Read. Analyze. Emulate

During our break from school as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, my two boys and I have been using our morning to complete reading and writing prompts.  Yesterday, we pulled our inspiration from George Ella Lyon's poem "Kitchen Table."

In an activity similar to one I do with my high school students, I asked my boys to read the excerpt, analyze the moves that the writer makes, and emulate the style in an original work of their own. Last year while attending the Michigan Reading Association conference, Penny Kittle engaged us in a very similar activity using an excerpt from Alice Hoffman's book Faithful. In using a small excerpt from a piece of writing, students of any age are able to engage in analysis and bring those writing craft moves into their own work.  Using shorter excerpts from a variety of texts gives emerging writers the opportunity to play with their writing. 

In yesterday's activity, my 9 and 11 year old boys talked about repetition, imagery, and shifts in tone. These are the same concepts that my high school writers were unpacking in their rhetorical analysis of a variety of speeches just prior to our break. My high school students were tasked not only with analyzing a selected speech, but using their analysis to craft their own speech. This is what it means to use a text as a mentor. What can we learn from writers about the craft of writing? 

The result of our writing endeavors yesterday with my boys were poems about our living room furniture.

By H. Ward

This chair stands where
no chair has stood,
where I have read for
hours on end,
where my father
plays guitar,
where my dog frequently
jumps up to play.
A place of comfort,
learning,
and fun,
where I sit
still,
watching
from the green
chair.

By L. Ward

This end table is where 

coffee sits in a cup,
where Mary sleeps under,
where my dad read
the New York Times,
where my mom
grades her students'
papers
and where I wrote
this poem about the
end table.





By Jennifer Ward

This coffee table stands where
a folding chair first sat when
we moved into this space.
Months later I jigsawed
this table into the Prius,
seats folded down, the two
boys buckled into the front
passenger seat, giggling as
this table bounced between us.
This is the table where we gather to play
Munchkins, Exploding Kittens, Pandemic,
where dad used the wax
from his bees to polish
out coffee cup rings that
left O’s in the grain.
This is the table where
we lean into computer screens
to chat with friends while
sheltering inside during the pandemic,
where we would rather be gathered
together in person
laughing, chatting, playing music
as we had in the past.

Practicing Poetry

Flickr image the from TED Conference

I was fortunate to be able to attend both Eric Johnson's and Sarah Kay's poetry workshops at the TED Summit in Banff a couple of weeks ago. Both workshops invited participants to delved into the performance aspect of poetry, and for those of us in the classroom setting, consider how we might bring these lessons back to our students. I walked away from both sessions not only with a notebook filled of excited, albeit nearly illegible, reminders of the exercises both presenters lead us through, but I also left with a few drafts of new poems.

High school English teacher Andrew Simmons wrote about the importance of bringing poetry into the classroom in an article published not long ago by The Atlantic:

"Reading original poetry aloud in class can foster trust and empathy in the classroom community, while also emphasizing speaking and listening skills that are often neglected in high school literature classes."

I couldn't agree more. Bringing perfomance poetry into the classroom, whether via YouTube channels like Button Poetry or through live performances, can help student voice and choice take center stage in our learning communities. Poetry builds bridges; it helps readers and writers to connect and empathize with the particular experiences that connect all of us. Poetry brings into focus our humanity.  So here are ideas I learned while attending the TED Summit workshops to help bring performance poetry into your classroom.

Erik Johnson's session began with Willie Perdomo's poem titled "Where I Live." Erik asked workshop participants to listen for the sensory details the words and phrases of the poem evoked. Using this poem as a mentor text, we then were asked to imagine our homes and make a list of what a person would see, smell, taste, hear, and feel.  I could easily picture this exercise being used in conjunction with George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From" poem. In a similar way that I've used Lyon's poem, we created a list of concrete images and details which we then crafted into a poem, sharing our favorite lines aloud. The idea Erik presented was about giveing students mentors for their potential slam pieces and deconstructing those models into smaller chunks in order to give the novice poetry performer a place to begin.

Sarah Kay's poetry masterclass workshop also focused on the inclusion of sensory and figurative details in the craft of poetry performance. She started her workshop by inviting participants into a safe-space, asking that we refrain from engaging with social medial during the session in order to focus our attention on the stories unfolding in the room. Our writing began with a prompt which had us creating a list. Why a list? Well, most people don't spend hours each day crafting poems, especially poems for performance. It can be an overwhelming task to ask of students, or in our case, a crowded room of adults. But a list, a list is something we all know how to do. We don't need instructions on how to create a list.

