Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Using Old Poems to Find New Language

Often I am inspired by language and new words the teenagers in my life are constantly inventing. I believe teens have been inventing the language for millennia, but Facebook and the texting culture have documented some of these evolving words earlier than they might otherwise enter the lexicon (or the dictionary). One of my young friends wrote today about an earring that was returned to her from "MISSINGITUDE" -- which is more likely a state of being than a location, but a convincing one.

Two of my email subscriptions, "Poem-A-Day" from the AAP, and "The Writer's Almanac" from American Public Media, recently contained poems with unusual words that inspired fresh lesson ideas.
 
"The Visionary" by Emily Brontë, uses some wonderful sound strategies to create a sensual representation of wind and winter night. In particular, the first stanza: 


The Visionary 
by Emily Brontë

Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the 
   groaning trees.

Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong 
   and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.

Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know,
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.

What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.

Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear-
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou 
   my constancy.



How can one resist the "wildering drift"? A word like this will seem "made up" to young children today, but it can be a tantalizing starting point for making up even more words that sound like the wind -- or whatever you like. Of course I am describing the craft technique of onomatopoeia, or a word that sounds like the thing it describes. Emily Brontë, in her poem about a spirit visitor at night, uses many words that evoke the hush of the snow and the sharper "little lamp; glimmer straight and clear," with those "l" "t" and "m" sounds. 

"At the Entering of the New Year" by Thomas Hardy is written in two parts, titled "Old Style" and "New Style."  Both halves of this poem would seem incredibly old-fashioned to children today, but my idea for a lesson would be to select an older poem you like, read it to the children, discuss any unfamiliar language and sounds, and then ask them to write a "new" poem in response. If the "old" poem chosen for the lesson is also tied to an important event or day, as is Hardy's, it will give younger children more steady footing as they try to come up with a poem of their own. 

This poem is also filled with wonderful less familiar words: "allemands" and "poussettings" could be contrasted with any current dance terms the children know. Another discussion of how funny the words are, and whether "hip hop" is a kind of onomatopoeia, could strengthen the lesson.


At the Entering of the New Year 
by Thomas Hardy

           I  (OLD STYLE)

Our songs went up and out the chimney,
And roused the home-gone husbandmen;
Our allemands, our heys, poussettings,
Our hands-across and back again,
Sent rhythmic throbbings through the casements
         On to the white highway,
Where nighted farers paused and muttered,
         "Keep it up well, do they!"

The contrabasso's measured booming
Sped at each bar to the parish bounds,
To shepherds at their midnight lambings,
To stealthy poachers on their rounds;
And everybody caught full duly
         The notes of our delight,
As Time unrobed the Youth of Promise
         Hailed by our sanguine sight.

           II  (NEW STYLE)

We stand in the dusk of a pine-tree limb,
As if to give ear to the muffled peal,
Brought or withheld at the breeze's whim;
But our truest heed is to words that steal
From the mantled ghost that looms in the gray,
And seems, so far as our sense can see,
To feature bereaved Humanity,
As it sighs to the imminent year its say:-

"O stay without, O stay without,
Calm comely Youth, untasked, untired;
Though stars irradiate thee about
Thy entrance here is undesired.
Open the gate not, mystic one;
         Must we avow what we would close confine?
         With thee, good friend, we would have 
            converse none,
Albeit the fault may not be thine."

December 31. During the War.
 

Word play is an important part of teaching (and writing) poetry. Less well known poems from years ago can be used more effectively when combined with an exploration of their expiring language. 

Friday, December 28, 2012

You Can Teach Children About War

Thanks to Andrew Sullivan, I found this article about how poets should/can/must write poetry about war. 100 Years of Poetry: The Magazine and War by Abigail Deutsch. Poetry has lovely editorials and essays -- this is more in the vein of a long lesson, primarily directed toward adults -- but with a little imagination, any adult lesson can be modified for children. Or for a different audience of adults. Or for you, just you, the poet in you. You the poet. You the one who wonders about how to/ if you should/ whether you must write about war.

This photo is from Andrew Sullivan's blog "The Dish," part of "The Daily Beast," which my husband reads, well, daily. I love photos of poetry manuscripts, the more crooked the handwriting on the page, the better.


I'm going to have to scan some of my student's war poems to post. There are some images available on the web, but not a lot.

I did find an article from the UK, posted in The Guardian earlier this year, about how to teach children about war by using war memorials and writing poetry in response to them. The article was written to correspond with Remembrance Sunday in Britain, but the principal applies in the US as well, or course. A visit to any of the memorials in Washington DC, or even in your local community, can inspire a poetry lesson. The Guardian has an amazing Teacher Network, in which I often find gems and inspiration.  This photo is from the aforementioned article.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

When In Doubt, Twirl (How to make a twirly dress)

These photos are lovely and the whole idea is great. Alix of Bohemia has a lovely lesson.


Saturday, December 22, 2012

Candles for Emily

One way to introduce (otherwise disinclined) people to poetry is with art about poetry. My daughter found this installation on line. I will have to look up all the poems Emily Dickinson wrote in her annus mirabilis in 1862 (or '63). She wrote 366 (or 360?) poems in 365 days. I don't want to steal this artist's thunder, so read about the beautiful thing Spencer Finch has made here.

This photo is from his website. The patterns in the wax and colors are plenty poem for me. 


It's a bit of a challenge to find information about the annus mirabilis, but of course ED is everywhere

Sunday, December 16, 2012

"poetry teaches us to wrestle with and simplify complexity"

Not expecting to find my comfort zone in the Harvard Business Review, but this is a poetry-friendly article. I'm not sure I see how poetry helps develop emphathy, but I do know that writing poetry helps develop creativity. Does reading poetry develop creativity? I'm also not completely sure what a poetry "user" is -- although I know I am one. So I guess it can't be too bad.

Rethinking The Twirly Word

At last my masters thesis is completed. I have lost interest in posting my own poetry on this site. Time to think more and more and more about poems and children (perhaps children of all ages...) and how to get some work and play going on. I'm not sure yet how this will all play out, but I plan to practice speaking out with poetry and other child-like things. At 52, they say it is never too late.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Elizabeth Bishop and Lota de Macedo Soares


















I've been reading the wonderful novel of their life together and looking on the internet for photos of them. Luckily for me I found a blog with photos of their house in Brazil. I do not read Portuguese, so I can't decipher the captions, but the photos tell the whole story of that amazing house. No wonder Bishop couldn't leave.

RESIDÊNCIA DE LOTA DE MACEDO EM PETROPÓLIS (RJ / BRASIL) - ARQUITETO SERGIO BERNARDES