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Can You Hear Me Now?Writing SLAM! PoetryLesson Ideas06350000Links to more lessons, as well as other resources, can be found on the CYHMN? Website:Table of Contentsand Poetry List1. Where I’m From: Poetics of Place* (p. 4)- Adam Gottlieb “Maxwell Street” (Louder Than a Bomb movie)- Lemon “Where I’m From” (video)- The Digable Planets “Where I’m From” (video)2. Invocation/Shout Out* (pp. 5 – 7)- Sekou Sundiata “Shout Out: The Blue Oneness of Dreams” (print)- Derrick Brown “To The Lightning Teachers” (video)- James McAuley “Invocation” (print)3. What It’s Like to Be (Me) . . . For Those of You Who Aren’t* (pp. 8 – 9)- Patricia Smith “What It’s Like to Be a Black Girl (For Those of You Who Aren’t)” (video)4. The Corner: Smaller Places and the Stories in Front of Our Noses* (pp. 10 – 12)- Yusef Komunyakaa “Blue Light Lounge Sutra for the Performance Poets at Harold Park Hotel” (print)- “Harlem Love Poem” by Yvonne Fly Onakeme Etaghene (print) 5. 1st Things 1st: The Narrative of the New* (pp. 13 – 14)- Patricia Smith “First Kiss” (print)- Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz “Ignition” (print)6. The Utopian Future World* (pp. 15 – 18)- Martin Espada “Image the Angels of Bread” (print and video)- Tim Stafford “Zip-lines” (print)7. Realist Portraiture: Pictures of People We Know* (p. 19)- Dylan Garrity “Rigged Game” (video)- Catalina Ferro “Emergency Exit Row” (video)- Erin Dingle “Freeze Tag” (video)8. Odes: Elevating and Praising the Mundane* (pp. 20 – 22)- Kevin Coval “Ode to the Boombox” (print)- Aracelis Girmay “Ode to the Watermelon” (print)9. Battle Poems: The Elevation* (pp. 23 – 24)- Katie Makkai “Pretty” (video)- Kim Berez “Poem for Wicker Park Yuppies (A True Story)” (print)10. Persona: From the I You Are Not* (pp. 25 – 26)- Martin Espada “The Bouncer’s Confession” (print)11. Personism: A Poem Between Two People, Rather Than Two Pages* (p. 27)- Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye “When Love Comes” (video)- Eric Devenney and Amiana Banks “Zombie Love Poem” (video)12. Resisting Colonialism: Fractured Poetics and Surrealism* (pp. 28 – 32)- Daniel S. Solis “Welcome to the Revolution” (print)- Suheir Hammad “break(place)” (print)13. Defining Your Generation* (pp. 33 – 36)- Alan Ginsberg “Howl” (print)- Marty McConnell “Give Me One Good Reason to Die” (video)14. Manifestos and Essentials* (p. 37)- Shane Koyczan “Bullies Called Him Pork Chop” (video)- Jeffrey McDaniel “The Foxhole Manifesto” (print)15. Good Advice: Speaking to Others About Where You’ve Been (p. 38)- Jeanann Verlee “Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Pink Hair and Crooked Teeth” (video)NOTE:Unless otherwise stated, all “videos” that are referred to can be found on YouTube.*These lessons have been adapted from the writing materials created by the Young Chicago Authors in support of Louder Than a Bomb. The original lessons (and many more), including many of the provided poems, can be found here: . Where I’m From: Poetics of PlaceFocus:writing about a specific place (focus on sensory image, detail, and emotion)Poems:“Maxwell Street” by Adam Gottlieb from LTaB (video clip), “Where I’m From” by Lemon (video), “Where I’m From” by The Digable Planets (video)Introduction and AnalysisMake a list of sensory details from your own neighborhood. Write at least the first five things that come to your mind when considering the following categories:out my front door; my kitchen smells like; 11 o’clock on Friday night, I hear; the people; the best time/my favourite timeif you’ve recently moved, you can either write about your new neighborhood or your oldWatch Adam Gottlieb’s performance of “Maxwell Street.”What did you like about the piece and what stuck in your mind?Watch “Where I’m From” by Lemon.What did you like about this piece?Watch “Where I’m From” by The Digable Planets.What did you like about this performance?In what ways are each of these poems similar in their treatments of place and ideas, and in what wars are they different?How do the poets create a vivid sense of place for the audience?In what ways are our personal and cultural histories parts of our sense of place?Writing ExerciseWrite your own “Where I’m From” poem mimicking Adam’s, Lemon’s, or The Digable Planets’ form. (You can repeat the phrase “where I’m from” or change it and make it your own.)You should use the categories and sensory imagery and information as springboard into the description of your neighborhood.The more specific the writing the better. In Adam’s poem, we learn the names of a number of neighbourhoods, several historical events, key experiences of the life in that place, etc.Write for 10-15 minutes and fill an entire page.Stop writing.Read around.114300-114300002. Invocation/Shout OutFocus:lists and repetition; praising influencesPoems:“Shout Out: The Blue Oneness of Dreams” by Sekou Sundiata (print poem), “To The Lightning Teachers” by Derrick Brown (video), “Invocation” by James McAuley (print poem)Introduction and AnalysisWhat is an invocation; what is its religious and ritual significance? When and where do invocations take place?The same with shout-outs: what is a shout out and when and where do we find them?Read and follow along with the text of Sekou Sundiata’s shout out.What did you like and remember about the piece?Watch a clip of Derrick Brown’s poem.What did you like and remember about the piece?How is repetition used in these poems to make them song-like, and to synthesize giant, seemingly disparate images and ideas?There are many references in the poems that the reader may not know. However, “the familiar” to the poet does not necessarily mean the reader will be distanced. How does Sundiata’s and Brown’s use of their respective “familiars” affect audiences? Why do they affect you this way?Writing ExerciseWrite your own invocation or shout out.You can repeat the phrase “come” or “here’s to” or make your own.Write for 10-15 minutes and fill two whole pages.Stop writing and read around.