Poem-Making Myra Cohn Livingston PDF

POEM-
MAKING
Ways to Begin
Writing Poetry
Myra Cohn Livingston
4dM
A Charlotte Zolotow Book

An Imprint of HarperCoMinsPublishers
Poem-Making: Ways to Begin Writing Poetry
Copyright © 1991 by Myra Cohn Livingston
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Printed in the United States of America. For information address
HarperCollins Children's Books, a division of HarperCollins Publishers,
10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022.
Typography by Al Cetta
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
First Edition
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Livingston, Myra Cohn.
Poem-making : ways to begin writing poetry/Myra Cohn Livingston,
p. cm.
"A Charlotte Zolotow book."
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Summary: Introduces the different kinds of poetry and the
mechanics of writing poetry, providing an opportunity for the reader
to experience the joy of making a poem.
ISBN 0-06-024019-9. — ISBN 0-06-024020-2 (lib. bdg.)
1. Poetry—Authorship—Study and teaching (Elementary)—Juvenile
literature. 2. Creative writing—Study and teaching (Elementary)—
Juvenile literature. [1. Poetry—Authorship. 2. Creative
writing.] I. Title.
LB1576.L578 1991 90-5012
372.6' 23—dc20 CIP
AC
To Jennifer Lee Factor because . . .
and with thanks to Bob Hendershot of Wyoming, Michigan,

who suggested the title
Contents
Introduction ix
The Voices of Poetry 3

THE LYRICAL VOICE 7
THE NARRATIVE VOICE 11
THE DRAMATIC VOICE 16
Apostrophe 16
The Mask 20
Conversation 26
Sound and Rhyme 31

COUPLETS, TERCETS, AND
QUATRAINS 38
LONGER STANZAS 44
THE BALLAD 49
Other Elements of Sound 53

REPETITION 53
VII
Contents
ALLITERATION AND ONOMATOPOEIA 58
OFF RHYME, CONSONANCE, AND
ASSONANCE 64
Rhythm and Metrics 72
Figures of Speech 80
THE SIMILE 82
METAPHOR 87
PERSONIFICATION 95
Other Forms 102

HAIKU 104
THE CINQUAIN 111
THE LIMERICK 117
FREE VERSE AND OPEN FORMS 126
CONCRETE, SHAPE, AND PATTERN
POETRY 136
Acknowledgements 147
Index 155
Introduction
JLMAGINE that you've been spending the last few

minutes watching a blue jay hide a cache of seeds
in a tile roof. Or imagine that yesterday, out on a
walk, you passed a dog barking angrily at you. Or
think about a special time when you learned to
roller-skate, the first time you went to the circus,
or a day when a friend moved away.
All of these events are part of life—yours and
mine—and when they happen there is always some-
thing inside of me that wants to turn what I see or
hear or feel into a poem. The picture stays in my
mind long after the blue jay has flown away or the
dog stops barking. I begin to search for the words
that will form themselves to make a picture I can
share with others, the words that will re-create the
experience for someone else.
This book is about poem-making, how to begin
to understand what goes into a poem. We don't
IX
X Introduction
ask the question What does a poem mean? for if
the poet has written well, we seem to know inside
of ourselves what it means to us. It is better to ask,
as John Ciardi has said, How does a poem mean?
And the how means writing the feeling in such a
special way that our listeners and readers can sense
something of what we have encountered, see some-
thing they might never have noticed before, or look
at something in a fresh way—the way the poet has
offered.
What we hope to do is to make the image, the
thought, even the sound come alive again. By arrang-
ing words, making a sort of music with these words,
we create something fascinating and new.
Poem-Making is an invitation for you to experi-
ence the joy of making a poem. It can be one of
the most exciting things you will ever learn to do!
—MCL
1991
Poem-Making
Ways to Begin
Writing Poetry
The Voices of
Poetry
V ^ A N E DAY in a fifth-grade classroom I read to

my students some poems about trees by James
Reeves, Louis Simpson, Robert Frost, and Elizabeth
Madox Roberts. Then we went outside to look at
different trees and make notes.
When we returned, I suggested that we write
poems about trees, those we had just seen or trees
the students might know of at home or at camp, in
Yosemite or Redwood National parks, or about a
tree growing just outside the classroom window. It
was my first day with this class, and I was pleased
to see that they all began to write.
I have a habit of answering questions when I am
teaching, walking around the classroom to see if
anyone needs help. This day I noticed that many
students were beginning their poems with "Some
trees are tall, some trees are short" or "Trees are
beautiful" or "I like trees." None of these beginnings,
3
4 The Voices of Poetry
understandably, seemed to inspire anyone to go fur-
ther than one or two lines.
I remember this day particularly because it was
the first time I had really thought about the voices
of poetry and how, if used well, they could make
all the difference in writing. I had been writing my
own poetry, of course, never thinking about the voice
I was using. But looking at these dull statements
about trees and thinking about the poetry I had
just read, I decided to try something new.
I asked one girl if she could tell me about a special
tree she knew, just as Elizabeth Madox Roberts does
in "Strange Tree."
Away beyond the Jarboe house

I saw a different kind of tree.
Its trunk was old and large and bent
And I could feel it look at me.
And the girl began "Over the fence I saw a tree," a

poem that uses a lyrical voice, her own voice, telling
something of her feelings about the tree.
- I suggested to another girl that she walk to the
window and look more carefully at the tree growing
outside, its branches almost touching the building,
and speak to it just as Robert Frost did when he
wrote
The Voices of Poetry 5
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
When this girl began to write "Come into the room,

tree," she was using the dramatic voice of apostrophe.
Other students in the class tried this voice, some
asking their trees questions.
Five or six students wanted to try another dramatic
voice, the mask, used by Louis Simpson in his poem
"The Redwoods." It is a voice in which they pretend
they are trees themselves speaking.
Mountains are moving, rivers

are hurrying. But we
are still.
We have the thoughts of giants—
clouds, and at night the stars . . .
Still others preferred to stay with the narrative

voice, to simply tell about the trees without reference
to themselves, as James Reeves does in "Tree
Gowns."
In the morning her dress is of palest green,

And in dark green in the heat of noon is she seen . . .
No one used the dramatic voice of conversation
that day. But it was an important day, because it
taught me how to help students change dull, trite
statements into far more interesting work. And the
students taught me that they did not have to be in
high school or college to understand the possibilities
for expanding their writing, for entering into the
magic of these five voices.
THE LYRICAL VOICE
A lyric poem is one that expresses the feelings

and emotions of the poet. Originally such a poem
was written to be sung to the music of a lyre. We
carry over this idea by calling the words to our
songs "lyrics."
The lyrical voice can be identified most often by
the use of the personal pronouns /, me, my, we,
our, and us or any related words—mine, ours. It
is used to speak of personal experience, to comment
on how the poet looks at the world. Emily Dickinson
uses a lyrical voice in her poem:
I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
We cannot mistake this voice, for Emily Dickinson

begins with the word "I."
7
8 T h e Voices of Poetry
Sometimes we must read further before we know

who is speaking. Eloise Greenfield writes in "Aunt
Roberta"
What do people think about

When they sit and dream
All wrapped up in quiet
and old sweaters
And don't even hear me 'til I
Slam the door?
The pronouns "me" and "I" establish that this is

indeed a lyric poem. Other poems of Eloise Green-
field begin "I get way down in the music" or "When
my friend Lessie runs she runs so fast" or
Went to the corner

Walked in the store
Bought me some candy
Christina Rossetti writes in this same voice when

she asks
Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing thro'.
The Lyrical Voice 9
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I;
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
There are times however when the poet's voice

seems hidden, when we cannot find any personal
pronouns and yet we know by what is said that
the ideas in the poem are original with the writer.
Some personal observation is made that would not
be an ordinary way of seeing or hearing or thinking.
In her poem "Metaphor" Eve Merriam's particular
way of comparing morning to a new sheet of paper
tells us that this is her idea.
Morning is
a new sheet of paper
for you to write on.
Whatever you want to say,
all day,
until night
folds it up
and files it away.
The bright words and the dark words
are gone
until dawn
and a new day
to write on.
Although she never uses a personal pronoun, we
know it is the poet who has made this metaphor.
Similarly, "Rain into River" tells us how X. J.
Kennedy hears the rain, and how he observes it.
Rain into river

falling
tingles
one
at
a
time
the trout's
tin shingles.
It should not be difficult to learn to recognize a

lyric poem. Nor should it be difficult for you to
use the lyrical voice. Each time you tell about yourself
and your experiences, about your own observations
and events of which you are a part, you will be
writing a lyric poem.
This is the voice that most people use.
THE NARRATIVE VOICE
The narrative voice tells a story. It may b e a story

as simple as a nursery rhyme.
Hey diddle diddle,

The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
It may be a humorous story such as Ogden Nash's

"The Adventures of Isabel."
Isabel met an enormous bear,

Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She washed her hands and she straightened her
hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
11
A narrative poem may also be a long epic such
as The Odyssey written by Homer, a Greek who lived
sometime between 1200 and 850 B.C. Translated into
English by Robert Fitzgerald, these lines describe
the beginning of a boar hunt.
When the young Dawn spread in the eastern sky

her finger-tips of rose, the men and dogs
went hunting, taking Odysseus. They climbed
Parnassos' rugged flank mantled in forest,
entering amid high windy folds at noon
when Helios beat upon the valley floor
and on the winding Ocean whence he came.
With hounds questing ahead, in open order,
the sons of Autolykos went down a glen,
Odysseus in the lead, behind the dogs,
pointing his long-shadowing spear.
Lewis Carroll begins his famous nonsense narra-

tive "Jabberwocky" with these stanzas:
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
The Narrative Voice 13
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought. . . .
Whether you prefer a short nursery verse like

"Hey Diddle Diddle"; a funny verse, "The Adventures
of Isabel"; an epic, The Odyssey; or nonsense like
"Jabberwocky," it's important to know that all of
these are written in a narrative voice.
You probably know many narrative poems already.
"Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer is
one that tells about a disastrous ball game. Edward
Lear has written in "The Owl and the Pussy Cat"
about an owl and a cat who sail away to get married.
Robert Browning told of a man who rid a town of
rats and punished its greedy citizens in "The Pied
Piper of Hamelin." The first story poems you may
have heard were in Mother Goose. As you grow
older, you will probably read stories told in poetry,
such as Alfred, Lord Tennyson's Idylls of the King
or "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes.
In all of these examples the poet-narrator recounts
something that has happened. It is like a storyteller
spinning a story. Whether the story comes out of
the poet's imagination or, like a ballad (see the chap-
ter on ballads), tells of an event that actually took
place, poets are not a part of the story. They do
not comment on it. They do not put themselves
into the story as they would in a lyrical poem. They
are somewhat like newscasters on television or radio
announcers who merely tell you the facts or give
you information.
Notice the first lines of these narrative poems:
Hey diddle diddle,

