Metaphor is the language of poetry. I read an article once, many years ago (so I can't give you the source; sorry) that proposed that without metaphor, higher learning and thought would be impossible. We need this comparison to visualize something totally foreign to us, something new or abstract. Abstract is the operative word there. Poetry is, by and large, about the abstract; thus, metaphor is the most common tool of the poet.
However, you can also take the concrete and describe it in metaphor. The following exercise was also from NCCAT (See previous post Poetry 101-1). It not only helps to create metaphors, but also to turn prose into poetry. In this exercise, you will focus on something you should know better than anything else, yourself.
First, write down some basic information about yourself. Here are a few questions to get you started. [My answers are in brackets]
- What is your heritage - where are your ancestors from? [Italy, Ireland]
- How tall are you? [5'2"]
- What color/tone is your skin? (try to be more specific than brown, black, or white) [olive]
- What is your occupation? [teacher]
- What personality trait do you most like? least like? [most - dedication/loyalty, least - shyness]
- What are your dreams/aspirations? [to run my own Montessori school]
- Add anything else about yourself that is important to you. [family]
Finally, try to weave those symbols into a poem. Free-verse is definitely easiest for this, but if you are good with rhymes and feel more comfortable there, go for it! The following is my final product. (Please keep in mind, my poems went through many rewrites. As I told my kids, your first copy is never your last. Also, there are lines I probably would change in another rewrite.)
I am the wind
whistling over the jade meadows of the Emerald Isle,
dancing through the amethyst vineyards of the Mediterranean.
I whip past the olive trees
stripping their hues to drop them on the pallet of my skin.
My ancestors blow through me.
I am the soft whisper that lulls you to sleep
comforting, gentle, familiar.
I rage with the fury of the howling storm
with its lightning snakes
startling you into action.
My students blow through me.
I am the sudden gust that bursts into action
rearranging leaves, landscapes, lives.
I am the diamond mountain thermals
that lift this five-two body
into the rainbow sunsets of possibilities.
I am the gentle breath
that carries the opal butterfly
to the field of dreams.
My spirit flows through me.
If you take a go at writing poetry, please share. I would love to see it. Happy writing!
No comments:
Post a Comment