Poetry Friday Portraits

Portrait and persona poems are endlessly fascinating -- just like the people who inspire them.

One of my favorite poetry exercises for middle school and up: clip photos of people out of newspapers or magazines. Have each student choose one that makes him/her ask, "What's the story here?" Then write an imagining of that person's story.

What if the "person" in your photo isn't really a person?

Maryland poet MiMi Zannino spotted this beauty at an antique market and had to give her voice (and take her picture). Here is MiMi's portrait poem, "Heavy Metal Mermaid."

Heavy Metal Mermaid

You must understand my position

casting me in this untenable pose

wrought into your mermaid fantasy.

Set the pros and cons on scales

and weigh the truth against fiction.

Make a decision before the rust

bleeds into my bronze

weakening my steely disposition.

MiMi is my fellow Maryland State Arts Council poet-in-the-schools. Here at the Maryland Poetry Out Loud finals. You can read her full bio below.

More recent posts on portrait poems:

my poem in the voice of conjoined twins, "Brother,"

Hal Sirowitz's "Crumbs" from Mother Said. (There is another classroom poetry lesson/writing exercise posted with "Crumbs.")

Have a happy Poetry Friday, everyone. More poetry at A Year of Reading. Stop by and visit our hosts Franki & Mary Lee.

Author, educator, and photographer MiMi Zannino has been a poet-in-residence with the Maryland State Arts Council since 1989. Her writing workshops include “Emily Dickinson: Mother of American Poetry” a dramatic portrayal of the 19th century poet. Her books include “Keeping Memories Alive,” an easy-to-use interactive resource for families, grief camp counselors, and school professionals who are helping a child through the emotions surrounding the death of a loved one. Information about her books and programs for adults and children can be found at http://www.memorylanepress.com/ or by emailing mimimsac@yahoo.com.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times..."

Fiction writers can spend hours building characters -- sometimes creating full dossiers before we ever type "Chapter One." (Here's a worksheet, if you're interested.)

So how do poets capture a person in just a few lines? What kind of magic are they working and how can we get some -- or give some to our students?

I'm continuing to look at persona and portrait poems this week. Last week's persona poem, in the voice of conjoined twins, was "Brother."

Here is Hal Sirowitz's wonderful poem, "Crumbs." It's from his hysterically funny collection, Mother Said. This is a great model poem for the classroom and a good exercise for fiction writers.

Crumbs

Don't eat any food in your room,

Mother said. You'll get more bugs.

They depend on people like you.

Otherwise, they would starve.

But who do you want to make happy,

your mother or a bunch of ants?

Read the rest of the poem in an awesome comic-book version here.

Lesson/Writing Exercise in Character Building

Audience: Advanced 5th Grade Writers through Adult

Read "Crumbs" again. Think about a person (or character) who says the same thing, over and over again. It might be a catch-phrase, favorite saying, or pattern of speech when the person's on a tirade.

Your Prompt: Quote someone you know – your poem will tell the reader something about the speaker and how you felt about what he/she said. Trust that the words your speaker is using will suggest the nature of his/her character.

Here are a few lines of a 6th grader's response.

My mother once told me proper punctuation Is key. "Or I’ll never have peace. Why am I so cursed? To have children That can’t spell is worse than having fish

That cannot swim."

Another great example of using someone's words to paint their portrait, Robert Frost's "Blueberries."

Look for another persona/portrait poem on Poetry Friday.

Question & Answer

I'm about to leave for a group reading at the Writers' Center in Bethesda. Reading poems out loud to myself, stop watch ready.

One of the poems I'll be reading is my most widely published...a persona poem called, "Brother." (An odd choice for me, as I'm not a conjoined twin -- but you'll see why I loved Stephenie Meyer's The Host so much.) Most recently, it was published in the Maryland Writers' Association anthology, New Lines from the Old Line State.

Re-reading this piece, I realized that it has themes in common with May Swenson's "Question," posted for this week's Poetry Friday.

Here is "Brother":

Brother “Ahmed and Mohamed Ibrahim – who had been joined at the top of the head – were separated… after neurosurgeons finished dividing the boys’ venous systems and brains.” CNN, October 13, 2003 When did I become aware of my brother? I can feel him only if we stretch our arms overhead at once, our fingers touch. From above my eyes, I hear laughing, crying, words not my own. An echo self? Are there two of me? No. Not me exactly, but me. We are a continuous line, a human palindrome, my twin doing a headstand on my skull where people imagine light bulbs or dark clouds reside I have myself again, but not myself. Has God melded us, or has he never unmelded? Those dancing mitochondria swaying apart have never stopped holding hands. I have been given a word for the voice beyond my sight and would like to face my brother. I have never seen him, except at night when I walk my feet up the crib slats and he walks his feet up the other side. If I raise my eyes almost to their lids I can see – are they his toes? -- moving. And I have no sense of moving them.

I'll be busy this week prepping our regional SCBWI conference, but look for a classroom lesson on writing the persona poem.

Poetry Friday Question

It was sitting on the table in a cozy log cabin -- rainy day in the mountains. A temptingly fat book. The cover photo was an extreme close-up of a woman's eye .

