The Buttonhook

Mary Jo Salter reflects on an American arrival in "The Buttonhook," a poem from her eighth collection, The Surveyors.

The Buttonhook President Roosevelt, touring Ellis Island in 1906, watched the people from steerage line up for their six-second physical. Might not, he wondered aloud, the ungloved handling of aliens who were ill infect the healthy? Yet for years more it was done. I imagine my grandmother, a girl in that Great Hall's polyglot, reverberating vault more terrible than church, dazed by the stars and stripes in the vast banner up in front where the blessed ones had passed through. Then she did too, to a room like a little chapel, where her mother might take Communion. A man in a blue cap and a blue uniform—a doctor? a policeman? (Papa would have known, but he had sailed all alone before them and was waiting now in New York; yet wasn't this New York?)— a man in a blue cap reached for her mother. Without a word (didn't he speak Italian?) he stuck one finger into her mother's eye, then turned its lid up with a buttonhook, the long, curved thing for doing up your boots when buttons were too many or too small. You couldn't be American if you were blind or going to be blind. That much she understood. She'd go to school, she'd learn to read and write and teach her parents. The eye man reached to touch her own face next; she figured she was ready. She felt big, like that woman in the sea holding up not a buttonhook but a torch.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

BY ROBERT FROST

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Digging -- Seamus Heaney

Digging

BY SEAMUS HEANEY

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I’ll dig with it.

Seamus Heaney, "Digging" from Death of a Naturalist. Copyright 1966 by Seamus Heaney. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.

Extra Credit: Nothing in Heaven Functions As It Ought

Up to 15 points are available for learning this poem.
What does this poem have in common with the novel The Giver?

Nothing in Heaven Functions As It Ought

Nothing in Heaven functions as it ought:
Peter's bifocals, blindly sat on, crack;
His gates lurch wide with the cackle of a cock,
Not turn with a hush of gold as Milton had thought;
Gangs of the slaughtered innocents keep huffing
The nimbus off the Venerable Bede
Like that of an old dandelion gone to seed;
And the beatific choir keep breaking up, coughing.

But Hell, sleek Hell hath no freewheeling part:
None takes his own sweet time,
none quickens pace.
Ask anyone, How come you here, poor heart?--
And he will slot a quarter through his face,
You'll hear an instant click, a tear will start
Imprinted with an abstract of his case.

by X.J. Kennedy


Illustrations: 
Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates
slots for coins
The Venerable Bede -- shown with a nimbus (a halo)
cherubs -- who could be some of the "slaughtered innocents" -- the babies who were killed by Herod in his attempt to get rid of the one who the Wise Men told him would be the new king (Jesus).

Vocabulary:
Peter -- Saint Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ;
traditionally, the keeper of the gates of heaven.

Bifocals – eyeglasses, having two portions, one for near and one for far vision.

His gates – The gates of heaven, the Pearly Gates

Milton -- John, 1608–74, English poet.

Nimbus -- a shining cloud sometimes surrounding a deity when on earth.

Venerable Bede -- CATHOLIC ENCYCLOPEDIA: Benedictine monk, priest, historian, Doctor of the Church, d. 735.

Venerable: commanding respect because of great age or impressive dignity -- The suffix “-able” turns a word into an adjective, and means “capable of.”

Beatific: serene, exalted, angelic, rapturous.

Freewheeling: moving about freely, independently, or irresponsibly.

Abstract: a summary of a text, scientific article, document, speech, etc.

Extra Credit Poem Memorization

This extra credit opportunity will expire with the end of first term.

Memorize the poem for up to 16 extra credit points. Pick up a poem/scoring sheet from the classroom.

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY
By Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.


Note on extra credit:  Extra Credit Points are not added onto your grade unless you have completed all major assignments and tests.  

"I Know Three Skeleton Key" Poem

"I Know Three Skeleton Key" Poem -- Example by Tahza B.
(From the point of view of the lighthouse)

I know Three Skeleton Key.
I see the boat as it teases me --
Floating close, then backing off.
I see the horrible red hot coals
of the eyes of the rats.
I see all the pieces of the boat spring everywhere,
as the boat crashes into the rocks of Three Skeleton Key.
I see the the rats scurrying over the hard, cold ground.

I know Three Skeleton Key.
I hear the "crunch."
I hear the big waves crashing against the rocks.
I hear the horrible piercing screams of the rats as they make their way toward me.
I hear the frightened cries of the men as they too spot the rats.

I know Three Skeleton Key.
I smell the pulsating stench of the starving rats.
I can smell the ocean water as it meets the cold rocks.
I smell the horrible flesh stench of the rats' mouths.
I small the wet shreds of wood in the ocean.

