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Harbor Me Hush Locomotion After Tupac & D Foster Before the Ever After
Read more by Jacqueline Woodson: Jacqueline Woodson celebrates the healing that can occur when a group of students share their stories. Jacqueline Woodson weaves a fascinating portrait of a thoughtful young girl's coming of age in a world turned upside down. Jacqueline Woodson's poignant story of love, loss, and hope is lyrically written and enormously accessible. A Newbery Honor Book that includes a discussion guide by Jacqueline Woodson. National Book Award winner Jacqueline Woodson's stirring novel-in-verse explores how a family moves forward when their glory days have passed and the cost of professional sports on Black bodies.
Peace, Locomotion The House You Pass On the Way From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun Miracle Boys Feathers
Read more by Jacqueline Woodson: The stunning companion to Locomotion. A lyrical coming-of-age story. Jacqueline Woodson explores race and sexuality through the eyes of a compelling narrator. A novel that was awarded the 2001 Coretta Scott King award and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. Jacqueline Woodson once again takes readers on a journey into a young girl’s heart and reveals the pain and the joy of learning to look beneath the surface.

Description

Product Description

Jacqueline Woodson''s National Book Award and Newbery Honor winner is a powerful memoir that tells the moving story of her childhood in mesmerizing verse.

A President Obama "O" Book Club pick

Raised in South Carolina and New York, Woodson always felt halfway home in each place. In vivid poems, she shares what it was like to grow up as an African American in the 1960s and 1970s, living with the remnants of Jim Crow and her growing awareness of the Civil Rights movement. Touching and powerful, each poem is both accessible and emotionally charged, each line a glimpse into a child’s soul as she searches for her place in the world. Woodson’s eloquent poetry also reflects the joy of finding her voice through writing stories, despite the fact that she struggled with reading as a child. Her love of stories inspired her and stayed with her, creating the first sparks of the gifted writer she was to become.

Includes 7 additional poems, including "Brown Girl Dreaming."


 
Praise for Jacqueline Woodson:

"Ms. Woodson writes with a sure understanding of the thoughts of young people, offering a poetic, eloquent narrative that is not simply a story . . . but a mature exploration of grown-up issues and self-discovery.”— The New York Times Book Review

Review

A National Book Award Winner
A Coretta Scott King Award Winner
A Newbery Honor Book
One of TIME MAGAZINE’s 100 Best YA Books of All Time


" Brown Girl Dreaming, Jacqueline Woodson’s highly lauded collection of free-verse poems about her childhood in New York and South Carolina, has language simple enough to be accessible to tweens and young teenagers and more than enough complexity to engage older readers. The winner of a Newbery Honor, NAACP Image Award, National Book Award and Coretta Scott King Award, Brown Girl Dreaming presents the story of Woodson’s experiences living with the remnants of Jim Crow during the 1960s and 1970s. The author confronts issues like faith, racism and sexual abuse using the elegant, spare language and powerful imagery she has come to be known for." — TIME MAGAZINE

“Gorgeous.”— Vanity Fair

“A radiantly warm memoir.”— The Washington Post

“Moving and resonant . . . captivating.”— The Wall Street Journal

“This is a book full of poems that cry out to be learned by heart. These are poems that will, for years to come, be stored in our bloodstream.”— The New York Times Book Review

“A profoundly moving memoir.”— San Francisco Chronicle

* “The writer’s passion for stories and storytelling permeates the memoir, explicitly addressed in her early attempts to write books and implicitly conveyed through her sharp images and poignant observations seen through the eyes of a child. Woodson’s ability to listen and glean meaning from what she hears lead to an astute understanding of her surroundings, friends, and family.”— Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW

* “Mesmerizing journey through [Woodson’s] early years. . . . Her perspective on the volatile era in which she grew up is thoughtfully expressed in powerfully effective verse. . . . With exquisite metaphorical verse Woodson weaves a patchwork of her life experience . . . that covers readers with a warmth and sensitivity no child should miss. This should be on every library shelf.”— School Library Journal, STARRED REVIEW

* “Woodson cherishes her memories and shares them with a graceful lyricism; her lovingly wrought vignettes of country and city streets will linger long after the page is turned. For every dreaming girl (and boy) with a pencil in hand (or keyboard) and a story to share.”— Kirkus Reviews, STARRED REVIEW

* “[Woodson’s] memoir in verse is a marvel, as it turns deeply felt remembrances of Woodson’s preadolescent life into art. . . . Her mother cautions her not to write about her family but, happily, many years later, she has and the result is both elegant and eloquent, a haunting book about memory that is itself altogether memorable."— Booklist, STARRED REVIEW

