My poetry students' new book — forthcoming from Dzanc Books in conjunction with the Dzanc Writer in Residence Program — is called "Why Is the Sky Purple?"

The book release event is scheduled for June 10 at Nicola's Books and will feature readings by 27 fifth- and sixth-grade poets from Mike Derhammer's class at Ann Arbor Open School.

I like the title the kids settled on for several reasons. First, it's a question. Questions are more inviting than declarative statements; they are open to possibilities.

Also, asking questions is one of the main creative processes by which poems get written; poets are constantly asking "why?" or "what if?" or "what next?"

Second, it's a question that sounds reasonable, but isn't. It echos the classic question, "Why is the sky blue?" but with a twist. The question takes it for granted that the sky is purple, contrary to what we know or think we know about the sky. It takes the familiar and makes it unfamiliar, which is one of my favorite functions of poetry.

Coming up with a book title is an unusual task for a class of elementary school students. It's not something they get a lot of practice with. If you ask a group of student writers to suggest titles without giving any guidance, you are liable to get some dry, straightforward responses, like "Our Class Poetry" — or else cutesy abstractions, like "Beautiful Imaginations."

I am all for beautiful imaginations, but I probably wouldn't trust a book that proclaimed itself that way.

To help discover potential titles, I suggested to the class that they comb through their poems and pull out cool lines. I did the same, and we came up with two lists of title nominations. Some of the kids' choices were pretty fantastic: "Lovableness May Vary." "Shining in the Dirt." And of course, "Why Is the Sky Purple?"

Here is the poem, by Ian K., that the book's title comes from. As it turns out, this poem did not make the final cut for the book, because Ian had several other poems that he and I like even more. Still, this poem is tons of fun:

Why

Why is the sky purple, why are shoelaces green,

Why when I sleep do cows take me away,

Did Jackie Chan ever pee his pants, why is my son

The father of my daughter, can clocks reverse time by going

Backwards, why is the cat wearing mittens, why can

Cheese pieces grow wings and fly to Azkaban,

Why can pencil sharpeners shoot lasers, why do you

Have to wrap yourself in tinfoil every time you go

In the oven, will you just go away.

While I'm pleased with the title the students eventually chose, my title nominations tended to be on the wilder side. A few of my favorites: "Good Thing We Still Have the Mouse Droids," "A Chicken Is a Thing that Likes to Scream" and "My Last Thought Before Being Punctured."

In this case, perhaps the children's instincts are better than mine. They are probably closer to an actual book publisher's instincts, in any case. The poet Thylias Moss once told me that she had wanted to call her second book of poems "The Wreckage on the Wall of Eggs" but that the publisher wouldn't go for it, so she had to settle for the title "Pyramid of Bone."

I'd probably be more inclined to pick up a book with the first title than the second, but perhaps I am not very representative of the book-buying public.

Here are the source poems for two of my suggested titles that weren't chosen by the class. These poems are by Emily Z. and Matthew H., respectively, and I think they're both stunning. Each poet uses repetition to set up a driving rhythm, then keeps surprising us with strange twists amid the repeated phrases.

No Chicken In Particular

A chicken is cute

A chicken is like a

fluffy blanket with

wings.

A chicken is very

small

A chicken is clucky

A chicken is like

a big plump marshmallow

A chicken is like a

pig. A chicken

is fun. A chicken is

like a bunch of colors. A chicken

is strange. A chicken is

like a rooster. A chicken is

like vegetables. A chicken

likes to sleep. A chicken is a

thing that likes to scream!

A chicken has funny feet. A chicken

likes to run free . A chicken is

squirmy. A chicken is. A chicken.


Bullet

Where the stars glimmered

in the night sky.

It was as if the bullet

had suddenly froze.

I saw the figures eyes

huge with fright.

It was the bullet moving

once more almost alive

again.

It was using a mind of its own.

I was surprised.

I liked that the bullet

had turned in a different

direction from the figure.

I liked how the street

shown with the lamplight

in the distance.

Then it went towards

me.

I liked that the object

had been saved but now

it was my turn.



It was a bullet coming

towards me in

the distance.

It was as if the object

was still with fright.

The bullet remained its

speed coming towards

me.

It was a cold dark night

I liked that the bullet shown in the light.

That was my last thought

before being punctured.


Tune in again next week to see more sample poems in anticipation of the June 10 release of "Why Is The Sky Purple?"

Scott Beal is a stay-at-home dad who is wrapping up his third year as Dzanc Writer-in-Residence at Ann Arbor Open School.