In the new issue of PaperTigers, poet Debjani Chatterjee gives a list of poetry books in the Personal Views section entitled Borderless World: Multicultural Poetry for Children and Young Adults.    I found one of her suggestions at my local library.  It was Around the World in Eighty Poems selected by James Berry and illustrated by Katherine Lucas (Macmillan Children’s Books, 2001.)  This wonderful book  contains 80 poems of differing forms and origins.  A map at the beginning of the book shows where all the poems come from, and the poems are organized in the following index by their culture of origin.

My daughter and I have been reading this book together.  Since poetry is a short form, I like to have my daughter read the poems to me.  She sometimes takes issues with the metaphors;  often she is quite literal in her interpretations, and yet other times she enjoys the sounds of the poem or the subject (of course, she picked a poem “All the Dogs” to read as dogs are her current obsession!).  I liked the way we browsed through the book together, looking at the illustrations and titles to figure out which poem we wanted to ‘encounter.’  Poetry books are special that way; they are not necessarily meant to be read in a linear fashion.  A poet I once read, talked about poems in a book being like pictures in a gallery — the poems are self-contained units of art meant to be appreciated in a singular way as one would gaze on a painting.  Around the World in Eighty Poems is the kind of collection one can browse through and select accordingly.  Katherine Lucas’ illustrations in soft dreamy pastels supplement the poems beautifully.

Poetry Friday this week is hosted by Liz at Liz in Ink.

In her Personal View for our current issue of PaperTigers, Uma Krishnaswami ponders some of the questions that have come her way as a writer recently. Make sure you head on over to the main website to read the whole article; in the meantime, here’s the introduction. I found her pondering over the word ‘swale’ particularly fascinating as I live not too far from Swaledale in the UK – and it certainly catches a lot of rain too! – could there be a connection?

Four years ago, an uncle of mine, D.V. Sridharan, started the crazy, impossible, madcap project, of restoring a wasteland in a rural area near the city of Chennai in India, and turning it into a sustainable farm. The reason this has anything to do with my own crazy, impossible, madcap occupation, writing books for children, is that his endeavor too had to do with words.

Words like “swale”: Roll it on your tongue. How round and beautiful it is. How it creates a resonance in the air. Swale. A low tract of land, a swale follows the contour line, and can catch water when it rains. Holding the rush of a monsoon shower, the swale in turn recharges underground water sources so that in the dry season, wells can remain refreshed. Swale. The thing is as magical as its name.

The name of that restoration project is “point Return.” The capitals are intentionally placed, intentionally withheld. The point, Sridharan says, is to return. To come back again and again to the places and the ideas that give us sustenance and hope, that are generative and regenerative in nature, that keep us going, that lead to a larger sense of who “we” are.

Story does this too. Thinking of story as cyclical in nature rather than linear, with a beginning, middle and end, changes everything. It stops me from rushing after answers, grabbing the first one that comes along. It allows me instead to live with questions.

I am happy to say that I have managed to make a career out of living with questions.

As I said, do read the rest of the article, in which Uma talks about her latest picture-book, Out of the Way! Out of the Way! (illustrated by her near-namesake, Uma Krishnaswamy, Tulika Books, 2010), which certainly provides scope for lots of questions, and gives a tantalising look ahead at her forthcoming middle-grade novel The Grand Plan to Fix Everything (Atheneum Books, due out 2011) – and then pay a visit to Uma’s wonderful blog, Writing with a Broken Tusk.

As we come to the end of our two-month focus on Refugee Children, there’s just time to remind ourselves of the important role books have in helping children to gain insight into traumatic events around the world, and to develop their own emotional response to them. We are fortunate to have so many gifted writers who are now writing such stories for children and young people of all ages (and publishers who are making these stories available). One of these writers is undoubtedly Pegi Deitz Shea, who has written about this far more eloquently than I ever could in her recent Personal View for PaperTigers: Reading About and Reaching Out to Refugees. Here’s an extract to ponder:

During the Vietnam War, I wished I had books about refugees, because the TV news overwhelmed me. As a child, I couldn’t process those images: Why are the children running? Did we hurt them? I thought we were supposed to be helping them? Will the children be okay? Today, the same need is exponentially true for youngsters. They are so barraged with audio-visual stimuli that it takes literature for them to slow down, absorb, share and process what’s going on in the world. And it takes teachers and parents to initiate that process.

Violence has become casual, entertaining, ubiquitous in the U.S. In Abe in Arms, my first novel for teens, Abe comes to America as an adopted Liberian war refugee. He receives initial therapy to help him deal with the loss of his family. But the deeper he gets into the American teen culture – sexual pressure, competitive sports, violent entertainment, substance abuse – the more absurd and worthless life becomes to him. These so-called “normal” teen experiences awaken in Abe untold traumas of sexual abuse and drunken days of slaughter. He becomes dangerous to himself and to others.

Without literature like this – and trusted adults to share it with – how can kids growing up far from disaster zones become aware of the life-and-death situations their counterparts face around the world? It is not only war, but also shattered economies and natural disasters that create refugees. But to kids tuned into the latest celebrity debacle, the earthquake in Haiti is old news, Hurricane Katrina is ancient news and the 2004 Tsunami in the Indian Ocean is etched on stone tablets. At the time of those tragedies, many schools generously and immediately responded to the call for aid. But the consequences of these events last a long time. Without books that last, how can we expect memories to last? How can we expect children to develop a lasting commitment to caring?

Recent floods in Pakistan have immobilized the country and have put many lives at peril and risk.  Of course, among the many affected are children.  Response to the disaster has been slow but there are places where one can donate specifically to help children such as UNICEF, The Global Fund for Children, World Vision,  Save the Children in addition to the Red Cross.   PaperTigers has covered a number of books about Pakistani children in distress, particularly those in refugee camps on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border and those working as child laborers.  The plight of children in distress and the way their stories can be told in books is the focus of Pegi Shea’s Personal Views piece in PaperTigers’ current issue, which is about refugees.

In his Personal View for our current issue of PaperTigers, How Children Play Around the World, author Tom O’Leary describes how he recently learnt some important lessons from his daughters…

Tom is the author of RetroActive: Skip, Hop and You Don’t Stop: Games We Played (BookSurge Publishing, 2009) and also has a great blog – Games We Played – so, I have to say, it was kind of reassuring, as a parent, to read his article – but also inspiring. I really urge you to read it all the way through – it did make me chuckle; and I’m going to quote the inspiring bit here:

The participation in natural, unstructured and creative childhood play teaches our children more than any coach ever could:

In play, children learn how to resolve conflict through compromise
The simplicity of “do-over” as a method of balancing two opposing opinions during play could be a lesson for many corporate and political quarrels.

In play, children learn how to be fair
The process of selecting “It” is based on pure objectivity.

In play, children learn how to be tolerant
They learn that no player is too small, too slow or too awkward to be included in the game.

In play, children learn to adapt
Rules are introduced or adapted as needed to ensure an even playing field, or to increase the challenge for skilled players.

In play, children learn teamwork
Making a human chain in jail to give our remaining teammates a better chance to free us demonstrates our unity.

In play, children learn to trust
There is no greater ally than your playing partner.

In play, children learn to take chances
Is it possible to make it to the other side if I run now?

In play, children learn to laugh and not take themselves too seriously
It’s just a game, after all.

And in the perfect imperfection of unstructured, creative play, children are reminded of the most important thing: that they are children and that play is fun, just like it should be.

How about that as something to print out and stick on the fridge? It is so great to be reminded of this, and particularly timely for me now, as soon my two will be winding down for their school holidays. Here’s hoping it will be one they look back on as an endless summer spent playing out of doors…

Thank you, Tom, for your great Personal View.

For our current issue on How Children Play Around the World, we asked several authors and illustrators to tell us about their Memories of Playtimes Past. Together, they paint a vivid picture of childhood around the world and reveal the power of imagination – something that still plays such an important role in all their lives as adults, and in the lives of kids today. Illustrator Mandana Sadat, whose own contribution is just wonderful, was struck after reading the whole article by the similarities in the different experiences of play – do read Aline’s post discussing this.

The first author up is Tanita Davis:

Growing up the youngest of three sisters (in Martinez, California) meant being left out of the older girls’ games. To placate me, I was named Mom’s “helper” and my playtimes combined chores and daydreaming. I would sit on the back porch and shuck corn from the garden, or weed the front yard – and then taking the silk from the corn, combine it with dirt and water, and make “pies” for the dog to eat (Our poor dog. She really did eat them.), or take the “milk” from the stems of the dandelions I was supposed to be eradicating from the front yard (after blowing all of the milkweed clocks and sufficiently re-seeding them throughout the lawn), and use it as glue to adhere dry weeds to the “head” of a cornhusk doll.

Because I was a quiet kid, I got away with a lot – climbing the tree next to my father’s shed, and making a tree-house of sorts on the roof, complete with its own chamber pot (Oh, I got in trouble when my mother found out about THAT) and store of slightly mildew books scavenged from a teacher’s throw-away pile. One summer I played with the hose and made carefully dried adobe “moccasins” that were no more than ten or twelve layers of clay mud I wore on the bottom of my feet as shoes. They lasted for a surprisingly long time before they cracked. As the layers dried, I would lie on my back in the yard and listen to the drone of the planes going to and from the Air Force base, and imagine they were taking people to adventures, just like I would have someday.

And Belle Yang brings the article to a flourishing close:

I was born on the subtropical island of Taiwan. The front yard was the rice paddies, alive with tadpoles like music notes on sheet music. The Sleeping Dragon Mountain, exploding with firecracker red azaleas, was my backyard. Rivulets, home to small fish and crustaceans, came rushing down the hills. My barefoot friends and I looked for tiny crabs as they crawled among the stones, dappled by sunlight and the motion of wind in the acacia.

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We caught the crabs and tied white sewing thread to one of their many legs. We took them for walks on the paved paths of the schoolyard, where my parents taught high school. I was delighted with my pet that could only walk sideways.

Do read the rest of the Memories of Playtimes Past – between them, Alan Gratz, Mandana Sadat, Jorge Argueta, Neni Sta Romana Cruz, Chris Cheng, Demi and Larry Loyie, along with Tanita and Belle quoted above, will evoke a smile, or even a laugh out loud – and certainly memories of one’s own childhood… And if you’d care to share some of those with us, we’d love to hear them!

In our current issue of PaperTigers, which focuses on Canadian Aboriginal Children’s Literature, we feature the reprint of an article by Nadine C. Fabbi, Associate Director of the Canadian Studies Center in the Henry M. Jackson School of International Studies at the University of Washington, in which she has put together a set of picture books to introduce children to Inuit culture and Northern/Nunavut history:

Elementary school teachers and librarians can successfully introduce children to Inuit culture and Northern/Nunavut history by having them read the ten selected books in this article and then enhancing these stories with additional curriculum and lesson plans. Children’s literature from the North is relatively recent with all but one of the suggested books being published in the 1990s or since 2000. All of the books are excellent in terms of quality (several are awards winners) and engaging for the young reader with beautiful illustrations. Each book also serves as an introduction to Inuit mythology, the history of the Northwest Passage and missionary schools, the importance of the inukshuk, and the vital place of the polar bear in Inuit culture. The entire “selection” makes for an excellent library of the Canadian North for children.

You can read the whole article here. The set includes our current selection for The Tiger’s Bookshelf, Arctic Stories by Michael Kusugak and illustrated by Vladyana Langer Krykorka (Annick, 1998); and I was particularly struck by what Nadine writes about the importance of the polar bear in Inuit culture:

Another key part of Inuit life is the role of the polar bear both for survival and in terms of the special attributes given to the animal. Children love to learn about animals and the polar bear is (more…)

One of the books selected for the Spirit of PaperTigers 2010 Book Set is My Little Round House by Bolormaa Baasansuren (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi press, 2009). In a Personal View for PaperTigers, Helen Mixter describes the book’s journey from its creation in Mongolia to Japan, and her adaptation of the Japanese edition for publication in English, after being asked by Groundwood to provide a rough translation of the Japanese text:

The rough translation was very useful for its factual content. It explained what was happening in the pictures and also conveyed the emotional tone of the book. It is a book that expresses very convincingly a baby’s feelings of being loved, of being safe and warm and cozy despite what to many non-Mongolians might seem to be the hard life of a nomad. All the elements of this wonderful story were there except that the text did not really resemble a picture book text that would work for North Americans.

The publisher had told me about [Japanese illustrator] Hideko Nagano’s story of working with Baasansuren on the theme of roundness to give the book its shape. So I decided that I would use this idea as the thematic centre for the English version. And roundness is certainly a dominant presence in this baby’s life – from his mother’s womb, to his ger, to the little basket in which he travels through a snowstorm to the family’s winter quarters. Roundness is there in the turn of the year as the family literally moves through four seasons, each with its own pastures and quarters for the animals. It is there in the family that lovingly surrounds him. Only at the very end, when he runs through the grass with the dogs on his first birthday, do we see the baby breaking out of his small round world into the greater, flatter world of the outdoors – though the sky is still a round canopy over his head.

The fact that the “original text” came through such an unusual route in some ways made the whole process much freer than usual. Whereas usually as a translator I work very hard to keep the voice of the original text intact and to remain as true as possible to the word for word of it, this process wasn’t really possible here. Because the illustrations show the story and the feelings of the book so clearly, and because the rough translation had the same emotional texture, it seemed to be okay to try and re-tell the story rather than to “translate” it. I think it works and that the English book is true in spirit and form to the original.

This book is a personal favourite of mine. It is so true to the emotional world of a baby while showing us such a wonderful and completely different way of life.

You can read the whole article here. I found the notion of translation vs adaptation particularly interesting. It would be interesting to know readers’ views on this too…

In our current issue of PaperTigers, Katia Novet Saint-Lot, author of the very special picture-book Amadi’s Snowman, has shared with us her family’s celebration of an expat Christmas, in which she and her family draw in local traditions from the country they are living in at the time. The result is a wonderful evocation of peace and respect across faiths:

Last year, as we built our Nativity scene on the large bottom plank of our Rajasthani bookshelf, a little wooden Ganesh and a small brass Buddha found their way close to the empty spot waiting for Jesus to be born. I don’t remember how they got there, but there they sat, round and happy, amidst all the cotton wool meant to represent the snow. Both my children have grown up surrounded by images of Ganesha, the Remover of Obstacles with his broken tusk, his pot belly, and his friend the mouse. They’ve seen his statues carried on auto-rickshaws and trucks all across the city, and they’ve seen them immersed in the lake. Similarly, we have several statues of Buddha in our home. When our little one was 17 months old, we visited Sri Lanka, and she saw so many Buddhas over there that the word became one of her favorites for a while. She would see the statue of a politician, or of any God from the Hindu pantheon, and cry enthusiastically: “Buddha!” So it was only natural that both Ganesh and Buddha should join us in awaiting the birth of Jesus. What is the spirit of Christmas, after all, if not a spirit of universal love? And shouldn’t love go hand in hand with inclusion, tolerance and respect?

When my husband lived in Mali, a predominantly Muslim country , he picked up the habit of saying “Insh’Allah” (God willing) whenever the outcome of a situation was uncertain. When I met him in New York, he was still saying it. He continued to do so while we lived in the predominantly Christian south-eastern part of Nigeria, and our coming to India has not changed his habit. Some people assume he’s Muslim (he was brought up Christian); others know that he’s not, and smile. One day, the Hindu driver who worked for my husband’s office blurted out “Insh’Allah” as the two of them discussed their concern about a particular situation. When my husband laughed, and called him on it, he just smiled.

You can read her whole Personal View, “A Wish for 2010″ here. Our thoughts are with Katia and her family at the moment as her husband is from Haiti. She is currently preparing a post for her blog “about Haiti, its beauty, and what the country and its people mean to me” – I’ll add a link when it goes live; in the meantime, read what she has to say about children’s books about Haiti, as well as Mitali Perkin’s post, which Katia refers to…

Amelia Lau Carling’s picture-book, Mama and Papa Have a Store (Dial, 1998)/ La Tienda de Mamá y Papá (Groundwood, 2003)) is all about a day in her parents’ Chinese shop in Guatemala City. In a wonderfully evocative Personal View for our current issue of PaperTigers, Amelia shares some more memories from her childhood, as she recalls the celebrations “On Our Street” around this time of year:

We sat in the rooftop terrace around a small card table. We were the three kids my mother could rope into a chore that would pay us a quarter each. My feet dangled without touching the floor. Mama had cooked a pot of glue with cornstarch, water and lemon juice. The pot sat cooling in the middle of the table and a couple of old paintbrushes lay next to it. There was a stack of “Cohete El Aguila” labels and a case of firecrackers, each one a four-inch square of red paper and gunpowder. Our job was to glue a label on each packet. In the sky, a kite or two danced among the clouds. The air was crisp and the sun shone strongly. We whiled away the afternoon around the little table in silly banter, slapping on labels.

It was December in Guatemala, and we were happy to be in the middle of our summer vacation. School was out from October to January. Christmas and New Year’s Eve were coming, and pasting firecracker labels was only part of the excitement. We helped in the store, our Chinese store where a little of everything was sold. I stood on a stool to punch the numbers in quetzales and centavos on the old cash register and turned the crank on the side to make its drawer fly open with a cheerful brrring…”

Read the rest of Amelia’s article here - and while you’re at it, check out our gallery feature and interview with her…