Picture Books I

For 32 years, my wife, Barbara Fisher, has worked with me to realize Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream. She’s read through the many submissions by students, unrecognized writers and accomplished poets. She hand printed covers and inserts on her Kelsey letter press and our leased photocopiers. She has chosen art and created collages that have accompanied the poems on the pages. She has done “the scud work as well as the more interesting stuff.” And jokes that she won’t wear nail polish because her “fingertips are engrained with black printer’s ink.”

In the second issue of the NYS Waterways Project (7/21/79), Barbara used two 19th century drawings as fillers: "floating his tricycle" and "the speaker's free platform."

NYS Waterways Project - 1979 2

A year later (7/26/80),

Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Vol 1 No 3

she presented readers with a collage from her children’s book, “Link Ups".

By July, 1984, we’d settled into what has become Waterways consistent format (7x4.25),

Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Vol. 5 No. 7

Barbara was still printing the cover by hand on her letterpress, typesetting the issue on an IBM Selectric typewriter, adding illustrations to the title page, and accompanying the poems with relevent pictures. By July of 1987, we were using a two tone printer and Barbara was putting illustrations on almost every page.

Chapbooks IV

A symbol places the intangible vision of the individual into the material reality of the public realm. The writer evokes experience in names that are symbols; while the publisher takes the writers’ work and goes beyond the naming of things. Publishing brings out the work in print and on line.

For more than thirty years, while printing books of student writing and curriculum for NYC schools and programs, Ten Penny Players continued to publish Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream, a monthly poetry magazine, and the BardPress poetry chapbooks. Among the poets we published both in the magazine and in their own chapbooks were Ida Fasel, Joanne Seltzer, Joy Hewitt Mann, and Albert Huffstickler.

Though we're uncomfortable with the fact that Scribd.com carries advertising, the site gives us an opportunity to bring our poetry archive to a larger audience. At this writing there have been more than 230,000 reads of Ten Penny Players’ publications on Scribd.com.

Once their chapbooks were published, students could walk away, write another book, or stay to consider the effects of their published words upon other writers and other communities: How did the rhythm of the author’s voice echo in the reader’s response? What ideas or phrases were repeated? How did it shape contemporary consciousness among other students?

Ten Penny Players online archive of chapbooks provided data to describe reading trends that shifted like the wind. Clouds of chapbooks (the textual embodiments of student voices) passed across cyber-sky.

Poems exist in the consciousness streaming between authors and readers. Ancient poets sought inspiration in the words of the muse carried by whispering mists rising up through fissures in the earth.

To publish poetry is to make manifest a pattern of human communication that asks the reader to respond. The influence that moves poets to make poems leads publishers to put in print books that animate the blood and bones of every day existence.

Chapbooks III

In London, England (1970) I published Chrylust and a poetry broadside that came out of my experience teaching in Liberia.

Four years later on Upper West Side of Manhattan, I began publishing a poetry chapbook series under the imprint BardPress. The poets I published were part of a group then known as the Scribblers. I had founded the group by offering a weekly reading held in the apartment I shared with Vinnie Gunn on West 85th Street. Clint McCown’s Labyrinthiad and my poem, Icarus, were the first chapbooks BardPress published. Works by Barbara A. Holland, Matt Laufer and Patricia Kelly followed.

In 1974, I was also working for Bantam Books, selling new and back list titles to bookstores and distributors by phone. At Bantam I also worked with Ted Solotaroff on the editorial board (for the last two years) of his literary magazine, The American Review. I also worked as a play reader for Joseph Papp at the Public Theater; and initiated a series of poetry readings, the Hell’s Kitchen Poetry Festival, at St. Clement’s Church on West 46th Street.

On W. 10 St. and Greenwich Ave, cater-cornered from the Jefferson Market Library, was Paul Johnston's bohemian garret. PJ was born in 1899, moved to the Village in the 1920’s, and became a fine press printer and book designer. PJ operated a letter press printing fine poetry chapbooks, including the Poetry Quartos for Random House and helped me understand design and publishing in the age of photocopiers.

