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!

We are travelers in the dark,

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 Maya Angelou

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.