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Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle
Here are modern poems chosen for their individual excellence and their special appeal to young people. Exciting photographs accent the contemporary tone of the collection.From lighthearted Phyllis Mc-Ginley to pessimistic Ezra Pound; from the lyricism of Edna St. Vincent Millay to the vigor of Lawrence Ferlinghette; from Carl Sandburg on loneliness to Paul Dehn on the bomb -- such is the range. The little known or unknown poet and the widely recognized appear side by siide.
Whatever the subject matter -- pheasant or flying saucer; lapping lake water or sonic boom; a deer hunt, a basketball, or a bud -- it is all poetry reflecting today's images and today's moods.
The editors spent several years bringing together 1200 poems they considered fine enough to include, then slowly and carefully sifted out of 114 which appear in the book.
Readers of Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle . . . and Other Modern Verse may well be tempted by Eve Merriam's suggestion in "How to Eat a Poem"
Don't be polite
Bite in.
Pick it up with your
fingers and lick
The juice that may
run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now,
whenever you are.
Whatever the subject matter -- pheasant or flying saucer; lapping lake water or sonic boom; a deer hunt, a basketball, or a bud -- it is all poetry reflecting today's images and today's moods.
The editors spent several years bringing together 1200 poems they considered fine enough to include, then slowly and carefully sifted out of 114 which appear in the book.
Readers of Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle . . . and Other Modern Verse may well be tempted by Eve Merriam's suggestion in "How to Eat a Poem"
Don't be polite
Bite in.
Pick it up with your
fingers and lick
The juice that may
run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now,
whenever you are.
144 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1966
11 people are currently reading
380 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 110 reviews
November 26, 2021
If only I understood how my brain works, I could give an empirical explanation of what happened when I spotted Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle in a second-hand book shop; I could describe the experience in terms of neurons firing, synapses synapsing, and other electrochemical happenings in my head. Such an explanation would not be poetic at all. Oh no. It would be quite rational and scientifical. But I don’t understand how my brain works, so I’ll have to use the language of reminiscence and nostalgia.
There was a flash of recognition when I saw the cover with the words “Watermelon Pickle” and the painting of the jar of pickles sitting on a rustic shelf. It was not a memory. It was a re-cognition, a knowing-again. I don’t remember reading the book. I don’t remember what grade I was in. Or if I read it for school or pleasure. There was just that explosive recognition. Something that was not there, was suddenly there.
Nearly fifty years separate me from the child who read that book. Yet I recognized the words to “How to Eat a Poem” as if I were she. In that moment, we were one: Me and she who was me before I was me.
I recognized a few other poems. Each recognition was a sudden illumination. Effortless and natural. As if I’d known all along. And how satisfying it was to find that she and I had the same taste in poetry! How comforting to know that “Gone Forever” impressed her so much that it was preserved somewhere in her gray matter for me to find. What kind of thoughts did she think that made this poem stay with her – this poem about the ephemerality of thought? On the other hand, I do know what kind of thoughts made “Résumé” stand out to her.
There was only one more poem that I fully recognized: “Dead Kitten.” But there were also a few dimmer sparks of recognition, a few glimmers in the darkness: “Apartment House,” the image of the telephone poles in “Crossing Kansas by Train,” the phrase “eat candy bars” in “Transcontinent,” and the “pink imperial slices” of the title poem. Small though these details are, they tell me something about the child who read this book.
How poetic then, that she too read a poem that told her something about me! Though she could not have known it at the time. I will have to know for the both of us.
“During that summer—
Which may never have been at all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was—
Watermelons ruled.”
These lines describe a nostalgia that is an abstract concept to the young but a lived experience to the middle-aged. What a perfect way to end a poetry book for children – with a poem whose full meaning is not revealed until the book is forgotten and chanced upon later.
This is déjà vu that is true. I have been here before.
There was a flash of recognition when I saw the cover with the words “Watermelon Pickle” and the painting of the jar of pickles sitting on a rustic shelf. It was not a memory. It was a re-cognition, a knowing-again. I don’t remember reading the book. I don’t remember what grade I was in. Or if I read it for school or pleasure. There was just that explosive recognition. Something that was not there, was suddenly there.