The title, The Host, and the ring of metallic sheen around the woman's iris whispered Sci Fi. Ahh, this was exactly how I wanted to spend the day. Then I noticed the author...Stephenie Meyer. Ugh.

I only read the first Twilight book. It was a page turner, but it seriously pissed off my inner feminist. (Find some posts/discussion about Twilight here.)

My fingers itched for the book. I read the jacket. Maybe Meyer's better for adults. The storyline was close enough to one of my favorite Star Trek characters, the symbiont Jadzia Dax, that I decided to give The Host a chance.

Part of what hooked me...facing the prologue of the novel was this haunting poem by May Swenson:

Question

Body my house

my horse my hound

what will I do

when you are fallen

Where will I sleep

How will I ride

What will I hunt

Where can I go

without my mount

all eager and quick

How will I know

in thicket ahead

is danger or treasure

When Body my good

bright dog is dead

Read the rest of the poem here.

By the end of the poem, I was hooked. Absolutely loved The Host's combination of sci fi, psychological thriller and survival story. Okay -- didn't love it enough to go back and read more Twilight, but enough to hope Meyer is writing more SF for adults.

How would you answer May Swenson's question? Are you as attached to your body as The Host's Melanie Stryder?

Our lovely Poetry Friday host this week is the always delicious Jama Rattigan. She's sure to have some delectable poetry & recipes.

A Poetry Friday Field Trip

My summer project: revising my middle grade book, "We Rule the School: A Fifth Grade Yearbook."

It's a combination of "self-portrait" poems & occasional poems that cover one year in the life of a central-Maryland fifth grade class.

Here is one of the occasional poems, written in the voice of two boys in the class. They're on their way to Mt. Vernon for a field trip.

Send comments! (Pls. ignore references to other characters for now. You'll have to wait for the book!)

Bus-ting Out: Field Trip Poem It’s Thursday but we got no school. We’re on a field trip, hey that’s cool. Where we going? George Washington’s place. Gonna see the fake teeth he wore in his face. Harry’s in the back row drumming a beat. Girls Miss Mary Macking between the seats. Chaperones up front chatting away. Gray Torres snuck his DS and we all wanna play. Miss Hill wearing jeans, first time this year. There’s Nationals Stadium – everybody gotta cheer. Ashlie Hauk singing a song we all know. Jason Chen beat boxes. He got the flow. Uno cards flying when we hit a pot hole. Waving at the White House and the National Mall. Girls text the boys, making a fuss. Best part of a field trip is riding the bus.

(My book, "We Rule the School," owes a lot to Edgar Lee Master's Spoon River Anthology. I'm a huge fan.)

Our host for this week's Poetry Friday is Kelly Herold at Crossover. Have a great first weekend of summer.

It's Poetry Friday, Hon!

You just missed Honfest – Baltimore’s celebration of its own wacky, lovable culture. (It's featured in the book Party Across America.)

Enjoy these Baltimore Hons, complete with beehives, animal prints, tight pedal pushers and high heels (feather boas optional, but recommended).

I’m electing hometown girl Shirley Brewer official poet of the Baltimore Hons. With her great sense of humor & unique style (animal prints -- check), Shirley would be a great ambassador.

Her first book of poetry, A Little Breast Music, was published last fall by Baltimore’s Passager Books.

Shirley’s new blog even has a Hon-appropriate flashy name: http://www.shimmergoddess.blogspot.com/ Now, about those high heels.... Shoe Blues This shoe is quite ridiculous, the heel four inches high. The ankle strap is a safety belt, a feature I can justify. This shoe was made in Paris, right near the river In-Seine. It’s lined in light pink leather, the toe in Novocain. This shoe is not supposed to be as comfortable as a slipper. The fact is the designer’s name is probably Jack the Tripper. This shoe is perfectly gorgeous, I’m ready to make a deposit. In the front of my mind I know it will live in the back of my closet. Shirley J. Brewer For more information on Shirley’s book. http://raven.ubalt.edu/features/passager/ALittleBreastMusic.htm Join some more poetry hons at this week’s Poetry Friday, hosted by Carol's Corner.

Teachers and parents, come back soon for a high-school lesson based on one of Shirley Brewer's poems.

Poetry Friday

My father-in-law passed away this week at the age of 65. He spent two weeks at St. Mary's Hospital in Passaic, NJ, where William Carlos Williams was a longtime staff doctor.

Here is his poem, "The Last Words of My English Grandmother." I love this elegy because Williams doesn't try to pretty up his grandmother or her struggle to stay in control, even as she faces death.

The Last Words of My English Grandmother

There were some dirty plates

and a glass of milk

beside her on a small table

near the rank, disheveled bed—

Wrinkled and nearly blind

she lay and snored

rousing with anger in her tones

to cry for food,

Gimme something to eat—

They're starving me—

I'm all right I won't go

to the hospital. No, no, no

Give me something to eat

Let me take you

to the hospital, I said

and after you are well

you can do as you please.

She smiled, Yes

you do what you please first

then I can do what I please—

Read the rest at Writers Almanac.

This is the plaque to Williams at St. Mary's Hospital. My husband pointed out that -- even at the hospital -- they put "poet" before "physician."

More Poetry Friday at this week's host...Read, Write, Believe.

Robert Albert Shovan December 2, 1943 - June 2, 2009.