On Greenwich and W. 12th Street, around the corner from Abingdon Square Park, was Barbara Fisher’s loft, home to Ten Penny Players, Inc. Barbara used a letter press to print miniature books. She exhibited at Manhattan art galleries and the annual Alternative Press New York Book Fair. Ten Penny Players and BardPress began working together in 1978. The New York State Waterways Project was the first imprint from both of us.

By bringing our publishing program to public schools, Barbara and I gained a livelihood, while dedicating ourselves to poetry. The chapbook series, In Search of a Song, began when Barbara taught a weekly writing workshop at Public Schools 114 and 276 in Canarsie (1981). The series continued at the children’s poetry workshop she conducted weekly at the Jefferson Market Branch of the New York Public Library.

When we brought the project to NYC alternative high schools, I joined the many teachers who were preparing their students to write and read. We were in the classrooms, developing a new audience for poetry. We collaborated with teachers to prepare lessons, introduce students to the work of other contemporary poets, and inspire the students to express their own ideas.

The volumes from our ‘In Search of a Song’ presented a new urban student literature depicting the latter part of the Twentieth Century seen through the eyes of public school students. We were invited into their new world.

Contact with the teachers and teaching artists influenced the students’ work. Teachers helped the students to realize that their thoughts were worth expressing and their talents need not be hidden. The best teachers created a classroom atmosphere where all students felt safe to read their work to others.

Joshua Wolinsky wrote to his teacher:
Thank you Ms. Economos
for showing me the talent
I never took seriously.
Without you, these poems
in this book would never be here.

Students wrote about their esteem and affection for the teachers. Among the many teachers and artists who worked with Waterways were Donna Campbell, Molly Barker, Louis Reyes Rivera, Magie Dominick, Michele Beck, Nena Shaheed, Benny Daniels, Magdalena Gomez, Randy Wright, Lucia Ruedenberg-Wright, Ellen Lytle, Frank Stearns, Alison Zadrow, Sal Canale, Ronald G. King, Jane Califf, Frank Grabinski, Janet Griffith, Paul Douglas, Miriam Lock, Tom Mitchelson Jack Giordano, Madeline Brownstone, Paul Takis, Lisa Jesse Peterson, D. Nurkse, Linda Notovitz, Mel Cohen, Zoe Anglesey, David Glick, Gus Rodriguez, Alison Koffler, Ron King, Matthew Hejna-Luque, Margo Mack, J. A. Brathwaite, Builder Levy, Joan Martinez, Max Mendes, Judith Rosenbaum, Moli Ntuli, Maura Gouck, Thomas Perry, Rodolfo Rodriguez, César Roquez, Ofelia Rodriguez Goldstein, Tyona Washington, Jonathan Sharpe, Roslyn Kaye, James Patton, Thelma Ruffin Thomas, Olga Economos, Jonathan Shapiro, Barnaby Spring, Donald Lev, Enid Dame, Wendy Thorpe, Gail Tuch, Barbara Youngman, Toby Greenzang, Myrtle Liburd, Leila Riley, Ben Jacobs, Paul Auerbach and many others.

I look back over these books twenty years after they were published. Some of the best writing still stands out. The publications are worth repeat readings.

Chapbooks II

In the summer of 1970, my first poetry chapbook, Chrylust, was printed at the London New Arts Lab on Roberts Street in London, England. I hawked it on the streets, parks, galleries, theaters, libraries and coffee houses, including the Arts Lab, the Troubadour, and Roundhouse.

The poems came from journals of creative expression I kept while teaching Literature at Buchanan High School in Liberia, West Africa (1969). I left the Peace Corps and traveled with the journals. On the Canary Islands I burnt most of the manuscript in an act meant to unburden me of their weight. I saved a handful of pages, which I carried through Marrakech and Casablanca in Morocco, Leon and Malaga in Spain; and then across France to Amsterdam and over the Channel to London.

The printer at the London New Arts Lab in 1970 was amused by the slim manuscript of expressive writing that I called "anti-literature." The first edition of Chrylust was limited to a few hundred copies, saddle stitched, with a cover illustration that I had drawn.