Isabel met an enormous bear,
When the young Dawn spread in the eastern sky
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Poets seem to plunge right into their narratives, en-

abling both the words and the rhythms to indicate
what kind of story it will be. Three of these examples
immediately clue us in to the notion that they are
either funny or nonsense. One is more serious. The
poet sets a mood that pulls the reader into the story.
First you will need to decide what sort of narrative
you wish to write. You may begin with something
as nonsensical as "Hey diddle diddle," and yet your
choice may surprise you. "Hey diddle diddle" is
only one stanza, but a narrative like "Old Mother
Hubbard" goes on for many, many stanzas.
You may use couplets as Ogden Nash does, or
quatrains like Lewis Carroll. I doubt that you would
want to attempt the complicated metrical patterns
used by the Greeks, but you will certainly wish to
The Narrative Voice 15
create a rhythm and rhyme scheme that will help
your narrative carry its idea across—a lighthearted
meter if your verse is funny and another kind of
metrical pattern for a serious poem. All of these
forms and meters are discussed in later chapters.
It might help to spend some time reading other
narrative poems. Lewis Carroll's "The Walrus and
the Carpenter" is a good example of a long story
poem. It includes the famous lines
"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things;
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."
Shel Silverstein's "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Would Not Take the Garbage Out" and "Jimmy Jet
and His TV Set" are other examples of good narrative
verse you may already know. If you don't know a
story poem—a narrative poem or verse—that is
meaningful to you, you can find many in poetry
anthologies and begin to write one of your own.
THE DRAMATIC VOICE
Apostrophe
Do you ever talk to things that cannot answer?
One day out in my garden I bent over to smell a
rose when a bee zoomed down, almost daring me
to go near the flower. It made me think
Who has the better

right to smell the first summer
rose, bee—you or I?
I have talked not only to bees but to telephone

lines, to a lemon tree, to winter, to spices, to mocking-
birds, to the sky and sun and stars. A great deal of
my poetry is written in the voice of apostrophe—a
voice that addresses something that cannot answer.
You may remember, when you were very young,
talking to the milk when it spilled, blaming it instead
of yourself, or to your bicycle, or to something else
that had no life of its own. Through the voice of
apostrophe you spoke to it as though it were alive.
Poets know how powerful this voice can be and
16
The Dramatic Voice 17
use it in many ways. In her poem "Moon" Karla
Kuskin asks
Moon
Have you met my mother?
Asleep in a chair there
Falling down hair.
Moon in the sky
Moon in the water
Have you met one another?
Moon face to moon face
Deep in that dark place
Suddenly bright.
Moon
Have you met my friend the night?
Some of my favorite poems are written in the

voice of apostrophe. Robert Frost speaks to a tree
in a poem called "Tree at My Window." Carl Sand-
burg, in a poem to a bluebird, asks the bluebird
what it feeds on. Hilda Conkling speaks to a "Mouse."
Little mouse in gray velvet,

Have you had a cheese-breakfast?
There are no crumbs on your coat,
Did you use a napkin?
I wonder what you had to eat,
And who dresses you in gray velvet?
And in "Go Wind" Lilian Moore tells the wind what

to do.
Go wind, blow
Push wind, swoosh.
Shake things
take things
make things
fly.
Ring things
swing things
fling things
high.
Go wind, blow
Push things wheee.
No, wind, no.
Not me—
not me.
Christina Rossetti addresses a caterpillar.
Brown and furry

Caterpillar in a hurry
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.
These poems are written in many different forms.

One is written in free verse. One is written in qua-
trains. Two are written in couplets. Later I'll discuss
these forms, but now look on page 114 and find a
cinquain I wrote to a T-shirt.
Try looking around you at this moment. Choose
something of which you might ask a question or
to which you might tell something. Use whatever
form seems best to you. And remember when you
want to write a poem, the voice of apostrophe is
often the very best voice for wondering, asking ques-
tions, or giving a bit of advice!
The Mask
When my daughter was very young, we had to
call her Sailor Nine. Her real name is Jennie, but
she wouldn't answer unless we addressed her as
Sailor Nine. Perhaps you pretended you were a balle-
rina or an astronaut or someone other than yourself.
Poets never stop imagining what it might be like
to be not only another person, but even something
that cannot, in reality, think or speak.
This aspect of the dramatic voice is what I think
of as a mask or persona. It is as though we put on
the face or the body of someone or something else
and tell about ourselves through our words. Lilian
Moore puts on a mask—or persona—to write "Mes-
sage from a Caterpillar."
Don't shake this

bough.
Don't try
to wake me
now.
In this cocoon
I've work to
do.
Inside this silk
I'm changing
things.
I'm worm-like now
but in this
dark
I'm growing
wings.
A Papago Indian poem uses an animal mask in "Song
of the Deer."
Here I come forth.
On the earth I fell over:
The snapping bow made me dizzy.
Here I come forth.
On the mountain I slipped:
The humming arrow made me dizzy.
Perhaps you imagine, as I do, that almost anything

can have a life of its own. When I visit Monterey,
California, I see a gnarled, windswept tree known
as the Monterey cypress. Once, looking at its strange,
tortured shape, I turned myself into the tree and
wrote
at whim of winds
my limbs are bent
to grotesque shape
by element
of ocean spray
and salty wind
and who may see
my bleached bole pinned
into the sand
shall
wonder
why
I
twist
alive
while
others
die
In this poem, called "Monterey Cypress: Pt. Lobos,"

I not only used a mask but tried to indicate the
shape of the cypress by the way the lines are placed.
"The Snowflake" by Walter de la Mare is one of
my favorite poems.
Before I melt,
Come, look at me!
This lovely icy filigree!
Of a great forest
In one night
I make a wilderness
Of white:
By skyey cold
Of crystals made,
All softly, on
Your finger laid,
I pause, that you
My beauty see:
Breathe, and I vanish
Instantly.
When I teach classes, I ask students to use the

mask, to pretend to be something else. Some like
to think of themselves as whirlwinds, tornadoes, or
strong mountains. Others choose to pretend they
are beautiful flowers. I will never forget one fifth-
grade boy who wrote of himself as a lonely root.
It was a very good poem, because he was indeed a
lonely person who chose the right inanimate object
to tell something about the way he felt.
The use of the mask can turn an ordinary sort
of statement into a wonderful poem. Imagine that
someone has decided to tell about a seashell and
writes
A sea-shell is washed up by the ocean.

No one picks it up, or listens to it.
No one hears its song.
How much more fascinating this is when GeoflFrey

Scott in his poem "Frutta di Mare (Fruits of the
Sea)" pretends he is a shell.
I am a sea-shell flung
Up from the ancient sea;
Now I lie here, among
Roots of a tamarisk tree;
No one listens to me.
I sing to myself all day

In a husky voice, quite low,
Things the great fishes say
And you most need to know;
All night I sing just so.
But lift me from the ground,

And hearken at my rim,
Only your sorrow's sound,
Amazed, perplexed and dim,
Comes coiling to the brim,
For what the wise whales ponder

Awaking from sleep,
The key to all your wonder,
The answers to the deep,
These to myself I keep.
Norma Farber has written poems in which she

pretends to b e a turtle or a caterpillar. Harry Behn
imagines himself as a river and Carl Sandburg be
comes a pumpkin. You will find many poems that
use this voice in anthologies, for poets never feel
too old to pretend.
Look around you and find something inanimate:
a chair, a table, perhaps a piece of fruit or some
food. You might want to be a baseball, a skateboard,
or a yo-yo. Think of what you might say if you could
talk, a question you might ask, or a secret you have
never told anyone before now. Like Lilian Moore's
caterpillar you may want to begin with a warning.
Or you might ask your reader to look at you before
you vanish like Walter de la Mare's snowflake. You
will find something in your own experience that
may suddenly ask you to give it life and a voice.
And of course you will!
Conversation
In addition to apostrophe and mask, the dramatic
voice often uses conversation. Heard as a dialogue
between two voices, it may remind us of listening
to a radio, attending the theater, or watching and
hearing several people speak on television. In this
old nursery rhyme
What's the news of the day,

Good neighbor, I pray?
They say the balloon
Is gone up to the moon.
there are two voices. The first clue is the use of

"good neighbor" in the second line, so we know
someone is speaking to a neighbor. The third and
fourth lines are the answer, which we also assume
to be that of the speaker's neighbor.
In "Vermont Conversation" Patricia Hubbell writes
"Good weather for hay."

"Yes, 'tis."
"Mighty bright day."
"That's true."
"Crops comin' on?"
"Yep. You?"
"Tol'rable; beans got the blight."
"Way o' the Lord."
"That's right."
Here are two voices, taking alternating lines. Patricia

Hubbell tells us in the title that this is taking place
in Vermont. A clue about the speakers occurs in
lines 5 and 7, when we learn that "crops" and "beans"
must identify them as farmers. In addition, the terse-
ness and spareness of the sentences remind us that
people in Vermont do not usually waste words.
Poets often clue us in. Here is John Drinkwater's
"Snail."
Snail upon the wall,

Have you got at all
Anything to tell
About your shell?
Only this, my child—
When the wind is wild,
Or when the sun is hot,
It's all I've got.
Not only the title but the first word in the poem
identifies that someone is speaking to a snail. In
the fourth line, when the snail answers, we learn
that the speaker is a "child."
One of my favorite conversation poems is "Old
Man Ocean" by Russell Hoban.
Old Man Ocean, how do you pound
Smooth glass rough, rough stones round?
Time and the tide and the wild waves rolling,
Night and the wind and the long gray dawn.
Old Man Ocean, what do you tell,
What do you sing in the empty shell?
Fog and the storm and the long bell tolling,
Bones in the deep and the brave men gone.
Here the ocean's reply is identified by the use of

italics and indentation, a technique that helps us to
read the poem easily.
One conversation poem I have written happened
because I remembered, from my junior high school
days when I studied journalism, the five rules of a
news story. One must always ask who, what, where,
when, and why. In the 1970's the government de-
cided to celebrate George Washington's birthday on
a day other than February 22, which bothered me
because I always think birthdays should be cele-
brated on the right day. So I imagined a conversation
with the "Father of Our Country" and called the
poem "Conversation with Washington."
They did it, George. They did it.

What?
They changed your birthday quite a lot.
How?
T h e Dramatic Voice 29
They moved it to another day.
Why?
So they could have more time to play.
Where?
At lakes or mountains, or just rest—
When?
Some time ago. They thought it best.
Who?
Your children, George. They thought that you

Would understand. (Most fathers do—)
Not all poems that use conversation are written

in the dramatic voice. Ralph Waldo Emerson begins
"Fable" with
The mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter, "Little Prig;"
Bun replied,
"You are doubtless big . . . "
George MacDonald's p o e m "The Wind and the

Moon" is another example of a poem using conversa-
tion.
Said the-Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out;

You stare
In the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about—
I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."
Yet both of these poems are narrative poems, intro-

duced by phrases that tell readers who or what is
speaking.
Dramatic conversational poems often allow us to
guess, almost as if we are reading a riddle, who
the speakers may be. This kind of conversational
poem may be a natural outgrowth of the use of
apostrophe, as if the poet is speaking to something
and then realizing that an answer is required. The
poem you choose to write might stop with the com-
ments or questions you have—or it might go on
to take the form of conversation. It is up to you to
decide which is the best!
Sound and
Rhyme
T
JLO MANY people rhyme is a necessary part of
poetry. To others it is an artificial way of writing.
Attitudes toward rhyme depend on how one thinks
about poetry, whether or not the music it creates
is pleasant or forced. A good rhyme, a repetition
of sounds, pleases us. It gives a certain order to
our thoughts and settles in the ears pleasantly. If
you believe, as I do, that music is an important part
of poetry, rhyme can be a wonderful tool. But used
poorly, rhyme is not only ridiculous but sometimes
keeps us from saying what we wish to say.
Once during a writing workshop I asked my stu-
dents to observe a tall black lamp in a garden and
write about it. One girl said this:
Lamps are on
Some stay on all night
for people to see
because they give off light
31
32 Sound and Rhyme
When you are alone
it keeps you capone
This use of rhyme is an example of how the reader

is cut off from knowing what the poet wants to say—
in this case, how the girl felt about being alone in
the dark. What she might have written is how she
felt when she was alone. Instead she made up a
word just for the sake of rhyme. This is a poor use
of rhyme.
Sometimes beginning writers use rhyme so often
that it ceases to be meaningful and just becomes
boring.
Love is nice
and so are mice
I like rice
and I like spice
I like ice
and I like dice . . .
Long ago I wrote a poem about roller-skating.

