2-A-2

= Home > Activity 2-A-2: Where I'm From=

Instructions:

 * 1) Read the poem Where I'm From by George Ella Lyons. If you wish, you can also listen to the author read her poem by clicking on the speaker next to the words "Listen to George Ella read the poem."
 * 2) Compare this to some student examplesbased on this poem.
 * 3) In a word processing document, w rite your own I am from… poem following the basic structure provided in the examples. Use images and metaphors for multiple senses. You may use this templateas a guide for your poem.
 * 4) Post your poem to the course wiki:
 * Click the ** Edit ** tab in the upper-right corner.
 * Scroll down the page until you see the first empty Where I'm From Poem space.
 * Highlight the " Enter your name here. " text and type your name.
 * Copy your poem text from the word processing document. Highlight the " Paste your poem here. " text and paste your poem.
 * Press ** Save ** on the Editor bar.
 * 1) Comment on at least two other people's poems. In your comments, note any images that stood out to you from the poem and compare your own experiences to those of your peers. To comment:
 * Click the ** Edit ** tab in the upper-right corner.
 * Scroll down the page until you see the comment section under the poem you want to comment on.
 * Type your comments followed by your first name and last initial.
 * Press ** Save ** on the Editor bar.

Where I'm From Poems

 * Name:** Eric


 * Poem:**

I am from fields of fruit trees, from Topps baseball cards, Prince racquets and Rawlings footballs.

I am from a brick house, wood floors, lush grass, streams, stone forts and giant trees.

I am from the fragrance of laurel flowers and tree blossoms in the spring.

I am from special birthday dinners and Sunday drives, Jones and Sweitzers, from Aunt Marilyn and Aunt Joy.

I am from walks on the beach and family gatherings at the bungalow.

From fishing tips on the river and life advice on camping trips in the valley.

I am from acolyte training and Sunday school drop offs from my parents.

I’m from Central Pennsylvania and German roots, hog maw and sauerkraut.

From a positive ball of energy, the role model of hard work, from an Aunt of kindness and courage.

I am from hutch full of memories, a barn full of nature gear, a garage full of athletic supplies, a bedroom wall full of idols and a house full of love and support.


 * Comments:**
 * Eric, I didn't have a garage full of athletic supplies but I did have the Sunday drives. Those drives, insisted upon by my father, were sometimes boring and sometimes ended in the strangest, loveliest places. I also had a role model of hard work that defines me to this day. In addition, I currently train acolytes :). This is a great poem that brought back good memories. (Connie)**


 * I feel like I'm a small town when I read your poem, it seems like you had a very happy childhood there . Chasati**
 * You sound like you come from a place similar to my hometown. There are certain universal values and understandings that occur in a small town, and it sounds as though we share many of them. It also seems that you have a strong sense of family and togetherness. That is always important and is something you carry with you throughout life and helps shape who you are and how you raise your own family. Well done Eric. (Erin M)**


 * Baseball cards, fishing/camping trips and a garage full of athletic supplies are all memories that hit very close to home. Small town living and hard working people are the foundation of many PA towns. I can definitely relate to the experiences you described growing up in Pennsylvania. Great poem. (Daniel)**

For me "a positive ball of energy, the role model of hard work" says a lot about your culture. I've been a lot of places in the world where the American idea of "hard work" seems/is foreign, and this says a lot about where you come from. Images I can identify with are Rawlings footballs, brick house, lush grass, streams, stone forts, giant trees, Sunday Drives and drop offs at Sunday school. (Alan)

There are a ton of things I can relate to in your poem. All details of a good PA childhood! I'm just mad I forgot to mention baseball cards in mine! (Jeff C)

.


 * Name:** Erin Moran
 * Poem:**

I am from a nearby lake, eating Spagettios and spinach; a fun tradition, showing my mom and her friend’s way of making memories. I am from the family homestead: creaky, nostalgic, inviting, comforting. I am from a grandmother named Iris, as beautiful as her name. I am from fishing trips and picnics with my grandparents. I am from hanging personalized ornaments at Christmas and blonde haired, pale complected people, from great loving parents: Sam and Carol. I am from two older brothers who picked on me but will defend and love me to the end. I am from the huggers and the jokers, the entertainers and the story tellers. From “think how good it will feel when it quits hurting” and “it builds character.” I am from strong religious convictions and traditions: priests, nuns and pastors. I am from James City and Ireland, homemade meatballs and mom’s breaded chicken. From my Poppy, who spoke no English when he started school and my Grandpa Moran who helped many earn their citizenship. I am from the scrapbook of my life, made with love by the aging hands and warm heart of my grandmother. I am from the laminated, detailed family tree of my ancestors, full of names, pictures and stories. Some stories told, some yet to be written.


