The focal point of the school, organizationally and mood-wise, is the principal. School principals, I find, may be helpful or not particularly, or may delegate helpfulness, but seldom trouble the poetry program as long as one is on time and seems confident. There’s little, however, the visiting poet can do about the mood of the whole school. One operates class by class, where the teachers are supremely important. The teacher is the bellwether of the class, of its developed attention. When the teacher writes along with the student, or simply listens alertly, this participation catalyzes the whole room.
On a more practical note, the teacher can exert authority, which the visiting poet doesn’t have, when it’s needed for the proper degree of order. For me, quietness is important when poems are being read aloud, and it’s an eternal little battle to bring classes “down” after the hurly-burly of creation. Essentials are learned in each state, the listening state and the composing state, that can’t be fully absorbed in the other. When the students are writing, however, it’s amazing how a fair to great degree of noisiness, when it’s mostly about the matter at hand, can not only fail to dim the concentration but actually enhance it, act as a matrix of energy.
My first visit I jump right into things by telling the kids what we’re going to do: talk about poems (not much) and read poems aloud (adults’, children’s), all building up to the main thing—having them write (using a different basic idea each class session, explained, with plenty of examples). Then I’ll collect pieces, read them aloud (anonymously) with top-of-the-head comments, take home and type some (“Don’t feel bad if yours isn’t chosen—one or more’ll probably show up along the way”), hand out copies next time I come if the rexo machines are working, and put together an anthology at the end. Any questions? At this point I read two poems aloud, often using “Too Blue” by Langston Hughes and “Crossing” by Philip Booth, discuss them briefly in down-to-earth ways, which these works by their nature encourage. Then, as first exercise, I prescribe “I Remember” poems, reading aloud one of mine first, then a bunch from kids, and emphasizing detail (“Don’t just write ‘I remember going to the movies with my friend Yvonne,' period, end of memory; tell whatever there was about it that made it stick in your mind; make a picture of the scene out of words”). The students write for fourteen minutes or so; I walk around, answering questions, talking or not talking as seems appropriate. Then I collect the papers and read them aloud, praising the “hits” I perceive in each poem, timing this feedback for the last ten minutes of class. Then out. Next free period I mark the ones I’m going to type. Later at home I type them up, which honors the kids, makes palpable what they’ve done, and preserves it. Then bring ‘em back alive.
In subsequent sessions I try to keep a balance going between content-oriented exercises (writing about places, for example) and devices, such as acrostics and lunes that tend to give the students a technical lead from line to line and to leave content free.
ACROSTIC POEMS
The acrostic is an admirable form for student use. There’s only one letter of requirement per line, which gives enough to go on (kids are often at sea without something leading on) but doesn’t over-dictate. The form’s lightness tends to stimulate surreal juxtapositions and other originalities. Also, the requirement comes at the line beginning (not at the end, as with rhyme), so once the letter is worded the rhythm is free. Acrostics encourage interesting line-breaks, show the kids that lines are not just sentences, or thought, but also sound units and fragmentation devises. The form abets the development of subtle, surprising, “off” connections between spine word and text, as well as the economy of lists and near-lists (elimination of connectives). In presenting the acrostic, I tell the students something like the following.
Write a word vertically, down the paper, and use its letters to begin the lines of a poem that you then make up. The poem should have something to do with the spine word, but it can be some weird or hard-to-see connection; don’t make it just an explanation of the word. You don’t have to rhyme. Lines can be as long or short as you like, and you can break your lines right in the middle of a thought or phrase. This sometimes makes the words stand out in a new and interesting way, like cracking open a rock and finding a little blue cave in it. Skip a line going down for each letter of your spine word in case you come up with a long poem-line that won’t fit on one line of paper. Use your imaginations; don’t be afraid to sound crazy; it often means you’ve come up with new ideas; try things out.
I show them a good acrostic (by a student) on the board, then write the spine words for about twelve or fifteen more and read off the poems, pointing to the beginning letters as I go. Naturally I choose an assortment that will display a big range of acrostic possibilities.
PLACE POEMS
Sometimes I begin by showing the students “Nantucket” by William Carlos Williams, and point out how all the physical things mentioned add up to a light-colored, quiet mood. I say that one way to express the feeling of a place is to pick out one thing or one little view, one part of the place, express it, and let it stand for the whole.