Thinking of how smoothly I skated down a hilly
street when I was ten years old, I tried to catch
the rhythm and the constant downward motion by
using a falling rhythm and rhyme in "Skating
Song."
Sound and Rhyme 33
Never stopping
Once you've gone,
Never looking
At the lawn,
Whizzing down
From crack to crack,
April whistling
At your back.
Spinning wheels
On bumpy ground,
Sidewalks sing
A hollow sound.
Over stones and twigs and holes,
Over mud and sticks and poles,
Past the houses,
Past the trees,
Swinging arms and bending knees,
Past the fence posts,
Past the gates,
Here we come
On roller skates.
One day, however, when I watched my young

daughter trying to learn how to roller-skate, I wrote
"74th Street":
Hey, this little kid gets roller skates.

She puts them on.
She stands up and almost
34 Sound and Rhyme
flops over backwards.
She sticks out a foot like
she's going somewhere and
falls down and
smacks her hand. She
grabs hold of a step to get up and
sticks out the other foot and
slides about six inches and
falls and
skins her knee.
And then, you know what?
She brushes off the dirt and the

blood and puts some
spit on it and then
sticks out the other foot
again.
My daughter starting, then falling, then starting again

with many kinds of movements inspired a different
sort of poem. I tried to catch her irregular movements
in the irregular sounds and meter of the poem. The
words, the sound of them, needed to fit the content
of what they said.
Some writers use rhyme more easily than others;
their patterns flow naturally into its use. Others find
it difficult. But a well-done rhyme adds a musical
Sound and Rhyme 35
appeal to a poem. Rhyme also helps us remember
a poem more easily.
Rhyming patterns in poetry form into groups that
we call stanzas. Sometimes one stanza can be an
entire poem, as in "Discovery."
Round and round and round I spin,

Making a circle so I can fall in.
A stanza may have two, three, four, five, six, seven,

eight, or nine lines or even more. There are two
stanzas in Christina Rossetti's poem
The horses of the sea

Rear a foaming crest,
But the horses of the land
Serve us the best.
The horses of the land
Munch corn and clover,
While the foaming sea-horses
Toss and turn over.
Some poets always write in stanzas. Others put

their stanzas together. How this is decided depends
on the sense of the poem and what is being said.
In "Skating Song" all the stanzas are together because
36 Sound and Rhyme
when people are skating, they are not likely to stop
once they have built up the momentum of going
down a hill.
Stanzas have special names, depending on the
number of lines.
Two lines Couplet

Three lines Tercet
Four lines Quatrain
Five lines Quintet
Six lines Sestet
Seven lines Septet
Eight lines Octave
A stanza of nine lines or more is known simply as

a nine-line stanza, a ten-line stanza, and so on.
Longer stanzas, as you will learn, are made up
of variations on couplets, tercets, and quatrains.
These three are often called the "building blocks"
of poetry, so it is important to understand how they
work.
It would be a good idea to start with the couplet,
then go on to the tercet and quatrain. In my classes
we spend a week or two learning each stanza form
before going on to the next. Writing poems in a
form over and over helps students to learn that pat-
tern so well that they never forget it.
Sound and Rhyme 37
You can set your own timetable, and when you're
certain you know a pattern, begin a new one—all
the way from two lines up to nine or ten or twelve
or fourteen or even more!
COUPLETS, TERCETS, AND
QUATRAINS
The couplet is not only one of the oldest rhyming

forms but one that pleases the ear. We write a line
"One, two" and immediately search for a rhythm
and sound to balance our words. "Buckle my shoe."
We say "Rain, rain, go away" and are satisfied when
we complete both the image and the pattern with
"Come again another day."
A couplet is two lines that rhyme, one after the
other, usually equal in length. Sometimes a couplet
can be a complete poem, as in William Jay Smith's
"The Mirror."
I look in the Mirror, and what do I see?

A little of you, and a lot of me!
When one couplet makes a complete poem, it is

called a closed couplet.
Often we find poems that use two couplets, one
following the other. In his book Opposites Richard
Wilbur writes
38
Couplets, Tercets, and Quatrains 39
The opposite of doughnut? Wait
A minute while I meditate.
This isn't easy. Ah, I've found it!
A cookie with a hole around it.
John Ciardi in "It Makes No Difference to Me"

uses three couplets.
I climbed a mountain three feet high

And banged my head against the sky.
"Watch out!" my sister's brother said.
"You climb that high, you'll lose your head!"
I didn't care. Mine is no use
To anyone. What's your excuse?
Just as couplets are groups of two lines that rhyme

with each other, the tercet is a group of three lines
that may be put together in varying patterns.
The first of these is a form that uses only one
end sound, as Ogden Nash does in "The Eel."
I don't mind eels

Except as meals
And the way they feels.
Tercets that use only one end rhyme sound are called
triplets.
40 Sound and Rhyme
In her poem "Firefly" Elizabeth Madox Roberts
writes
A little light is going by,

Is going up to see the sky,
A little light with wings.
I never could have thought of it,
To have a little bug all lit
And made to go on wings.
Here there are two rhyming patterns (by/sky and

it/lit) with the word "wings" repeated in both stanzas
to hold the tercet together. Another tercet pattern
is found in David McCord's "This Is My Rock."
This is my rock,
And here I run
To steal the secret of the sun;
This is my rock
And here come I
Before the night has swept the sky;
This is my rock,
This is the place
I meet the evening face to face.
Here the second and third lines in each stanza rhyme.

Sometimes tercets are written so that the first and
third lines rhyme. David McCord begins his poem
"Father and I in the Woods" with the stanza
"Son,"
My father used to say,
"Don't run."
Of all the rhyming forms in poetry the quatrain

is probably the most widely used. Quatrain takes
its name from the French for "four," quatre. This
stanza is made up of four lines and comes in many
different patterns.
Most often a quatrain will rhyme the second line
with the fourth, as in the old verse
As I was standing in the street,

As quiet as could be,
A great big ugly man came up
And tied his horse to me.
Another popular form is the use of two couplets,

one after the other, as Lucille Clifton writes in "July."
Everett Anderson thinks he'll make

America a birthday cake
Only the sugar's almost gone
and payday's not till later on.
42 Sound and Rhyme
A more difficult but common form is one in which
both the first and third lines and the second and
fourth lines rhyme. This pattern is found in Lewis
Carroll's "Father William," which begins
"You are old, Father William," the young man said,

"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
Here the rhymes said/head, white/right, son/none,

and brain/again add to the musical appeal of the
verses.
Still another quatrain pattern can be found in Shel
Silverstein's "The Flying Festoon."
Oh, I'm going to ride on the Flying Festoon—

I'll jump on his back and I'll whistle a tune,
And we'll fly to the outermost tip of the moon,
The Flying Festoon and I.
I'm taking a sandwich, and ball and a prune,
And we're leaving this evening precisely at noon,
For I'm going to fly with The Flying Festoon . . .
Just as soon as he learns how to fly.
Another pattern is found in this old nursery rhyme:
Cock a doodle do!

My dame has lost her shoe,
My master's lost his fiddlestick
And knows not what to do.
The only line that does not rhyme here is the third.
Still another way to write a quatrain can be seen
in Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Kraken."
About his shadowy sides: above him swell

Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell.
Two rhyming lines surrounded by two other rhyming

lines, as though they were enclosed, is called enve-
lope verse.
Couplets, tercets, and quatrains have many varia-
tions and may be used by themselves, or may be
put together in other combinations to make longer
poems. This variety of patterns allows poets to find
the best way for them to express what they would
like to say in their poems.
LONGER STANZAS
Once you've learned to write couplets, tercets,

and quatrains, you may wish to try poems with longer
stanzas of five, six, seven, eight, or even more lines.
There are many of these patterns, and some with
special names.
In the quintet, or five-line stanza, you might try
starting with a couplet and then adding a tercet,
just as David McCord does in his poem "Cocoon."
The little caterpillar creeps

Awhile before in silk it sleeps.
It sleeps awhile before it flies,
And flies awhile before it dies,
And that's the end of three good tries.
Next you might try reversing the pattern, using

the tercet first with the couplet following. Emily Dick-
inson wrote
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,

One clover and one bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.
44
Longer Stanzas 45
Six-line stanzas, or sestets, can be made up of three
couplets, a couplet and a quatrain, two tercets, or
other patterns. You may wish to start with succes-
sive couplets, as in Theodore Roethke's "The Ceil-
ing."
Suppose the Ceiling went Outside

And then caught Cold and Up and Died?
The only Thing we'd have for Proof
That he was Gone, would be the Roof;
I think it would be most Revealing
To find out how the Ceiling's Feeling.
Russell Hoban has two tercets in "The Crow."
Flying loose and easy, where does he go

Swaggering in the sky, what does he know,
Why is he laughing, the carrion crow?
Why is he shouting, why won't he sing,
How did he steal them, whom will he bring
Loaves of blue heaven under each wing?
You might also begin your sestet with a quatrain

and end with a couplet, or try a form of envelope
verse where the first and sixth lines rhyme, the sec-
ond and fifth lines rhyme, and the third and fourth
lines rhyme. Here is the beginning of "The
Turtle":
46 S o u n d a n d Rhyme
We found him down at Turtle Creek,
Reached in the water and pulled him out,
His back all sticky with muck and slime.
We didn't take him home that time
But Saturday he was still about
So we brought him home. It's been a week. . . .
Seven-line stanzas, called septets, can be made up

of quatrains and tercets, while eight-line stanzas, oc-
taves, might be four couplets, or two tercets and a
couplet, or two quatrains. You might also want to
try using a couplet at the beginning and one at the
end with a quatrain in the middle.
For longer stanzas you can follow any pattern you
like. In his poem "Camel," William Jay Smith writes
The Camel is a long-legged humpbacked beast

With the crumpled-up look of an old worn shoe.
He walks with a creep and a slouch and a slump
As over the desert he carries his hump
Like a top-heavy ship, like a bumper bump-bump.
See him plodding in caravans out of the East,
Bringing silk for a party and dates for a feast.
Is he tired? Is he thirsty? No, not in the least.
Good morning, Sir Camel! Good morning to you!
The pattern of this poem, William Jay Smith explains,

just happened because of the thoughts that went
through his head. After writing the first two lines
to explain how the camel looks, he began to describe
Longer Stanzas 47
its movements, and the idea of "hump" carried over
to the movement "bump-bump." Then to explain
further about the locale of the "East" and what he
brought, he carried on the rhyme for another two
lines, ending with not only the actual confrontation
of meeting a camel but also what he might say to
him. Listening to his poem, we hear that he could
not leave the sound of the second line in the air,
and so he rhymed shoe and you, which not only
completes the sense but satisfies the ear.
This is another example of how a poem means,
and what helps us, when we are writing poetry, to
know what to do. We do not often say that we are
setting about to write three tercets or two quatrains.
The subject of the poem offers us new ways to write,
and we experiment with the forms.
Remember that often the same end-rhyme sound
can be used in every line, or each few lines may
have a different end sound. You may want to try
some of the patterns mentioned or make up your
own patterns. Notice when you are reading poetry
how poets put their stanzas together. Sometimes
you may wish to imitate their patterns, for when
we begin anything, we learn through imitation. Later
on we feel confident enough to experiment.
Most important, you'll find that sometimes the
idea, the thought you have, leads you into a pattern
without your choosing it beforehand. This is part
48 Sound and Rhyme
of the surprise and excitement of making a poem.
Sometimes when I get an idea, I quickly write
down all my thoughts and even some lines or
phrases. When I put these together, I recognize
where my patterns or lines have gone off—why it
doesn't look or sound right. If you've learned the
basic patterns—the couplet, tercet, and quatrain—
you will be able to do this too.
THE BALLAD
If you enjoy listening to rousing stories told in

verse (and most people do), you'll want to know
more about ballads. Folk ballads are the oldest type
of poetry we know. Long before radio, television,
or movies, in days when most people didn't know
how to read, wandering storytellers would bring
the news in rhyme and verse. Often ballads were
set to music and sung.
Originally ballads were not written down, but
passed from one person to another, one generation
to the next, through oral tradition. Later they were
collected and are still collected by scholars who
write them down or record them.
Many versions are to be found of the same ballad.
Each time a ballad was sung or recited, it changed
according to what someone remembered of it. The
first time I heard the ballad "John Henry," it began
John Henry was a little baby,