 * Comments: My Mother's name is Iris, it is a beautiful name :) Love your poem, I can see how close your family is. Chasati**


 * Erin: Your first line brought groans and stomach rumbles as I remember being forced to eat spinach at church camp one year and getting very sick for the rest of the day. Not a good experience at church camp. :) Personalized Christmas ornaments are still an important tradition in our family and I have a box for each of my children that will eventually get passed to them. Since I was in a family of girls, we never heard, "think how good it will feel when it quits hurting". I think that might come from having two older brothers. I love the "yet to be written" comment. That signifies "family forever". (Connie)**

What I identify most with this poem is the line " I am from the huggers and the jokers, the entertainers and the story tellers," which is followed by what is for me the strongest or most emotive line "From “think how good it will feel when it quits hurting” and “it builds character.” (Alan)


 * Erin: Your poem brought back some great memories for me. I remember spaghettios and spinach at the dinner table, although I didn’t learn to appreciate spinach until adulthood. Faith and family resonate well throughout your poem. Well done. (Eric)**


 * Childhood memories on the lake gave me priceless memories. I liked hearing about yours! (Jeff C)**


 * Name:** Chasati Woelfel

I am from the Mississippi River Delta from agriculture and manufacturing I am from the home of the B.B. King’s Blues and Elvis Presley’s Rock and Roll I am from the cotton fields, gravel roads I am from vacations to Florida, Gulf of Mexico every Summer, amusement parks I am from the hard work will get you everywhere mindset From “do as I say, not as I do” say Mom and Dad I am from the Bible Belt, not my cup of tea I'm from soul food, best Barbeque in the world, no dieting here From the-we will worry about it later, just enjoy today I am from History, Civil War, Civil Rights, learn from the past so we don’t repeat our mistakes.
 * Poem:**


 * Comments:**
 * It is amazing how much insight I have gained into people's personalities and lives through reading these poems. I really enjoyed this assignment. Your background seems to have been much different than my Pennsylvania small town childhood, more because of location than anything. It is interesting that we develop certain memories and views based on where we grew up and what we were exposed to as children. You did a great job of showing me a glimpse of what life was like for you as a child and the way you worded things tells me a bit about who you are today. (Erin M.)**


 * Chasati: The tune and lyrics for "Black Velvet" (song about Elvis) roll through my head as I'm reading your poem. You describe the "slow, southern style" when you mention "we will worry about it later, just enjoy today". There is something gentle and comforting about that way of viewing life. I also come from the "hard work will get you everywhere" but some of my relatives died from the stress caused by that philosophy. I have traveled in the South and have always enjoyed the people and their Southern gentility with the exception of those who are still hard core Confederates. (Connie)**


 * I really got a feel of what it was like to grow up in the south. I could here Elvis playing in the background when I read that line and immediately thought of my grandfather. The do as I say, not as I do, was an overused expression in my household growing up and I am sure the words will be coming out of my mouth as my kids grow up. The closing line of your poem was very powerful. Growing up with a parent in AA learning from past mistakes and the mistakes of others was an ideal that we lived by on a daily basis. I understand that my interpretation may not be what you intended, but those are the feelings I had while reading it. Great poem.**

Hi Chasati. I think this is the poem I most identify with. The Bible Belt left stripes on my backside that took 30 years to fade. In our House Johnny Cash was the country King, but Elvis was the RnR king and got played louder, blasting out from 8-Tracks. I know the cotton fields the the sound of car wheels on a gravel road, and trips to the Gulf Coast (Panama City beach). Same with the barbecue and worry about it later, but most importantly the Civil Rights and learning from the past (which brings me back to the confederate flags question). You captured all this for me in a much shorter more efficient way than I did. **(Alan)**


 * Name:** Daniel Patrisso


 * Poem:**
 * Where I’m From…**

I’m from hard work, from dad’s calloused hands and mom’s long hours. I am from the trailer park, small, weathered, bursting with laughter. I am from Saturday cartoons and thick, curly hair, from Larry and Cindy and David. I am from the loud talking and quick temper. From foster families and Alcoholics Anonymous. I am from the sound of clanging metal, musty basement gyms and friendships forged in iron. I am from the need of a higher power. From Sunday mass or sleeping in. I’m from Carbondale and Northern Italy, spaghetti with meat sauce and burgers on the grill From the baseball diamond grandpa Joe shared with the Babe, the dream I tried to fulfill for the man I never knew, from the service grandpa Bill gave to his country. I am from a house filled with four generations of memories, trophies and pictures telling stories of lives lived. From dreams lost and dreams fulfilled, the stories told and my children's yet to be written.


