I have been reading Michael Rosen's powerful poetry anthology, 'On The Move- Poems About Migration.' It is a most affecting collection of poems. Michael delivers a personal and global perspective that speaks to endurance.
This poetry anthology is interwoven with aspects of memoir. A number of the poems are reproduced from earlier Michael Rosen anthologies.
'Migration isn't just something that happens to other people. If you look into your own family history , no matter where you come from , chances are that you will arrive at the story of your relatives' migration to where you live now.'
Michael Rosen
Reading these poems prompted me to think about my own migration experiences and the migration story of my ancestors, along with stories learned from those people I have met across my life.
It is frequently in reading that poetry is 'sparked' to life. This reading experience delivered a strong poetic calling.
I have migrated for work and education, but I have never been forced to migrate to attain safety, or refuge from conflict, or natural disaster. My experience has been most fortunate compared to so many.
I have met many children and teachers across the years who had migration stories that were brave, horrific and inspiring.
I recall meeting a taxi driver in Croton Harmon NY who told he had come from Nicuragua with just two suitcase. One held his earthly possessions and the other held his dreams...
The following poem relates a school encounter I had with a young refugee I met about ten years ago. His story really brought home the contrast of my most fortunate circumstances compared to those endured in his short life.
Boston
Doesn’t Say Much
I am indebted to fellow poet, Laura Purdie Salas who has also written about migration and displacement and shared it with me. You will find Laura's poem here:
Thank you Alan, for holding this bird's egg. Powerful and beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Irene. Trust and hope are fragile in these situations.
DeleteIt is hard to fathom such tragedy at such a young age. Thank you for showing Boston that there is the potential for humanity between strangers.
ReplyDeleteIndeed Tracey. Thank you for kind remarks.
DeleteYour reflection is gentle, like that egg you attempt to cradle, Alan. My heart grieves for those forced to migrate, then and now. What a gift you gave Boston, to listen.
ReplyDeleteThank you Patricia. These type of events continue to happen, highlighting our collective failure to learn.
DeleteThank you for encouraging Boston to write, and for listening! And there are so many millions on this earth with stories of displacement! Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
ReplyDeleteThe listening is the critical aspect here, Ruth. We need to listen more and talk less. These heartbreaking experiences continue to visit us, unfortunately.
DeleteThank you for this, Alan, and thank you for taking the time to sit with this young man, and to listen and encourage him. That is the heart of a teacher and a poet, and the result is the power of words.
ReplyDeleteWhen we truly listen, we provide ourselves with opportunities to learn, often quite profound things. Thank you for your generous comments.
Delete"like one might hold a bird's egg" Such a powerful poem! Thank you for listening and sharing this young writer's story.
ReplyDeleteThank you Linda. Your comments are always appreciated.
DeleteThe name of the boy, Boston, had me. That last line, teachers hold hold the bird eggs of truth for many. So powerful.
ReplyDeleteThank you Jone. We do indeed find ourselves holding onto fragile hope and trust when teaching. We must practice active, respectful listening in these circumstances.
DeleteBeautiful, Alan. "Honoured" is the way I feel, too, when I get to read to and chat with the children in the classes where I'm a volunteer. I feel like I've been given such a gift.
DeleteThanks, Susan. We are honoured. We must continually remind ourselves of that fact when we sit and engage in these special conversations with young learners.
DeleteThank you for sharing Boston's story so poignantly, Alan. I am sure he will remember the encounter - the day a stranger listened.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sally. I certainly will never forget that learning experience.
DeleteI, too, am responding to the power we share just by listening...with respect and as much empathy as our privileged lives allow. Thank you for what you did for Boston, and the reminder that it's within each of our grasps to do for another person. Thank you for this poem.
ReplyDeleteListening actively enables us to learn more, Mary Lee, you are so right. Glad you liked the poem.
DeleteAlan, this is such a moving poem. The fact that you were there, "ready to listen" to this young person's story made such a difference to him, to you, and now us. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Catherine. It was a special moment that chipped away at my ignorance.
DeleteThat bird's egg. What a good tender of Boston's trust. I've talked with asylum seekers in various situations, but always in short-term situations. I felt so inadequate. I've written several poems about it (one is at https://laurasalas.com/poems-for-teachers/lunch-in-a-refugee-reception-centre-poetry-friday-2/), and your post makes me want to write more. Thank you. Boston will stay with me.
ReplyDeleteThank you Laura. I'm pleased my poem has prompted to revisit this global issue of displacement. Thank you also for the link. I shall follow up to gain further insight and understanding.
DeleteLaura, I have added a link to your poem in my Migration post.
DeleteQuite a powerful story -poem Alan, and so timely too–thanks for being, "ready to listen, " and sharing this with us.
ReplyDeletePowerful indeed, Michelle. I was not expecting that. Thank you for your supportive remarks.
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