Poetry contains photographs.
Old school poetry didn’t interest me much, but when introduced to early twentieth century poets, my world changed. Poems didn’t have to rhyme. Lines could break. You could paint with words or create pictures through the placement of words.
In my last blog, I wrote about how we, as writers and teachers, can inspire the next generation to become writers and designers instead of texters. I also wrote about how I’d returned to a more traditional form of poetry (not too traditional) where I find those photographic moments, and write a poem about them.
Experience for an artist of any medium is to grow beyond one part of their field. For example, I am writing non-fiction. The very genre I hated writing in elementary and middle school became a recent strength. I did not stop at there.
I hit the pause for a while.
I was proud of myself in April because I started writing poetry again. I thought about its form and message. I’m not done yet. In my writing career, it’s probably the longest I’ve ever taken on a poem. While parts of it are inspired by personal life, I wanted to include other moments from other people’s lives. I wanted a poem, like Carl Sandburg could create, to which everyone related. Yet, I also wanted to keep some of my prose poetry.
Last time, I shared a verse I wrote for a co-worker. Below is my second verse. One of the lessons I learned early in writing is make something about a character memorable. What can make a high school relationship stand out from others? The girl keeps her boyfriend’s baseball glove in her locker for a specific reason.
“Goodbye dresses up for prom in red lace with sniffles and tears from mascara eyes.
She’d let him store his glove in her locker–the closest to the boys’ locker room.
When the bell rang, he would wink, and reach under the desk to squeeze her thighs.
Times, they change, and a girl drove by the field in a red camero, and asked his name.
Backseat sounds and zippers down; then drive around for two sodas, burgers and fries.
Now, he said, “Please,” but she walked off in red high heels, and said her goodbyes.”
Goodbye Is, Verse 2, By Rebecca T. Dickinson
Each verse has a different photographic moment in time. The one above did not come from my life, but was inspired by strands of reality I’ve witnessed through the years. The one on which I’m currently working is the simplistic parent experiences a child graduate from high school.
I am saying goodbye in so many parts of my life from friendship to an eighth grade class I’ve taught for two years to my hometown to my school and the fact my youngest is completely out of her baby years. Goodbye isn’t just a cliche full of tears and sadness. It brings all forms of emotions to life.
Corrie's Season 