Sitting on his mama's knee,
Said, "The Big Bend Tunnel on the C. & O. Road
Is gonna be the death of me,
Lawd, gonna be the death of me."
49
50 Sound and Rhyme
Later I heard this beginning:
When John Henry was a little babe,

A-holding to his daddy's hand,
Says, "If I live till I'm twenty-one,
I'm going to make a steel-driving man, yes sir,
Going to make a steel-driving man."
Perhaps you know still another version, for all ballads

are repeated in different ways. The oldest told tales
of brave exploits, of love and death, of dark events,
heroes and villains. Today many of our pop and
country singers sing of current events, which they
weave into stories.
Most ballads are anonymous: We do not know
who wrote them. "The Fox" is such an American
ballad.
The fox went out on a chilly night,

Prayed to the moon for to give him light,
For he'd many a mile to go that night
Afore he reached the town-o.
He ran till he came to a great big bin;

The ducks and the geese were put therein.
"A couple of you will grease my chin,
Afore I leave this town-o."
The Ballad 51
He grabbed the gray goose by the neck,
Throwed a duck across his back;
He didn't mind the "quack, quack, quack"
And the legs a-dangling down-o.
Then old mother Flipper-Flopper jumped out of bed,
Out of the window she stuck her head,
Crying "John! John! The gray goose is gone
And the fox is on the town-o!"
Then John, he went to the top of the hill,
Blowed his horn both loud and shrill;
The fox, he said, "I better flee with my kill
Or they'll soon be on my trail-o."
He ran till he came to his cozy den,
There were the little ones, eight, nine, ten.
They said, "Daddy, better go back again,
'Cause it must be a mighty fine town-o."
Then the fox and his wife without any strife,
Cut up the goose with a fork and a knife;
They never had such a supper in their life
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o.
A ballad has certain recognizable features. It de-

scribes some dramatic event, almost rushing through
the story without attention to settings or detail. Action
is important and is told in simple, direct, nonfigura-
tive language. The true ballad stanza follows a simple
quatrain pattern. Often there is a repetitive refrain.
52 Sound and Rhyme
In America, ballads have been composed about
cowboys, railroad men, miners, sailors, war, disas-
ters, and national and folk heroes. Most of us know
ballads like '1 Ride An Old Paint" or "Clementine"
or "Yankee Doodle." Each of these ballads tells a
specific story about some event or person.
You might wish to write a ballad telling about
some occurrence in your own life or that of your
family. If you sign it, however, you will be writing
a literary ballad, which is often an imitation of the
old anonymous form. John Keats did this when he
wrote "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." Other sophisti-
cated literary ballads have been written by Elizabeth
Bishop in "The Ballad of the Burglar of Babylon"
and Samuel Taylor Coleridge in "The Rime of the
Ancient Mariner." There are many excellent antholo-
gies with ballads you might enjoy reading.
It's a good idea to start with the quatrain stanza
and then move on later to a more complicated form.
You'll want to make sure that your ballad tells an
exciting or interesting story. Perhaps there is some
historical event in social studies that you could de-
velop, such as the story of the Boston Tea Party,
the voyages of Columbus, or a battle. You might
also find a newspaper story that interests you. Once
you obtain all the facts and write your ballad, you
may wish to set it to music and perform it for your
family and friends.
Other Elements
of Sound
REPETITION
A
XAJSfOTHER WAY in which sound works to hold
a poem together is by the use of repetition. When
rhyme or a strict metrical pattern is not used, a
group of words may sound more like prose. Repeti-
tion—a word or phrase used several or even many
times—helps to create a music. This does not mean
that saying something over and over again will make
a poem, but rather that a careful choice of words or
phrases establishes a pattern that appeals to our ears.
In his "Poem" Langston Hughes writes
I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
That's all there is to say.
The poem ends
Soft as it began.
I loved my friend.
53
54 Other Elements of Sound
Here the first line "I loved my friend" repeated at
the end not only ties the poem together but also
emphasizes Hughes's love for his friend.
American Indian poetry uses a great deal of repeti-
tion. This Cherokee Indian poem, "Beware of Me!,"
relies on the use of repeated phrases for its rhythm,
sense, and humor.
i stand on the rock

ho, bear!
beware of me!
i stand on the tree
ho, eagle!
beware of me!
i stand on the mountain
ho, enemy!
beware of me!
i stand in the camp
ho, chiefs!
beware of me!
here comes a bee!
i run and hide!
he would sting me!
Phrases like "i stand on the" and "ho" both serve

as pleasant repetitive and familiar patterns. The warn-
ing "beware of me!" repeated four times emphasizes
Repetition 55
the bravery that the speaker is supposedly feeling,
shattered by the last stanza. Here repetition serves
an important function by establishing the nature of
the speaker's cowardly nature.
In her poem "The Song in My Head" Felice Hol-
man writes
The song in my head

The song in my head
goes over
goes over
and over
Sing me another
Sing me another
Sing me a song that will drive this one out
drive this one out
drive this one out. . . .
It is obvious here that repetition emphasizes what

happens when we cannot get a tune out of our heads.
The poet shows us how the song won't leave by
imitating the maddening repetition all of us feel
when this happens to us. Felice Holman does more
than tell us, she shows us!
Oftentimes repetition is used as a musical phrase,
to help us remember. This is particularly true in
ballads that were not written down but passed from
singer to singer. Repeating certain lines also empha-
sizes important actions of the story. Here is the begin-
ning of "Waltzing Matilda."
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong

Under the shade of a coolibah tree.
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled:
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me!"
Chorus:
Waltzing, Matilda, waltzing, Matilda,
You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
Down came a jumbuck to drink at the billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck in his tucker
bag:
Lines repeated in the same way are called refrains,

while lines that change a word or two are called
incremental refrains. Here "You'll come a-waltzing,
Matilda, with me" is a refrain, while the lines "And
he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled"
changing to "And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck
in his tucker bag" are incremental refrains.
There are many ways you can begin to use repeti-
tion. First try using one line that is repeated both
at the beginning and the end of a poem. Then write
Repetition 57
a poem with the same line beginning each stanza.
Next think of a phrase that might be worth repeating
to your reader, something you want remembered,
and use it two or three times. You won't want to
use it too many times or it will begin to lose its
meaning or become boring.
Always be sure that whatever you choose is worth
repeating. If you use an unimportant set of words
or phrases that have no real purpose to the meaning
of what you are writing, your reader will become
weary of hearing the phrase over and over.
Repetition can serve you best as a meaningful
way of providing sound and thought patterns where
there is no end rhyme. It also lends emphasis to
what you wish to say. It can hold a poem together
when used well. Used poorly it will make your read-
ers yawn!
ALLITERATION AND ONOMATOPOEIA
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper;

A peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked;
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper,
Where's the peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked?
It would be difficult to imagine anyone who has

not heard this nursery rhyme or tried to say it! I've
recently learned that it can be a wonderful cure
for the hiccups, if you can say it three times in just
one breath! (You might want to try it the next time
you have a case of hiccups.)
What you may not know is that this verse is a
good example of alliteration, the constant repeating
of the same letter at the beginning of a succession
of words. The same thing happens in this verse:
Betty Baker bought some butter,

"But," said she, "this butter's bitter.
If I put it in my batter,
It will make my batter bitter."
So she bought some better butter,
Butter that was not so bitter,
Put this butter in her batter,
Thus she made the batter better.
58
Alliteration and Onomatopoeia 59
There is something about the sort of alliteration
we hear in Peter Piper, Betty Baker, the song "She
sells seashells by the seashore," or a circus ringmas-
ter who tells us about "the amazing, astounding antics
of the aerial acrobats" that has a touch of humor.
Perhaps it is the overuse of the same letter that
makes us smile. We become used to using alliteration
in our lives, when a house is "spick and span" or
the world looks "dark and dreary" or someone seems
"hale and hearty." Shel Silverstein's "Sarah Cynthia
Sylvia Stout" or "Jimmy Jet" alert us to the possibility
of humor in the very alliterative sounds of the name.
Jack Prelutsky uses a great deal of alliteration in
"The Lurpp Is On The Loose."
Oh the lurpp is on the loose, the loose,

the lurpp is on the loose.
It caused a fretful, frightful fuss
when it swallowed a ship and ate a bus,
and now it's after all of us,
oh the lurpp is on the loose.
Notice the alliterative /—lurpp, loose, loose, lurpp,

and loose—used five times in the first two lines.
In the third line "fretful, frightful fuss" plays on the
letters/and /, and in line 4 "swallowed a ship" is
an alliterative use of the s (repeated again in the
word "bus").
In "Flonster Poem" Jack Prelutsky invents crea-
tures called, respectively, flime, floober, flummie,
fleemie, fleener, floodoo, flink, flibble, flone, floath,
and flakker. In the poem "Four Foolish Ladies" he
writes about "Hattie and Harriet, Hope and Hor-
tense." "Poor Old Penelope" begins
Poor old Penelope,

great are her woes,
a pumpkin has started
to grow from her nose.
"My goodness," she warbles,
"this makes me so glum,
I'm perfectly certain
I planted a plum."
Read this aloud to capture the humor that the re-

peated alliterative sound of the letter/? creates.
If you are very curious about proper terms, allitera-
tion that begins a word is called initial alliteration.
But not all alliteration is humorous, and not all occurs
at the beginning of a word. Hidden or internal alliter-
ation lurks within words. In the line
great are her woes
we see an example of hidden alliteration, the repeti-

tion of the sound of r within the words. You can-
not rely on your eyes to tell about hidden allitera-
tion however. You must always listen for the
sound.
For a further example of alliteration used more
seriously, read Tennyson's song on page 69. You
may be a long way off from even wanting to try
this, because it is difficult. But the more you write,
the more you may wish to consider trying this ele-
ment of sound.
Another element of sound is called onomatopoeia.
(It took me many years to learn to spell this word
without looking in a dictionary!) Onomatopoeia is
using words or creating phrases of words that seem
to imitate sounds. You can probably think of many
of these—bang, hiss, scratch, zoom, ding-dong,
crunch, and, of course, the word "buzz."
In her poem "Bandit Bee" Norma Farber writes
A bee put on a zephyr,

and wore it as a boot,
then boldly made
a bee-line raid
on banks of honey-loot.
Here Norma Farber is concerned with the idea of

a bee, as bandit, looting the flowers for honey. She
is not concerned with the sound of bees. In my
haiku
Who has the better
right to smell the first summer
rose, bee—you or I?
I am occupied with the idea of my own rights over

the bee's rights, not the sound.
Edward Lear tells us in a limerick
There was an Old Man in a tree,