I know Three Skeleton Key.
I feel the claws of the rats digging into my sides.
I feel the light wind blowing against me.
I feel the men's footsteps as they hurry to lock the doors.
I feel the rats gnawing at me.

Poem -- Nancy Hanks

Nancy Hanks
by Rosemary Benét

If Nancy Hanks
Came back as a ghost
Seeking news
Of what she loved most,
She’d ask first
“Where’s my son?
What’s happened to Abe?
What’s he done?

“Poor little Abe,
Left all alone
Except for Tom,
Who’s a rolling stone:
He was only nine
The year I died.
I remember still
How hard he cried.

“Scraping along
In a little shack,
With hardly a shirt
To cover his back,
And a prairie wind
To blow him down
Or pinching times
If he went to town.

“You wouldn’t know
About my son?
Did he grow tall?
Did he have fun?
Did he learn to read?
Did he get to town?
Do you know his name?
Did he get on?”

December 2/3, 2008

December 2/3, 2008
Announcements:
Don't forget that your Book-of-the-Month Club project is due next week.
Don't forget to hand in a reading log for this week (including at least two days for last week).
Parent-Teacher Conferences will be this Thursday, December 4.
The PTSA Book Fair is this week. Here is information from the PTSA:
I am excited to let you know about the Buy-One-Get-One-Free Book Fair which is being held next week in the Media Center.

Because we have done so well at past book fairs, we have qualified to have an extra two cases of books sent with our fair. This means that the book fair will be bigger and better, with an even wider selection of books.

The book fair will be December 2-4, and will be open from 8 a.m. to 3:15 p.m. (Ms. Dorsey is assuming that it will also be open during the Parent-Teacher Conferences.


In Class Today:
1. Theme in a poem: "Nothing in Heaven Functions As It Ought" by X.J. Kennedy
and the suffix "ible/able" which turns words into adjectives, and means "capable of."
Also the suffix "-ion," "-tion" which means "act or state – action or process" and is added to the root which means "performance or execution (to do something)." Usually –ion changes a word to a noun, but in this poem it is functioning as a verb.

2. About forms of government. Which is more important -- freedom or safety?
PowerPoint and chart to fill out
We looked at major types of government: anarchy (not really a government, but an option), democracy, republic, communism, socialism, fascism, and monarchy.

3. The Giver -- Themes
Is one of Lois Lowry's themes in The Giver "Freedom is more important than security"?
Or is it "Security is more important than freedom"?

Other Themes in The Giver: Read chapters 5-6.
Communities can run more smoothly when the individual members are willing to give up their own desires.

4. Preview the book fair.

November 3/4, 2008

November 3/4, 2008
Today more students presented their Book of the Month Club Assessments -- presenting their characters to the class through quotes from their books. If you did not present today, and were not absent, it may be awhile before you can change that zero grade.

We also talked about the genre of science fiction.
Science fiction is fiction (made-up rather than things that have really happened) and usually involves either outer space, technology, or ideas about the future.
Many deal with imagined technology, or with the results of the misuse of technology.

The characters usually act as people would if the situations they are placed in were real.

We shared a poem that works as a riddle, and worked on figuring out what was being described and who was seeing it that way. You could call this a "science fiction" poem!
Here is the poem: (By the way, May Swenson originally came from Utah. She was born in Logan, attended the University of Utah, and became a world-famous poet.)

Southbound. . .
By May Swenson

A tourist came in from Orbitville,
parked in the air, and said:

The creatures of this star
are made of metal and glass.

Through the transparent parts
you can see their guts.

Their feet are round and roll
on diagrams or long

measuring tapes, dark
with white lines.

They have four eyes.
The two in the back are red.

Sometimes you can see a five-eyed
one, with a red eye turning

on the top of his head.
He must be special—

the others respect him,
and go slow

when he passes, winding
among them from behind.

They all hiss as they glide,
like inches, down the marked

tapes. Those soft shapes,
shadowy inside

the hard bodies—are they
their guts or their brains?

We also read the short story, "The Boy with Five Fingers," in preparation for more short stories, and for reading the novel The Giver. This story, like The Giver, looks at a possible post-apolcalyptic future. In other words, in these books, man has destroyed civilization and most of mankind. The story and book deal with what sorts of societies might grow up many years after such an event.

In this case, apocalyse means "any universal or widespread destruction or disaster: the apocalypse of nuclear war."
any universal or widespread destruction or disaster: the apocalypse of nuclear war.