I talk up places, how we have such strong feelings for them early on (even Mother’s cradling arm is a “place” to a new baby) and ask them to write about a place they know well, could be their room, the block they walk and play on every day, etc., or a place they’ve seen once or rarely but that made a vivid impression. I read them a bunch of kids’ pieces on place, drawing attention to the epiphanies, good parts, accumulations. I urge them to write with the effort of recalling detail, maybe close their eyes and picture the place first. Think of it as a one-minute travelogue in words, don’t leave out anything that may help recreate the live scene. I ask for “poems” (line-breaks, metaphors, possible swift changes of image, going by feel); often the pieces come out prose anyway, which can also be fine.
LUNES
The lune is a simplification of formal haiku. Instead of counting syllables in the three lines, which might make kids overly concerned with the mere mechanics, one counts words: three/five/three, and subject, any mood. With lots of good examples given and discussed, the students do abundantly demonstrate a fine apprehension of the power of tiny, non-expositional, word-by-word effects, plus the necessity of balanced rhythm, which looms large in a short piece. Thus there’s a push toward the knowledge that ideas do not exist without their expressive articulations, and the importance of language “per se” is brought home.
When the sun’s
rays hit the shades, it
lights up lines.
This piece (dashed off by a Nebraska fifth grader years ago) excellently illustrates the possibility of poetry being plain talk of the immediate environment (sun striking venetian blinds on classroom window). It is also a deceptively complex maze of sound correspondences and play: simple rhythms in lines one and three contrasting with syncopation of line two (differing syllable lengths, comma pause, consonantal percussion), n‘s around soft “the” in line 1 forming a sound-swing, “rays-shades” assonance and “hit-it” rhyme, soft central “the” repeated, five terminal s‘s, “lights-lines," “sun’s-up," n again in “lines," t in “lights”—until “lights up lines” carries more import that the physical window pattern alone. The lines of the poem are lit up too. I advise students that the author probably didn’t calculate all this but that a careful, though nonspecific, concentration can let the musical phrases come.
Surprise in the short, third line (especially) is a common vivifier of lunes. A change of “voice” and/or rhythm can help the change of meaning snap to, or be the change in meaning.
Go to Heaven.
If it’s nice, call me.
I’ll be there.
Rhyme can sometimes work well in lunes, but it’s like loading a heavy rock into a small boat. I tell them lunes are like Crackerjacks, the more you. . ., etc. That I once wrote one hundred in an evening and by the end of everything I saw or thought registered in my brain three/five/three, and that I told a junior high class this and a girl came back the next day with 120, and solid little word-pieces from what was around her, especially at home. Sometimes I tell them lunes are like looking through a crack; even the plainest sight may look interesting, due to the focus.
Again, reading aloud many good examples by kids—with admonitions not to copy their wordings or ideas—helps the students see their own possibilities. It is amazing what variety may evolve and what compression is possible in these eleven-word poems.
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS IMITATIONS
On the black board I show the kids the poems "This Is Just to Say" and "The Red Wheelbarrow" by Dr. Williams.
I ask them first to write a poem apologizing for something “bad” they have done, imaginary or real. I point out how the s sounds in the last three lines of the first poem help bring out the mouth-watering goodness of the plums, making the poem a sorry-not-sorry balancing act. I urge them not to “copy” too closely.
Then I discuss the second poem, how it gently spotlights neglected thing of everyday life, and ask then to write a similar piece out of their own experience, like a snapshot in words.
