It was interesting today to do a poetry presentation, via Zoom, for a year 6 class just getting started in imaginative and poetic language.
It was intended really to be an introduction to poetry from a ‘real poet’ and to get them thinking more laterally about language. I haven’t done a poetry presentation for a while, and never to such a young group. It was my first contact with student for nearly nine months after finishing up teaching at the end of last year and I enjoyed re-connecting with them.
They are supposed to learn about poems of people, places and things and I chose to read and talk about shorter pieces that were image-heavy and visual in nature first, with a story around them that might interest them.
Their response, their questions and their sharing of their own stories, was lovely to hear. One of the poems I read was about my grandmother, ‘little’ Nana, who died in 1987, which I share below. It was nice to talk about her for a bit today. Thanks to their teachers for setting it up.

NANA
She is smaller than ever;
though she says I am bigger,
and I have to stoop
to kiss her cheek
that is cold.
Here, in her shrinking unit,
it is always dusk.
The cars flicker outside
like mercury
and she is a shape in a room.
‘That’s a funny cup of tea’,
she says crossly,
though she must have seen most
of what cups of tea
are capable of.
The rich dark liquid
is honey-lit
as it uncoils like rope
from a silver teapot.
‘Yes’, she says,
‘she’s got your father’s hair’,
to my daughter,
who sleeps in the carry-basket,
six weeks old,
wrapped in crotched warmth
with all those cups of tea
to look forward to.