We listed out three things we knew to be true, an activity she used to craft the piece she perfomed for her 2011 TED Talk titled "If I Should Have a Daughter." As we created our lists, Sarah asked us to be as literal as possible, adding in concrete details to help listeners understand the particulars of our truths. Here are mine:

1. I know that teaching without heart is not teaching at all.
2. I know that homemade pickles taste better than any pickle you will ever find on a store shelf, especially if the cucumbers are homegrown.
3. I know there is forgiveness in gardening.

After sharing our favorite truths, Sarah walked us through why this type of list works so well as a starting point for poetry. Lists, whether they are about three things we know to be true or 10 things I should have learned by now, help us access and illuminate all that stuff that is just floating around in our brains. It is being able to toss a baited hook into our conscience and come back with potential writing ideas. Without that starting point, we're standing on the shore and simply hoping an idea will jump out at us. Writing rarely works like this.  A list gives writers a starting point.

So, you've got a list, but now what? Sarah lead us through a discussion and activity meant to elicit more sensory details in our writing.  It is those details and particulars that help readers connect to our writing.  This time we started with an abstract concept - regret. Sarah explained that regret, as a concept, can mean so many different things to different people.  Instead, she challenged us to think about what regret looks like, sounds like, tastes like.  Participants came up with such powerful metaphors to define regret. Regret looks like a trash can filled with crumpled notebook paper. Regret stutters, trying to grasp for words you should have known in the first place. Regret tastes like bitter chocolate. Challenging us to use more sensory details helped reveal a more particular and descriptive experience of an abstract idea. This same exercise could be used with any of those lofty ideals that emerging writers struggle to make sense of - justice, hate, love, sorrow.

After completing this exercise, Sarah had us dip back into our original list and select one truth to add sensory details to. I returned to my homemade pickles. As we added sensory details to capture what we knew to be true, Sarah paused to challenge us again, this time to try to include figurative language as well. How might our descriptions and metaphors do double duty? As I wrote about planting cucumber plants with my youngest son, I challenged myself to describe small moments in novel ways. Sarah asked us to picture a single moment. For me, it was the dirt collected under my son's small fingernails.  And that one moment is where I think my new poem will start:

The smell of earth collects under small fingernails, changing waning moons to full eclipses.

But Sarah's workshop didn't just include writing poetry. We also spent time talking about the art of perfomance. How do you get students comfortable performing their original work for others. This is not a simple task. In fact, the fifty or so of us gathered in Sarah's workshop all tightened our shoulders a little bit when she introduced that we would be standing to share our work.  However, what made it easier was the fact that we started with an improv game. Performance, Sarah stated, is anxiety-producting, but it should also be fun. These two feelings aren't mutally exclusive.  So we pushed our tables to the side of the room and stood in a large circle. She asked us to pick our favorite word from our writing.  Standing in a circle, we were to make eye contact with someone across the room, and at the same time as all other participants, we said our word to the other person. Then we all shouted our word at the same time. Gradually we added movement to showcase our word and send it across the circle. Because we were all shouting and moving at the same time, people in the group didn't feel nervous. It was a game; it was fun. Finally, we went around the circle and one by one shouted and acted out our word.  The catch was that after each person said their word, all other workshop participants had to do the same movement and say the word with the same intonation. However awkward we might have felt, all the other participants had to act it out as well.  And by starting our performance in this manner, we were able to talk about using our voices and body to impart meaning in a playful way.

I am grateful to both Erik and Sarah for sharing their expertise. I'm looking forward to bringing these ideas back to my high school English classroom in the fall.  I'm curious about how other teachers incorporate performance poetry into their curriculums. Please share your ideas and resouces!

Power of Performing Poetry

Today is World Poetry Day, which falls each year on the cusp of our National Poetry Month celebration during the month of April. I love this time of year! Spring is in the air, and my daily writing prompts are peppered with verse. We'll spend time throughout the month connecting poems to our course readings and sharing favorite verses on Poem in Your Pocket Day. There is such potential in poetry - the potential of connection, of passion, and emotion. It is for this reason that I weave poetry throughout all of my units, but I love having the opportunity (and excuse) to dwell more deeply in lines of verse at this time each year. And this year, I got a bit of an early start.

I cried in class this past Friday, and it was all Poetry's fault.  Okay, it was poetry performed by some amazing local poets that brought me to tears. And I wasn't alone. I heard from many students who were deeply moved by the verses performed by the Grand Rapids' collective known as Diatribe when they visited our school this past Friday. Throughout Friday and again today, teachers and students described and recited the lines they have been carrying around with them since Friday morning, the lines that cling and reverberate. Through the support of a Donors Choose grant, I was able to bring four members of the group - Fable, May Day, Rachel Gleason, and G. Foster II - into my high school to share their work with a group of public speaking, creative writing, and ninth and tenth grade English students. Each poet performed two original pieces and led our group through an exercise that had us reflecting on all that connects us.