Nearly fifty years separate me from the child who read that book. Yet I recognized the words to “How to Eat a Poem” as if I were she. In that moment, we were one: Me and she who was me before I was me.
I recognized a few other poems. Each recognition was a sudden illumination. Effortless and natural. As if I’d known all along. And how satisfying it was to find that she and I had the same taste in poetry! How comforting to know that “Gone Forever” impressed her so much that it was preserved somewhere in her gray matter for me to find. What kind of thoughts did she think that made this poem stay with her – this poem about the ephemerality of thought? On the other hand, I do know what kind of thoughts made “Résumé” stand out to her.
There was only one more poem that I fully recognized: “Dead Kitten.” But there were also a few dimmer sparks of recognition, a few glimmers in the darkness: “Apartment House,” the image of the telephone poles in “Crossing Kansas by Train,” the phrase “eat candy bars” in “Transcontinent,” and the “pink imperial slices” of the title poem. Small though these details are, they tell me something about the child who read this book.
How poetic then, that she too read a poem that told her something about me! Though she could not have known it at the time. I will have to know for the both of us.
“During that summer—
Which may never have been at all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was—
Watermelons ruled.”
These lines describe a nostalgia that is an abstract concept to the young but a lived experience to the middle-aged. What a perfect way to end a poetry book for children – with a poem whose full meaning is not revealed until the book is forgotten and chanced upon later.
This is déjà vu that is true. I have been here before.
December 2, 2017
My piece about the collection for the Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/arti...
If I ever have to teach poetry to junior high students, I'll use this book.
Some faves:
November Day by Eleanor Averitt
Old haggard wind has
plucked the trees
like pheasants, held
between her knees.
In rows she hangs them,
bare and neat,
their brilliant plumage at
her feet.
Swallows by Thomas Hornsby Ferril
The prairie wind blew harder than it could,
Even the spines of cactus trembled back,
I crouched in an arroyo clamping my hands
On my eyes the sand was stinging yellow black.
In a break of the black I let my lashes part,
Looked overhead and saw I was not alone,
I could almost reach through the roar and almost touch
A treadmill of swallows almost holding their own.
Summons by Robert Francis
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling up the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.
Forecast by Dan Jaffe
Perhaps our age has driven us indoors.
We sprawl in the semi-darkness, dreaming sometimes
Of a vague world spinning in the wind.
But we have snapped our locks, pulled down our shades,
Taken all precautions. We shall not be disturbed.
If the earth shakes, it will be on a screen;
And if the prairie wind spills down our streets
And covers us with leaves, the weatherman will tell us.
If I ever have to teach poetry to junior high students, I'll use this book.
Some faves:
November Day by Eleanor Averitt
Old haggard wind has
plucked the trees
like pheasants, held
between her knees.
In rows she hangs them,
bare and neat,
their brilliant plumage at
her feet.
Swallows by Thomas Hornsby Ferril
The prairie wind blew harder than it could,
Even the spines of cactus trembled back,
I crouched in an arroyo clamping my hands
On my eyes the sand was stinging yellow black.
In a break of the black I let my lashes part,
Looked overhead and saw I was not alone,
I could almost reach through the roar and almost touch
A treadmill of swallows almost holding their own.
Summons by Robert Francis
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling up the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.
Forecast by Dan Jaffe
Perhaps our age has driven us indoors.
We sprawl in the semi-darkness, dreaming sometimes
Of a vague world spinning in the wind.
But we have snapped our locks, pulled down our shades,
Taken all precautions. We shall not be disturbed.
If the earth shakes, it will be on a screen;
And if the prairie wind spills down our streets
And covers us with leaves, the weatherman will tell us.
March 3, 2012
I read this in elementary school after ordering it from Scholastic Book Club. I still recall enjoying it immensely. I may have to find it again for nostalgia's sake.