I often hawked my chapbook, Chrylust, at the psychedelic events at the the Roundhouse on Chalk Farm Road. The poetry reached out to a generation that was forsaking material possessions and unburdening itself from the weight of history. The hippies at the Roundhouse were tripping high above serendipitous safety nets. They were networking for food, shelter, and communication.

Chapbooks I

“Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration.”
-- Shelly 'In Defense of Poetry'

To develop new audiences for poetry and encourage creative writing, we began in 1978 to publish children, student writers, and unrecognized poets along with accomplished authors. We typeset, photocopied, and saddle stitched our magazine, Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream, which contained no advertising.

By 1985, our Waterways Project of Ten Penny Players, Inc. was adopted as an arts in education partner for New York City’s Office of Alternative High Schools and Programs, turning out weekly site based magazines and an annual student anthology, Streams. The limited edition site based magazines were typeset, printed, collated, and saddle stitched in our loft. Streams was printed offset and perfect bound by the Print Center, a not for profit literary printer in lower Manhattan.

In 1996, David Bickimer, from Pace University, suggested Ten Penny Players reward students, who present 15 or more poems, with an individual chapbook. The books became part of our chapbook series (In Search of a Song) which Barbara began with the children from her weekly writing workshops at PS 276 and 114 in Canarsie and the Jefferson Market Branch of the NY Public Library in 1981.

In Search of a Song Vol. 1

The original library chapbooks (2.75” x 4.25”) had letter press printed covers and were typeset on an IBM Selectric and saddle stitched. The chapbooks that became part of our arts in education curriculum were modeled after the early Bard Press books I had published. They were (4.25” x 5.5”) typeset using Quark on a Mac computer, printed and collated on a Minolta copier, and saddle stitched by hand.

We adapted to the special needs of our students by publishing literacy students with less than 15 poems, and on occasion publishing prose. A student who made the effort to write 15 poems did not prove she was more deserving of being published than the student who wrote one or two brilliant poems.

Ten Penny Players/Waterways poetry chapbooks were intended to reward the student for positive behavior (creative writing) and develop a new audience for poetry and expressive writing. We published all students, and on occasion discovered the writer who was capable of exceptional poetry. Finding a talented writer did not mean that the student would create better work over time. An author may be constantly challenged to write better, but that will not always be possible.

For many alternative high school students from poor urban neighborhoods, writing a book and seeing it published was the rare occasion when success touched their lives. The same would be true for our students in hospitals and other institutions. And in the adult world for most people the rare joy of that kind of recognition also holds true.

The Waterways Project of Ten Penny Players worked in partnership with NYC’s Alternative High Schools and programs. Waterways brought expressive writing and publishing to schools, group homes, community centers, hospitals, rehab centers, and teen parent programs.

Waterways poetry teachers engaged students with disabilities in New York City’s prison schools in creative writing. Students wrote expressively in their own voices, to state their cases through poetry published in chapbooks. In the mid 1980’s the Waterways Project was introduced as part of NYC’s public school curriculum. Ten Penny Players community of poets, artists, and NYC licensed teachers used word processors and worked on line. Students created files of fifteen poems and submitted them on floppy disks.

For the Internet of the late 90’s, we developed Streams On Line (SOL), an open source program. SOL ran on local intranets and later on the Internet itself. It was designed to help students develop a body of work while getting feedback from teachers and peers.

In 2010 Scribd.com offered us a presentation application and free space for our large archive of print publications. We wanted our archive to be accessible to students, parents, educators, researchers, and the interested public. Giving voice to an era. We had already put the work in print. We never charged for the books. They are our only asset. I digitized chapbooks by scanning them on our Minolta printer, uploading them to Scribd.com, and sharing the link on Facebook and Twitter.

Students were reliving memories from their youth on the Internet. Our work online got the word out while publishing and developing new audiences for poetry. The Waterways Project of Ten Penny Players put creative expression and poetry online to give others a chance to learn.