Who was horribly bored by a Bee;
When they said, "Does it buzz?"
He replied, "Yes, it does!
It's a regular brute of a Bee."
Here the use of the word "buzz" rhyming with "does"

gives somewhat the idea of sound, but Lear's intent
is to be humorous rather than onomatopoetic.
In his poem "The Bees' Song" Walter de la Mare
writes many lines intent on creating an onomato-
poetic sound—that of bees buzzing.
Thousandz of thornz there be

On the Rozez where gozez
The Zebra of Zee . . .
Heavy with blossomz be
The Rozez that growzez
In the thickets of Zee.
Where grazez the Zebra . . .
And he nozez the poziez
Of the Rozez that growzez . . .
Walter de la Mare is building up with his words,

with his use of the sound of the letter z, an imitation
of the sound of bees.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson in "Come down, O maid"
also uses onomatopoeia to create the undercurrent
of sound that many bees make in his line
And murmuring of innumerable bees
Another instance of onomatopoeia is found in Eve

Merriam's words for the cat on page 77.
You may wish to try using onomatopoeia in a
poem that has need for imitation of sound, but ono-
matopoetic words in themselves are limited. Merely
writing the word "buzz" may help a bit, but it is
through alliteration, consonance, assonance, metrical
rhythms, and even rhyme that the best onomato-
poetic sound—or sound of any sort—is created.
These types of sounds are discussed in the next
chapter.
OFF RHYME, CONSONANCE, AND
ASSONANCE
If rhyme is important to you, it is probably because

you are becoming aware that it can contribute a
great deal to the sound of a poem, giving the idea
greater meaning.
What most people think of as rhyme is end rhyme,
the sounds that agree at the end of the line. We
don't know why young children—or even why we—
search for rhymes or even make up words (like
alone/capone) in order to complete a rhyming
sound. We do know that it seems to give us balance
and please the ear. Some people believe that rhymes
help us to remember a verse or poem. Others feel
that rhyme contributes a sort of magic that engages
our whole being, a sort of mesmerizing spell weaving
words and sound together.
So far we've been concerned with end rhyme
(see/me, high/sky, play/day, low/slow, blew/you).
These are perfect rhymes, sometimes called com-
plete rhymes, full rhymes, true rhymes, or exact
rhymes. You can use any one of these terms.
Sometimes, however, words are used that have
64
Off Rhyme, Consonance and Assonance 65
no perfect rhyme. "There is no rhyme for silver,"
Eve Merriam says in her poem. It is then that we
may wish to use what is sometimes called off rhyme
but can also be called half rhyme, near rhyme, imper-
fect rhyme, partial rhyme, or slant rhyme. Any of
these terms mean the same.
Off rhyme, used at the end of a line, usually carries
the same basic sound. The words have vowels or
consonants in common, which the ear accepts as
near rhyming. In her poem "Charles" Gwendolyn
Brooks writes
Sick-times, you go inside yourself,

And scarce can come away.
You sit and look outside yourself
At people passing by.
Because Charles is not happy, Gwendolyn Brooks

seems to emphasize the feeling by using off rhyme.
Certainly she might have found a rhyme for the
word away. There are many rhyming words that
end in the a or ay sound. But to ask "How does a
poem mean?" is to consider that even a choice of
an off rhyme reinforces the idea of Charles's "sick-
times."
I suggest this because in my poem "Daddy" I
decided, because of the sad subject matter, to do
this very thing.
only know I loved you
Daddy
watched you
hoping someday
maybe
me and you'd
do things real
crazy
always hoped
you'd call me
baby—
didn't see
that things were
shabby
couldn't tell
things went so
badly
never knew
you were
unhappy
only knew I loved you
Daddy
Although maybe and baby are perfect rhymes, the

others (Daddy, crazy, shabby, badly, unhappy) have
only the y (or e) sound in common. The rest of
the words express how the speaker feels, but jar
against each other much as the speaker is jarred.
William Blake may have done this very thing when
he wrote about "The Little Boy Lost."
"Father! father! where are you going?

"O do not walk so fast.
"Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
"Or else I shall be lost."
Blake was a fine poet and could certainly have found

a rhyme for the word fast (blast, cast, mast, past or
passed, and others). But perhaps he wanted to im-
press upon his readers the disorientation of a boy
being separated from his father.
Perhaps you've noticed that the words fast and
lost have two letters in common, the st. When conso-
nants like this agree, not only as end rhymes but
in all of our writing, we call this consonance.
Emily Dickinson uses off rhyme with consonance
in a great many of her poems. She begins "A Narrow
Fellow in the Grass" with
A narrow fellow in the grass

Occasionally rides;
You may have met him,—did you not,
His notice sudden is.
Here the 5 sound is one of consonance. None of

the other letters have anything in common. Even
the pronunciation or sound of the / in rides and
the sound of i in is differs. In another poem she
writes
When I have seen the sun emerge

From his amazing house
And leave a day at every door,
A deed in every place . . .
Again we see that because the c and the s in the

words house and place sound alike, although they
are not the same letter, we have a good example
of consonance.
Sometimes, however, a rhyme is made by the use
of vowel agreement. This was true in "Charles" and
"Daddy," where the y (pronounced like an e) is
repeated. Eve Merriam's "Sunset" begins with these
lines:
Yellow and pink as a peach

left to ripen on the tree
The sound of e in peach and tree forces us to hear

this as a rhyme. Rhyme made by the use of vowels
is called assonance.
Consonance and assonance are used not only for
end rhymes but for creating effects in poems. Some-
times they are used together with rhyme to create
a totally splendid orchestra of sound. Alfred, Lord
Tennyson uses all sorts of sound patterns in this
song:
The splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,

And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
Tennyson uses not only exact end rhyme in this

poem (story/glory, flying/dying, going/blowing, re-
plying/dying) but off rhyme as well. In the second
stanza lines 1 and 3, you will see consonance in
the use of the r in clear and scar. There is a great
deal of assonance in the line.
where the sound of the long o is heard three times.

In addition you will find another use of sound
by the repetition used in the last two lines of each
stanza. And you will also hear and see that Tennyson
uses another form of rhyme, internal rhyme, in all
three stanzas:
The splendor falls on castle walls

The long light shakes across the lakes,
O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
O, sweet and far from cliflF and scar
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
Notice howfalls rhymes with walls, shakes with lakes,

hear with clear, far with scar, die with sky, and roll
with soul.
As if this were not enough, Tennyson uses yet
another sound pattern, that of alliteration. Notice
splendor, snoivy, summits, and story in the first two
lines; long light, lakes, and leaps in the next two
lines. You may search for other examples if you
like!
Shakespeare has used the same kind of internal
and end rhyme and alliteration in Macbeth.
Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Not only is there end rhyme, trouble and bubble,

but there is internal rhyme, double and trouble. No-
tice also the alliteration in toil and trouble.
Perhaps through looking at these poems and learn-
ing more about rhyme and sound (although there
is still much I have not told you about), you will
begin to understand that there is a great difference
between the finest poetry and greeting-card verse.
Versifiers (those who write lines that rhyme) do
not bother to learn all of the effects of sound, nor
the importance of figures of speech (which will be
explained in later chapters). When you read poems
or verses in anthologies, you will begin to notice
how sound and fresh language as well as rhythm
contribute to the meaning of a poem.
Meanwhile you can practice using some of these
elements in sound. Try writing poems using off
rhyme; experiment with consonance and assonance;
try writing a few lines using internal rhyme with
or without end rhyme. Although it may seem like
a great deal to learn, you will begin to understand
it with practice.
Rhythm and
Metrics
A VHYTHM is an important part of our lives. We
feel our hearts beat in a steady rhythm. We walk,
run, jump rope, and dance in measured pattern. A
leaky faucet drips and a telephone rings in rhythm.
If these patterns are disturbed, it makes us feel off-
balance.
Some people seem to have a better sense of
rhythm than others. They are bothered if words do
not flow smoothly. Others may have to work harder
to sense the beat of a line of poetry. Others never
seem to mind if the rhythm is erratic.
Traditionally English poetry was written for many
centuries in a measured cadence that we call meter
or metrics. This meter is made up of poetic units
called feet. The most common of these feet are the
iamb, the trochee, the anapest, and the dactyl. Learn-
ing about these feet enables poets to control the
cadence of words, to recognize that meter can help
the words to convey a particular mood.
Yet those who never stray from perfect meter are
72
apt to write singsong verse, the sort of predictable
messages we find in greeting cards. What we hope
for, in writing our own poetry, is to learn the rules
first before we decide to break them for a special
effect. Careful craftsmanship honors the feeling we
are trying to convey through our words, yet the
poet's thoughts should not become crushed under
dull attention to metrics at the expense of our real
feelings or image. It is a sort of balancing act in
which we continually go back to our question How
does a poem mean?
The iamb is the most common foot in English
poetry. It is made up of two syllables with a stress,
or accent, on the second syllable. A word like today
and a name like Marie are iambic words (today w '
Marie w ' ) .
Here a short unaccented syllable ( w ) is followed
by a longer or stressed syllable (').
Sometimes the entire foot is one word but at other
times it is made up of two words, as in the beginning
of Valerie Worth's poem "Clock." Notice how we
naturally put the accent on the second word:
This clock
Has stopped,
w /
Some gear
Or spring
w /
Gone wrong . . .
74 Rhythm and Metrics
Lilian Moore uses the same pattern in the beginning
of her poem "While You Were Chasing a Hat."
The wind
that whirled
your hat
away. . .
Sometimes there will be two iambs in a line. Aileen

Fisher's "My Cat and I" begins
When I I flop down

to take I a rest
my cat | jumps up
upon | my chest.
In "Whistles" Rachel Field uses three iambs:
I ne|ver e|ven hear

The boats | that pass | by day;
By night | they seem | so near,
A-whis|tling down | the bay . . .
And Ogden Nash in "Between Birthdays" uses four

iambs:
My birth|days take | so long | to start

They come | along | a year | apart.
The anapest, like the iamb, is a rising foot. It
has two unaccented or unstressed syllables followed
by a stressed syllable and is used in the limerick
and humorous verse because it sounds so playful.
If you use anapests long enough, your heartbeat
will actually speed up!
A word like disagree ( ~ w ) and a name like Mari-
anne ( w w ) are anapests, but most often it takes
two or three words to form an anapestic foot; in
the woods ( w w ) , at the door ( w w ) are anapestic.
Here the accent is put on the last word.
Most everyone will recognize the anapestic beat
of Clement Clarke Moore's "A Visit from St. Nicholas."
w w / w w / w
'Twas the night | before Christ|mas,
w / . w w /
when all | through the house
W W / W w / . W
Not a crea|ture was stir|ring,

w / w w /
not e|ven a mouse;
In this verse only two anapests are used:

W W f W W /
When he went | to the house,

w w /• w w /
And he knocked | on the door—
Shel Silverstein uses three anapests in "The Man
in the Iron Pail Mask."
w w r . w w . / . w w /
He's the man | in the i|ron pail mask,
w w r . w w y w w /
He can do | the most dif |ficult task . . .

