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Copyright (c) 2002-2007 David B. Axelrod |
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Sample of a paraphrase as an imitation. Here is a poem by National Book Award winner, William Stafford, with whom I studied and worked through the years. Notice how the poem moves almost cinematically, with a long shot to establish a sense of place, narrowing to increasingly close up shots until fingers touch the side of the deer. The poem is highly imagistic, engaging the senses. It also narrates a story. As is true for much of modern and contemporary poetry, it is first person, conveying what feels like a very personal experience. As a side note, William Stafford died in 1993, so he would no longer qualify as a "contemporary poet" according to my definition.) Traveling Through the Dark by William Stafford Traveling through the dark I found a deer dead on the edge of the Wilson River road. It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing; she had stiffened already, almost cold. I dragged her off; she was large in the belly. My fingers touching her side brought me the reason-- her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting, alive, still, never to be born. Beside that mountain road I hesitated. The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; under the hood purred the steady engine. I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; around our group I could hear the wilderness listen. I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--, then pushed her over the edge into the river. Attempts to Pass (after William Stafford) by David B. Axelrod Pastels
flesh out the early morning grey.
I've watched the night turn into
day. The night before trips we stay
awake, indexing all we've learned.
Review the sounds the
travel guide lists for jets about to
land: the thud of flaps, suspension
of the power, the
squeal of tires, the tests we put
on life.
Once, while
landing at a smaller strip,
we swooped up suddenly to keep
from piggy-backing with a
plane not yet in flight. A matter
of mere seconds!
students
of some ancient fortune-telling
art, studying our
lessons carefully as we embark,
with illusions of answers only. Here is a fine example of how you can learn by following the poem by an exemplary poet very closely. Ms. Lamoreux's poem, in fact, goes beyond mere paraphrase, actually introducing her own ideas/content into the closely modeled structure of Maya Angelou. Clearly this poem would need a careful acknowledgement of its source, lest it be accused of plagiarism. Yet, it is also an interesting creation by Ms. Lamoreux. Certainly I would hope that by doing this exercise in style, the student has learned some "new tricks" or skills that will then be available to the student/poet when approaching poetry at some future time. Also note: This poem is by a famous poet, a Laureate. Yet, it is not particularly, if at all, imagistic. I can't help expressing my own hope that you will select and even master imagistic poetry! Yet, to be ecumenical, I reproduce this as an example of "How TO" do your assignment. I'm a fan of Ms. Angelou as much as anyone, but you have to understand how a riming, abstract poetry is not the only way that poetry is written! Still this is a marvelous example of "how to" for purposes of imitation. Not
Fear
Call
Letters: Mrs. V. B.
(after
Maya Angelou) by
Nicole Lamoreux
bv
Ma Planes? Ships? Sure
I'll fly them.
Sure I'll sail them, Least
once a year,
Show me the boat. I
swallow my fear,
If it'll float, I'll
fly it.
I'll sail it. Soldiers?
`
Men? Sure
I'll kiss them.
Yes, I'll love them. If
they've got passion,
If they've got style, And
uniform fashion,
To make me smile, I'll
kiss them.
I'll love them.
Wealth?
Life?
Damn
right I'll have it.
'Course I'll live it. Not
clothes or money,
Let me have breath, But
beeswax honey,
Just to my death, I'll
have it.
And I'll live it. Fear?
Failure? Not
afraid to impose it,
I'm not ashamed to tell it, Not one
to expose it.
I never learned to spell it. Not
Fear.
Not failure.
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