Back after a long spring break! Today I shared a few passages from a poem by Nazim Hikmet, a Turkish writer who spent much of his adult life as a political prisoner. In the poem, we find him riding a train from Prague to Berlin, watching the world rush by the window and celebrating all the things he never realized he loved: earth, rivers, rainy nights, sparks flying from the engine.
I asked the girls to think of something they had taken for granted, something they didn't even know they loved until it was gone. It could be a small detail about their life back in Africa, a moment shared with a friend or family member who died or moved away, or an object they lost and then missed terribly. Or their poetry could be more like Hikmet's, an effort to notice the everyday beauty surrounding them right now. Here are a few student poems:
I never knew I liked the cat
until I petted her and she
purred like her bones
were breaking.
I never knew I liked Emily
until I made chocolate chip
cookies in her kitchen
under her colorful star light.
I never knew I liked washing dishes,
the bubbles and the soap, and the way
they said pop-pop-pop in my hands.
-Abshiro
The first time I came here I looked at the sky,
and I never knew I liked the sky. The sky
looked different to me and I was
scared because it looked so high.
I didn't know I liked how you smelled
like the donut shop because it made me
hungry, but then I missed it when
you were gone.
-Adout
I didn't know I liked the sun making me hot until the winter.
I didn't know I liked cats until one day I touched one, and it felt soft like ice cream.
I didn't know I liked reading until I read a story. I felt smart and happy.
I didn't know I liked Emily until she went away.
-Saruro