Perhaps my most memorable moment from this morning came as I was asking my students to reflect and respond to the pieces shared by the member of Diatribe.  Students were enthusiastic, but I don't think I will soon forget Ethan's response. Ethan is a no-nonsense senior. He is the definition of pragmatic.  "Ms. Ward, I don't like all that touchy feely kinda stuff. But, yeah, they were good. Really good." It doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement, but trust me, it is.

Like me, many students felt overwhelmed and awed at the trust and courage demonstrated by the poets. "Ms. Ward, I kinda felt bi-polar. I can't believe I laughed and cried so much in just 55 minutes." Students called out favorite lines and shared connections that they made with the poets over the weekend. "Ms. Ward, I looked up May Day on Facebook, and she got back to me," squealed one of my tenth grade students. "She shared links to all her work!"  Students asked me look up the poets' websites while in class today. "Ms. Ward, can you pull up Gray Theory? That's Foster's group. Can we listen to him again?"  Over the weekend, on their own time, my students were thinking about poetry. The words of these performance poets hit home. Their lines echoed truth and connected us. This is the power of poetry.

Photo by reporter Darcy Meade of the Ionia Sentinel-Standard

Where I'm From

I need to remember this for the beginning of the year.

We began by brainstorming lists of what someone would see upon entering the door to our house, what a stranger would see lying on the floor, piled in the corner. For today’s writing exercise, we answered a series of questions, and each response became a different line in our poems. By combining elements from each list and beginning them with the statement, “I am from…,” we began to write about who we are and also about what we bring with us into our writing.

We based our writing on George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From."

---

image from Paines Plough

"Where I’m From"
        by George Ella Lyon

I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening,
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush
the Dutch elm
whose long-gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.

I’m from fudge and eyeglasses,
     from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
     and the pass-it-ons,
from Perk up! and Pipe down!
I’m from He restoreth my soul
     with a cottonball lamb
     and ten verses I can say myself.

I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
     to the auger,
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments–
snapped before I budded —
leaf-fall from the family tree.

---

Now, you give it a try:


I am from (specific ordinary item)________________________________________________
from (product name)________________and (another product name)_______________
I am from the (home description)_________________________________________________
Adjective that describes the above home description_____________, ______________
It (tasted, sounded, looked , felt –choose one)__________________________________
I am from the (plant, flower, or natural item)_______________________________________,
the (plant, flower, or natural item)____________________________________________
(Description of natural item)__________________________________________________
I’m from the (family tradition)___________________and (family trait)__________________
from (name of family member)___________and (name of family member)___________
and (another name)______________________
I’m from the (description of family tendency)_______________________________________
and (Another family tendency)________________________________________________
From (something you were told as a child)__________________________________________
and (another thing you were told as a child)_____________________________________
I’m from (representation of religious or spiritual beliefs or lack of it)___________________,
(further description of spiritual beliefs)________________________________________
I’m from (place of birth and family ancestry)_______________________________________,
(Two food items that represent your ancestry)________________and ______________.
I am from (general statement with DETAILS about who you are or where you are from)______________

---

Students are encouraged to deviate from this form, to make it their own.  Here's my take on our "Where I'm From" poem:

I am from 16 count crayola boxes,
     more than 8
     but longing for 64.
I am from mint green double-wide,
     Formica counters, linoleum floors, wood-burning stove
     filling our home with campfire smoke each October through April.

I am from sweet-peas and dandelions,
     spilling onto the lawn from neighboring woods,
     boundaries between the wild areas unclear.
I am from the cherry pickers,
     telling stories while spitting pits,
     from guttural consonants,
     and European vagabonds
     with a hint of Ojibwa on
     the tip of my nose.

I am from "I shall not want,"
     from green pastures and still waters
     lead by grandmother's hand
     to church, but also to value
     fiercely its separate place.
I am from Tigers and Vernors.

We sit at the flaking red picnic table,
     crammed together on the bench,
     swapping stories, swatting flies.

#TeachingIs

Monday marks the beginning of Teacher Appreciation Week, May 4-8, 2015.  I love the initiative started by the Center for Teaching Quality to take back the narrative, take back the public story of education. All too often our news outlets are filled with stories of regret, of ridicule, and of shame in our public education systems.  But in this coming week, the Center for Teaching Quality is encouraging teachers to use the hashtag #TeachingIs to open the doors of our classrooms and share what it means to be a teacher today.  Rather than the conversation of education being told by those outside the classroom, it is time for teachers to share their joys, their struggles, their fears, and successes.  The story of what teaching is must be told by teachers.

My friend, fellow high school English teacher, and PASCD member, Brianna Crowley, put together this video to share the #TeachingIs initiative.