“Shout Out: The Blue Oneness of Dreams” by Sekou SundiataHere’s to the best wordsIn the right placeAt the perfect timeTo the human mind blown-upAnd refined.To long conversations and thePhilosophical ramificationsOf a beautiful day.To the twelve-steppersAt the thirteenth step,May they never forgetThe first step.To the increase, to the decreaseTo the do, to the didTo the do to the didTo the do to the didTo the done doneTo the lonely.To the brokenhearted.To the new, blue haiku.Here’s to all or nothing at all.Here’s to the sick, and the shut-in.Here’s to the was you been to the is you in,To what’s deep and deep to what’s down and downTo the lost, and the blind, and the almost found.Here’s to the crazyThe lazyThe boredThe ignoredThe beginnersThe sinnersThe losersThe winners.To the smoothAnd the coolAnd even to the fools.Here’s to your ex-best-friend.To the rule-benders and the repeat offenders.To the lovers and the troublers,The engagingThe enragingTo the healers and the feelersAnd the fixers and the tricksters,To a star falling through a dream.To a dream, when you know what it means.To the bottomTo the rootTo the bass, uh, boom!To the drumHere’s to the was you been to the is you inTo what’s deep and deep to what’s down and downTo the lost, and the blind, and the almost found.Here’s to somebody within the sound of your voice this morning.Here’s to somebody who can’t be within the sound of your voice tonight.To a low-cholesterol pig sandwich smothered in swine without the pork.To a light buzz in your headAnd a soundtrack in your mindGoing on and on and on and on and on like a good time.Here’s to promises that break by themselves,Here’s to the breaks with great promise.To people who don’t wait in the car when you tell them to wait in the car.Here’s to what you forgot and who you forgot.Here’s to the unforgettable.Here’s to the was you been to the is you inTo what’s deep and deep to what’s down and downTo the lost, and the blind, and the almost found.“Invocation” by James McAuleyRadiant Muse, my childhood’s nurse,Who gave my wondering mouth to tasteThe fragrant honeycomb of verse;And later smilingly embracedMy boyhood, ripening its crudeHarsh vigour in your solitude:Compose the mingling thoughts that crowdUpon me to a lucid line;Teach me at last to speak aloudIn words that are no longer mine;For at your touch, discreet, profound,Ten thousand years softly resound.I do not now revolt, or quarrelWith the paths you make me tread,But choose the honeycomb and laurelAnd walk with patience towards the dead;Expecting, where my rest is stayed,A welcome in that windowless shade.-114300-337820003. What It’s Like to Be Me (For Those of You Who Aren’t)Focus:lists, identityPoems: “What It’s Like to Be a Black Girl (For Those of You Who Aren’t” by Patricia Smith (video)Introduction and AnalysisCreate a list of all the various ways you can identify yourself (eg. daughter, brother, black man, Jewish, reader, hip-hopper, skater, jock, teenager, Catholic, teacher, volunteer, driver, gamer, writer, friend, etc.).Listen to Patricia Smith’s poem.What did you like and find interesting about the poem?How does the poet use repetition, pace, and tone of voice to affect the audience?How does the poet use the juxtaposition of imagery with our expectations about the identity of the speaker to affect the audience?What three identities does Patricia Smith write about in this poem?Writing ExerciseSelect two of your identities to write about.Write the title of your poem at the top of their paper using Patricia’s form (eg. “What’s It’s Like to Be a Jewish B-boy (For Those of You Who Aren’t)”).Use “it’s” to help structure your poem as it allows the ability to string together a variety of images to build one unified whole.This is your opportunity to tell those who do not know exactly what it is like to be you, what it’s like, so take advantage of it. Describe—using vivid imagery and precise and powerful details—what it’s like to be you.Write for 10-15 minutes and try to fill an entire page.Stop writing and read around“What It’s Like to Be a Black Girl (For Those of You Who Aren’t)” by Patricia Smithfirst of all, it’s being 9 years old andfeeling like you’re not finished, like youredges are wild, like there’s something,everything, wrong. it’s dropping food coloringin your eyes to make them blue and sufferingtheir burn in silence. it’s popping a bleachedwhite mophead over the kinks of your hair abdprimping in front of mirrors that deny yourreflection. it’s finding a space between yourlegs, a disturbance at your chest, and not knowingwhat to do with the whistles. it’s jumpingdouble dutch until your legs pop, it’s sweatand vaseline and bullets, it’s growing tall andwearing a lot of white, it’s smelling bloodin your breakfast, it’s learning to say fuck withgrace but learning to fuck without it, it’sflame and fists and life according to Motown,it’s finally having a man reach out for youthen caving inaround his fingers.