December 5, 2010
This is a collection of modern verse that beautifully and simply deals with a variety of issues, both deep and emotional as well as humorous. The poems are grouped together in sections based on common themes. The first poem is probably one of my favorites and describes poetry, as well as this collection very well. It is called "Unfolding Bud," by Naoshi Koriyama:
One is amazed
By a water-lily bud
Unfolding
With each passing day,
Taking on a richer color
And new dimensions.
One is not surprised,
At a first glance,
By a poem,
Which is as tight-closed
As a tiny bud.
Yet one is surprised
To see the poem
Gradually unfolding,
Revealing its rich inner self,
As one reads it
Again
And over again.
One is amazed
By a water-lily bud
Unfolding
With each passing day,
Taking on a richer color
And new dimensions.
One is not surprised,
At a first glance,
By a poem,
Which is as tight-closed
As a tiny bud.
Yet one is surprised
To see the poem
Gradually unfolding,
Revealing its rich inner self,
As one reads it
Again
And over again.
July 25, 2018
I loved this little book -- meant as an intro to poetry for young readers, it's packed with great poets. Some great, accessible, approachable works from Ciardi, Roethke, Donald Hall, Sandburg, WCW, Pound, Belloc, Karl Shapiro, May Swenson, Eve Merriam, E. E. Cummings, Ferlinghetti, Frost... you get the picture. Mostly uplifting & life-affirming, though unafraid to tackle death & other tough subjects. I'm going to buy a copy & pray I can bribe my boys into reading it. :)
April 27, 2018
Fifty years makes a difference. I first read Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle...and Other Modern Poems in the seventh grade, in a Scholastic Book paperback edition, in 1968. At the time, I thought to myself, "Okay, this must be what good poetry is supposed to look and sound like," and figured if there were poems in the collection I didn't care for, it must be because I didn't know better, or wasn't sophisticated enough to appreciate. But reading it now, I'm not as easily impressed.
Robert Frost once said that writing free verse poetry was like playing tennis with no net--it might seem fresh and exciting at first, but soon no one wants to watch you play. I was reminded of this observation when I reread this collection of relatively modern poems (at least, modern in 1967, when the book was first published), many of which are free verse. There are some free verse poems I like immensely--and there are several in this collection that struck me as worth remembering--but for the most part, I appreciate structure in poetry. Structure in poetry requires the poet to work harder, to use more self-discipline.
That's a long way around to saying that some of the poems in this collection I still like, but many I still just don't care for. I didn't think they are bad poems, but my reaction to them is simply... "Meh." And I fantasize about having a poem I once wrote included in a revised edition:
PseudoPome
This
is not really
a
poem.
It
just looks like one
be-
cause
I
put in funny
line
breaks.
Robert Frost once said that writing free verse poetry was like playing tennis with no net--it might seem fresh and exciting at first, but soon no one wants to watch you play. I was reminded of this observation when I reread this collection of relatively modern poems (at least, modern in 1967, when the book was first published), many of which are free verse. There are some free verse poems I like immensely--and there are several in this collection that struck me as worth remembering--but for the most part, I appreciate structure in poetry. Structure in poetry requires the poet to work harder, to use more self-discipline.
That's a long way around to saying that some of the poems in this collection I still like, but many I still just don't care for. I didn't think they are bad poems, but my reaction to them is simply... "Meh." And I fantasize about having a poem I once wrote included in a revised edition:
PseudoPome
This
is not really
a
poem.
It
just looks like one
be-
cause
I
put in funny
line
breaks.
October 22, 2011
This book was okay. I didn't really like it, but I'm not a big fan of poetry. It was just a bunch of random, pointless poems that didn't make much sense. There wasn't even really a theme for the collection of poems. I wouldn't recommend this book to any one.
September 10, 2012
My teacher and friend, Steve Dunning, RIP. A truly invented collection, which did the hard work of finding great poems in journals and making them justly great... this book is still the best poetry anthology of its kind, still in print and much used...
