The title of this volume comes from Hamlet’s instructions to the players that the “purpose of playing” is to mirror nature. And so is the purpose of the nature photographer and poet here. Stemple has photographed reflections in nature: seven wood storks with seven reflections, an alligator with a reflection that creates the illusion of a double jaw, a solitary cockle made less alone by its reflection. Yolen’s brief poems personifying the animals face the full-page photographs like the reflections they describe. A note from the author encourages readers to let the photographs and poems be a cause for reflection, but the intended fun of the poems is, at times, undercut by the forced whimsy: “This perplexing little frog / Has popped up on a thrown-out bottle. / What does this mean? Perhaps a lotle.” The pages and photographs are vibrant and lively, the poems best for reading aloud. Italicized captions on each poem’s page add information about the pictured animal, making this a good volume—along with other titles by this mother-son team—for teachers wanting to connect science and poetry. (Poetry. 10-12)
Pub Date: April 1, 2009
ISBN: 978-1-59078-624-6
Page Count: 32
Publisher: Wordsong/Boyds Mills
Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2009
Categories: CHILDREN'S POETRY
Did you like this book?
PLB 0-06-027940-0 Dakos’s collection of 23 poems from the perspective of items found at school satisfies the I Can Read requirements of simplicity and word repetition, but may not lure beginning readers back for a second time. The material is uninspiring: The school’s front door says, “Keep me shut,/I have the flu,/Achooooooooo!/Achooooooooo!/Achooooooooo!/Achooooooooo!/Keep me shut,/I have the flu.” A book sings “Happy Birthday” to a ruler, then sings “Happy Unbirthday” when the ruler says that it is not its birthday. Also appearing are a couple of clever items—one on a kidnapped pencil and another on a comb pulling hazardous duty—along with some typographic elements that amiably convey the idea that words are malleable; Reed’s illustrations possess geniality and character, making some inanimate objects very personable. (Picture book. 4-8)
Pub Date: Aug. 31, 1999
ISBN: 0-06-027939-7
Page Count: 48
Publisher: HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1999
Categories: CHILDREN'S POETRY
Did you like this book?
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Leaving behind much of the lyricism found in his previous collections, Berry (First Palm Trees, 1997, etc.) pens poems in the voices of a sister, Dreena (who has the magical name), and brother, Delroy, on their experiences in the family with a dour sister, mother (“A teacher, Mom has lots of pens/and home and school jobs”), and father, who “drives a train,/sometimes in a heavy jacket.” This father is not really poem-material: “And, sometimes, Dad brings us gifts./Sometimes, he plays our piano.” The brother, Delroy, who tenders three autobiographical poems, can’t sit still and can’t stop talking about it. There is a good declarative poem, about a strong friendship he shares with another boy. Otherwise, he is dancing like a madman (“doing body-break and body-pop”) or skateboarding under the influence of a fevered imagination (“I want one owl on each my shoulder/hooting out as I leap each river”). In her first book, Hehenberger takes a literal route, anchoring every poem in domestic scenes of family and friends; the deep colors and finely sculpted forms become set pieces for Berry’s earthbound images. (Picture book. 5-9)
Pub Date: April 1, 1999
ISBN: 0-689-80013-4
Page Count: 32
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1999
Categories: CHILDREN'S POETRY
Did you like this book?
© Copyright 2022 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