-114300-228600004. The Corner: Smaller Places & the Poems in Front of Our NosesFocus:description and place and stories that we overlookPoems:“Blue Light Lounge Sutra for the Performance Poets at Harold Park Hotel” by Yusef Komunyakaa (video), “Harlem Love Poem” by Yvonne Fly Onakeme Etaghene (print)IntroductionWrite a list of your favorite spots to hang out in your neighborhood, in your city, in your country, in the world. Anyplace is useful, but it must be a place you know well and visit fairly often.Who are some of the people who are in that place? What do you do in that place? Describe both.Listen to "Blue Light Lounge Sutra for the Performance Poets at Harold Park Hotel" by Yusef Komunyakaa and read "Harlem Love Poem" by Yvonne Fly Okaneme Etaghene.What did you like and remember about these pieces?What are some of the rich and vivid descriptions, as well as the specific, familiar and seemingly mundane details given about the places mentioned in the poems?What are some of the stories that are happening in these places that might be overlooked by others?Writing ExerciseSelect one location from your list.Write the story or a scene from that location, using sensory imagery and information. The more specific the writing, the better.Write for 10-15 minutes. Fill an entire page.Stop writing. Read around."Blue Light Lounge Sutra for the Performance Poets at Harold Park Hotel" by Yusef Komunyakaathe need gotta beso deep words can'tanswer questionsall night long notesstumble off the tongue& color the air indigoso deep fragments of gut& flesh cling to the songyou gotta get into itso deep salt crystallizes on eyelashesthe need gotta beso deep you can vomit up ghosts& not feel brokentill you are no morethan a half ounce of goldin painful brightnessyou gotta get into itblow that saxophoneso deep all the sex & dope in this worldcan't erase your needto howl against the skythe need gotta beso deep you can'tjust wiggle your hips& rise up out of itchaos in the cosmosmodern man in the pepperpotyou gotta get hookedinto every hungry grooveso deep the bomb lockedin rust opens like a fistinto it so deeprhythm is a pre-memorythe need gotta be basicanimal need to see& know the terrorwe are made of honeycause if you wanna dancethis boogie be readyto let the devil use your head for a drum.Yvonne Fly Onakeme Etaghene "Harlem Love Poem”I love Harlen for the brothas playing football across Lenox avenue,across traffic, above heads like what? . . . this is Harlem.old school soul music playing on the streetssweet oils and incenseflirting with my sensesas I walk to the #2 trainat 125thwe all know:nothingbeatsBrooklyn,the Bronx rolls hard,queens is huge - the most underestimated,& I dont know shit about Staten Islandexcept that's where Wu-Tang comes from/it's just something about the streetsof Harlem:vibrant, alive, honestthe cracks in the sidewalk look like crow's feeton the face of the citylaughing at me for being in such a hurryall the damn time/Harlem: where blackness is a political statement& IHOP is my spot, folks do not knowabout IHOP on Adam Clayton Powell!living up the street from the Apollo& a few blocks from Langston Hughes' housemeans somethingeverydayI get called a queenit's enough to melt my hardened heartmake me smile once or twicemuch later in my dayremembering/I thought I was gonna have to move to Oaklandto find peace of mind, until Harlem loved me/after living in Harlemit was like the streets were calling my namefrom Minneapolisfrom Los Angelesfrom Green Castle, Indianacome home, we know what you like to eatwe know how you like to dress babywe know you walk hardbut are tender like feathers insidecome homeyour Nigeria away from Nigeriafolks have church on the streets in Harlemand even tho I ain't no ChristianI got to respect thatevery Sundayyou can't ignore the wordyou got to walk around our Godbut come correct& you are welcome to join inif so moved.-228600-342900005. 1st Things 1st: Narrative of The NewFocus:narrative storytelling, first timesPoems:“First Kiss” by Patricia Smith (print), “Ignition” by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz (print)IntroductionMake a list of three different “firsts” that have been significant in your life.Read the poems “First Kiss” by Patricia Smith and “Ignition” by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz.What did you like and remember about the poems?When you read the title of “First Kiss,” what tone did you expect the poet to use when describing the experience?Identify the violent language and imagery used in the poem to describe the kiss. How does her word choice or diction match the emotional mood of the poem itself?How does the experience of a “first” in “Ignition” differ from the one experienced in “First Kiss”?Upon the spectrum from “ideal” to “truth,” where does your “first” fall? What tone and imagery would be most appropriate to describe your “first”?Writing ExerciseSelect and write about the first time you did something. Use vivid and powerful sensory imagery and information - the more specific the writing, the better.Carefully choose the language you use in your poem, and ensure that the language and diction match the emotional content.Write for 10-15 minutes: try to fill a whole page.Stop writing. Read around.“First Kiss” by Patricia SmithAll previous attempts had failed miserably,so I’d only dreamed of the sizzleuntil Lloyd Johnson, a swaggering boy who breathed candy,mashed me flat against the side of a Kedzie Ave. storefront.I tried to kiss the way I thought Diana Ross would(a dry, tight-lipped smack that hinted at so much more),but this was nothing like the smith, seamless smooches I’ddreamed of.This was a runaway bashing of throats, tongues and teeth,this was a collision of misshapen mouths,this was a feverish lip-tanglingthat left my face feeling like the punchline to a bad joke.So of course I fell in love,which is what Motown said you did after someone kissed you.Lloyd Johnson was having none of that, however.He spoke to me in snickers from that moment on,as if he’d ripped open a part of meand didn’t want to see what had spilled out.He told everyone that I wouldn’t let him touchwhat was shaking beneath my shirt,he wouldn’t let me call him boyfriend,he wouldn’t even let him call me Lloyd anymore.Our faces would never collide again.Then everyone told me why.It drives a boy crazy when he finds outhe’s kissed a girlno one has bothered to kiss before.When the romance between Lloyd and Patricia began andended with that one sloppy kiss, it took my daddy to slap a ____ on that heartbreak.My daddy was a factory worker, worked at the Leaf CandyCompany on the west side of Chicago all his life, but nobodycould tell me he didn’t know about romance. He was short andskinny and almost bald, but you couldn’t beat the ladies off himwith a stick.So I thought I was lucky because daddies teach little girlsabout little boys, that’s just the way it is. But when daddy suddenlyisn’t around, you start waiting again. You wait for themusic to give you hope.