Struggling For Survival (part I)

(Excerpts of student writing from STREAMS 10 ©1996 Ten Penny Players)

There is hope that schools will serve as lifeboats out of inner city poverty and the ghetto. But, success in school is not guaranteed for everyone. When only a few succeed, we must ask what about the rest?

In the Babylonian epic, Gilgamesh, a prototype for the Biblical Noah, Utnaphishtim, survives the great flood. But, at what price? He sees all those around him drown:

Bodies lay like alewives dead
And in the clay. I fell down
On the ship’s deck and wept. Why? Why did they
Have to die! I couldn’t understand. I asked
Unanswerable questions a child asks
When a parent dies -- for nothing. Only slowly
Did I make myself believe -- or hope -- they
Might all be swept up in their fragments
Together
And made whole again
By some compassionate hand.

(from the Herbert Mason translation. New American Library 1970 page 78)

In the urban ghetto there are street gangs, immigrants, poverty, and those trying to emerge from the stresses of their situation. Some people, sensitive to the struggle because of their roots, return as teachers, not as strangers to the place, but in the hope that their empathy will help the children in the schools.

Along with millions of other East Europeans, the grandparents of many New York City teachers put their own roots down in the New World in the early years of the Twentieth Century.

Their children moved away from Brooklyn, out of Williamsburg, Crown Heights, Ocean Hill Brownsville, Bedford Stuyvesant; leaving the grandmother in Brighton Beach, and the grandmother with a wheelchair living in the projects with her adult epileptic son and Pitsy, the family dog.

Brooklyn’s Frederick Douglass Literacy Center was not far from where their grandparents lived. What common experiences did the teachers find in the writing from their students, who were also immigrants? But this time from the Caribbean, Central and Latin America, Asia, the Middle East, Africa, as well as people relocated from states outside New York.

On My Block
by Priscilla H
(page 4)

On my block, the kids
they play.
They play in the Johnny pump
most of the day.
And when the sun is shining bright
and the mood is just right
they go to the pool
to get really carried away.
On my block
music can be heard from Nostrand to Bedford.
Yo, that’s my word.
On my block
you can smell charcoal burning,
smoke roaming the air and
many activities going on
here and there.

Relocating is a common occurrence of a society in transition. Ben wrote of Stravitz, a friend, who moved away.

Stravitz
by Ben
(pages 11-12)

I remember you from seventh grade...
or maybe it was sixth...
You and I were friends,
one of my few friends in our school...
Of course, you had more than me.

You got a guitar that was better than mine;
and you asked me if I was jealous;
and I said no
and that was a lie.

I was jealous of you from time to time.
You had a new brother,
when we went on that audition with our acting class you
got the call back.
You had a country house.
You seemed to often have something that I wished I had.

But then I saw your problems.
Your brother was mentally disabled;
you were always really small;
you had to move.

When you moved
I thought that was going to be horrible for me.
But, I realize it was probably worse for you.
I can’t imagine anyone liking moving away from their
home and friends.

I can imagine you now.
You probably got really tall;
your family is probably quite distressed over your
brother;
you probably listen to music that I would hate.

I know I’ll most likely never see you again.
I can’t imagine how or why I would.
I don’t really get upset over that
and I’m sure you don’t either.

I’m getting along fine.
I was quite upset when you left, being that you were my
best friend.
But, hey,
I lived and so did you.
It just shows how much things can change.


The 125th Street Massacre
by Freddy M
(excerpted from pages 13-14)

On December 8, 1995, my focus of life was blanked. My best friend who I knew for ten years, was dead in a massacre burning. When this incident happened at 125th Street, in Freddy’s Clothing Store, I was waiting for her to go to a party. My friend, Cynthia Martinez, was making a good move up in her life.
....
Cynthia Martinez was getting herself together. She was wearing nice clothing. She stopped drinking beer, had lots of nice jewelry and also helped her mother with the rent. I was happy for her. I loved Cynthia as if she were my own sister. We laughed together. We went places together. We were just enjoying life. That was until December 8, 1995, when the disaster happened. A crazy person went inside Freddy’s. He started to shoot everyone inside with a hand gun that he was carrying. He shot two people. The other six ran downstairs to the basement including Cynthia Martinez. They were downstairs terrified. The crazy man lit the whole store up. It was on fire. The people downstairs did not know what to do. the fire was getting bigger and bigger. The smoke was too much. It was so much that it killed four of the six that were downstairs in the basement. One of the victims who died was my best friend, Cynthia Martinez. The others were friends of hers. Two survived because they were getting air from a hole in the wall. Everyone else was killed.
....
I could not believe that all of this was really happening. She was a sweet and intelligent person trying to get her life together. She was always there to solve problems One time she told me she was tired of working at Freddy’s and was ready to quit her job. When I was speaking to her, though, I told her not to quit her job. “You are looking good and doing good for yourself.” Now I feel guilty. I feel like I was the one that killed her. I wish now that she had quit her job. If she did, she would be alive.


All families sooner or later deal with life and death issues. Cynthia was getting her life together at Freddy’s Clothing Store. Her friend, Freddy (no relation to the store), blamed himself for Cynthia’s death. Writing about and sharing his thoughts about the incident, served as a catharsis to help purge his pity and terror.


My Story
by Colleen
(excerpted from pages 16-17)

I was born on May 25th, 1978, in Queens, New York. I am Chinese and, although I was raised the American way, I tend to stay around people of my own culture.
.....
Three days after my father’s death I was raped by two ex-boyfriends. That’s when everything started to affect me. My mother started to give me all the freedom she could possibly give me. I started to cut school all the time. I hung out with gangs; got into a lot of fights; stole other people’s money and started smoking. When I went to high school, I attended school for three years. I decided to take my GED, since I couldn’t finish school on time.
....


My Story
by Lena
(excerpted from pages 19-20)

I am 18 years old. I was born in North Shore Hospital on June 17, 1977. My cultural background is Palestinian.
....
I left home because my parents were influenced by their culture and religious beliefs. They thought that they had to marry my sisters and me at the age of sixteen. The first time they tried to arrange a marriage for me I tried to commit suicide, because I didn’t think there was another way out. The second time they tried to arrange a marriage for my sisters and me we decided that’s not the way we wanted to live our lives. We wanted to live a normal and healthy life, have our education and become successful people. So we decided to leave home on June 12, 1994. We had to hide out for a year, and we weren’t able to attend school. Now we are both legal adults and are able to face our parents. We have decided to get our education and make something of ourselves.
....
My life has been rough, but I am strong, and I have been a lucky person. Now I have a chance to make my own decisions as with whom and where my life is directed.


How My Parents Met
by Carlos A
(excerpted from page 22)

My parents were about seventeen and eighteen years of age. They were attending John Dewey High School. They both were at lunch and they didn’t know each other until the incident.
My mother was sitting a few tables from my father. My mother decided to talk to one of her friends, and she yawns at the same time. My father saw her yawning, so he got ready and shot a spit ball straight in to my mother’s mouth. My mother choked for only a little bit. She stood up and walked towards my father.
....

Chip Off the Old Block
by Lordikim aka L. Boogie
(excerpted from pages 24-28)

