Students in World Literature were tasked to create a poem inspired by a painting during their poetry unit.
Poem #4: The Unseen (Girl with a Pearl Earring Painting Poem)
Surprise or fear. Either one rests in the eyes of the young girl. Her hair is covered by a turban, And she dons a gold and lustrous jacket. Her lips parted ever so slightly. Is it a smile or a frown? The large pearl earring dangling from her ear is Striking yet inconspicuous. The background dark as night, So she fills your eyes. She may look innocent, But she knows something. Something you don’t. You may wonder what it is, But you’ll never know. Some things will remain Unseen and unknown.
emulation practice
Students in creative writing read Gwendolyn Brooks' Maud Martha. They then tried to emulate her style in their own writings. Finally, students workshopped their pieces in groups and wrote individual reflections. Burning Red Today felt exceptionally red. She couldn’t imagine why, despite her blue dress and the ever looming grey clouds, and the yellow walls, and the purple tulips in the foyer, today was red. Her lungs filled with air as she strutted through the hall and descended down the dark stairwell, pulling on her shawl and trying to figure why something was different. Why was today red? Maybe it was the changing of the seasons, or because of the new doorman, or because her insufferable cat after 17 years finally passed or maybe it was...--no, that just wasn’t it. The busy city streets full of vendors shouting, somehow seemed faded as the red took over. Some thought of shorthand girls as dumb, dim-witted, but she took pride in what she did, her daddy wasn’t around to provide anymore and that was perfectly green. It was just her and Mama, she didn’t have a husband or anyone else, she didn’t need them, this was pink. The gleaming glass doors were heavy and hard to push, but no one opens the door for a shorthand girl. The air inside tasted like ink and the lights were bright in contrast to the service elevator creaking on the way up. She nodded to the operator who didn’t regard her at all, they reached the 18th floor and the work day began. Outside she sat completing the simple, time consuming tasks for Mr.Winger. The glass offices were yellow and full of shimmery light, and just as transparent as the affairs that took place within them. People came and went as she persisted through endless white tasks, and fetching coffee. Just after lunch Her mind wandered away from the office gossip, and back to her main concern. What’s different today? Rain pelted the building, putting most in a dreary mood, but not her. She loved the rain, it seemed to glow a grayish blue, it brought her back to a simpler time of splashing in puddles and twirling umbrellas. “Ms.Edison, may I speak with you a moment?” Her head snapped up, panic and shame surged through her when she realized she’d just been staring into space for the last 15 minutes. “Yes, of course.” She quietly stepped into Ms.Green’s, office. She burst into an apology almost immediately. Ms.Green cut her off, “Ms.Edison, please sit.” Her heart sped up, she swallowed hard. What was she going to do without this job? “I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news, your mother has had a heart attack and passed away.” The room turned to ice, she walked out her head hanging. Ms.Green’s cliche condolences didn’t even register. The ringing of phones, snapping of staplers, clicks of high heeled shoes and the clacking of typewriters turned to distant noise. Her shawl felt heavy and her shoulders felt small, the elevator ride was endless. The rain hitting her face were tiny needles, her heart had been shot out of her chest. Broken bottles and little pebbles scattered on the sidewalk beneath her feet got darker and she walked. Tears of dull pink, and gray rolled down her cheeks. Passed the new doorman, and back up the stairs--”Mama” she called out. Sincerely expecting a reply, “Mama” a little quieter this time. She was alone in the apartment, alone in the city, alone in the world. For years after that not even the most blue sky could take away the burning red.
Reflection This piece seemed really daunting, especially choosing a topic. The more I got into it the more I wanted to write. I ended up having to go back and take out a lot of paragraphs and lines because I kept going off on tangents. The things I tried to incorporate from Maud Martha were the synesthesia and and introducing people out of the blue. I tried to reflect the time period of the 50’s through her job, her surroundings and things like that. My first draft of this piece also included a lot of dialogue but I ended up cutting that out too, and make it rely more on her internal feelings. There were also more characters at the beginning, like a sister, a work friend and a boyfriend I ended up cutting them too. I think this story gets more to the point and I enjoy it better that way. When it’s condensed I can focus more on imagery than characters and the relationships between them. Another thing I ended up cutting was grammar rules, I tried breaking them but I figured it just came off as if a kindergartener wrote it.
sonnets
World Literature students were given the tricky task of creating a Shakespearean sonnet. Venom
A family is a treasure untold Which carries you to your ultimate goal. A place of love and light devoid of cold The kind jewel which polishes your very soul.
