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Teacher: Fourth Grade
Twitter: TeacherEdwards

Week One Wordle

Wordle: The Names by Billy Collins
This September will mark the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks and my 11th year as a teacher. I attended a workshop last week related to speaking to children about the events that took place that day. We heard from people who witnessed the events personally and the efforts they have made in response to the events of that day. This poem to me serves as a memorial to the people who lost their lives that day.

I will use this wordle and poem as part of the exercise to generate ideas for our writers notebooks and in memory of September 11th. After studying the wordle and jotting their predictions; students will listen to the poem read aloud. Finally students will then respond to the poem and write about the meaning of their own names.

"The poem, “The Names,” by Billy Collins brings about truth and honesty for the people who perished in the September 11th attacks on America. Billy Collins composed a poem that reminds us of that horrid day and the people who we lost. The author uses imagery, metaphors, and allegory to describe the thoughts and remembrance of that day. He uses the names of the victims of September 11th, so that we can re-visualize that day. The poem, “The Names” has a deep meaning to anyone who was directly affected by the September 11th attacks on America. He captures the words and creates a memory for those who perished during this time. Using the alphabet he uses one letter to symbolize each name of the victims. He chooses one name to represent each letter. The letters become synonymous with the names themselves."

The Names - Billy CollinsYesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,Then Baxter and Calabro,Davis and Eberling, names falling into placeAs droplets fell through the dark.Names printed on the ceiling of the night.Names slipping around a watery bend.Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.In the morning, I walked out barefootAmong thousands of flowersHeavy with dew like the eyes of tears,And each had a name --Fiori inscribed on a yellow petalThen Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.Names written in the airAnd stitched into the cloth of the day.A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.Monogram on a torn shirt,I see you spelled out on storefront windowsAnd on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.I say the syllables as I turn a corner --Kelly and Lee,Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.When I peer into the woods,I see a thick tangle where letters are hiddenAs in a puzzle concocted for children.Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.Names written in the pale sky.Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.Names silent in stoneOr cried out behind a door.Names blown over the earth and out to sea.In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.A boy on a lake lifts his oars.A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --Vanacore and Wallace,(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.Names etched on the head of a pin.One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.A blue name needled into the skin.Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.Alphabet of names in a green field.Names in the small tracks of birds.Names lifted from a hatOr balanced on the tip of the tongue.Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

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