* “A memoir-in-verse so immediate that readers will feel they are experiencing the author’s childhood right along with her. . . . Most notably of all, perhaps, we trace her development as a nascent writer, from her early, overarching love of stories through her struggles to learn to read through the thrill of her first blank composition book to her realization that ‘words are [her] brilliance.’ The poetry here sings: specific, lyrical, and full of imagery. An extraordinary—indeed brilliant—portrait of a writer as a young girl.”— The Horn Book, STARRED REVIEW

* “The effect of this confiding and rhythmic memoir is cumulative, as casual references blossom into motifs and characters evolve from quick references to main players. . . . Revealing slices of life, redolent in sight, sound, and emotion. . . . Woodson subtly layers her focus, with history and geography the background, family the middle distance, and her younger self the foreground. . . . Eager readers and budding writers will particularly see themselves in the young protagonist and recognize her reveling in the luxury of the library and unfettered delight in words. . . . A story of the ongoing weaving of a family tapestry, the following of an individual thread through a gorgeous larger fabric, with the tacit implication that we’re all traversing such rich landscapes. It will make young readers consider where their own threads are taking them.”— The Bulletin of the Center for Children''s Books, STARRED REVIEW

* “Woodson uses clear, evocative language. . . . A beautifully crafted work.”— Library Media Connection, STARRED REVIEW

About the Author

Jacqueline Woodson (www.jacquelinewoodson.com) is the recipient of a 2020 MacArthur Fellowship, the 2020 Hans Christian Andersen Award, the 2018 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award, and the 2018 Children’s Literature Legacy Award. She was the 2018–2019 National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, and in 2015, she was named the Young People’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation. She received the 2014 National Book Award for her  New York Times bestselling memoir  Brown Girl Dreaming, which was also a recipient of the Coretta Scott King Award, a Newbery Honor, the NAACP Image Award, and a Sibert Honor. She wrote the adult books  Red at the Bone, a  New York Times bestseller, and  Another Brooklyn, a 2016 National Book Award finalist. Born in Columbus, Ohio, Jacqueline grew up in Greenville, South Carolina, and Brooklyn, New York, and graduated from college with a B.A. in English. She is the author of dozens of award-winning books for young adults, middle graders, and children; among her many accolades, she is a four-time Newbery Honor winner, a four-time National Book Award finalist, and a three-time Coretta Scott King Award winner. Her books include Coretta Scott King Award winner  Before the Ever After;  New York Times bestsellers  The Day You Begin and  Harbor MeThe Other SideEach Kindness, Caldecott Honor book  Coming On Home Soon; Newbery Honor winners  FeathersShow Way, and  After Tupac and D Foster; and  Miracle''s Boys, which received the  LA Times Book Prize and the Coretta Scott King Award. Jacqueline is also a recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement for her contributions to young adult literature and a two-time winner of the Jane Addams Children''s Book Award. She lives with her family in Brooklyn, New York.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

february 12, 1963

I am born on a Tuesday at the University Hospital
Columbus, Ohio
USA—
a country caught

between Black and White.

I am born not long from the time
or far from the place
where
my great, great grandparents
worked the deep rich land
unfree
dawn till dusk
unpaid
drank cool water from scooped out gourds
looked up and followed
the sky’s mirrored constellation
to freedom.

I am born as the south explodes,
too many people too many years
enslaved then emancipated
but not free, the people
who look like me
keep fighting
and marching
and getting killed
so that today—
February 12, 1963
and every day from this moment on,
brown children, like me, can grow up
free. Can grow up
learning and voting and walking and riding
wherever we want.

I am born in Ohio but
the stories of South Carolina already run
like rivers
through my veins.



second daughter’s second day on earth 
 
My birth certificate says: Female Negro 
Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro 
Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro
 
In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr. 
is planning a march on Washington, where 
John F. Kennedy is president. 
In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox 
talking about a revolution. 
 
Outside the window of University Hospital, 
snow is slowly falling. So much already 
covers this vast Ohio ground. 
 
In Montgomery, only seven years have passed 
since Rosa Parks refused 
to give up 
her seat on a city bus. 
 
I am born brown-skinned, black-haired 
and wide-eyed. 
I am born Negro here and Colored there 
 
and somewhere else, 
the Freedom Singers have linked arms, 
their protests rising into song: 
Deep in my heart, I do believe 
that we shall overcome someday. 
 
and somewhere else, James Baldwin 
is writing about injustice, each novel, 
each essay, changing the world. 
 
I do not yet know who I’ll be 
what I’ll say 
how I’ll say it . . . 
 
Not even three years have passed since a brown girl 
named Ruby Bridges 
walked into an all-white school. 
Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds 
of white people spat and called her names. 
 