To help their child, perfect advice is sung Parents wish for their child’s flawless success. The parent, the snake who cares for her young. So, surely, the snake cannot make a mess?
But the advice is never, ever helpful. In fact, it hurts, but you cannot complain. The snake’s venom silences you, the devil. And so you’re forced to hide, lest you be maimed.
The snake believes her children are happy, But we are liars and cheaters, treated badly.
Personal Metamorphosis
After reading Kafka's Metamorphosis, students created a piece as if they, like Gregor, awoke one morning to find themselves transformed into an animal or insect.
Personal Metamorphosis One day I woke up to find myself transformed into a pig. As the sunlight hit my eyes, and the roosters began crowing, I realized I had overslept, since my alarm hadn’t gone off. I quickly thought to jump out of bed, since I knew my father was going to be upset with me. I began to hear my mother screaming at me, as she came into my room while I hid under my bedsheets. “I can’t believe you! You have one job to do in this house, yet you can’t even do that correctly. You’re absolutely useless just as your father says”. This had become the normal routine. At some point in the morning, I would be screamed at for one thing or another. I’d learned since I was 6 years old, that screaming back only made things worse. I was so panicked after my mother left my bedroom, I hadn’t even thought to put on a coat, or shoes. I leapt out of bed, and ran as fast as I could down the stairs with my eyes shut, and my ears plugged. You never quite get used to the sound of screaming at 6 a.m. I ran as fast as possible to the barn to complete my daily chores. This consisted of feeding the pigs, cleaning out the chicken coop, milking the cows, feeding the horses, and collecting the hens’ eggs. As I walked over to feed the pigs I noticed how large our pigs had gotten. I noticed how large everything had gotten. The chickens and hens had grown almost overnight it seemed. I ran over to the piglets who had just been born, and even they had grown! I thanked God there had not been a runt in this litter of pigs. The runt was always treated especially cruel by my father. I have always thought he viewed me as the runt of the litter. I continued to observe everything around me as I heard footsteps. The smell of cigarettes, and alcohol carried in the air, and I immediately knew who it was. I rushed over to the pigs’ stalls as I heard the footsteps come closer. Even the animals’ demeanor had changed as my father entered the barn. Every animal became silent, and the only sound which could be heard was my father’s breathing. As I watched my father through the stall doors, I noticed how tall he’d gotten. My father suddenly appeared gigantic! As he approached the stall, every animal began to squirm, and squeal. He aggressively opened the door of the stall as he smiled. This smile wasn’t a kind smile, but a rather cruel smile. It was the same cruel smile he usually wore. He began to push, and kick the pigs as he screamed, “Where’s my runt”? I sat quietly behind the pigs, and suddenly felt a large hand wrap around me. I began to scream as loud as possible, though all that echoed back were frantic, high pitched squeals. The more I squirmed, the harder my father's grip tightened around me. My father continued to carry me out of the barn, and as we made eye contact my panic quickly increased. In his glossy eyes, I could see my reflection. I couldn’t believe it! I was a pig! I was the runt of the litter! How had I not see this earlier? My heart felt as if it was going to jump out of me. As I looked ahead in absolute desperation, I knew what was coming next. I heard the familiar creak of the slaughterhouse door, and I felt my heart drop to my stomach.
Epilogue: I heard the door slam behind me as the footsteps of my husband became louder, and louder. “Here, use it for breakfast today”. he said. I did as told, and began slicing the pink meat into thin strips. I watched it simmer on the pan as the smell lingered in the air. The mouth-watering smell of juicy bacon has always been my favorite in the morning. Once the bacon was done cooking, I placed it onto our plates next to the eggs. I poured three glasses of orange juice as I set the table. “Breakfast is ready”! I yelled up to my daughter's room. “God, where is that runt”? my husband said.
Found Poem
Students in creative writing read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, keeping a log of words and phrases that stood out to them as they read. After reading, students created "found poems" which are poems constructed with only words present in a source text.
Wet hickory bark, bluets in bloom. A skyful of molecules, studded and strewn.
Orb-weavers, pale to invisibility, straggle about prettily. Bubbles tangle in a surge of ripples, a violent burst from flatness.
Spidery lightning marks on the grassy hill. Careening clouds, in a fitful wind.
Streamers of color unrolled silently, in a rush of freedom and beauty. Deciduous green leaves folded languorously are a tree’s canopy.
Fragile ghost moths, dizzyingly fast. Myriads of color become a matrix of clasped hollowness.
The roiling sea swells and subsides like pulverized jade. The doves in the cedar sing a heartfelt warble.
Black burgeoning, starlight spattering to earth. Illusion, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity.