Poems for girls

  Veckans inspiratör ur The Quarry är Naomi Shihab Nye. Fast till skillnad mot de tidigare fyra poeterna så har jag inte valt en bok ur databasen. Eftersom jag jobbar i ett skolbibliotek och gärna tipsar språklärarna om böcker på engelska så har jag köpt in "A Maze Me : Poems for girls". Den vänder sig i första hand till unga flickor men jag tror nog att kvinnor kan ha glädje av den.

  Naomi Shihab Nye är älskad av er bloggredaktör. Jag tycker om hennes berörande betraktelser, det vackra hon finner i vardagliga ting och händelser. Hon har dessutom ägnat tid åt att balansera bilden av de främmande folken (felaktigt ihopklumpade i begreppet araber) som uppkom efter 9/11. Hon har skrivit dikter som nyanserar könsrollstänket och hon har skrivit barn- och ungdomsböcker av hög klass.

  Som av en tanke publiceras det här inlägget på en söndag. Så här fantasifullt skriver Naomi (hon står mig så nära så jag använder förnamn) om veckodagarna.

Necklace, by Naomi Shihab Nye (f. 1952)
(from A maze me : poems for girls. New York : Greenwillow Books, 2005.)

I hope Sunday's slow and long,
steeped like a pot of mint tea.
Soft sun and deep thinking.

Saturday was a crowded calendar page,
a mound of chores.

Could Monday be a porch?
Facing the week.
Wednesday a meadow?

Thursday, let's leave
small baskets at everyone's door.
Flowers, notes, stones.
No one does that anymore.

Could a week be strung on a silver chain?
A boat?
A tree?
Tuesday as a tree?

***

  Kanske finns förklaringen till hennes goda öga för vardagen i följande dikt; som beskriver en skrivuppgift hon fick en gång av sin lärare. Åtminstone blev hon väldigt inspirerad, den gången.

Sifter, by Naomi Shihab Nye
(from A maze me : poems for girls. New York : Greenwillow Books, 2005.)

When our English teacher gave
our first writing invitation of the year,
Become a kitchen implement
in 2 descriptive paragraphs, I did not think
butcher knife or frying pan,
I thought immediately
of soft flour showering through the little holes
of the sifter and the sifter's pleasing circular
swishing sound, and wrote it down.
Rhoda became a teaspoon,
Roberto a funnel,
Jim a muffin tin
and Forrest a soup pot.
We read our paragraphs out loud.
Abby was a blender. Everyone laughed
and acted giddy but the more we thought about it,
we were all everything in the whole kitchen,
drawers and drainers,
singing teapot and grapefruit spoon
with serrated edges, we were all the
empty cup, the tray.
This, said our teacher, is the beauty of metaphor.
It opens doors.
What I could not know then
was how being a sifter
would help me all year long.
When bad days came
I would close my eyes and feel them passing
through the tiny holes.
When good days came
I would try to contain them gently
the way flour remains
in the sifter until you turn the handle.
Time, time. I was a sweet sifter in time
and no one ever knew.

***

  Att Naomi bär på fler hemligheter än köksredskap blir tydligt i den avslutande dikten om en kolibri. Jag älskar fåglar och Naomi är lyrikens "hummingbird".

Secret, by Naomi Shihab Nye
(from A maze me : poems for girls. New York : Greenwillow Books, 2005.)

How can I be in love with a bus
going by at 6 A.M.
when no one I know is riding it?

Swoosh of tires in the rain -
the hummingbird in the zinnia patch
doesn't find a single flower worth
sinking her beak into.
She's a choosy hummingbird!

                             I'm a choosy hummingbird

All day I dip and dive

twice as alive

as yesterday.