immediately requested from the library.  As is my usual custom, I take out several books by the same author — as many as are available — and as a result, my daughter and I enjoyed a wonderful night of Argueta’s poetry and stories.  The two poetry books of Argueta’s I was able to read were:  Trees are Hanging from the Sky (illustrated by Rafael Yockteng, published by Groundwood, 2003) and A Movie in My Pillow (illustrated by Elizabeth Gomez, Children’s Book Press, 2001).   The first book was a little hard for my daughter to understand conceptually.  How was it that trees could hang from the sky?  She queried.   And their roots be like snakes?  But once she saw the illustrations, she understood.  I liked the ideas as sheer poetic inversion — it seemed marvelous to me, the idea of trees being rooted in the sky, rather than on earth!

A Movie in My Pillow is a bilingual book and contains short poems in Spanish and English.  In this book, the poems are more straightforward contemplations of the life of an El Salvadoran boy in San Francisco.   My daughter enjoyed this book very much and in fact, wanted to read the poems in English while I read the Spanish (which unfortunately I don’t know very well, but had fun trying to read aloud!)  After the book was done, she said she liked this poetry book a lot.  It was one of the few poetry books I’ve read that she was truly engaged in.

PaperTigers has done an interview with Jorge Argueta.  You might check it out along with his books for a wonderful treat of words!  I do hope his endeavours with the first ever children’s poetry festival in El Salvador go well.

Poetry Friday this week is hosted by Susan Taylor Brown at Susan Writes.

Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month, our website currently features Juan Felipe Herrera’s personal essay, “Apartment Heritage”, in which he beautifully reminisces about his relatives’ one-bedroom apartment in San Diego, where he lived with his family in the 1960′s. The essay uses the apartment as a metaphor for his identity formation, contrasting the life inside it — an “invisible library of culture and family histories”— to the life outside— “that uncanny, whirling splish-splash of chaos, unfiltered, untold.”

Much of Herrera’s work is autobiographical, and two of his books, Downtown Boy (Scholastic. Ages 12+), winner of the 2007 Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award, and Upside Down Boy, illustrated by Elizabeth Gómez (Children’s Book Press. Ages 4-8), were inspired by his childhood as the son of migrant workers in the 1950′s. His family experienced what many thousands of others do who choose or are forced to leave their homeland to search for better, more secure lives.

For many years Herrera traveled with his parents through the small farming towns of California’s Central Valley, changing schools with the seasons, always the “new boy,” always yearning for stability. Stability, however, brought its own set of conflicts: between languages; between old and new; between tradition and change. In Downtown Boy, his mom worries about the lure of life in the city’s barrio, and urges him to stay “close to home.” But where is home when you have been moving around for so long?

With so many influences and so much to reconcile and draw from, it’s no surprise that Herrera not only became a poet, writer and performance artist but also founded bilingual theater, music and poetry troupes that travel the world, telling and singing stories of pride in heritage—and in newness.

Herrera’s recent poetry books for adults have been enthusiastically reviewed in The New York Times.

For more by other writers about Latino migrant workers, their struggles and accomplishments, see The Circuit, Harvesting Hope, Esperanza Rising and First Day in Grapes.

Issues of literacy, post-literacy and how words and pictures fit into children’s lives nowadays are frequent topics of discussion in the blogsphere this year, including on our PaperTigers Blog. Since we began blogging some 9 months ago, Marjorie’s Books at Bedtime has been suggesting ways to make reading a vital part of children’s lives. Janet’s The Tiger’s Bookshelf also weighs in on the subject periodically. Readers share their views, and with nary a naysayer to date: it’s not likely that our PaperTigers community would deny the countless benefits of being exposed to books and stories from a very early age!

We can’t teach babies and toddlers language by putting them in front of the TV. Children learn language, and learn to love language, by being spoken with. Words come to have meaning in the context of important relationships (with parents, grandparents, teachers and/or other caring adults.) After a young mind, and (if we are lucky) soul, has been touched in this safe, nurturing context, a love of reading usually follows naturally. Reading aloud to children is a concept most of us espouse. But at the end of the day (quite literally at the end of the day, in many cases), it can be hard to make the time. It is one thing to know the benefits from a daily dose of books and reading and another altogether to see these benefits in action, translated into kids begging to stay up late to finish a book, or to be read “just one more page!” What a joy it is to hear those words! They are a good indicator that a love of language has been born and will keep on manifesting itself into and throughout adulthood.

The CCBC-net listserv’s recent discussion of nostalgia (as a new trend in children’s books) ended up turning, for a few days, into a thread about memories of reading to children and being read to. CCBC librarian Megan Schliesman (quoted here with permission) offers an insight about the apparent change of subject: “I’m struck by how our discussion of nostalgia in books has turned to one in which so many of us are thinking fondly of being read to and of reading to children. I find there is something essentially nostalgic in the idea of gathering around to listen together to a story, but all of us who read aloud also know that it’s an act that transcends nostalgia, which so often places a divide between child and adult. Instead, reading aloud brings together individuals who might be otherwise divided by age or experience or background.”

On the same thread, Megan Lambert, Instructor of Children’s Literature Programs at The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, mentioned that candid anecdotes about the reading life are just as important as empirical evidence when it comes to the importance of reading. (She is writing a book about this.) “…I recently heard Vivian Gussin Paley speak on the importance of play in the life of the child, and she put out a call for an army of anecdotes about play to counteract the trend toward No Child Left Behind, standardized tests, etc. We need to document the power of reading aloud in this way too. Studies and data and all the rest pointing to how reading aloud creates strong readers are important, but so too are stories that we can all tell about powerful shared reading experiences.”

Absolutely. We all need stories to tell, to listen to, to share. So let the importance of reading in children’s lives be a talking point. One that will continue as long as there are readers and books.

For up-to-date round-ups of articles and blog posts on the subject of reading and literacy, Jen Robinson’s Book Page is the destination. Here’s her latest.

(Image credit: illustration by Elizabeth Gómez, from the book Moony Luna, written by Jorge Argueta.)