March 2, 2022
I bought this book back in 6th or 7th grade from a Scholastic Books leaflet (we didn't have in-school sales, but we got the leaflets a few times a year). I read it then, and kept it all these years. The pages are yellowing and the front cover just fell off. I never got rid of it. This was my most recent breakfast poetry read. None of the poems are terrible; I started looking up the poets after reading each section (the ones I didn't know). Many of the poets were difficult to find info on, a few are "famous," well poetry-famous, like Robert Frost and Langston Hughes.
When I read this as a young person, two poems stood out for me: Dorothy Parker's "Resume'," her famous poem saying all the reasons why suicide isn't an option, and a poignant poem by Christopher Morley, called "Legacy." My tolerant parents let me write on the walls, and these were both written there, long since painted over I'm sure. Here's the Morley:
Legacy
The year has made her will: she left to me
A private purse:
Silver and copper from the dogwood tree,
White gold from a torrent, amber from a pond
And, for my sadness' sake,
Mountains in a bluescape of beyond.
It might be worse:
These will be useful when I lie awake.
--
This poem is brittle and perfect ("It might be worse"). As a teenager it spoke to my love of the beautiful landscape my family lived in, and the view of the Blue Ridge mountains out of my bedroom window, but also to my longing to be somewhere, anywhere else. I've never read any other Morley, obviously something to rectify.
When I read this as a young person, two poems stood out for me: Dorothy Parker's "Resume'," her famous poem saying all the reasons why suicide isn't an option, and a poignant poem by Christopher Morley, called "Legacy." My tolerant parents let me write on the walls, and these were both written there, long since painted over I'm sure. Here's the Morley:
Legacy
The year has made her will: she left to me
A private purse:
Silver and copper from the dogwood tree,
White gold from a torrent, amber from a pond
And, for my sadness' sake,
Mountains in a bluescape of beyond.
It might be worse:
These will be useful when I lie awake.
--
This poem is brittle and perfect ("It might be worse"). As a teenager it spoke to my love of the beautiful landscape my family lived in, and the view of the Blue Ridge mountains out of my bedroom window, but also to my longing to be somewhere, anywhere else. I've never read any other Morley, obviously something to rectify.
December 31, 2022
Summons by Robert Francis
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling up the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.
Keep me from going to sleep too soon
Or if I go to sleep too soon
Come wake me up. Come any hour
Of night. Come whistling up the road.
Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.
Make me get out of bed and come
And let you in and light a light.
Tell me the northern lights are on
And make me look. Or tell me clouds
Are doing something to the moon
They never did before, and show me.
See that I see. Talk to me till
I'm half as wide awake as you
And start to dress wondering why
I ever went to bed at all.
Tell me the walking is superb.
Not only tell me but persuade me.
You know I'm not too hard persuaded.
September 10, 2025
Assembled in 1966 for school use, and enduringly popular with good reason. This anthology is laser-focused on poems that will work for and mean something to young students, so: direct, concise (no poems of over a page in length), clear and vivid in imagery, plain and accessible in language (no ten-dollar words to be looked up), contemporary in sentiment and concern (speaking of and to a modern mindset, and on specific subjects a young person is likely to relate to- nature, animals, travel, childhood)- and accompanied by striking, judiciously-selected black-and-white photographs which complement the poems. Of course the results aren't just appealing to teenagers, and this is in fact a pretty killer selection of poems of interest to anyone with even a passing interest in poetry.
September 10, 2020
A fun read with Abby :)
September 10, 2021
I found this gem at a library book sale. The title alone was intriguing. I highlighted 80 to 90 percent of the poems inside. And then I ordered the author’s other book of poetry! Definitely a keeper!
April 22, 2019
I feel that a central idea for this book is life. It uses poems to describe so many aspects of life, such as anger, despair, sorrow, joy. It describes all that a person feels when they are going through hard times, it talks about the creatures we live among, and so many other things. It especially talked about problems people have as part of life, such as jealousy, greed. One poem that I noticed showed this particularly well was a poem about the three pigs and it showed the third pig being too proud to help the others.
