Poetry

     It has always been my contention that what we read shapes the way we write: when one reads something well written, one picks up and echos the rhythm of that author's pen. The same might be said for poor writing. Here is a shining example of the phenomena: A poem, written by a not quite five year old shortly after listening to a selection of William Blake's poetry:

 

That fearful symmetry

That no eye could spot

The colors of the darkness, he

could not be seen

by the brightest moon.

The deadly death of his prey

He squeezed it TIGHT!

As lightening could... destroy a tree.

 

The deadly lion as his prey

That deadly lion spelled

The cast of his magic,

blasted the creature.

 

The snake of poison early grasps

the thin air.

 

By Xander, Age almost 5

Born July 20, 2004 (Birthday and age added at author’s request)

 

     The implications are clear. When you are preparing to write, select an author whose style you admire and wish to emulate. Immerse yourself in that author's works. When you emerge, write and write and write some more. Eventually, as you write more and more, you will begin to find your own voice but for the novice writer, this exercise -- of immersion followed by writing -- works well.

 

     There is another reason to immerse yourself in fine writing -- one can learn proper grammar almost painlessly by so doing. Truly. Again, select an author whose work reflects a true grasp of the language in which you wish to write and read, read, read. It is true that as authors become more skilled, they move away from a slavish devotion to proper grammar. The difference between the good writer and the bad (in this case) is simply that the good writer makes his grammar 'mistakes' knowingly and for effect, an effect that can only be achieved if the rest of the work is properly written. The bad writer ignores all the rules and writes as if he/she had developed a nasty illness of the pen.

 

     For those who wish to write and hope someday to be published, I have several suggestions: There is a wonderful program called Written and Illustrated by: A Revolutionary Two-Brain Approach for Teaching Students How to Write and Illustrate Amazing Books (See my links for the Contest website). People such as Dav Pilkey (The New Captain Underpants Collection (Books 1-5) and Stacey Chbosky (Who Owns the Sun?) have gotten their start this way. I am hoping that I can get both sons involved this year:> For others, there is the program called 'National Novel Writing Month' (Again, see my links for this). I became aware of this latter program while reading 'My life+Insanity' -- a blog by a homeschooled student, Galadrial. (See Friends). The program sounds like a very good one -- designed to get people up and writing, rather than just talking about doing so.

 

     Which reminds me: Last night my eldest read one of our favorite authors, Cynthia Rylant. The book? Mr. Putter & Tabby Write the Book These are young reader's books but delightful even for an adult. In this story, the erstwhile hero sets out to write a novel -- and spends more time eating and sleeping than he does writing! Oh how familiar that is.

 

     It was Maya Angelou (The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou) who once commented that she had discovered the key to overcoming writer's block: She had a room, bare of anything, with just a typewriter and a ream of paper. She would set her timer and stay in that room at the typewriter writing until the timer went off. She did that everyday without fail. And while a good deal of what she wrote, she eventually threw away, she said she never suffered from writer's block. She knew she had to write so write she did. Writer's block, in her estimation, was simply laziness and fear. Write, write, write and you will not suffer from the block.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou

 

Adieu for now.