Anapests are most important to know about when
you want to write a limerick!
The trochee is a falling foot, with the accent on
the first syllable followed by an unaccented beat.
Sunny is a trochaic word (sunny ' w ) and Richard
( r w ) is a trochaic name. Henry Wadsworth Longfel-
low's The Song of Hiawatha is written entirely in
trochees.
By the | shores of | Gitche | Gumee,

By the | shining | Big-Sea-|Water,
Stood the I wigwam | of No|komis,
Daughter | of the | moon, No|komis . . .
Almost every line of this poem, over 5,600 lines, is

written in the meter of the Finnish epic the Kalevala,
with four trochees to each line (wwww), if you read
this poem, it becomes almost like a drumbeat in
your head. Other poets employ the trochee in smaller
doses. David McCord tells about "Marty's Party" with
two trochees in a line.
Marty's | party?
Jamie | came. He
• w t w
seemed to | Judy
dreadful | rude. He
joggled I Davy,
spilled his | gravy,
squeezed a | melon
seed at Helen . . .
X. J. Kennedy uses trochaic patterns in many of his
poems in Brats.
Playing | soccer, | Plato | Foley

Kicked a | wasp s nest | past the | goalie.
Soon the | whole crowd | jumped up | roaring
When those | winged things | started scoring.
Eve Merriam uses trochees to begin her poem "Ae-

lourophobe"—a good word for someone who has
a morbid fear of cats. With its accent on the first
beat, the trochee seems to mimic the adjectives she
finds for cats.
Tom or | tabby
snarling | grabby
hisser | pouncer
/ w . • w
flouter I flouncer
Another falling foot is the dactyl. Elephant ' w w )

is a dactylic word; Jennifer is a dactylic name (' w w ).
Notice how we accent the first syllable of both words
as we read or speak and leave the last two syllables
unstressed.
It is unlikely that you would ever write a poem
entirely in dactyls. Longfellow used it in "Evange-
line."
This is the [forest pri\meval. The \ murmuring
I pines and the \ hemlocks
• W W y Si/ W . / W X
Bearded with \ moss, and in | garments | green,

indis\tinct in the \ twilight. . .
Here the dactyls sound heavy and ponderous and

are usually combined with the trochee, as in Robert
Louis Stevenson's "Nest Eggs."
Birds all the | sunny day

Flutter and | quarrel
/ w sy . r w w
Here in the | arbour-like

Tent of the | laurel.
Stevenson uses both trochee and dactyl to create a

feeling of urgency and speed in "From a Railway
Carriage."
Faster than | fairies, | faster than | witches,

• w w . S sy . S w w . s w
Bridges and | houses, | hedges and | ditches . . .
A sense of mystery pervades Christina Rossetti's

"Goblin Market" as she weaves dactyls and trochees
together in varying combinations:
/• w w . / w
Morning and | evening

• w w x w w
Maids heard the | goblins cry
/ w w • w w
"Come buy our | orchard fruits,

/ w . • w
Come buy, | come buy:

• w w . • w
Apples and | quinces,
/ W W . ./ W W
Lemons and | oranges

• W W • w
Plump unpecked | cherries,

/ w w . • w w
Melons and | raspberries . . .

As you begin to learn about metrical feet, it is
good to remember that the rising feet, the iamb
and the anapest, go well together, as do the falling
feet, the trochee and the dactyl. If you have heard
a verse that doesn't "sound right," it is usually be-
cause the writer has been careless in putting the
feet together!
Of course you can write poetry without learning
metrics, but people who do learn about them always
find that the patterns they create add a great deal
to the feeling and mood of their poems. And then
they want to go on and learn about all the other
feet!
Figures of Speech
o NE OF THE differences between pleasant

verse and fine poetry is the way in which the poet,
unlike the writer of greeting cards, uses figures of
speech.
In rhymed verse, the sentiments we buy or may
even write ourselves to honor someone on a birth-
day, we are concerned with meter and rhyme and
message. We seldom think about other elements.
The rhyme itself usually has a singsong quality. It
is always perfect, not straying from the beat. It ex-
presses a sentiment such as "I like you" or "I miss
you" or "Happy Birthday" or "Get Well." That is
its purpose.
The purpose of poetry is not to give a message,
but to ask the reader to discover how the poem
may be meaningful. We do not tell in poetry; we
show. The image we give to our readers should
help them to understand what we are speaking about.
80
Figures of Speech 81
We do not have to say "I love you" because we
are arranging our words and rhythms and picture
to give the feeling of love.
Using figures of speech, sometimes called figura-
tive language, is one way to write better poems.
There are many such figures, some very complicated
and too difficult to attempt when you are first begin-
ning to write.
The figures here, simile, metaphor, and personifi-
cation, are among the most well-known. They are
the sort of figurative language the oldest of primitive
peoples and the youngest of children use all the
time. They offer many possibilities of expression
for all of us.
THE SIMILE
The simile is a figure of speech that compares

one thing to another using the introductory words
like or as. We use similes in our speech every day.
We say that someone is "quiet as a mouse" or "crazy
like a fox" but these similes have become cliches.
The poet's challenge is to see or hear things in a
new way, to offer fresh comparisons of things that
may have gone unnoticed.
In her poem "Ladybug" Charlotte Zolotow makes
this observation:
Little ladybug,
with your
glazed red wings
and small black polka dots,
you look
like a
porcelain statue
until
suddenly
you
fly
away.
82
The Simile 83
Perhaps Charlotte Zolotow once looked at a lady-
bug and thought, "It looks like a porcelain statue"
and then wrote this. Or perhaps she wrote the idea
down to use in a poem, or carried it about in
her head until it was bursting to be written as a
simile.
Perhaps Judith Thurman observed birds settled
on telephone wires before she wrote her poem
"New Notebook." Or did she write in a new note-
book and think about crows on telephone
lines?
Lines
in a new notebook
run, even and fine,
like telephone wires
across a snowy landscape.
With wet, black strokes
the alphabet settles between them,
comfortable as a flock of crows.
The first simile occurs when she compares the

lines to telephone wires; the second, when she says
the alphabet settles "comfortable as a flock of
crows."
Tsumori Kunimoto uses simile in his poem about
wild geese.
84 Figures of Speech
The wild geese returning
Through the misty sky—
Behold they look like
A letter written
In faded ink!
Sometimes listening carefully helps us to become

aware of sounds that are alike. X. J. Kennedy writes
in "Flying Uptown Backwards"
Squeezing round a bend, train shrieks

Like chalk on gritty blackboards.
People talk or read or stare.
Street names pass like flashcards.
Hope this train keeps going on
Flying uptown backwards.
Here one simile compares two sounds, the train

shrieking like squeaky chalk. The other is a visual
simile where X. J. Kennedy tells us that on a train
the names of streets go by "like flashcards."
In her poem "Frog" Valerie Worth uses three sim-
iles.
The spotted frog

Sits quite still
On a wet stone;
The Simile 85
He is green
With a luster
Of water on his skin;
His back is mossy

With spots, and green
Like moss on a stone;
His gold-circled eyes

Stare hard
Like bright metal rings;
When he leaps
He is like a stone
Thrown into the pond;
Water rings spread

After him, bright circles
Of green, circles of gold.
Have you ever noticed a frog's back to be mossy,

with spots and green "Like moss on a stone"? Have
you ever thought of a frog's eyes "Like bright metal
rings"? Have you watched a frog leap into the water
"like a stone/Thrown into the pond"? The poet has
observed carefully to make her comparisons—her
similes.
At one school where I taught, a huge bed of calla
lilies grew each Spring. All of us would go out to
observe them, to note what these tall white lilies
reminded us of, and to write about them. One year
we put up a giant display for Open House and called
it "426 Ways to Look at a Calla Lily." Among the
poems were many using similes, for this flower
seemed to look like an old-fashioned telephone,
like a ballerina's skirt, like a dust mop, like a slide
for a snail. But if the children had not spent a lot
of time and looked carefully, these similarities might
never have been noticed.
It takes time to look around you. Watch the clouds,
how they seem to be shapes of animals or castles.
Look at bushes, at trees, and notice what else they
might be. Using the words like, as, or as though,
you may create some similes that can be used in
the poems you write.
METAPHOR
Power lines have always fascinated me. Once I

rode through the French countryside observing
miles and miles of power lines, which, because of
their odd shape and wires, looked like cats with
long whiskers. (I even drew pictures of them in
my journal.) No matter where I go, I seem to find
that the intricate structure of power lines suggests
something new to me. Sometimes they are animals,
sometimes people with heads, bodies, arms, and
hands that reach out to other power lines.
One day driving home from the Los Angeles air-
port, I noticed a row of power lines and jotted down
a few notes about them. At home I wrote my poem
"Power Lines."
Thin robots,
Spun of wire lace,
Plant their feet down
Each in one place.
Standing tall
In a measured row,
Watching over
Highways below.
87
Holding hands
With steel strand rope,
Gray, faceless.
No fear. No hope.
This poem is a metaphor, for it says that one thing

(power lines) is something else (thin robots). If I
had written that a power line is like a robot, I would
have created a simile. If I had said that a power
line stands tall as a mountain, I would have written
a simile. But I did not. I said that power lines are
robots and told about their feet, their height, their
hands, their heads without faces, and something
about their lack of feelings.
Closely related to the simile, a metaphor makes
a comparison by telling us that one thing is another
so well that we are able to imagine both things to
be linked. If a metaphor is fresh, we can see some-
thing new and unusual—something we might never
have seen before.
One of the ways to tell the difference between a
simile and a metaphor is by the use of the introduc-
tory or connecting words. A simile uses the words
like, as, or though. A metaphor usually uses some
part of the verb to be, usually the word is. Sometimes
as in "Power Lines" the title suggests the comparison
or metaphor to follow. Wallace Stevens does this
in his poem "The Brave Man."
Metaphor 89
The sun, that brave man,
Comes through boughs that lie in wait,
That brave man.
Green and gloomy eyes
In dark forms of the grass
Run away.
The good stars,
Pale helms and spiky spurs,
Run away.
Fears of my bed,
Fears of life and fears of death,
Run away.
That brave man comes up
From below and walks without meditation,
That brave man.
In her book The Sun is a Golden Earring Natalia

Belting uses many metaphors. The title itself is a
metaphor—the sun is a golden earring. If you can
imagine the sun as an earring, you will find this a
good metaphor. If not, you might like it when she
writes "The Wind is a man with a spade in his hand."
Or you might agree with this metaphor:
Once, when the sky was very near the earth

a woman hoeing in her garden took off her necklace
and hung it in the sky.
The stars are her silver necklace.
Metaphors, if they are good, have a strange power
to help us see our world in a new perspective. While
we may not respond to someone who lectures us
with warnings or good advice about how things are
or will be, we relate immediately to excellent images.
Like the ancient peoples who first expressed them-
selves in metaphor, we understand immediately what
is meant by the "foot of a mountain" or "the mouth
of a river."
Suppose someone told you
Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die
It's going to be hard for you
To get by.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
You can be disappointed
You know.
Would you listen or be interested? Probably not.

