"When I was younger
                                                                       it was plain to me
                                                         I must make something of myself."
                                                                                                     ~ William Carlos Williams
                                                                                                              "Pastoral"


Reasons I went in search of this picture book:

• It's about a poet.
• Melissa Sweet is the artist of this book. {Remember Melissa's collage and water colour artwork from my Marionette Man post?}
• Its title. I love rivers. I love words and how they flow.

A River of Words ...
takes us through William Carlos Williams's childhood, leading to how he became a doctor and a poet. Willie would go for walks to explore and observe. He would listen to the water "slipping and sliding over the smooth rocks" by the river and fall asleep along to its music. 


So Much Depends Upon A Red Wheelbarrow ...
I didn't get it in the past. Why would so much depend upon a red wheelbarrow? Or the white chickens? Why would anyone write a poem about stealing plums from the fridge? 

Imagine my relief when I discover that poetry often isn't about imagining another world; it is about observing your world and writing it down as honestly as you can. If a stanza morphs into a metaphor, whoo-hoo! For the rest, just let the words flow into a river and allow the waters to touch your mind as pictures and sounds.

That was what Willie did. He wrote about fire engines, the moon in the treetops, children, and squabbling sparrows. He watched, he listened then he wrote it all down.
                                                                     
                                                                                 ...

"I must make something of myself."

All day, Willie delivered babies, healed hurts and took care of the sick. When night arrived, he climbed to his attic, sat at his desk, read the notes on things he'd heard, seen or done, and wrote. 

I think Willie made many things of himself, one of which was to influence us to make something of ourselves. I am now a little farther on my way because of this gorgeous book. 

                                                                              ...

White, papery moths flitting on top of green rain-treetops. Invisible birds trilling, chirping, whistling. Wherever you are now, what do you see? What do you hear?