And so here is my #TeachingIs story:

Teaching is
     twenty-two voices clamoring
     for space, for a taste, for a chance
     to be heard, to lead, to learn
     in the span of eighty-five minutes,
     marked at both ends by bells
     that yell at students and teachers
     where to be and when,
     dictating how long to connect and to what.
Teaching is
     skillfully sliding, seamless
     into facilitator, coach, counselor,
     confidante, cheerleader, learner,
     disciplinarian and librarian,
     before the period brings learning
     to a close.
     But as a lover of literature,
     of well-crafted lines,
     of stories that sing from their bindings,
     a teacher hands over the pen,
     shows students how to see
     the blank, white page as more
     empowering than scary
     and education as something that
     expands and extends
     beyond the mark of a period.
Teaching is
     teasing out
     the nuance,
     teaching students to do
     the same.
     Look for the purpose,
     the bias, the audience,
     consider the meaning,
     the cost and the claim.
Teaching is
     the art of
     figuring out
     how to turn
     mandates into moments
     of meaningful mastery,
     how to advocate for collaboration,
     for cross-content connection,
     how to share the story of
     learning as more than just numbers
     shared as data and charts
     under headlines which cry for reform.
Teaching is
     being present,
     bearing witness
     to the joy and the tears,
     the laughter and fears,
     to listen and share
     the diversity of stories
     that enter our hallways
     and slip into our classrooms
     each day.
     We are more than the
     numbers and marks on a page.
     Our classrooms, a platform,
     where student stories take stage,
     helping students find voice,
     recognize power in choice,
     and encouraging resilience
     instead of silence.
   
 

Sharing Verse

What a beautiful close to National Poetry Month! Blue skies and sunshine looked down on us as we chalked the sidewalks in front of our school with the titles and lines from our favorite poems.

 

We also wrote the lines of favorite poems onto strips of paper in order to make poetry ornaments to decorate our "poet-trees" outside the main doors of our school.  

And the entire time we were sharing verse. In the hallways between class, in the lunchroom, poetry slams in chemistry, and writing verse in Creative Writing - poetry was everywhere today! 

Performing Poetry

As April's National Poetry Month celebrations draw to a close, my students and I will make sure that the month ends not with a whimper, but a bang (couldn't resist the nod to poet T.S. Eliot). Today we welcomed Montgomery County Poet Laureate David Escobar-Martin into our Creative Writing class. He shared a number of poems from his book Eden to a room full of snaps and appreciative nods. His lines, full of rhythm and sound, had us mesmerized. Rich with alliteration and full of figurative language, David opened up and shared not only his poetry but shared how he crafted his art. Students were able to ask questions and later collaborate with the poet on their own writing.

I find these experiences invaluable. I know that not every student sitting in our Creative Writing class will become a poet laureate, or for that matter, even come to love poetry. However, hearing a writer talk about his struggles, his failings, and his process are applicable not just to the writers in the room but to all.  This is the value of bringing the outside in.

In this past year, many of my students, from all academic experiences, have expressed frustration in what they are asked to do in the classroom. This is not the complaint you might anticipate. In fact, quite the opposite. Many students love that they are being asked to make connections. They are asked to connect the historical events that precipitated South Africa's apartheid with those that lead to Iran's revolution. These are higher-order thinking tasks. Instead, their frustration comes in not knowing what to do with this analysis. A number of students don't know what to do with what they are learning. They are frustrated in not knowing what to do with the higher-order tasks they love to solve. How does this parlay into a career? Into a passion?

So this is why I bring as many writers, editors, speakers, poets, professors, librarians, researchers, and people from all walks of life into our classroom. It is hard to grasp possibility without having a glimpse of how people outside the classroom are engaging in their passions.  I knew that I was going to be a teacher fairly early. I have a deep desire to work with young people, to pass on passion, to inspire questioning. But I also recognize how fortunate I am. I came to know my passion for teaching early in my life. This is not the case for all. So the more that I can do to bring possibility, to bring opportunity into my classroom, the more prepared my students might be for life after the classroom.

And hear David share not only his poetry but also his creative process today was inspiring.  He encouraged students as they wrote their tanka poetry, encouraged students to take the risk and share. In sharing our words, our creativity, and passion, we inspire others to do the same. What a fantastic way to bring National Poetry Month to a close!

Celebrating Poem in Your Pocket Day

I'm looking forward to Thursday. It's one of my favorite days on the spring calendar - Poem in Your Pocket Day. And this year, my students and I are going to celebrate big!