In both cases I read them a variety of children’s poems along these lines. The “apologies” tend to be funny, and the “wheelbarrow” pieces tend to be delicate. The kids usually divide things into short lines without prompting (or I’ll tell them it helps display the rhythms of speech). Both exercise
จุดเด่นของโรงเรียน mood-wise และ organizationally เป็นหลัก โรงเรียนหลัก พบ อาจจะมีประโยชน์ หรือไม่โดย เฉพาะ หรืออาจมอบหมายงาม แต่บทบาทปัญหาโปรแกรมบทกวีตราบใดที่มีเวลา และดูเหมือนว่าความมั่นใจได้ เล็กน้อย กวีมาเยี่ยมอย่างไรเกี่ยวกับอารมณ์ของโรงเรียนทั้งหมด หนึ่งทำงานจากคลา ที่ครูมีความสำคัญสูง ครูได้ bellwether ของชั้นเรียน ความสนใจพัฒนา เมื่อครูเขียนกับนักเรียน หรือเพียงแค่ฟัง alertly มีส่วนร่วมนี้ catalyzes ห้องพักทั้งหมดในการปฏิบัติมากขึ้น ครูสามารถสำแดงอำนาจ ซึ่งกวีมาเยี่ยมไม่ได้ เมื่อมันเป็นสิ่งจำเป็นสำหรับระดับความเหมาะสมของใบสั่ง สำหรับฉัน ความเงียบเป็นสิ่งสำคัญเมื่อมีการอ่านบทกวีออกเสียง และมันคือการต่อสู้น้อยนิรันดร์นำเรียน "ลง" hurly-burly สร้าง สิ่งได้เรียนรู้ในแต่ละรัฐ รัฐฟัง และ รัฐ composing ที่ไม่สามารถดูดซึมอย่างเต็มที่ในอีก เมื่อนักเรียนกำลังเขียน อย่างไรก็ตาม ก็ตื่นตาตื่นใจเป็นธรรมระดับยอดเยี่ยมของ noisiness วิธีเป็นส่วนใหญ่เกี่ยวกับเรื่องที่ สามารถไม่เพียงแต่ไม่ได้มิติความเข้มข้น แต่จริง ๆ แล้ว เพิ่ม เป็นเมตริกซ์ของพลังงานMy first visit I jump right into things by telling the kids what we’re going to do: talk about poems (not much) and read poems aloud (adults’, children’s), all building up to the main thing—having them write (using a different basic idea each class session, explained, with plenty of examples). Then I’ll collect pieces, read them aloud (anonymously) with top-of-the-head comments, take home and type some (“Don’t feel bad if yours isn’t chosen—one or more’ll probably show up along the way”), hand out copies next time I come if the rexo machines are working, and put together an anthology at the end. Any questions? At this point I read two poems aloud, often using “Too Blue” by Langston Hughes and “Crossing” by Philip Booth, discuss them briefly in down-to-earth ways, which these works by their nature encourage. Then, as first exercise, I prescribe “I Remember” poems, reading aloud one of mine first, then a bunch from kids, and emphasizing detail (“Don’t just write ‘I remember going to the movies with my friend Yvonne,' period, end of memory; tell whatever there was about it that made it stick in your mind; make a picture of the scene out of words”). The students write for fourteen minutes or so; I walk around, answering questions, talking or not talking as seems appropriate. Then I collect the papers and read them aloud, praising the “hits” I perceive in each poem, timing this feedback for the last ten minutes of class. Then out. Next free period I mark the ones I’m going to type. Later at home I type them up, which honors the kids, makes palpable what they’ve done, and preserves it. Then bring ‘em back alive.In subsequent sessions I try to keep a balance going between content-oriented exercises (writing about places, for example) and devices, such as acrostics and lunes that tend to give the students a technical lead from line to line and to leave content free.ACROSTIC POEMSThe acrostic is an admirable form for student use. There’s only one letter of requirement per line, which gives enough to go on (kids are often at sea without something leading on) but doesn’t over-dictate. The form’s lightness tends to stimulate surreal juxtapositions and other originalities. Also, the requirement comes at the line beginning (not at the end, as with rhyme), so once the letter is worded the rhythm is free. Acrostics encourage interesting line-breaks, show the kids that lines are not just sentences, or thought, but also sound units and fragmentation devises. The form abets the development of subtle, surprising, “off” connections between spine word and text, as well as the economy of lists and near-lists (elimination of connectives). In presenting the acrostic, I tell the students something like the following.Write a word vertically, down the paper, and use its letters to begin the lines of a poem that you then make up. The poem should have something to do with the spine word, but it can be some weird or hard-to-see connection; don’t make it just an explanation of the word. You don’t have to rhyme. Lines can be as long or short as you like, and you can break your lines right in the middle of a thought or phrase. This sometimes makes the words stand out in a new and interesting way, like cracking open a rock and finding a little blue cave in it. Skip a line going down for each letter of your spine word in case you come up with a long poem-line that won’t fit on one line of paper. Use your imaginations; don’t be afraid to sound crazy; it often means you’ve come up with new ideas; try things out.
I show them a good acrostic (by a student) on the board, then write the spine words for about twelve or fifteen more and read off the poems, pointing to the beginning letters as I go. Naturally I choose an assortment that will display a big range of acrostic possibilities.
PLACE POEMS
Sometimes I begin by showing the students “Nantucket” by William Carlos Williams, and point out how all the physical things mentioned add up to a light-colored, quiet mood. I say that one way to express the feeling of a place is to pick out one thing or one little view, one part of the place, express it, and let it stand for the whole.
I talk up places, how we have such strong feelings for them early on (even Mother’s cradling arm is a “place” to a new baby) and ask them to write about a place they know well, could be their room, the block they walk and play on every day, etc., or a place they’ve seen once or rarely but that made a vivid impression. I read them a bunch of kids’ pieces on place, drawing attention to the epiphanies, good parts, accumulations. I urge them to write with the effort of recalling detail, maybe close their eyes and picture the place first. Think of it as a one-minute travelogue in words, don’t leave out anything that may help recreate the live scene. I ask for “poems” (line-breaks, metaphors, possible swift changes of image, going by feel); often the pieces come out prose anyway, which can also be fine.
LUNES
The lune is a simplification of formal haiku. Instead of counting syllables in the three lines, which might make kids overly concerned with the mere mechanics, one counts words: three/five/three, and subject, any mood. With lots of good examples given and discussed, the students do abundantly demonstrate a fine apprehension of the power of tiny, non-expositional, word-by-word effects, plus the necessity of balanced rhythm, which looms large in a short piece. Thus there’s a push toward the knowledge that ideas do not exist without their expressive articulations, and the importance of language “per se” is brought home.
When the sun’s
rays hit the shades, it
lights up lines.
This piece (dashed off by a Nebraska fifth grader years ago) excellently illustrates the possibility of poetry being plain talk of the immediate environment (sun striking venetian blinds on classroom window). It is also a deceptively complex maze of sound correspondences and play: simple rhythms in lines one and three contrasting with syncopation of line two (differing syllable lengths, comma pause, consonantal percussion), n‘s around soft “the” in line 1 forming a sound-swing, “rays-shades” assonance and “hit-it” rhyme, soft central “the” repeated, five terminal s‘s, “lights-lines," “sun’s-up," n again in “lines," t in “lights”—until “lights up lines” carries more import that the physical window pattern alone. The lines of the poem are lit up too. I advise students that the author probably didn’t calculate all this but that a careful, though nonspecific, concentration can let the musical phrases come.
Surprise in the short, third line (especially) is a common vivifier of lunes. A change of “voice” and/or rhythm can help the change of meaning snap to, or be the change in meaning.
Go to Heaven.
If it’s nice, call me.
I’ll be there.
Rhyme can sometimes work well in lunes, but it’s like loading a heavy rock into a small boat. I tell them lunes are like Crackerjacks, the more you. . ., etc. That I once wrote one hundred in an evening and by the end of everything I saw or thought registered in my brain three/five/three, and that I told a junior high class this and a girl came back the next day with 120, and solid little word-pieces from what was around her, especially at home. Sometimes I tell them lunes are like looking through a crack; even the plainest sight may look interesting, due to the focus.
Again, reading aloud many good examples by kids—with admonitions not to copy their wordings or ideas—helps the students see their own possibilities. It is amazing what variety may evolve and what compression is possible in these eleven-word poems.
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS IMITATIONS
On the black board I show the kids the poems "This Is Just to Say" and "The Red Wheelbarrow" by Dr. Williams.
I ask them first to write a poem apologizing for something “bad” they have done, imaginary or real. I point out how the s sounds in the last three lines of the first poem help bring out the mouth-watering goodness of the plums, making the poem a sorry-not-sorry balancing act. I urge them not to “copy” too closely.
Then I discuss the second poem, how it gently spotlights neglected thing of everyday life, and ask then to write a similar piece out of their own experience, like a snapshot in words.
In both cases I read them a variety of children’s poems along these lines. The “apologies” tend to be funny, and the “wheelbarrow” pieces tend to be delicate. The kids usually divide things into short lines without prompting (or I’ll tell them it helps display the rhythms of speech). Both exercise
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