March 4, 2022
This book was a magnificent find at a monthly used book sale. I actually passed by it several times before eventually giving in and giving it a try (poor thing sat there for months waiting for me to come back and give it a chance). So glad I did! It’s a keeper, for sure - I highlighted probably 90% of the book. A variety of fun short poems, on a wide range of topics. Nothing that will open your third eye of enlightenment here, but also nothing that will drag you into the pit of despair. Just a good light collection.
December 21, 2007
My favorite book. 1966, reissued. This is the quintessential early nature poetry from the sixties and seventies. I fell in love with this when I was seventeen years old. It's an awesome book, filled with all the poems you wish you knew where to find. There was an old LP made of it as well. Barriss Mills, Sara Henderson, Eve Merriam, Rosalie Moore, E.E. Cumming, Dan Jeffe, Langston Hughes and more.
December 30, 2013
I really wasn't a fan.
I found like three poems that I found decent.
And there were way too many poems about cats. Even at thirteen I would have found the book childish and boring, we did a poetry unit in fourth grade featuring poetry that was much more refined and thought provoking.
I can understand reading this book for nostalgic reasons, but not as someone looking for a decent poetry book.
I found like three poems that I found decent.
And there were way too many poems about cats. Even at thirteen I would have found the book childish and boring, we did a poetry unit in fourth grade featuring poetry that was much more refined and thought provoking.
I can understand reading this book for nostalgic reasons, but not as someone looking for a decent poetry book.
August 26, 2015
Ah, another adult's selection of poetry that is sure to engage the youths.
Sometimes sweet, sometimes a snooze-fest.
And, mercifully, very few sports poems.
I will pick and choose from this collection, and avoid the exoticization of race around page 57.
Buy this title from Powell's Books.
Sometimes sweet, sometimes a snooze-fest.
And, mercifully, very few sports poems.
I will pick and choose from this collection, and avoid the exoticization of race around page 57.
Buy this title from Powell's Books.
September 18, 2007
The first anthology of poetry that I ever read. Wonderful selection of poems that most children can access. To quote Eve Merriam in her poem "How to Eat a Poem": "Don't be polite. Bite in." Great advice, good book for children.
December 23, 2021
I first found this book in my doctor's office when I was a young teen and fell in love with it. I soon got a copy which I still treasure all these decades later. Highly recommend for anyone who is wanting to get a teen interested in poetry but also just wonderful for all ages!
June 26, 2007
my favorite used to be "Why Nobody Pets the Lion at the Zoo" by John Cardi
October 17, 2011
I hated it, it wasn't interesting at all! This book wasn't that good at all I didn't like the poems themselves or the way the author writes, it is just too odd for me.
October 21, 2011
This book was boring and I didn't like it. The poems were weird and boring.
January 5, 2013
There were one or two poems in this that I DID like, but as a whole, I would not suggest it.
November 11, 2015
Fuck poetry!
December 16, 2017
"Pickle Rick!"
Though the Television animated sitcom Rick & Morty sparked renewed interest in this book, I was first exposed to it back in 8th grade in Mrs. Tracey's Language Arts and Miss Reeber's Reading Literature class. The two ladies ran a joint coalition unit on poetry, opening up the shared classrooms by pulling back the dividers in the classrooms of the 8A team History (American Studies) and L.A.
We had to bring a few poems to the proverbial table, to be read at the podium in front of 2 or more classrooms, the microphone carrying the meek voices of the class, and booming the loud ones through the speakers like thunder. This was an interesting unit for a variety of reasons. At the heart was creativity which I admit I've always had a knack for. Maybe not the most creative person ever at all things, but at just about every. single. creative. activity. I've had a voice, a vote, a direction to move to and through. So yeah you can say that I am someone who is somewhat of a creative person, depending on the inspiration and arousal level of my creative brain.
Anyways, back to meat, Susan Tracey let me bring in my guitar and amp and play little blurbs and snippets of music, sonic poems of their own aural accord in between the readings of each student. And with the lights down low, it was a setting I would soon become comfortable in and seek out in my own leisure space at home. Many times throughout college I would bring in little lights to change the ambiance, and tapestries to either change the shape, or to throw color or both.