But, by using metaphor, Langston Hughes tells us
in "Dreams"
Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Metaphor 91
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Introduced to such vivid pictures as "a broken-
winged bird" and "a barren field/Frozen with snow,"
we can make the connection and really understand
more fully. The poet enables us to see in a way
that goes beyond a concept that is dull and without
much meaning.
Metaphors arouse our feelings and our imagina-
tions. They may appear to be strange, for they lift
us out of reality. We know, for example, that life is
not really a broken-winged bird or a frozen field.
But these comparisons arrest our senses. They create
something beyond reality that brings us, oddly
enough, to see reality very clearly.
When Norma Farber writes that "Marbles that grow
on trees—mostly are cherries" we are surprised.
We know that marbles do not, in our world, grow
on trees. Yet we see a fresh image that allows our
imaginations to soar!
The metaphors in Valerie Worth's "Sun" are a
constant delight.
The sun
Is a leaping fire
Too hot
To go near,
92 Figures of S p e e c h
But it will still
Lie down
In warm yellow squares
On the floor
Like a flat
Quilt, where
The cat can curl
And purr.
We know, of course, that the sun is a star, a maelstrom

of hot gases, but what happens to us when we are
told that it can also be seen as a warm quilt?
When you are reading poetry, you may find that
metaphors are more difficult to spot than similes.
Sometimes the poet gives us a clue and sometimes
not. In this poem "From the Japanese" Eve Merriam
writes
The summer night

is a dark blue hammock
slung between the white pillars of day.
I lie there
cooling myself
with the straw-colored
flat round fan
of the full moon.
Metaphor 93
We can recognize in the first stanza the metaphor
that tells us that the summer night "is a dark blue
hammock." But in the second stanza there is no
connective word; the poet merely implies that the
full moon is a "flat round fan." She expects us, as
intelligent readers, to make the connection.
In her poem "Safety Pin" Valerie Worth writes
Closed, it sleeps
On its side
Quietly,
The silver
Image
Of some
Small fish. . . .
Again, the poet expects us to make the comparison

of a closed safety pin to a small, silver fish.
Sometimes long metaphors include the use of
connective words such as like and as if so that at
first we may mistake the poem for a series of similes.
We must therefore read the entire poem to under-
stand whether it is a metaphor or simile. "The Hills"
by Rachel Field is such a poem.
Sometimes I think the hills

That loom across the harbor
Lie there like sleeping dragons,
Crouched one above another,
With trees for tufts of fur
Growing all up and down
The ridges and humps of their backs,
And orange cliffs for claws
Dipped in the sea below.
Sometimes a wisp of smoke
Rises out of the hollows
As if in their dragon sleep
They dreamed of strange old battles.
What if the hills should stir
Some day and stretch themselves,
Shake off the clinging trees
And all the clustered houses?
Have you ever imagined hills as dragons or clouds

as castles? Have you seen a tree trunk that seemed
to have a strange face outlined in its bark? Do you
ever watch shadows and pretend they are beasts?
All of these—and more—have the possibility for
metaphoric poems.
For me, the finest poems are those that use meta-
phor well, because they enable us to see, for the
first time, images we might never have imagined
for ourselves. Once seen, they become a part of
us, enriching our perceptions and our lives.
PERSONIFICATION
When Joan Aiken writes
There was a young lady of Newington Green

Had the luck to be loved by a sewing machine
Its foot was so slender, its eye was so bright
It sewed so obligingly, morning or night
On nylon or seersucker, silk or sateen
Her sturdy, reliable Singer machine!
she is using personification, a figure of speech that

assigns human qualities to something that does not,
in reality, have these characteristics. "The Ballad of
Newington Green" tells of a sturdy, reliable sewing
machine with a bright eye, a slender foot, and love
for the young lady. While we know that sewing ma-
chines can be reliable and sturdy, that the needle
might be called the eye or the treadle the foot, the
idea of a sewing machine who "loves" goes beyond
the characteristics we would normally think of in a
sewing machine.
You may remember, when you were very small,
thinking that the moon (especially when you rode
in a bus or car at night) was following you. Young
95
children often believe that everything is endowed
with the same sort of life they have. They scold
their milk for spilling, or shout to their bicycles
not to roll away. Poets never seem to lose this ability
to give life to inanimate objects. Long after they have
put their teddy bears away or learned that the sun
is a huge star, they assign to these things a quality
of animation that makes them seem alive.
In her poem "Foghorns" Lilian Moore writes
The foghorns moaned

in the bay last night
so sad
so deep
I thought I heard the city
crying in its sleep.
If you've heard foghorns, you know that they make

a very plaintive sad sound. To Lilian Moore this
sounded like the same moan that people make. By
transferring the "moan" of the person to a foghorn,
she personifies a foghorn. In addition, she adds to
this idea by having the city "cry"—as if in response
to the moan of foghorns. It is true that a city cannot
cry nor a foghorn moan, but this sort of personifica-
tion gives us a much stronger picture of the sadness
of the foghorns' sound.
Personification 97
In this poem about "The Wind" James Stephens
says
The wind stood up, and gave a shout;

He whistled on his fingers, and
Kicked the withered leaves about,
And thumped the branches with his hand,
And said he'd kill, and kill, and kill;
And so he will! And so he will!
Here the poet conceives of the wind as someone

who can not only make loud noises, whistle, kick
leaves about, and thump branches, but promises
to wreak a lot of destruction. By using personification,
he forces us to think of the sort of person who
indulges in such acts. James Stephens's picture of
the wind is far more striking than if he had only
said that the wind whistles, whirls leaves, moves
the branches of trees, and raises a lot of havoc.
In "I Took a Little Stick" Elizabeth Coatsworth
personifies Spring.
Spring tried and tried, but could not make

The water run beneath the snow,
I took a little stick and scratched
A way for it to go.
It curved into a waterfall
(I cleared the drain, so it might sing)—
Oh, I've been busy half the day
Just helping Spring.
This is a simple form of personification, just showing

one quality of Spring, its perseverance, how it "tried
and tried." But it also presents Spring as a person,
helped by the writer.
In a book called A Circle of Seasons I enjoyed
personifying all the seasons. I wrote about Spring.
Spring brings out her baseball bat, swings it through

the air,
Pitches bulbs and apple blossoms, throws them where
it's bare,
Catches dogtooth violets, slides to meadowsweet,
Bunts a breeze and tags the trees with green buds
everywhere.
This is part of the Winter personification:
Winter etches windowpanes, fingerpaints in white,

Sculptures strange soft shapes of snow that glisten in
the night,
Filigrees the snowflake, spins icicles of glass,
Paints the ground in hoarfrost, its needles sharp with
light.
Personification 99
To Spring I gave all the attributes of a baseball player
who swings, pitches, throws, catches, slides, bunts,
and tags. Winter is personified as an artist who etches,
fingerpaints, sculptures, and paints.
Personification can be very simple. It can be a
foghorn that moans or a city that cries, or it can
become more complicated as in the example of the
wind.
It is probably best to keep your first attempt at
personification simple. Think for a moment of how
you might personify the sun. What would it do that
you, or someone you know, can do? Think about
stars. Could they turn themselves on? In a poem
called "Taking Turns" Norma Farber writes
When sun goes home

behind the trees,
and locks her shutters tight—
then stars come out
with silver keys
to open up the night.
Here the personification of both sun and stars to-

gether gives us a picture of what we ourselves do
when night comes. We go home and lock up our
houses or even open our door with a key.
You might like to try personifying some holiday,
as Felice Holman does in
THE YEAR
goes
skidding
down
to
the
bottom
of the
cal-
en-
dar
slip-
ping
out HAPPY NEW YEAR!
the top
end. the
Then to
ZOOM Up
If a year skids, slips, and zooms, think what April

Fool's Day or the Fourth of July might do. What
verbs or actions could you use for your personifica-
tion?
Personification is often used as a part of metaphor.
Read "The Brave Man" on page 89 to find out what
Personification 101
human characteristics Wallace Stevens assigns to the
sun.
Personification is a figure of speech we can't use
in all of the poems we write, but when used well
it adds immeasurably to the freshness of a poem,
helping us to imaginative flights of fancy!
Other Forms
J L F YOU SAT DOWN to your dinner table every

evening and were always offered the same food,
you would probably become very tired of that food.
If you had only one shirt to wear, you would probably
begin to want a different color, a different style. We
look for variety in almost everything we do.
For a long time I wrote poetry in the same way,
using couplets, tercets, quatrains, and combinations
of these rhyming patterns. It took me a long time
to realize that there might be other forms for my
writing. When I began to discover the possibility
of using syllabic patterns, especially the haiku and
cinquain, and explored arranging words into shapes,
I had not broken from tradition, but had added other
ways to express myself.
But choice also brings decision making. How do
I know what form to use?
Oftentimes I don't. I will start with one idea in a
102
Other Forms 103
certain form and realize that the poem isn't working.
So I choose another, and sometimes three or four,
before I decide which form is helping, or working
against, my observations and ideas.
Somewhere, in reading about the cinquain, haiku,
limerick, ballad, open form, or concrete poem, I
know you will find a form you'll want to try, one
to best express your feelings. And you'll come to
learn that a funny story can't be told well in a cin-
quain, nor a serious observation do very well in a
limerick.
One of the most difficult things about writing a
poem is finding the right form. At least that is true
for me. One of my students once decided to write
a poem about television. He tried couplets, tercets,
quatrains, a ballad, a haiku, a cinquain, free verse,
a shape poem, and even more. Some worked out
very well. Others were all wrong. But in trying and
practicing, he learned a great deal about patterns
and forms. And that is really the point, isn't it?
HAIKU
Well! Hello down there,

friend snail! When did you arrive
in such a hurry?
Issa
Most of you will recognize that this short poem,

written in just seventeen syllables, is a haiku. Haiku
has been written in Japan for centuries but has be-
come popular as a form for classroom writing in
the United States during the past twenty-five years.
Unfortunately, haiku is not an "easy" kind of poem
to write, as some people believe.
The first thing to know is that the word "hai-ku"
itself means "beginning phrase." Haiku was originally
the beginning of a much longer poem that developed
from seventeen syllables.
Today haiku is considered a complete form in
itself with rules not only for the subject matter but
for creating the sort of picture into which readers
can put themselves. The form is strict. I have seen
haiku translated from the Japanese in four lines,
but the form used most often is three lines. The
first line has five syllables, the second seven, and
the third five—a total of seventeen.
104
Haiku 105
One important rule concerns the subject matter.
The poem must always refer to something in nature
or use what is called a "season word." Much of
the haiku that has been translated from the Japanese
uses the nature symbols of Japan. But because we
live in the United States, it is better to use sym-
bols of seasons where we live. For example, if
you have visited Japan, you will know that cherry
blossoms signify spring. Other flowers and plants
may symbolize spring where you live, such
as crocus or skunk cabbage. In my garden spring
comes with Oriental magnolias, daffodils, and
stock.
You may always use the words "Spring," "Sum-
mer," "Autumn" or "Fall," and "Winter," but season
words are even more interesting. For example, if
you were describing something that happened in
fall, you might consider the word "football" or "the
beginning of school."
Basho, one of the great haiku writers of the seven-
teenth century, wrote
A dry leaf drifting

down to earth clings to a strange
green-spotted mushroom.
We know that it is fall because this is the season

when leaves become dry.
106 Other Forms
Anyone the world over might recognize the season
word for summer in this haiku, also by Basho.
The best I have to

offer you is the small size
of the mosquitoes.
Here is one by Issa, one of my favorite haiku poets.
What a pretty kite

the beggar's children fly high
above their hovel!
Here, as in Japan, we recognize kite flying to be a

spring activity. And for winter a Japanese-American
haiku poet, Kazue Mizumura, writes
A lonely sparrow
Hops upon the snow and prints
Sets of maple leaves.
You may notice that in all of the haiku, the poet

writes about only one thing—a dry leaf, mosquitoes,
a kite, and a sparrow. Instead of trying to describe
many many things about each season, a haiku concen-
trates on just one thing. This thing must seem to
be happening just at the moment we read about it,
as though the poets were pointing out something
Haiku 107
they wished you to see. Notice how the present tense
is always used in a haiku. One thing, happening
now\
It is possible that you may wish to write a haiku
from memory, remembering something you saw.
Still you should pretend it is happening at this very
moment—as though you are calling to someone
to come and watch it happen.
Haiku should also present a picture of something
you want your reader to think about further, a sort
of beginning for your own imaginative pictures. Can
you see the dry leaf drifting down? What does the
strange green-spotted mushroom look like? Can you
picture the mosquitoes, someone offering you a look
at these tiny insects? Can you watch the kite sailing
off above the hovel of the beggar's children? And
do you follow the way the lonely sparrow prints
sets of maple leaves with his feet?
One of my favorite haikus by Joso says
That duck, bobbing up

from the green deeps of a pond,
has seen something strange. . . .
This makes me wonder what strange thing the duck

has seen; my mind goes down to the bottom of
the pond and searches about.
108 Other Forms
Here is one of the most famous of all Bashos
haikus:
An old silent pond . . .