The streets. There’s many rules and codes of the streets. As a young man growing up on Webster Avenue in the South Bronx, the streets were basically all I knew. I am the middle child of my mother’s five children. My father went to prison a few months after my birth. But no matter what, my mother always did what she had to do to keep a nice clean apartment and food on the table.
.......
As I got older, around 14 years old, I began to think the world revolved around me. boy was I wrong. By the time I turned 15 I was in with the wrong crowd and more disrespectful than ever. Disrespectful to my brothers and sisters, disrespectful to my mother, disrespectful to everybody.
Soon after that my mother was pretty fed up with my $#!. At nights when I was supposed to be home at 8 pm, I was home at 11 pm. When I was supposed to be on punishment I would sneak out anyway. After several warnings I was finally on the streets. Fifteen years old and on the streets. I couldn’t believe my own mother would do that to me, not realizing I did it to myself. And come to find out, all the *!&&$ I ran with didn’t give a ?@% about me. I mean these were the people I thought I would kill for. After days of thinking and talking to my younger brother, I was finally back in the house, but I hadn’t changed at all. Still on my same $#!
I’ve been rapping since 11 years old. The only times that I was off the streets and at ease was when I was home writing rhymes. Soon I exposed my talent and before I knew it everyone knew me as L. Boogie, the kid with mad skills. The excitement and publicity got to me, but it didn’t swell my head. It made me realize that this was the route for me. I was never a drug dealer; sticking people up was my thing. I figured -- why sell drugs for money when I could just take the money? That would be easier and, besides, that was the route my older brother took. There would be times when he’d come in the house with more loot than I’d ever seen in my life.
Wishing I had the money he had I started to do the things he did. The only difference was I wanted to be a rapper, not a stick-up kid. My brother seemed to enjoy the crime life. For him and his crimes it was an every day thing.
Before I knew it my brother was on Rikers Island charged with several accounts of armed robbery.
......


The Life of a Chinese Gang Member
by Jack
(excerpted from pages 30-32)

I was born and raised in Taiwan. When I was born my mother and father didn’t treat me well. Actually, my grandmother and grandfather raised me until I was 3. My grandparents went to the U.S. and left me with my parents. After one year my grandparents called and told my parents to come to the U.S. to live. I left Taiwan when I was 7. I didn’t want to leave but I was happy to see my grandparents, though that’s something I do not want to talk about because my grandfather passed away when I was hanging out.
.......
I joined Ghost Shadows in the summer of 1990. One reason I joined the gang was because my grandfather passed away and my mother divorced my father. I had nobody to take care of me so I ran away from home. Life is not easy out there. You have to do anything to survive in the streets. Once I was involved in a shoot out with the Flying Dragons. It was dangerous and exciting. I shot somebody in the leg who was 30 yards away. For about ten months, I was out there doing thing s that I knew were bad.
.......
Let’s talk about Riker’s Island, C-74, ARDC, the building of pain and sorrow. This is life in jail. If you snitch you will get cut. The most important things in jail are the phone and commissary. Without them things would be very wild. How to survive in jail: the way I see it is when somebody is trying to hurt and play you, either you fight or cut them. If you don’t, you’re the herb. I found that being a Chinese minority in jail is not hard. If you don’t get loose, the people won’t violate you or try to hurt you. When other Chinese come in, me and other Chinese brothers will try to tell them everything about jail. If they don’t do the right thing, we will correct them...


We Almost Made It There
by Akbar M
(excerpted from pages 33-34)

We almost made it there, to the March, that is. What March? The historic Million Man March. My father and I had been planning to attend the March for a little over a month, before it took place. We had anticipated the spiritual and positive vibe the event would hold and bring out of us all, the million brothers that would attend. We knew it would reach a million.

The preparation for the March excited us to the full extent. We saved money, collected food, and inspired others to attend throughout the whole month. We had a lot of inspiration from many sisters within the community as well as my mother and aunt, who actually bought the tickets. The excitement grew to the point we actually visualized ourselves there.
The day of the March was a day I felt intense pride for my black heritage. The bus was said to leave at one A.M. We arrived at the bus site at midnight with tickets in hand....


Incarcerated Fathers
by Lamont B
(excerpted from pages 36-38)

Let me tell you this story. I have a friend who has been incarcerated for six years. When Ernest was first arrested his child was 1-year-old. As it is known, all human beings need to be loved by their parents. Ernest loves his child, but since he was incarcerated things changed. His baby’s mother being lonely felt she needed someone to be with. She started seeing another man who was there when she needed him and would give love to her child. Kevin became closer and closer to Renee and her child. A year went by and little Lenny began calling the mother’s boyfriend “Daddy.”
As time went by the baby developed certain illnesses. Because of the seriousness of the illnesses Lenny was hospitalized. Kevin would visit Lenny with Renee and show that he cared about him. Kevin taught Lenny how to make friends and be responsible. Inside, Lenny was feeling a bond between him and his new found father.
After six long, lonely years Ernest was released from his incarceration. He came home eager to see his son, but did not know what was going on with Lenny, Renee, and her boyfriend. He knocked on the door and was surprised, not knowing who the man was that answered the door.
“May I ask who you’re looking for?” Kevin asked.
Ernest replied, “I’m looking for my baby, Lenny and his mother Renee.”
“Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Lenny’s father.”
As they continued to talk, Kevin and Ernest became angry and began to argue....