Another reason why the poetry unit was so interesting was because at the time I was into Dungeons & Dragons. I had already gotten my feet wet and not I was pursuing supplementary books outside of the "normal curriculum" of D&D like the Complete Book of Necromancers. Pair this with my interest in Dante's Inferno, taken out from the library earlier that year and you get quite the color contrast with a few of my poems dipping into a much darker side than most typical 8th graders were exploring during those days (mostly sports, travel/vacation, knitting, movies, computer/video games) etc.
8th grade was certainly a magical year for me. Now that I think about it, I'm going to list my favorite years which tend to be on the evens...Kindergarten, 2nd grade, 4th grade, 6th grade. 7th Grade to an extent, 8th grade, Sophomore year in High School, Senior Year etc.
Our lunch table in 8th grade might very well have been considered the "United Nations Table" since my two best friends of the Team 8A Jeff K. and Zareef A. were Taiwanese and Indian (Hindu) respectively. We played hard at lunch, basketball like we meant it, and with the addition of Rob, our United Nations spectrum increased by another darker shade (black). We also played Blast Chamber, an amazing game on Playstation since it was one of the first 4 player games, and the idea was that we are all stuck in a room with arena like traps and hazards, and the room could be rotated, thus shifting gravity, all by stepping/activating a lever. It was a survival game and it was a lot of fun.
After 7th and 8th grade (7A & 8A respectively) we all kind of went our separate ways, mostly because at the high school level, the academic paths split much more dramatically with the smarter kids taking one path and the not so smart kids taking another path. I was one of the mediocre smart kids, a +1 to the flock of (0's) whereas Jeff and Zareef were both +2's at least, probably +3's, I wouldn't doubt +4's to the absolute 0 of the average population. They were smart cookies. Also, Zareef and I were also in the band together (Trombone, and myself on Trumpet) and we also did Cross Country and Track and Field together. For me, 7th and 8th grade were such a dramatic change of pace (no pun intended) in the years that separated UES (Upper Elementary School) and HS (High School). I tried some new sports, a new instrument, lockers were new, the team was new, a new addition to the school was just being built, dances on a regular basis. Lots of newness for me those two years. A markedly different colored stripe separating 6th and 9th grade. Oh and I remember being attracted to Mrs. T was too! With personality!
Though the Television animated sitcom Rick & Morty sparked renewed interest in this book, I was first exposed to it back in 8th grade in Mrs. Tracey's Language Arts and Miss Reeber's Reading Literature class. The two ladies ran a joint coalition unit on poetry, opening up the shared classrooms by pulling back the dividers in the classrooms of the 8A team History (American Studies) and L.A.
We had to bring a few poems to the proverbial table, to be read at the podium in front of 2 or more classrooms, the microphone carrying the meek voices of the class, and booming the loud ones through the speakers like thunder. This was an interesting unit for a variety of reasons. At the heart was creativity which I admit I've always had a knack for. Maybe not the most creative person ever at all things, but at just about every. single. creative. activity. I've had a voice, a vote, a direction to move to and through. So yeah you can say that I am someone who is somewhat of a creative person, depending on the inspiration and arousal level of my creative brain.
Anyways, back to meat, Susan Tracey let me bring in my guitar and amp and play little blurbs and snippets of music, sonic poems of their own aural accord in between the readings of each student. And with the lights down low, it was a setting I would soon become comfortable in and seek out in my own leisure space at home. Many times throughout college I would bring in little lights to change the ambiance, and tapestries to either change the shape, or to throw color or both.
Another reason why the poetry unit was so interesting was because at the time I was into Dungeons & Dragons. I had already gotten my feet wet and not I was pursuing supplementary books outside of the "normal curriculum" of D&D like the Complete Book of Necromancers. Pair this with my interest in Dante's Inferno, taken out from the library earlier that year and you get quite the color contrast with a few of my poems dipping into a much darker side than most typical 8th graders were exploring during those days (mostly sports, travel/vacation, knitting, movies, computer/video games) etc.
