I'm rereading Barbara Juster Esbensens's book A Celebration of Bees: Helping Children to Write Poetry and am enjoying the chapter on animating the inanimate. Here's an excerpt.
Here's a poem I love that does just that.
In the previous two chapters we have seen that words, used with imagination and skill, can bring to three-dimensional life people, animals, birds, and insects of all kinds. We can show the inner feelings of a person simply by describing a walk, or the tilt of a head; we can give ferocity to a lion, flight to a dragonfly, or lanky-legged height to a giraffe.The chapter goes on to explore how to motivate children to look at an inanimate object and see it as something with a life of its own--breathing and alive.
All this is accomplished by merely choosing the right words. By this time, it must be evident that words are magical and powerful. We can use them to do our bidding. We can be as powerful ourselves as any wizard!
Here's a poem I love that does just that.
School BusesSo, your challenge is to write a poem in which you animate an inanimate object. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
by Russell Hoban
(found in The Pedaling Man and Other Poems)
You'd think that by the end of June they'd take themselves
Away, get out of sight -- but no, they don't; they
Don't at all. You see them waiting through
July in clumps of sumac near the railroad, or
Behind a service station, watching, always watching for a
Child who's let go of summer's hand and strayed. I have
Seen them hunting on the roads of August -- empty buses
Scanning woods and ponds with rows of empty eyes. This morning
I saw five of them, parked like a week of
Schooldays, smiling slow in orange paint and
Smirking with their mirrors in the sun --
But summer isn't done! Not yet!
This is from a small privately printed anthology based on pieces of jewelry made by Elise Matthiesen. I wrote it for her.
ReplyDeleteDish Ran Away
Dish ran away,
not with spoon,
he was too regular,
his round face shining,
a kid off to school.
She found Green Rock,
jagged, hardy, been around,
somewhat polished, faceted,
who could kiss
with a long, slow tongue.
She knew things wouldn’t last,
but oh those green songs,
and the leisurely meals after.
She could always come home later,
a penitent, and marry Spoon,
raise little round silver darlings,
her best memories all, all green.
©2009 by Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
I wrote this poem some time ago, and it is true for me. I'll work on another too, for this week.
ReplyDeleteWhen I'm Scared
Orion is my nighttime friend
Standing tall in outer space
Finding me tucked into bed
Staring softly at my face.
Shining with his starry bow
Holding back the heavy night
He whispers kindly in my ear
"Everything will be all right."
Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
I love the Russell Hoban poem--thanks for sharing it!
ReplyDeleteRocker
Rocking chair swings low,
swings high, sweet chariot
of sorrow, singing the blues
in his creaky old voice,
dark wood scarred from being moved
one too many times. He rolls
his feet in that fine rhythm,
hums, strums, sometimes even
drums. Old lady cries, listening,
remembering the long-before,
but little boy sighs
and slips into sleep.
--Kate Coombs (Book Aunt), 2010, all rights reserved
Here's mine:
ReplyDeletehttp://marcieaf.blogspot.com/2010/03/animating-inanimate.html
Thank you for the fun, Tricia. I've posted another animate-inanimate poem on my new blog. http://poemfarm.blogspot.com/2010/03/spring-in-western-new-york.html
ReplyDeleteLove love the rocking chair. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteJaneY
I've spent the last two weeks reading Frances books to my class and reveling in the perfection of Russell Hoban's prose; how equally inspiring to read about school buses, "five of them parked like a week of school days."
ReplyDeleteHere's a poem from my collection (currently rarin' to get out in search of a publisher) BEANSTALK TALKS, which is all about the inanimate achieving voice:
Little Bricks, Little Bricks,
Let Me Come In
We’re thick thick thick
We’re dense dense dense
There’s only one thing
that makes sense:
We stick stick stick
We stack stack stack
We do not crack
when wolves attack
Side to side and back to back
Our shoulders set our faces flat
We stand we stick we sit we stay
Huff and puff at us all day, wolf!
But bricks don’t budge
They don’t cave in
Not by the square of our
chinny chin chins
© Heidi Mordhorst 2003|all rights reserved
Thanks, Jane! And Heidi, that is such a cool poem, especially the last 2 lines!
ReplyDeleteI have one for this: Awoken Rhythm
ReplyDeleteHi! I haven't played for a very long time. But this sounded like so much fun I took the challenge and came up with: "V is for...".
ReplyDeleteSex Appeal
ReplyDeletePopeye ate you out of a can,
an olive drab, limp soggy mess
swallowed in one gulp! This was
supposed to make you appealing?
So, you tried again with
a makeover. Attractive,
young people started eating you--
fresh and raw! A la Florentine!
They touted your vitamins,
iron, and your antioxidants.
You were a healthy choice.
Chic, and expensive, you
became a sexy veggie!
You forgot to pace yourself,
though, and went from hip to
overexposed, just like that!
“Patata dulce,” a.k.a. sweet potato,
is the new sexy veggie. She was
quoted as saying, “I yam, what I yam--
now available in germ-free cans!”
Here is my attempt for this week!
ReplyDeleteMusings of a Quilt
by Nicole Marie Schreiber
Sometimes,
even I feel cold,
sprawled out on the couch.
curled into a ball on a chair,
or cascading from bed to floor,
like a waterfall without water,
cast off,
treaded on,
ignored.
Sometimes,
even I feel alone,
folded neatly in a cabinet,
stowed safe inside a crate,
or hanging on a wall,
while summer’s heat sizzles the house,
put away,
stored,
forgotten.
Sometimes,
even I feel scared,
stuffed underneath a bed,
ripped apart by a dog,
or spilled upon by toddlers,
soggy,
saturated,
spent.
But sometimes,
on cold winter days,
when the heater acts up,
the fireplace misbehaves,
and the sun sleeps in,
you take me out and
wrap me around your back,
your arms,
your whole body,
warming me down
to the
depths
of my fibers.
And sometimes,
even I
feel
loved.
-www.nicolemarieschreiber.com
Hi Tricia ~ working on revising a book proposal for an agent, so thought I'd pay homage to it here:
ReplyDeleteBOOK PROPOSAL
She says you need a makeover
to narrow you down a bit
give you a stronger focus
wipe out some of your
negative notions
slap you into shape.
If we can bring out
your true essence
that inner shimmer
waiting to burst forth
we might be able to
sell you off
to the highest bidder.
Geez I’m sorry
please don’t cry
I didn’t mean to…
I just didn’t know
you were still
so attached
to me.
© Carol Weis, all rights reserved
WEEDS UNWELCOME.
ReplyDeleteWe annoy some people profusely
By the wicked way we grow,
They see us in their gardens
And decide that we must go.
We care not where we establish ourselves
Or take a strangle hold,
Whether flowerbed or vegepatch
We are equally as bold.
Our seeds are designed to travel afar
By land and sea and air,
With orders to settle and germinate
No matter who lives there.
But let's not forget about gardeners as
Their problem we become,
Their herbicides and garden tools serve to
Make us weeds unwelcome.
© 04-04-10