“Ignition” by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowiczlike the first time you stepinto the driveway and see no parentsthe first time you open that doorand the sound it makes when you close itthe first time you hear the rebel’s yell of your engineand the buzzing confederacy it stirs in your ribsthe first time you leave the neighborhoodand the whole city explodes onto your radarand you could go anywhere, anywhere,and the radio feels like a soundtrackand the radio feels like an anthem-114300-342900006.The Utopian Future WorldFocus: imagine the world to come, hope for the futurePoems: “Imagine the Angels of Bread” by Martin Espada (print and video), “Zip-lines” by Tim Stafford (print)IntroductionWhat are the most significant problems facing our world today? How would you solve each of these problems (one solution for each; may be silly or sarcastic or serious)? Identify three specific ways that your daily life would change in this perfect world.ORCreate some lists to answer the following questions: what would the city/county look like in an ideal world? what would everyone have? how many hours a week would we work? what would we do for work? where would we live? etc.Read Stafford’s “Zip-lines.”What do you like and remember about Stafford’s poem?What problems are solved in the world Stafford imagines? Why is it a better place than our current world?Read silently and listen to Espada’s piece.What did you like about this poem?What problems are solved in the world Espada imagines? Why is it a better place than our current world?In what ways does Espada invert traditional power relationships in his poem, and what are the fundamental nature of the change that is longed for?Which of the solutions, Stafford’s or Espada’s is more likely to happen? Where is the line drawn between realistic and fantastic solutions to problems?Writing ExerciseImagine the world that will be – the world that you would like to live in that is just and equitable. Imagine and re-imagine traditional relationships in the future.Write an anthem about this world: you may use the phrase “this is the year” or describe your life as you live in this world.Write with hope for 10-15 minutes; fill a whole page. Stop writing. Read around.“Zip-lines” by Tim StaffordAfter breakfastI drink a cup of coffeeStep into my harnessPut on my helmet and glovesAnd take a zip-line to workActually, it’s more like zip-linesThe first one connects to the back porchMy fourth floor apartmentIt carries me over our pool and two blocks of ranch homesStopping at a platform that connects me with downtownThat cable runs just east of the high school football fieldSo I can race my shadow to the end zoneThere are platforms and cables scattered throughout my cityFilling the sky like a permanent laser light showOnly now, we can ride the beamsNobody knows who built the first onesThey appeared overnight strung up from the water towerAngling down to various hubs: downtown, the mall, schools, etc.An anonymous ad was placed in the newspaperThat said only “ENJOY!” in tall black lettersSoon folks started stringing up their own linesThe Mayor showed his support by connecting a linefrom his house to City HallThe businessmen to the bankThe baker to the donut shopThe police to the donut shopWealthy families flew in experts from Costa Rica’s Cloud ForestTo design, test, and maintain their own personal linesTeenagers would kiss their sweethearts good-nightand zip from their balcony to home with grinsthat reflected so much of the moonThey became spotlightsNowThe sky of my city looks like giants playing cat’s cradleEvery day it is filled withThousands of citizens soaringWhere there was once only smogAutomobiles remain idle in drivewaysReduced to overpriced lawn ornamentsThe subway no longer runsIt’s cars salvaged and scrappedTo create more steel for more cableConductors now working for the newly formedZip-line Safety and Management Dept.Testing lines and placing poorly laced shoes inLost and FoundThe kid who bags my groceriesInsists that other zip-line cities arePopping up all over the nationAnd that he’ll be the first personTo zip cross-countryOn lines strung up from the Abandoned smokestacks of PittsburgTo the empty water towers of ChicagoFrom Kansas flat-land silo’sThrough Utah’s ArchesTo Northern California’s ancient redwoodsHis parents think he’s crazyI think it’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time“Imagine the Angels of Bread” by Martin EspadaThis is the year that squatters evict landlords,gazing like admirals from the railof the roof deckor levitating hands in praiseof steam in the shower;this is the year that shawled refugees deport judgeswho stare at the floor and their swollen feetas files are stampedwith their destination;this is the year that police revolvers,stove-hot, blister the fingersof raging cops,and nightsticks splinter in their palms;this is the year that dark skinned menlynched a century ago return to sip coffee quietly with the apologizing descendantsof their executioners.? This is the year that thosewho swim the border's undertowand shiver in boxcarsare greeted with trumpets and drumsat the first railroad crossingon the other side;this is the year that the hands pulling tomatoes from the vineuproot the deed to the earth that sprouts the vine,the hands canning tomatoesare named in the willthat owns the bedlam of the cannery;this is the