For the past week, my Creative Writing students have been exploring poetry in all its forms.  We've looked for mentor poems to mimic, read Lawrence Ferlinghetti's piece on "What is Poetry?" which inspired the creation of our own definitions of poetry, and examined a variety of different poetry styles from ovillejos to limericks, from free verse to slam poetry. This week we'll learn lineation from poets Dana Gioia and Robert Creeley, look to the New York Times Magazine series "Picture and a Poem" for inspiration as we create visual representations of our favorite verses, and welcome Montgomery County Poet Laureate David Escobar-Martin into class on Wednesday to both share his work and help us as we craft our own lines. And then there's Thursday. Poem in Your Pocket Day!

I'll be giving my students extra credit for bringing in and sharing with the class their favorite verses, and we'll be handing out poetry in the hallways between classes to help our building celebrate the last day of National Poetry Month.  My Creative Writing class will also be using those verses to craft ornaments for our poet-tree (get it?). We'll be decorating a tree outside of our high school with our favorite verses, inspiring our learning community with well-loved lines.  And then we'll chalk those verses onto the sidewalk in front of our building.

In particular, I'm looking forward to chalking our favorite poems.  I've done this before, and the conversation that such an activity sparks, not only from passersby but from participants as well, is incredibly fruitful.  Chalking lines of poetry forces us to slow down, to examine our favorite lines in greater detail.  When I ask students to write out their favorite lines large on the sidewalk, we see them in new ways. The activity slows us down, opens up opportunities for us to consider the poem - its diction and line breaks, rhetorical choices and content - in new ways. It is rewarding to witness those ah-ha moments when students slow down and carefully consider the words they are scribbling onto concrete. They will be excited by this activity, we'll be outside and playing with chalk, but I also know that in doing so, we'll be engaging in a close reading of the poems that some of us have heard time and time again. However on Thursday, we'll be considering them with new eyes.

How will you be celebrating Poem in Your Pocket Day and the close of National Poetry Month with your students?

Accessing Poetry

Ogden Nash is echoing in my living room. Just before him, Billy Collins. Rita Dove kicked off our poetic performance this afternoon. While at the library the other day, my little man gravitated toward poetry display, pulling down the book Poetry Speaks to Children from the National Poetry Month display at our local library. Instantly, I was transported back to my time student teaching.

While other twenty-somethings may have asked for money or a car, for Christmas I asked for the box set of In Their Own Voices: A Century of Recorded Poetry. Four CDs filled with poems read by the original poets - a scratchy recording of Walt Whitman reciting "America," Sylvia Plath's plaintive cry for "Daddy," Robert Frost contemplating "Birches." I would sit in the middle of the living room/bedroom/study of my studio apartment and let their voices pour over me, mesmerizing and transporting me. As a student teacher, I wanted to share this love with my students. I would bring the CDs into class every chance I could.

This afternoon, watching my little guys nestle into the couch, listening to the poetry of Maxine Kumin, Gwendolyn Brooks, and James Berry, I am reminded of the magic that poetry evokes. It's not just because they have a mom that loves poetry (okay, maybe it is a little bit of my influence), my boys are transfixed by the words of poets. They listen for the rhythm, for the rhyme. They get excited at particular images and turns of phrase. My kindergartener grabs the book. He points out words on the page, notices how some line up, others stop short. He wonders why some poems look different from others in the collection. He is noticing the choices that the poets make visually as well as rhetorically. This is what makes poetry so powerful as a teaching tool.

Poetry is accessible for readers of all ages, all levels, all content areas. We might look at Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays" (one of my favorites) in English class, using it as a mentor text for our own adventures writing poetry. We'd notice the alliteration, the creative use of adjectives. We'd steal his rhetorical style for our own creations.  But we could also look at the poem from a different lens in history class. What might this poem tell us about family dynamics during the early twentieth century? Bring this piece into an art class, and how might we create different visual interpretations of the piece. What do we chose to focus on visually within the poem? How might that focus help a reader reinterpret the text? Bring poetry into science class. Bring math and poetry together for an interesting collaboration. Poetry has the power to connect us, inspire us, transport us.

Last year for National Poetry Month, I put together a collection of some of the resources I use bring poetry into my high school classes. And as you might imagine, I've added quite a few new resources over the course of this year. I've done more with visualizing poetry this year, playing with Austin Kleon's blackout poetry as inspiration and sharing the New York Times' Magazine series "Picture and a Poem" with students before asking them to pair a creative piece of their creation with a favorite poem.

There are so many ways to bring poetry into the classroom. To help get you started, here's a great place to start. These are poems that I use in with my high school classes to inspire our own writing. It is a growing playlist, and I'm always adding new favorites. Have a suggestion of a video I should add, please let me know!