A Trip Down Memory Lane
by Gary B
(excerpted from pages 40-3)

....Now I’m facing life imprisonment, no parole. My mother always told me there’d be days like this so now I know what to expect. Being incarcerated ain’t easy, especially when you have a smaller brother growing up in your footsteps. I tell him to go to school and stay away from drugs. I even let him know that he would be a fool to get caught up in the same situation like me and my pops did. Now he’s living with his girl having kids, struggling for survival the right way, because he realizes that you can’t take money with you when you die. In reality, life in the fast lane does not pay. All the cars, drugs, women and money that I had can’t help me now ‘cause there’s nothing I could possibly do with them in jail....


Poverty and hunger makes it hard to learn. It’s hard to concentrate on learning when your stomach is empty and growling from hunger. Working with New York City students presented challenges similar to those I faced as a Peace Corp Volunteer teaching in Liberia before war ravaged that country.

As educators, the Waterways teachers guided their students’ passage through the world past daily terrors and uncertainties along the path of a curriculum of expressive writing and publishing. Students wrote about their families, neighborhoods, and schools.

The Streams anthologies presented in print the students’ observations in their own words. The opening section of Streams 10 was titled, “Songs and Stories.”

Music
by Starr
(from page 2)

Music is art.
Music tells stories.
Music expresses feelings;
Whether happy or sad.
Music deals with emotions;
Feelings good or bad.
Music is joyous.
Music is sober.
Music is jive.
Music is soap to wash away tears.
Music is a society
Dealing with life and death.
Music is the jewel of my life.


Streams 10

The Cosmic Streams and Rhythms IV

Teaching is passing on the culture and facilitating the present moment. It is the relationship between experience and innocence in the classroom. It is an exchange between maturity and youth, knowledge and ignorance, understanding and anxiety.

Teaching is also helping students acquire the tools to question. Students, who are taught a system of critical ideas, can use their own judgment to critically examine the concepts that are being passed on.

Children want to believe. They learn from their peers and the adults around them. They learn to doubt and discern. They cope with disillusionment. They say to their teachers, “Adults shouldn't tell children lies.”

The Principal
by Mary Clark

Venetian blind poses, Venetian blind blues.
A life grew smaller behind them, trying to see through
engulfed in a large leather chair, made of men,
I waded into his ice-sea blue eyes.
What are we going to do with you? he asked.
Throw me back. My father, who art in this world,
outside this school beyond my understanding,
I am a girl-child waiting to be born.


Poetry brings the experience of life outside the school into the classroom. Recently, a student I worked with fifteen years ago, called after a fire destroyed his home. He wanted to know if I had kept copies of his poetry book. Barbara and I found the original mechanicals and printed a copy for the student.

Summer
by Nancy Montalvo

Summer tastes
like a wet, juicy
watermelon slice
running down one’s
mouth as if
struggling
to remain inside
sweeter than an apple,
cooler than ice.
Summer smells like
suntan oils:
musky,
pungent,
promising gold.
Summer sounds like bells
bringing ice cream, as children
fight on line:
vanilla cone
sprinkled with goodness
inside.
Summer brings
excitement
to the children running
through the sprinklers
playing Catch & Kiss
as the others
play Hide & Seek;
drinking each other,
laughing
with the
sun.
Meanwhile
the cool moon
slowly
creeps
from behind
staring
in your eyes,
running
with fright
just to be
on time.
(Streams 9, page 123-4)

Streams 9