year that the eyesstinging from the poison that purifies toiletsawaken at last to the sight of a rooster-loud hillside,pilgrimage of immigrant birth;this is the year that cockroachesbecome extinct, that no doctorfinds a roach embeddedin the ear of an infant;this is the year that the food stampsof adolescent mothersare auctioned like gold doubloons,and no coin is given to buy machetesfor the next bouquet of severed headsin coffee plantation country.? If the abolition of slave-manaclesbegan as a vision of hands without manacles,then this is the year;if the shutdown of extermination campsbegan as imagination of a landwithout barbed wire or the crematorium,then this is the year;if every rebellion begins with the ideathat conquerors on horsebackare not many-legged gods, that they too drownif plunged in the river,then this is the year.? So may every humiliated mouth,teeth like desecrated headstones,fill with the angels of bread.-228600-342900007. Realist Portraiture: Pictures of People We KnowFocus:description of people you know, choosing a purpose for your poemPoems:“Rigged Game” by Dylan Garrity (video), “Emergency Exit Row” by Catalina Ferro (video), “Freeze Tag” by Erin Dingle (video)IntroductionWrite a list of people you know well or interesting people you’ve come across in your school, neighborhood, or in your family or your travels, etc.Focus on three of the people on your list.For those three people, write down the place the person hangs out the most or where you met them, what items they have around them, and what they do. Where are these characters going? Who would they like to be? What is one wish they might make? Who might they ask for a favor? What do they say? What do they want to say? What do they want people to know?Listen to “Rigged Game,” “Emergency Exit Row,” and “Freeze Tag.”After each, discuss what is memorable about the characters described in these poems.Note that two are about someone the poet knows very well (a sister and a daughter) and the other is about people the poet only knows in passing.What is similar about how the poets talk about the people they are describing? What is different? Why do you think this might be?How do each of these poets connect us to the people and experiences they are describing?Which poem provides a better (more clear, more interesting, etc.) portrait of the character(s)? Why do you think so?Writing ExerciseSelect one person from your list to write about.Write the story of meeting them or a scene set in the location where you met them. Use sensory imagery and remember that the more specific the writing, the better.Write for 10-15 minutes. Fill an entire page.Stop writing. Read around.-342900-342900008. Odes: Elevating and Praising the MundaneFocus:odes and praise, finding beauty by paying attentionPoems:“Ode to the Boombox” by Kevin Coval (print), “Ode to the Watermelon” by Aracelis Girmay (print)IntroductionWrite a list of things you love: foods, fruits, appliances, articles of clothing, days of the week, parts of speech, seasons, streets, drinks, pets, etc.Read “Ode to the Boom Box” by Kevin Coval.What do you like about this poem?What was so important about the boom box for this poet?What makes the closing lines of this poem so powerful? To what extent are killer closing lines a requirement of all poetry, but performance poetry especially?Read “Ode to the Watermelon” by Aracelis Girmay.What do you like about his poem?What was so important about watermelon for this poet?What makes the closing lines of this poem powerful or interesting?Writing ExerciseSelect one thing you love from your list.Write an ode—a poem of praise—about or to this thing. The more specific the writing, the better.Write for 10 – 15 minutes and fill an entire page.Stop writing. Read around.Ode to the Boom Box by Kevin CovalMan shall not live by bread alone,but every word that proceedethout of the mouth of God. – Matthew 4:4, King James Bibleyellow with two tape decks. speakersat the head of my bed, above pillowsthe possible voice at constant watch.i'd plug into this mouth where g-dslived, headphones murmured the speakthat quiets and saves before sleep. momat work or date. younger brother, a seraphin the adjacent room. baby sitter settledand stopped touching. this instrumentat night, my own. alone with bootlegsof men mostly from New York. Black menwho are reporters, who report on beingBlack men in New York and Americanprojects, and boroughs like Brooklynand the Bronx, the South, South Bronx.after school the boom box came public, islatchkey kid company and accompanimentbefore nintendo, E and i in lotus, apprenticesin front of the master craft. real. live. no tvfor hours hunched over your push buttonmouth making pause tapes, slight of handright-timing miracles to get the beat blendbefore we heard of a mixer, cd player, weflipped, a to b-side, blank tapes recordingthe low frequency college radio midnightmix show. we worshipped your base. butsometimes you’d hurl the tape back, a messof metallic string and sometimes you’d purrmagic in the corners of our childhood, likeHeka, Egyptian g-d and medicine man,activating our imagination so we may fastforward and rewind ourselves to a placedifferent from our own.“Ode to the Watermelon” by Aracelis GirmayIt is June.At El TaContento near 17th,the cook slices cleanthrough the belly of a watermelon,Sandía, día santo!& honey beesgrown in glistening templesdance away from their sugary hives,ants, in lines,beetles, toward your red,(if you are east, they are going east)over & over,toward your worldly luscious,blushed fruit freckled with seeds.Roadside, my obtuse pleasure,under strings of lights,a printed skirt, in grocery barrels,above park grasses on Sunday afternoonto the moan & dolorous moanof swings.Ripe conjugationer of water & sun,your opening callseven the birds to land.