Poetic Connections

My hours at school this week have been filled with poetry. My tenth grade students are pulling ideas from their Writer's Notebooks to polish into pieces to submit for publication next week, and many of them are revising poems. For the past few days, I've been listening in on conversations about word choice and line breaks. Does this sound right, or am I forcing the rhyme? I love these rhetorical collaborations, hearing students thinking deeply about word choice.

When we had an opportunity to Skype with the senior editor at TeenInk Magazine today, my students and I learned about how works are selected for publication. And being the English teacher that I am, I asked a question about the importance of correct grammar versus the quality of composition. It was refreshing (and validating) to hear the senior editor of a publication, Ms. Stephanie Meyers, state that "It's not that grammar doesn't matter, but it's about the story being told." A work can have perfect grammar and syntax but lack heart, lack spirit and soul.  Along with her group of editors, Ms. Meyers stressed that TeenInk looks for works that carry a strong voice.  Spelling and proof-reading mistakes can be corrected with editing, but a poem that lacks a nuanced perspective, lacks a distinct voice, is much more difficult to correct. Our hearts are moved by poetry that speaks to the stories that lie within us. Poetry begs for connection. Our job as writers (and as teachers of writing) is to use our words to realize those connections, and remember that grammar is only a part of the equation. The power of poetry lies in the artistry of crafting connections.

And it's this connection between poetry and art that my Creative Writing students also spent time exploring today.  I spent a good amount of time in front of the copy machine blowing up fingerprints.  Earlier I had my high school students rub a pencil across their thumb, darkening it with lead. Then, taking a piece of clear tape, students carefully pressed their print onto the tape, and sealed their print to an index card. This is why I was standing in front of the copy machine. I took each student's fingerprint and blew it up 500 percent until their unique mark looked as though it may have been left by some ancient giant.  Our Writer's Notebook prompt today was:

Start with where you began. 

Where does your story start? 

Wind into the moments that have shaped your life. 

Have there been twists and turns that have helped you become the person you are today? 

Then, weave your way into what you want to be. 

What will be your mark on this world?

Students started in their Writer's Notebook crafting their story. Then, laying a bright white sheet over top of their photocopied print, used the lines of their fingerprint as a map upon which to write the lines of their story.

But this was only our opening activity, our first creative connection. Next, I asked my Creative Writing students to take a look at the Times Magazine's “Picture and a Poem” series where a contemporary artist is asked to create a visual representation of a poem. The two works together help the reader to understand both creative pieces in a new light. Sifting through our poetry books, student selected works from Walt Whitman to Lao Tzu, from Shel Silverstein to Edgar Allan Poe. Then, using either digital tools or by putting pen to paper, student found creative ways to illustrate their poems.  Some used Canva and Animoto, while others illustrated and inked their creative interpretations of their selected poems. Throughout our class today, students connected their rhetorical choices in visual composition to those written rhetorical decisions made by the original poet. 

It has been a day filled with poetic connections!

Remixing Writing

It is one of my students' favorite daily writing prompts. Mine, too. Yesterday I came into class with a stack of newspapers in hand. Before the bell rang, I walked around the room handing out a section of the paper to each student. I got some quizzical looks. We usually begin each class writing in our writer's notebooks. Are we going to start today with reading? Nope. We're started the day by remixing the newspaper.

I shared Austin Kleon's blackout poetry with students, and you could hear a buzz move throughout the room. They didn't want to wait for me to finish explaining our writing task. They wanted to jump right in. And they did!

After they spent some time carefully considering their word choices and marking out meaning, we spent some time sharing our process. How did students begin the task of making something new from another person's words? Some began with a single word, plucking the most important word from an article, letting it form the heart of the blackout poem, and then finding the words to connect with that idea throughout the rest of the article.  Others started with a pencil, circling whatever words first intrigued them and let the meaning of the piece arise naturally from the work. Still others began with an idea in mind, and like a hunter, stalked the article for the necessary words.  And it was in this discussion on how we went about the task of making meaning that we were able to reflect on the value of having different perspectives, different approaches to creating meaning.

There is so much value in creating blackout poetry with students. Not only do students have the opportunity to step outside their own writing by working with someone else's words, but also blackout poetry begs the creator to take a different perspective on writing in carefully considering both the original writer's words as well as the process by which writers create. And it's a heck of a lot of fun, too!

Love poems

We're deep into poetry.  My creative writing students have played with pantoums and rolled around in ovillenjos. We've explored ballads and free verse, sonnets and limericks. But the other day, we toyed around with love.  Our goal was to craft a love poem to someone or something.  Our inspiration came from these two pieces, which we used as muses for our own pieces on love.

Here is my little love poem:

Love

by J. Ward

It is joy and fear, swaddled

20.5 inches, 7 pounds, 8 ounces

that rips my heart open

and stitches it back together

stronger than ever.