She was six years old. 
 
I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby. 
I do not know what the world will look like 
when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . . 
Another Buckeye! 
the nurse says to my mother. 
Already, I am being named for this place. 
Ohio. The Buckeye State. 
My fingers curl into fists, automatically 
This is the way,  my mother said, 
of every baby’s hand. 
I do not know if these hands will become 
Malcolm’s—raised and fisted 
or Martin’s—open and asking 
or James’s—curled around a pen. 
I do not know if these hands will be 
Rosa’s 
or Ruby’s 
gently gloved 
and fiercely folded 
calmly in a lap, 
on a desk, 
around a book, 
ready 
to change the world . . .
 
 
 
it’ll be scary sometimes 
 
My great-great-grandfather on my father’s side 
was born free in Ohio, 
 
1832. 
 
Built his home and farmed his land, 
then dug for coal when the farming 
wasn’t enough. Fought hard 
in the war. His name in stone now 
on the Civil War Memorial: 
 
William J. Woodson 
United States Colored Troops, 
Union, Company B 5th Regt. 
 
A long time dead but living still 
among the other soldiers 
on that monument in Washington, D.C. 
 
His son was sent to Nelsonville 
lived with an aunt 
 
William Woodson 
the only brown boy in an all-white school. 
 
You’ll face this in your life someday, 
my mother will tell us 
over and over again. 
A moment when you walk into a room and 
 
no one there is like you. 
 
It’ll be scary sometimes. But think of William Woodson 
and you’ll be all right.
 
 
 
the beginning 
 
I cannot write a word yet but at three, 
I now know the letter 
love the way it curves into a hook 
that I carefully top with a straight hat 
the way my sister has taught me to do. Love 
the sound of the letter and the promise 
that one day this will be connected to a full name, 
 
my own 
 
that I will be able to write 
 
by myself. 
 
Without my sister’s hand over mine, 
making it do what I cannot yet do. 
 
How amazing these words are that slowly come to me. 
How wonderfully on and on they go. 
 
Will the words end, I ask 
whenever I remember to. 
 
Nope, my sister says, all of five years old now, 
and promising me 
 
infinity.
 
 
 
hair night 
 
Saturday night smells of biscuits and burning hair. 
Supper done and my grandmother has transformed 
the kitchen into a beauty shop. Laid across the table 
is the hot comb, Dixie Peach hair grease, 
horsehair brush, parting stick 
and one girl at a time. 
Jackie first, my sister says, 
our freshly washed hair damp 
and spiraling over toweled shoulders 
and pale cotton nightgowns. 
She opens her book to the marked page, 
curls up in a chair pulled close 
to the wood-burning stove, bowl of peanuts in her lap. 
The words 
in her books are so small, I have to squint 
to see the letters.  Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates. 
The House at Pooh Corner. Swiss Family Robinson. 
Thick books 
dog-eared from the handing down from neighbor 
to neighbor. My sister handles them gently, 
marks the pages with torn brown pieces 
of paper bag, wipes her hands before going 
beyond the hardbound covers. 
Read to me, I say, my eyes and scalp already stinging 
from the tug of the brush through my hair. 
And while my grandmother sets the hot comb 
on the flame, heats it just enough to pull 
my tight curls straighter, my sister’s voice 
wafts over the kitchen, 
past the smell of hair and oil and flame, settles 
like a hand on my shoulder and holds me there. 
I want silver skates like Hans’s, a place 
on a desert island. I have never seen the ocean 
but this, too, I can imagine—blue water pouring 
over red dirt. 
As my sister reads, the pictures begin forming 
as though someone has turned on a television, 
lowered the sound, 
pulled it up close. 
Grainy black-and-white pictures come slowly at me 
Deep. Infinite. Remembered 
 
On a bright December morning long ago . . . 
 
My sister’s clear soft voice opens up the world to me. 
I lean in 
so hungry for it. 
 
Hold still now, my grandmother warns. 
So I sit on my hands to keep my mind 
off my hurting head, and my whole body still. 
But the rest of me is already leaving, 
the rest of me is already gone.
 
 
 
the butterfly poems 
 
No one believes me when I tell them 
I am writing a book about butterflies, 
even though they see me with the  Childcraft encyclopedia 
heavy on my lap opened to the pages where 
the monarch, painted lady, giant swallowtail and 
queen butterflies live. Even one called a buckeye. 
 
When I write the first words 
Wings of a butterfly whisper . . . 
 
no one believes a whole book could ever come 
from something as simple as 
butterflies that  don’t even, my brother says, 
live that long. 
 
But on paper, things can live forever. 
On paper, a butterfly 
never dies.

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