& in Palestine,where it is a crime to wavethe flag of Palestine in Palestine,watermelon halves are raisedagainst Israeli troopsfor the red, black, white, greenof Palestine. Forever,I love you your color hemmedby rind. The blaring juke & wet of it.Black seeds star red immenseas poppy fields,white to outsing jasmine.Again, all that green.Sandía, día santo,summer’s holy earthly,bandera of the ground,language of fields,even under a blade you swingyour quiet scentin the pendulum of any gale.Men bow their heads, open-mouthed,to coax the sugarfrom beneath your workdress.Women lift youto their teeth.Sandía, día santo,yours is a sweetnessto outlast slaughter:Tongues will lose themselves inside you,scattering seeds. All over,the land will humwith your wild,raucous blooming.-457200-223520009. Battle Poems: The ElevationFocus:rants and critical discourse, a letter to someone, saying what you most want to sayPoems:“Pretty” by Katie Makkai (video) “Poem for Wicker Park Yuppies (A True Story)” by Kim Berez (print)IntroductionMake a list of things you do not like: days of the week, abstract concepts, foods, subjects in school, politicians, etc. You can not name someone in the school or the room.Read Berez’ poem and listen to Makkai’s poem.What do you like about the poems? Why were these poems written? Why are the authors upset? What imagery, figurative language, tones of voice, pacing do they use to reinforce their anger?Writing ExerciseSelect a person or idea from your list.Write a battle poem/letter to that person or idea for 10-15 minutes.Fill an entire page.Stop writing. Read around.“Poem for Wicker Park Yuppies (A True Story)” by Kim BerezYou peopletalk about travesties, Eurodollar exchange ratesin a foreign landI can’t find on a map‘cuz I went to Chicago public schools& maybe ‘cuz I barely been out of the neighborhood stillYou know what’s happening all around the worldbut you don’t know what’s going on all in front of your faceHey! I said you people so well informedreading the paper all morning in Café Purgatorysipping $2 a cup herb tea from filtered water with no bugspray in itor $4 a cup organically grown coffeefrom only companies that don’t exploit NicaraguansHow wonderful to have that choice!Instead if hunting for a decent-paying job hereTo pay the ever increasing rentsto cover the ever increasing taxeshere where the yuppies ever increaseYou people walk around blinded by your focuson worlds so far removedDeafened by constant anal-ization of the world inside yourselfCan’t you open one eye and see what was in front of your nose ISN’TWhat’s missing from this picture?One less teenage hoodlum to have to pass on the streetnervously with your ‘significant other’If you noticed you’d think changing demographicsBut what’s missing hereWASMY COUSINMy cousin Rickywas-blown-awayRight here on the corner where you live your ‘pioneering’ lifeWe buried himwhile your face was buried in USA TodayB E Z droning in your earphonesdeafening your sensesto such nuisance& Ricky does not sleep nights no moreso he walks around in my dreamsHe’s not carrying the pieces the cops found him withHe’s just a boy with restless legsJust a number now to read with your coffee and scornI mean scone-457200-3429000010. Persona: From the I You are NotFocus: telling the story of someone who is not you, selecting an anglePoems:“The Bouncer’s Confession” by Martin Espada (print)IntroductionWrite a list of people you know well—of people you see regularly—but don’t talk to much: people who, perhaps, have very different attitudes, interests or beliefs than you do.Read Espada’s poem.What stands out about the poem most clearly to you?How does the poet help you to understand, relate to, or connect with, the experiences of his character?What are the benefits of writing a poem from the perspective of someone you are not?Writing ExerciseSelect a person on your list and write a poem from his or her perspective. Consider who the audience will be for this poem. Where is the speaker while they are speaking?Use sensory imagery and information. The more specific the writing, the better it is.Write for 10-15 minutes and fill an entire page.Stop writing. Read around.“The Bouncer’s Confession” by Martin EspadaI know about the Westernswhere stunt doubles bellyflopthrough banisters rigged to collapseor crash through chairs designed to splinter.A few times the job was like that.A bone fragment still floatsin my right ring fingerbecause the human skullis harder than any fist.Mostly, I stood watch at the doorand imagined their skullsbrimming with alcohollike divers drowning in their own helmets.Their heads would sag, shakingto stay awake, elbows sliding outacross the bar.I gathered their coats. I found their hats.I rolled up their paper bagsfull of sacred objects only I could see.I interrogated them for an address,a hometown. I called the cab,I slung an arm across my shouldersto walk them down the stairs.One face still wakes me some mornings.I remember black-frame eyeglassesoff-balance, his unwashed hair.I remember the palsy that made clawsof his hands, that twisted his mouthin the trembling parody of a kiss.I remember the stack of books he readbeside the beer he would not stop drinking.I remember his fainted facepressed against the bar.This time, I dragged a corkscrewed bodyslowly down the stairs, hugged to my ribs,his books in my other hand,only to see the impatient taxipulling away. I yelled at acceleration smoke,then fumbled the body with the booksback up the stairs, and called the cab again.No movie barrooms. No tall strangershot the body spread-eagled across the broken table.No hero, with a hero’s uppercut, knocked them out,not even me. I carried them out.