Like nothing I have ever known,

raw and untamed.

When hurt was hurled in mocking tones
and labels like “bossy” pinned to your chest,

it came on fierce, defensive

and ready with a sweater sleeve

to dry your tears and

wipe away the sadness

that crashed over you.

My arms swing wide and tight,

armor to protect both our hearts,

which you melted

with the word

“mommy.”

#TwitterPoem

Much of my lesson planning is done in the shower. Turns out, this is true for quite a few people.  Scott Berkun summarizes some of the research of psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in a blog post titled "Why You Get Ideas in the Shower."   Berkun writes,

"We have fewer and fewer places in our lives where we are not bombarded by inputs. For some people it’s yoga, going for a run, or going for a walk that quiets the conscious mind down enough for the sub-conscious to speak up. For other people it’s driving in the car. Everyone’s psychology is different and will relax in different environments, or at different times."

So, it makes sense that a great deal of my inspired lessons come to me during my early morning showers.

Take for example this morning. While washing my hair, I have this thought: why not use Twitter to teach students about the economy of words? By having students craft poetic lines in the space of 140 characters, we can use Twitter to talk about the power of word choice while at the same time using a public space to write for a real audience.  Two lessons in one!  Initially I posted using the hashtag #Twitterverse (clever, right?) but quickly realized the error of my ways when I searched the hashtag to see just how overused it is already.  So instead, we'll be using the hashtag #TwitterPoem to share our short verses.  Join us!

Share your #TwitterPoem with us.

Teacher as Poet. Poet as Teacher.

Flickr photograph by Steve Johnson 

I began with poetry.  My entry into writing started with rhymed couplets, with Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss. And I wrote reams of poems, spiral notebooks filled with lines and later disks filled with hundreds of word processing documents that stored my free verse, oddly spaced stanzas.  I was fortunate enough to have teachers that supported and encouraged my love of verse.  Mrs. Zeinstra, my middle school English teacher, who turned us loose on her library of poetry books to find the lines that inspired us. We copied them into our daily writer's notebooks, selecting one or two to memorize and share. And Mr. Dik, who pulled me aside after senior English class one day to ask if he could help me revise a poem I wanted to submit to a local writing competition.  He encouraged me to reflect on my word choices but left authorial decisions in my hands.

But somewhere during my undergraduate studies, poetry became something I studied rather than wrote. Notebooks were filed away into storage boxes, and my focus was drawn to how others crafted lines. Poetry became something to analyze rather than write. It wasn't until I entered the classroom again years later as a high school teacher that I rediscovered my love of poetry.

Shortly after starting my first high school teaching position, I sought out my local Writing Project. One of my undergraduate professors spoke so highly of his involvement with NWP, about how much his connection with fellow writing teachers helped him grow as a teacher of writing and as a writer. I enrolled in my first Pennsylvania Writing and Literature Project (PAWLP)  course in the summer of 2003: Teacher as Writer. It was in this course that I first read Anne Lamott, Georgia Heard, and Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge.  We used these memoirs as mentor texts, not for how to teach writing but as guides for our own writing.  As many of us rediscovered ourselves as writers, we also came to reflect on how we brought writing into our classrooms. We became writing teachers that wrote alongside our students. It was this first class that inspired me to once again put pen to page in a writer's notebook.  And class after class, lead me to reflect on my role not just as a poetry teacher but as a poet teacher.

I have been fortunate to have a couple of my poems published, but even had I not sought opportunities to publish, my connections with the National Writing Project and what I have learned from so many wonderful mentors through PAWLP have helped me grow more confident in declaring myself a writer. I am a poet. This is what I do. Poetry is my means of making sense of my world, my tool of reflection.  I listen to the rhythm of language, become entranced by well-crafted metaphors. Poetry is how I distill emotions, capture a memory, mark a moment.

As a teacher, I know that not every student who walks through my classroom door loves poetry.  But many do.  Whether or not they decide to pursue writing as a career, one of my jobs as a teacher of writing is to support students in finding avenues for engaging critically and creatively with their world. Writing is a tool for inquiry and a tool for reflection. Poetry, specifically, takes what often we find most difficult to understand and gives language to our confusion.  As a teacher of poetry, my hope is that I do not dampen that love of the well-crafted line. Poetry is not simply something I want my students to analyze. Poetry is a tool for making sense of who we are in our world. Verse helps us come to terms with life's overwhelming complications and joys. Poetry is who we are.

And so I share another poem in progress. This came from a moment just the other day as I sat on my porch with my soon-to-be kindergartener.

To the Driver Who Blared His Horn and Cursed at the Student Driver:

Stop.
Remember hands at 10 and 2,
tight knuckles white,
instructor to the right,
foot on the brake
as you eased for the first time
into oncoming traffic.