8th grade was certainly a magical year for me. Now that I think about it, I'm going to list my favorite years which tend to be on the evens...Kindergarten, 2nd grade, 4th grade, 6th grade. 7th Grade to an extent, 8th grade, Sophomore year in High School, Senior Year etc.
Our lunch table in 8th grade might very well have been considered the "United Nations Table" since my two best friends of the Team 8A Jeff K. and Zareef A. were Taiwanese and Indian (Hindu) respectively. We played hard at lunch, basketball like we meant it, and with the addition of Rob, our United Nations spectrum increased by another darker shade (black). We also played Blast Chamber, an amazing game on Playstation since it was one of the first 4 player games, and the idea was that we are all stuck in a room with arena like traps and hazards, and the room could be rotated, thus shifting gravity, all by stepping/activating a lever. It was a survival game and it was a lot of fun.
After 7th and 8th grade (7A & 8A respectively) we all kind of went our separate ways, mostly because at the high school level, the academic paths split much more dramatically with the smarter kids taking one path and the not so smart kids taking another path. I was one of the mediocre smart kids, a +1 to the flock of (0's) whereas Jeff and Zareef were both +2's at least, probably +3's, I wouldn't doubt +4's to the absolute 0 of the average population. They were smart cookies. Also, Zareef and I were also in the band together (Trombone, and myself on Trumpet) and we also did Cross Country and Track and Field together. For me, 7th and 8th grade were such a dramatic change of pace (no pun intended) in the years that separated UES (Upper Elementary School) and HS (High School). I tried some new sports, a new instrument, lockers were new, the team was new, a new addition to the school was just being built, dances on a regular basis. Lots of newness for me those two years. A markedly different colored stripe separating 6th and 9th grade. Oh and I remember being attracted to Mrs. T was too! With personality!
August 8, 2021
Quality literature creates sensations that make the reader never want to put the book down. While reading Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle, I felt I did not want it to end. The book allowed me to discover an abstract definition of quality through poetry. For a book to have quality means for it to have texture. In literature, texture is the written details of life that push emotion upon the reader. The collection of poems, Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle, is a work of quality; it presents life, emotion, and value throughout each piece. The poems grasp life's features and allow their readers to dwell in their thoughts. I enjoy works of literature, like Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle, that make you question topics you had never thought of before, which is why I chose to read it. Poetry is filled with meaning, and there is a great amount of thought put behind the poet’s words. In poetry, the tiniest details are brought to attention which springs feelings and memories upon the reader; these finer things give literature quality.
At the beginning of the book, there is an author’s note to guide the reader in reading each poem. The note says to judge each poem by its quality, not by its subject. This means let the poet lead you through their ideas and the mood they set, no matter the poem's topic. However, the best advice from the author’s note is a poem called How to Eat a Poem which helps the reader understand that to read a poem, you must open your mind to what you are about to read and know that every word holds importance.
How to Eat a Poem
By Eve Merriam
Don’t be polite.
Bite in.
Pick it up with our fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.
You do not need a knife or fork or spoon
Or plate or napkin or tablecloth.
For there is no core
Or stem
Or rind
Or pit
Or seed
Or skin
To throw away.
Each section of Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle has a theme. These themes vary from animals and traveling to dreams and fishing. The variety in the themes is enjoyable, and the poems in each section describe unique topics. In the animal-themed section, there are two poems about bats; one of the poems was simply about the life of a bat, while the other was about xenophobia. The poets in Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle write in such detail that I felt my eyes opening to a whole new world. A section of the book has poems about crows that made me see crows differently afterward. From this book, I have learned new words and have begun to understand more complex phrases. The book encourages the reader to think about the meaning of each line and the importance of every word. The poems range from simple and easy to sophisticated and challenging. I give Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle five stars for the texture of the literature and the lesson it taught me.