-342900-3429000011. Personism: A Poem Between Two People, Rather Than Two PagesFocus:intimate details, relationships, writing for multiple voicesPoems:“When Love Comes” by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye (video), “Zombie Love Poem” by Eric Devenney and Amiana Banks (video)IntroductionMake a list with three columns and rows. At the top of each column put the name of someone you love, someone you used to love, and someone you loved for a very short period of time.Beneath each name consider and write the following: where was the last place you saw this person, what is something they say often, what do they like to consume, what song/literature/piece of art do you associate with them, what was the most interesting conversation you had with this person, what was the most angry conversation you had with this person, what would you like to say to this person that you haven't said, what was something you learned from your experience with this person, etc.Watch "When Love Arrives."In what ways were two people necessary for this poem to work? Give specific examples of phrases, topics, or experiences where two voices were necessary.What else do you remember and find important or interesting about this poem?Watch "Zombie Love Poem."In what ways were two poeple necessary for this poem to work? Give specific examples of phrases, topics, or experiences where two voices were necessary.What else do you remember and find important or interesting about this poem?Writing ExerciseSelect one person from your list.Write a poem to that person: tell them something you have wanted to tell them as well as record how they would respond or how you wish they would respond. Use sensory imagery and figurative language. Specific = better.write for 10-15 minutes and fill an entire page.Stop writing. Read around.-342900-3378200012. Resisting Colonialism: Fractured Poetics and SurrealismFocus:word play, fractured linguistics, the immigrant experience, allusionsPoems:“Welcome to the Revolution” by Daniel S. Solis (print), from “break(place)” by Suheir Hammad (print)IntroductionWrite a list of words: write five words under the categories Canada, gender, race, city (they are in), music.Read Solis’ and Hammad’s poems. What words are being repeated? Why might they be repeated?How do each of the poets treat and transition through space and place? Why might that be?What do these poems feel like? What techniques and word choices create these feelings?Writing ExercisePut on some music without words. Write about occupation (whatever that means to you). Every so often, how and whenever you see fit, choose a category. At that point, you must put a word from your list beneath that category into the poem, wherever you are, immediately.Write a story or a scene from that location. Stress that right now, you should not be concerned with meaning.Write for 10-15 minutes. Stop writing. Read around.from “break(place)” by Suheir Hammad(nyc)the humidity condenses breathbodies stick and stones gather in a lowerbackgray thick moving slow and alonei am looking for my bodyfor my form in the foreignin translationwhat am i tryingto say i sit in this body dreamin this body expelin this body inheritin this bodyhere is the poemi left a long time agoremember stubble rememberunwanted remember touchi can’t remember where i left mybodypoem needs form lungs needair memory needs loss i needto translate my body because itis profanewhat had happened wasi wrote myself out of damagethis is the body of words andspacesi have found to re-construct(deheisha)my homegirl is there now the air is thickpeople don’t breathe well hold theirtongues against cursing all of existenceall that would carry on living during thisshe wakes to news just the beginningthe same story the one which leavesbodiesbehind as tokens of nothingone familyroasting cornnow all huskssilksprayingwindmy home girl’s bodywould be called white be claimed jewishis mother and loved by a man who sitsin a bayby telephone and radio and reaches forhis lover’s bodyand finds only formlessshe is witness and ragei pray her body save hercome back with her offer lover a homedaughter a beginning and all of us testimonythe people there tell her they will survivethisif a body can carry through you follow(beirut)a green body obsessed whitepossessed by all male religion swordsniper garnishes siliconeradishes video radiology vixens easterneuropean prostitution manicdepression olive oil sweat camps resortshair gel all that is lifeall that is deaththe roads and bridges been hitthe airport been hitwhere is a body to gowe lived there once my parents sistersand mei left my skin there still boiling“Welcome to the Revolution” by Daniel S. SolisI was,walking the University of New Mexicounder the pinescutting through the perfect mountain airsearching the shadowsfor the bloodstainsfrom the riots.Student led anti-war demonstrationswhen “Mexican-American” Guardsmanbayoneted Chicano studentshaving traded obsidian bladeand Toledo steelforoiled and honed army issuein fixed positionpoint and thrustand the blood blossomed from earth brown skin.And that was less than thirty years agoand I was tracking down those puddlesso I could put my fingers into themlike some kind ofcoagulatedHoly waterblood pudding.And maybe I could put my thumband pull out a heartCem-Anahuac-City of the Aztecsheart of the worldbeatinglike a gory jewelin the undulating copper sun of my dreamsand I lost focusclosed my eyesvertigo unfoldingwhen a hand gripped my shoulderhard.I opened my eyes and there he was,in the dream flesh,Cesar Chavez,el mero-mero de el Movimiento Chicano.“Pos, que diablos tienes, bato?” he asksand I think,my dance card of demons is way too long to listbut before I can answerhe punches me in the guta beautiful right that knocks me on my asshe stands over me radiatingthat terrible sweet saint’s intensityeyes pools of onyx fire,glittering love,and destruction.“I thought you were non-violent!” I gasp.“You call that violence?” he asks, sincerely amused and appalled.