My first car, held together mostly by Bondo

Cutting In

Not long ago, I lurked as Paul Allison, teacher, writer, blogger, and host of the weekly Teachers Teaching Teachers Hangout, chatted with some of the contributors to the recently published collection of poetry titled Teaching with Heart. Their previous collection, Teaching with Fire, rests comfortably on my bookshelf, a gift from a former colleague, with many more pages dog-earred than not. And as I listened to that night's chat with Sam Intrator, Kevin Hodgson, and others, I was inspired by the power of poets. Carefully selected words speak to the desires and fears that linger in all of us, whether we are 13 or 93. Poetry confronts us, connects us, calls us to respond. So the other morning when Teaching with Heart arrived on my doorstep along with Austin Kelon's Newspaper Blackout (the inspiration for this creation), and Michael Cirelli's The Grind, I had poetry on my mind, words and ideas swimming through my thoughts, waiting to be written.

It rained the other night, not a downpour, but the kind of rain that pulls you into a deeper sleep when it slips down your windows in the pre-dawn hours. And when I stepped outside to load my boys into the car, our morning routine to get them off to preschool, I was struck by the smell of wet soil. Our garden is just beginning to pop with green. Soybeans, green and yellow beans, radishes, and kale. This is the first year that I've grown kale. My family eats a lot of kale, but I've hesitated to grow it not because it is difficult to grow, it isn't, but because I have a history with kale.

At 13 and 14, I worked in the muck. In Western Michigan, where the soil is damp and dark, farmers grow kale, collard and mustard greens, cabbage, and letteuce of all varieties in large farms we simply called "the muck." For two summers, I worked with other teens from break of dawn to late afternoon, weeding rows two and three times the length of football fields, slicing stalks of kale, washing and boxing greens. It was the most physically demanding job I have ever had. I would come home each night needing to clean soil from my fingernails, ears, and nose. By close of summer my palms were callosed, stained a mucky brown that soap would not wash away. But, I made enough money to pay for my first car.

With about 25 years of distance, I can see those fields of kale a bit differently. But for about 24 years, I hated kale.


Cutting In
     by Jennifer Ward

Lingering damp
the scent of soil seeps
beneath my skin
awakes memories packed away
of summers spent
in yellow slickers
sharpening knives
each morning
in the barn.
Teenage girls to one side
eyeing each other
watching the older farm hands
not yet men
like a middle school dance
comparing nicks and scars left
behind when we cut
a bit too close.
Piling into trailers
hauled out to beds
where we'd never sleep
but would bare our backs
to midday sun
and work our
calloused fingers deep
gossiping between
rows of green.

We were trying on women
as we labored
in the fields
and peddled our bikes
home each night
pockets full of
piece work pay.

All About Poetry

The last few days have been all about poetry. Early this past week, I was offered the opportunity to attend next weekend's West Chester University Poetry Conference. I am very much looking forward to participating in a workshop session with slam poet Michael Cirelli, who was recently interviewed by the Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation's for a Poetry Friday post. And coincidentally, I received a flyer just a few days ago from the Dodge Foundation about their upcoming Teacher Day in October, part of the biennial Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival. And so I've been reflecting on the importance of poetry, both in terms of my role as a literature teacher as well as to me personally.

When meeting someone for the first time, I don't usually declare myself a writer. However, this past year I have come to realize that in many ways I am. I mark moments with lines of poetry. My bookshelves are home to writing notebooks of varying sizes and varying saturation of coffee stains. Inspired lines are quickly scribbled on post-it notes and napkins, stuffed unceremoniously into my book bag or purse. Google Drive and Evernote safely keep untold number of drafts, moments in progress. I write to understand, to be understood, to remember, and to hold fast to the emotions of particular moments.

So, since the universe seems to be calling me to reflect on the power of poetry, I thought I would take a moment to share a piece that I've been working on recently, inspired by a few still moments in my otherwise chaotic home.

Patron of Their Art

Each room filled with absurd still lifes:
A rubber chicken swims with whales,
Mighty Thor defends against the Rancor
though Mjölnir is no match for Lego claws,
Ann and Andy rest easy in the rocking chair
Comfortably clutching Wampa and baby black bear.
Mother bear finds respite on brother's bed.

Warm silence cradles each work in progress
While artists are off to study other subjects.
Scenes crafted and unfinished,
Ready to be rearranged.

I will not disturb this Dada,
The irrationality and intuition of childhood,
To shuffle it away into drawers of logic and order.
Instead, I will let Legos lie underfoot,
Leave the menagerie that crowds out sleep,
Knowing that too soon the day will come when
little fingers will forget about such art.