 * Comments:**
 * Daniel, my children lived for Saturday cartoons at certain ages. It sounds as if there was joy and sadness in your family with sports and church providing outlets. The story of sharing a diamond with the "Babe" should be passed down through the ages. (Connie)**

Daniel, the line that most resonated with me was "I am from the sound of clanging metal, musty basement gyms and friendships forged in iron," as before I gave up wrestling for the Gymnastics team full time, (I wasn't aggressive enough for wrestling), I spent many hours in the weight room and formed friendships there. I also feel the need for the higher power as I support my wife in al-anon due to her mothers illness. And of course the stories of children's yet to be written. I am in awe of your compactness in writing (I can't keep it short or simple to save my life).


 * Name:** Jeff Cutler

I am from coal from Yuengling beer and The Battlin’ Miners. I am from the house on a busy street, nicknamed the mansion, quaint, where you can always step on toys. I am from the jalapeno plants, the ichiban eggplants. I am from boating and fishermen, from Justin and Maggie and Moe-Moe. I am from the hardworking and thoughtful. From don't swallow your gum and eat your vegetables. I am from grandfathers who taught me to appreciate simple things in the outdoors and see their beauty and greatness. A fisherman and a peaceful sunrise on the calm morning waters. A hunter going for a long walk in the woods. I'm from Minersville and Ukraine, halupkis and city chicken. From Dizzy who wears bib overalls,to my old man going to Landingville every Sunday,to my Gigi who delivered coal.
 * Poem:**

 I am from the photo albums and scrapbooks, the newspaper clippings, fishing awards, and the photos lining our walls reminding us of our past.


 * Comments:**
 * Jeff, the descriptions that resonate with me are the "house on a busy street", "where you can always step on toys", :), and "hardworking". Those memories stay with me. I wish I would have had someone to "show me the simple things in the outdoors" but not someone who showed me how to fish. My mother told me that gum stayed in your stomach for 7 years. Is that true? (Connie)**

Jeff, your line "From don't swallow your gum and eat your vegetables," was the center of the poem for me. My gradnmother "mimi" we called her called bubble gum Blow-gum. I'd forgotten that detail and your poem reminded me of it. Thanks. (Alan)


 * Jeff: My wife’s grandmother is also Ukrainian and from the coal region of Tamaqua. Your poem matches the description of so many tales we have heard over the years. I just had a Yuengling Friday night, America’s oldest brewery. It was a very nice poem. (Eric)**


 * Name:** Alan T

**The Curse of My Blessing**
I come from a Garden of Eden complete with serpents and strange guilt-laden fruit that dangles from the shady where vain women live forever among pine trees and post confederate crazies piss in their own back yards where my hoe-wielding grandmother chopped cotton and the heads off water moccasins in 100 degree heat; where cotton grows tall from red mud with lavender flowers and the nightly hum buzz chirp of cicada’s where lightening strikes house corners and lights up the bones in old grandma’s face as she sits in her rocker where fire and brimstone rained down from church rafters and a Capella hymns threw it back up in praise; where uncles tell stories of Selma and Birmingham and how it made them confused and embarrassed to be white; where my grandfather confounded church elders by saying we should invite freedom riders to come on in and where the pork barbecue is mesquite smoked in a pit and the sauce is spicy vinegar chased by Co-Colas frozen where the tea is boiled until it’s bitter, sugar is added to make it sweet, lemon is added to make it sour and ice is where in 1963 a black and white George Wallace stood in doors of schools and in 1982 with some color in his
 * 1) side of moss-covered oak trees;
 * 1) and smoke themselves into early graves;
 * 1) and frogs spills up from the swamp to weave twisted harmonies through seven symphonic movements;
 * 1) inches from the black and white screen waiting election results;
 * 1) have a seat and then laughed himself into a heart attack at the looks on their faces;
 * 1) in 8oz. bottles followed by hand-cranked fresh peach ice cream;
 * 1) added to make it cold;
 * 1) cheeks won re-election for governor with over 90% of the black vote.

I come from black clouds and tornadoes that rolled down out of Kansas and filled the air with debris and where dads went to work and moms stayed home and cut crusts off pimento cheese sandwiches and flirted where kids trick-or-treated by themselves and walked to school with sack lunches of PB’n’J, Lay’s potato where a bicycle was an entire day’s entertainment and wheels went flat from goathead thorns; where the streets were kept mosquito free by the bug fogger man in his truck with flashing lights; where neighbor mom’s spanked you when you were bad and your mom thanked them and spanked you again where Apollo moon shots blasted off and I tried to jump up and touch the full moon where the little men in where halter-top baby sitters with long black hair watched soap operas, smoked Winstons and let you touch where gangs of boys built forts, dug tunnels and roamed woods armed with fishing poles, buffalo knives and
 * 1) Osage rain that steamed from asphalt streets;
 * 1) with the mail man;
 * 1) chips and Oreo cookies;
 * 1) when you got home;
 * 1) spacesuits were;
 * 1) their belly buttons;
 * 1) BB guns while dressed in uniforms and army helmets pilfered from Vietnam crates in sad boys’ garages;