“The only violence here is your immense ignorance pendejo!Dip your fingers into the dried up blood of students? What crap!Why not go for fresh blood?Dip your fingers into the blood of Zapatistas dying in the Jungles of Chiapas.Dip your finers, hands, into the shattered dreams of immigrants being houndedby the border patrol, coyotes and la Migra.Dip your fingers, hands arms into all of the sangre Chicano being spilled by gangsThe cops and clicas in the streets and callejones of Dallas, Chicago, L.A. and Albuquerque . . .you think it stopped flowingjust because the P.B.S. special ended?just because you quit thinking about it?just because there was no one around to yell ‘VIVA LA RAZA!’and wake your big ass up?”He grabbed my face and shoved it into a mirror and said“That’s violence! Everyday you don’t speak the language of your Grandmothersand your Grandmothers’ Grandmothers, that’s violence!”and I knewhe was rightand I turned to him,but he was gone.And in his placewas Santos Rodriguez,a wavering twelve year old angelwith half his head blown away by the Dallas policeand I trembled – as he took my handand we took flight,rose into the air,and we flew backwards,past the L.A. riotssmoke and fire licked at usand we rose higher,screams from furnace heat napalms victims Viet Namand we rose higherMexico City 1968, students machine gunned in the bloody streetsand we rose higher . . ..All the way to a valley in northern Mexicoat the beginning of the last centurywhere the La Cucaracha,the troops of Pancho Villa were encamped.Where,Adelitas,Amazonian Mestizasof legendary courage and ferocity sat,oiling rifles, honing machetes.While the men,prepared atole tortillas and tamales.Unself-conscious role reversalbecause revolution is more important than machismo.And Santos sets me down face to facewith el General, Francisco Villaand he is grinning with a humor full of dangerand in the silence I realizethat everyone is staring at me,waiting . . .and Villa’s facechangesto the face of a childwaiting,to be taughtto readin Englishand Spanish.and a voice in my head says,“Welcome to the revolution, cabroooon!”-342900-3378200013. Defining Your GenerationFocus:list poems and anthems, generational portrait/odePoems:“Howl” by Alan Ginsberg (print), “Give Me One Good Reason to Die” by Marty McConnell (video)IntroductionWrite a list of what defines your generation. Consider technology, music, historical events, slang, the difference between themselves and their parents, clothing, trends, TV shows, movies, hit songs, etc.Read and/or listen to an excerpt from “Howl” (note that there is explicit language and imagery in this poem) and the entirety of “Give Me One Good Reason to Die.”What effect is created through the repetition of the “we” and “who,” the series of small portraits of people and groups?What tones of voice do these two poets use to describe various elements of their generations? Note specific pairings of elements or events and the words/tones of voice used to describe them.What effects are created through the poets’ uses of sexual imagery and profanity? According to each of these poets, what are the defining elements of their respective generations?Writing ExerciseWrite a generational portrait. Use the phrase “we who,” if you wish. Use sensory imagery and detailed descriptions, using your lists as a springboard. Create something epic and timeless.Write for 10-20 minutes.Stop writing. Read around.from “Howl” by Alan GinsbergI saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull . . . . . . who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night- mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally fucked, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.-342900-2235200014. Manifestos and EssentialsFocus: manifestos, understanding and expressing your valuesPoems:“Bullies Called Him Pork Chop” by Shayne Koyzan (video), “The Foxhole Manifesto” by Jeffrey McDaniel (video)IntroductionCreate a list of your most important values or beliefs in relation to the following two categories: right and wrongwritingListen to Koyzan’s “Bullies Called Him Pork Chop” and McDaniel’s “The Foxhole Manifesto.”What is interesting and powerful about each?A manifesto is a public statement about the essential goals and/or values of a person or group. What are the essential goals and values communicated through each of the poems?How does each poet use imagery and repetition to build the intensity of their poems and reinforce their values?Writing ExerciseWrite your own manifesto or list of essential values in relation to one of your two lists.Write for 20 minutes, and fill two pages or write 20 essentials.Stop writing. Read around.-342900-4572000015. Good Advice: Speaking to Others About Where You’ve BeenFocus:list poem, sharing wisdom and experiencePoems:“Unsolicited Advice to Teenage Girls with Pink Hair and Crooked Teeth” by Jeanann Verlee (video)IntroductionCreate a list of the most important lessons you’ve learned about any of the following:Love and relationshipsFamilyWritingSchoolFriendshipOtherWatch Verlee’s “Unsolicited Advice . . .” performance.What is interesting and powerful about this poem?What are some of the lines or phrases that Verlee repeats? What effects are created through this repetition?What different emotions does Verlee express through her poem? How do her choices about subject, details, imagery, and tone of voice work together to build these emotions?Writing ExerciseChoose one of the lists you created and use that to generate a poem that offers your advice to a specific audience. Be sure to include advice for a variety of experiences you expect this person to have.Model your title on Verlee’s: “Advice to a . . ..”Write for 20 minutes, and fill two pages or write 20 pieces of advice.Stop writing. Read around. ................
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