At the beginning of the book, there is an author’s note to guide the reader in reading each poem. The note says to judge each poem by its quality, not by its subject. This means let the poet lead you through their ideas and the mood they set, no matter the poem's topic. However, the best advice from the author’s note is a poem called How to Eat a Poem which helps the reader understand that to read a poem, you must open your mind to what you are about to read and know that every word holds importance.
How to Eat a Poem
By Eve Merriam
Don’t be polite.
Bite in.
Pick it up with our fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.
You do not need a knife or fork or spoon
Or plate or napkin or tablecloth.
For there is no core
Or stem
Or rind
Or pit
Or seed
Or skin
To throw away.
Each section of Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle has a theme. These themes vary from animals and traveling to dreams and fishing. The variety in the themes is enjoyable, and the poems in each section describe unique topics. In the animal-themed section, there are two poems about bats; one of the poems was simply about the life of a bat, while the other was about xenophobia. The poets in Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle write in such detail that I felt my eyes opening to a whole new world. A section of the book has poems about crows that made me see crows differently afterward. From this book, I have learned new words and have begun to understand more complex phrases. The book encourages the reader to think about the meaning of each line and the importance of every word. The poems range from simple and easy to sophisticated and challenging. I give Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle five stars for the texture of the literature and the lesson it taught me.
August 10, 2017
Thought I'd read it as a child (I think I skimmed it), read it again just now. It's okay, but not really my thing. I prefer light verse (Ogden Nash, A.A. Milne--I've read When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six numerous times, and they never lose their joy for me).
The kind of poetry featured in Reflections is the thoughtful, high-faluting kind, with much reliance on things as metaphors for other things. That said, I did remember the title (a shortened version of a title of the final poem), hazily, from childhood until now.
If you like poetry, this is probably an excellent collection. If, like me, you only like it when it's relatively silly & clever at the same time (hard to do!) this may not be for you.
(Note: 5 stars = amazing, wonderful, 4 = very good book, 3 = decent read, 2 = disappointing, 1 = awful, just awful. I'm fairly good at picking for myself so end up with a lot of 4s).
The kind of poetry featured in Reflections is the thoughtful, high-faluting kind, with much reliance on things as metaphors for other things. That said, I did remember the title (a shortened version of a title of the final poem), hazily, from childhood until now.
If you like poetry, this is probably an excellent collection. If, like me, you only like it when it's relatively silly & clever at the same time (hard to do!) this may not be for you.
(Note: 5 stars = amazing, wonderful, 4 = very good book, 3 = decent read, 2 = disappointing, 1 = awful, just awful. I'm fairly good at picking for myself so end up with a lot of 4s).
February 4, 2020
I originally got the teachers' edition of this book years ago, and dipped into it now and again, but this is the first time I actually read through the book in an organized fashion. The collection is balanced and varied, though emphasis is on short works. There are examples of types popular in today's classroom - cinquains, shaped poems, and such. My first reaction was, who knew so many poets focused on crows? or on geese? Overall there were a lot of poems about birds or containing birds. There were also a fair number of poems about death, or the evanescence of life. I'm glad I took the time to read this as a collection, and I'm certain I will dip into it many more times before the book falls apart completely.
September 25, 2021
I wanted to try reading poems but it seems hard to read them. The poems in this book is easy for beginners to understand so I had almost no problem reading through it and I enjoyed them a lot.
Many of them are interesting, some are funny and some are inspiring, like everything the writer wanted to say was concentrated into drops of sentences.
Also because the poems inside are more on the modern side it's easy to relate to some of the things inside, the words were easier for me because my vocabulary isn't good.
I enjoy how sometimes I couldn't grasp the meaning of a certain poem, so I reread it again and again until the fog in my mid clears, the moment I understood brings great joy and satisfaction.
Many of them are interesting, some are funny and some are inspiring, like everything the writer wanted to say was concentrated into drops of sentences.
Also because the poems inside are more on the modern side it's easy to relate to some of the things inside, the words were easier for me because my vocabulary isn't good.
I enjoy how sometimes I couldn't grasp the meaning of a certain poem, so I reread it again and again until the fog in my mid clears, the moment I understood brings great joy and satisfaction.
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