I come from mowed lawns and houses that grew on cul-de-sacs in patterns with every third one the same; where Okie accents were laughed at and playground talk was of Gamma World, Dungeons & Dragons, where video arcades glowed Space Invader, Asteroid, PacMan, Donkey Kong, Defender, Tempest beasts where 7-Elevens rang loud with badboy AC/DC and served Slurpee suicides, Big Gulps of Mountain Dew where the park school supermarket Burger King Taco Bell and shopping mall were minutes away in hungry where David Bowie, Talkingheads, Thomas Dolby, Peter Gabriel, The Sex Pistols, Ramones and X filled the air where the AMC multiplex played the latest films at 6:00, 8:00 and 10:00, and Saturday at midnight Rocky Horror where Eddie Murphy told AIDS jokes on HBO and after ten o’clock Cinemax served up all the boobs you could want where life-long friendships formed over slumming down town thrift stores for trench coats and the right shoes to where everything you ever needed and most of what you wanted was served up like pancakes at the Village Inn;
 * 1) and what to do if the Russians invade;
 * 1) and beeped a never ending hunger for quarters;
 * 1) and microwave burritos;
 * 1) teenage cars with bass boost and high end tweeters;
 * 1) and you breathed in their licorice irony and soothing discontent;
 * 1) danced in the isles and converted Sunday morning sermons to nodding guilt fests;
 * 1) with the sound turned down;
 * 1) wear to the Psychedelic Furs, The Clash, and U2 concerts at Red Rocks;

I come from Big Apple temptation that shown brightly on homeless streets and pleaded for spare change; where crack was two dollars a hit and a degree in physics got you an extra fifty cents an hour selling paint where the World Trade Center still stood and famous faces turned smiles upon you and said, Hi, I’m Allen, where the flirting eyes of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Swedish, Russian, Spanish and Puerto Rican where from windows over East 96th street automatic weapons fire echoed through Harlem hoods that had where city schools were segregated into the worth-its and the not-worth-its and black boys shot their friends where the American dream became a chocolate Easter bunny on fake grass with plastic ambition in place of eggs; where the Jet Stream blurred cotton trails across Atlantic seas of time and twisted maps out of all recognition.
 * 1) to pay for the grad school that wasn’t to be finished;
 * 1) I’m Lou, I’m Philip, I’m Iggy and shook your hand;
 * 1) girls filled the smoky Hungarian Pastry shops and West End bars with feminist talk, secret need and
 * 2) lipstick in the shadows;
 * 1) crumbled into third-world adversity;
 * 1) over an insult and fifteen-year-old girls cut each others' faces over a boy’s wrong glance;

I come from a maze of serpentine cobbled streets below a glorious castle of bureaucratic despair; where Kafka balked and Nazi’s walked and commies abused their children with microphones, where a park by a rail station is still named Zidovske Pece [Jewish Oven] and babichkas still frighten where each morning three hundred stone spires rise from the graveyard valley through lavender fog like where trees dance in the spring and cherry blossoms cover the hills like snow; where Jan Neruda cast apple blossoms over the large green eyes of difference and set tongues of flame where little blond boys spring from the fissure between worlds to dance wild rumpuses in a flat in Zizkov
 * 1) interrogation and confiscation of living space;
 * 1) children with tales of gypsy knives and stolen gore;
 * 1) Lazarus arms of the zombie apocalypse to reclaim the escaping sun;
 * 1) alight in my heart at the end of history;
 * 1) and laugh great bursts of love and tears and hope.

I come from a fragile ball of moisture and rock where continents and cultures drift across the face of the deep where life is a synaptic accident in the ever expanding void of coin-tossed space.
 * 1) like sequenced code through cables at light speed;


 * Comments:** (Prague is a bit dark and moody this time of year. The short days and clouds cast heavy reflections.)

This is a truly magnetic poem. (I've been drawn to read it several times.) I love the visualization and the symbolism. For me, everything coalesces in the stanza, "where little blond boys spring from the fissure between worlds to dance wild rumpuses in a flat in Zizkov and laugh great bursts of love and tears and hope." What beauty and joy! It all begins and ends here. (Connie)

WOW! What a dynamic and sensory filled poem! You did an excellent job of drawing me in and making feel I was walking along the journey of your life with you. Some of the things you mentioned brought back memories of my own: the video games, music and clothing choices. Well done. I truly enjoyed it. (Erin M)

Fantastic poem, makes me feel like I was there! (Jeff C)


 * Name:**


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**


 * Name:** Enter your name here.


 * Poem:** Paste your poem here.


 * Comments:**

The Curse of My Blessing