A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
Imagine you are watching a frog jump into a silent

pond, hearing the splash, and then listening for the
silence again. You may further imagine the circles
of water, the ripples made by the frog, how they
begin and then cease. Another haiku, by Chosu, says
Broken and broken

again on the sea, the moon
so easily mends.
Can you imagine watching the moon's reflection

on waves, whole and broken, whole and broken,
creating an image that repeats itself over and over?
One haiku I like to share with my students enables
all of us to appreciate how amazingly a haiku, made
up of only seventeen syllables, can give us a picture
in a few words. Written by Issa, it says
If things were better

for me, flies, I'd invite you
to share my supper.
Haiku 109
What does this tell you? Do you see a king sitting
at a banquet table brushing away the flies? What
sort of person is speaking? The words "If things
were better for me" give us a clue. This person
would like to share some food with the flies, but
apparently things are so bad that the tiniest crumb
cannot be spared. The picture then must be of some-
one who is poor. Each of us will see something
different in these words. It might be a child, a boy,
a girl, a man, or a woman. Who is this person? Why
is he or she poor? How does he or she speak to
the flies—in a sad or complaining voice? Or is it a
voice of humor? Where is this person sitting? In a
small room or outside? Do you think of someone
who is mean, or are the words filled with kindness
and concern for the fly? And have you noticed that
the season word "flies" lets us know it is summer?
Imagine being able to say all this in just fourteen
words—seventeen syllables. If we were to write it
in prose, we might have to say something like: "One
summer there was a poor person who had so little
to eat that when flies came around he apologized
to them for not sharing supper." None of these words
convey the same feeling as is found in the seventeen-
syllable haiku.
Haiku helps us to use words well, to make each
word count. You will notice that words are not re-
peated in a haiku. There must be a good reason
110 Other Forms
for each word. You may also have noticed that a
haiku does not use rhyme.
Writing haiku is not easy. It is really the hardest
kind of poem that I know of to write well. But in
haiku are many reminders for all kinds of writing:
to observe things happening and to write about them,
to invite your reader to share what you have seen,
to learn to use words well, wasting none of them,
and to make of your poetry, whatever form it takes,
not a long recital of many things, but of one thing,
keenly observed and felt.
THE CINQUAIN
The cinquain, one of my favorite forms, is a five-

line poem. If you know French, you'll know that
cinq is the word for "five." There are two syllables
in the first line, four in the second, six in the third,
eight in the fourth, and two in the fifth.
The cinquain was developed by Adelaide Crapsey,

who studied metrical forms and probably took some
of her ideas from the three-line, seventeen-syllable
haiku. But the cinquain is not like the haiku. It does
not have the stringent rules, the necessity for a subject
in nature, the present tense, or the need for a season-
word. Like the haiku, however, it uses no rhyme.
Chances are you've been in a classroom where
cinquain is written. But you may have to change
some of your ideas! What many English teachers
teach is a language-arts cinquain, which sometimes
111
112 Other Forms
counts words rather than syllables and is nothing
more than an exercise in identifying and writing
nouns, verbs, adjectives, a sentence, a synonym,
and/or an antonym. It has many variations.
The true cinquain is a form in which we are not
concerned with parts of speech; rather we try to
express ourselves in some image or thought, using
one or perhaps even two sentences. The twenty-
two-syllable pattern is just long enough to allow us
room for our poem, yet helps us to be succinct,
not to waste any words.
In "The Warning" Adelaide Crapsey wrote
Just now
Out of the strange
Still dusk . . . as strange, as still . . .
A white moth flew. Why am I grown
So cold?
This cinquain expresses her feelings about seeing

a moth at night and the fears it arouses in her. "Niag-
ara" describes the falls.
How frail
Above the bulk
Of crashing water hangs,
Autumnal, evanescent, wan,
The moon.
The Cinquain 113
In the first poem she has used two sentences, and
in the second only one.
You might like to compare Adelaide Crapsey's
cinquain about "Winter" to one written in a language-
arts class.
The cold
With steely clutch
Grips all the land . . . alack,
The little people in the hills
Will die!
Think about how a poet views winter with its "steely

clutch." Now read this one:
Winter,
cool, cold, chill, raw,
shivering, shuddering,
Winter is a very cold time.
White time.
While the student has listed in order a noun, adjec-

tives, verbs, a statement, and a synonym, there is
nothing said here that is new. In Crapsey's cinquain
we are given a "steely clutch" and a thought about
what will happen to the people in the hills. In the
student's cinquain we simply hear a list of words
and one commonplace thought.
114 Other Forms
A cinquain, like all good poetry, should describe
in a fresh way. The first cinquain I wrote, "little
o," happened because of a television program I was
watching, showing a picture of our planet in space.
little
o, the earth, bathed
in ocean, how bravely
you tumble through the black nothing
of space
Another day I was looking at my daughter who came

in from a camping trip and wrote
T-shirt,
you're my best thing
though you've faded so much
no one knows what you said when you
were new.
In the cinquain you may not split syllables from

line to line. For example, if you are writing about
an astronaut, you cannot begin
Astro-
naut
Astronaut is a three-syllable word, so it must be

used on the second, third, or fourth line as the dia-
gram shows.
The Cinquain 115
l.
2. As tro naut
As tro naut
' 3- As tro naut
as tro naut
as tro naut
as tro naut
4. As tro naut
as tro naut
as tro naut
as tro naut
as tro naut
as tro naut
5.
Your cinquain might begin
When an
astronaut leaves
or
If a
brave astronaut
or
I watched
a moon landing
when an astronaut came
116 Other Forms
Cinquains may actually strike you as some sort
of mathematical puzzle—how to put the words you
wish to say into the right order, while paying attention
to the form. This is part of the fun of writing them—
moving words about while maintaining the sense
of what is said.
Try writing a cinquain and see how it works for
you. Some of my students find it a splendid way to
express a brief thought or show a striking image.
If you try again and again and don't enjoy it, move
on to another form. Not everyone likes the cinquain
as much as I do.
THE LIMERICK
Limericks are not only delightful to read, but per-

haps even more fun when you can write them your-
self. Once you've practiced anapestic lines and know
the difference between an iamb ( w ') and an anapest
(w"")> you'll have no difficulty composing a lot of
them.
The limerick, however, does have rules. And peo-
ple who write them without knowing the rules may
come up with a funny idea, but often fail to carry
it through because they don't observe the metrical
rules of making certain that the anapestic pattern
is always there. It's sort of a mathematical exercise
in part, but even more important is the notion that
because the anapest is a lighthearted foot, the rhythm
helps to carry the lighthearted idea.
Here's how it works. First, the limerick is a five-
line poem.
There was once a young fellow of Wall

Who grew up so amazingly tall
That his friends dug a pit
Where he'd happily sit
When he wished to converse with them all.
117
118 Other Forms
You will notice that lines 1, 2, and 5 always rhyme
with each other. Lines 3 and 4 also rhyme with each
other. So a limerick is built upon two rhyme sounds.
Lines 1, 2, and 5 all have three feet. Lines 3 and
4 both have 2 feet. In this limerick each foot is
anapestic, with three in the first line, three in the
second line, two in the third line, two in the fourth
line, and three in the fifth line. It's important to
learn these rules, and then learn that there can be
exceptions.
The exceptions are that we can always substitute
an iamb for the first foot in any line. For example,
instead of saying
w w / w w / . w w /
There was once | a young fel|low of Wall
we could say
w / . w w / . w w /
There was | a young fel|low of Wall.
We could also change the second line from

W W / W W / . W W /
Who grew up | so amaz|ingly tall
to read Who grew | so amaz|ingly tall.

The Limerick 119
Here we are keeping the last two anapests and only
changing the first. The rhythm is not appreciably
affected.
In the third line we could change from
W W / w W /
That his friends | dug a pit
to
W / . W W /
His friends | dug a pit
and change the fourth line

W W / W W /
Where he'd hap|pily sit
to
W / . W W /
And urged | him to sit
and the fifth line from

w w / w w / . w w /
When he wished | to converse | with them all
to
To talk | and converse | with them all.
Our changed limerick now reads

120 Other Forms
There was a young fellow of Wall
Who grew so amazingly tall
His friends dug a pit
And urged him to sit
To talk and converse with them all.
There is nothing wrong with this limerick except

that taking away the anapests in the beginning and
substituting iambs for the anapests helps to kill the
happy rhythm. It seems less humorous.
Suppose we decide to abandon all anapests. Here
is how it might look and sound:
There was a boy of Wall

Who grew to be so tall
He made a pit
Where he could sit
Below and talk to all.
Obviously, this is no longer a good poem and cer-

tainly is not a limerick. It is just a verse written in
iambs.
A limerick does not always use thirteen anapests,
but it does retain the rhythm by making sure that
the second foot and third foot of each line is an
anapest. Here is how that works:
W W • . W W /
There was an old man \ from Blackheath

Who sat on his set \ of false teeth.
The Limerick 121
w w /
"Oh dear, bless my heart" W W /
He said, with a start,

"I've bitten myself \ underneath."
You can see quickly that in this example by an un-

known author every line begins with an iamb but
is followed with anapests.
Here's another:
w /
There was a young woman named Bright,
w /
Who /raveled much faster than light,
w /
She set off one day
w w /
In a relative way
w w /
And returned on the previous night.
In this limerick, also written by an anonymous au-
thor, the first three lines each begin with an iamb.
The last two are all anapestic. In Pigericks Arnold
Lobel writes
w /
There was a wet pig from Fort Wayne
W W /
Who was suddenly caught in the rain.

W W /
„ His suspenders and belt

W W /
Were the sort that would melt,

w w /
So his trousers were swept down the drain.
Here only the first line begins with an iamb.
This anonymous limerick reads
122 Other Forms
w /
An epicure, dining at Crewe,
w /
Found quite a large mouse in his stew.
w w /
Said the waiter, "Don't shout
w /
And wave it about
w w •
Or the rest will be wanting one too."
Notice that lines, 1,2, and 4 begin with iambs, while
lines 3 and 5 begin with anapests.
Or read aloud this one by Gelett Burgess:
w /
I wish that my room had a floor.
w /
I don't so much care for a door.
w w s
But this walking around
W W /
Without touching the ground

w /
Is getting to be quite a bore.
Here lines 1, 2, and 5 begin with iambs. The others
are anapestic.
By now you know that you can begin any line
with an iamb or an anapest, in any combination of
beginnings. But there are several more exceptions.
One concerns the last foot, which must always begin
with an anapest but can add another unstressed beat
for the rhyming effect.
w w f w
There was a young woman from Niger
w w / w
Who rode on the back of a tiger.
w w /
They returned from the ride
w w •
With the lady inside
w w ,/ w
And a smile on the face of the tiger.
The Limerick 123
Here you will see that the extra syllable (ger) in
lines 1, 2, and 5 may be added, but the beginning
of the foot must have an anapestic rhythm.
There was a young woman from Niger
You could even write
There was a young girl of Thermopylae
because you would be keeping the anapestic rhythm,

only adding two extra beats. (And, of course, you'd
have to find a rhyming word or set of words for
Thermopylae!)
There is one other exception to the rules about
a limerick. The first limerick writer we know of,
Edward Lear, often repeated a rhyming word.
There was an old man with a beard

Who said, "It is just as I feared.
Two owls and a wren,
Four larks and a hen
Have all made their nest in my beard."
or
There was an Old Man who said, "Well!

Will nobody answer this bell?
124 Other Forms
I have pulled day and night
Till my hair has grown white,
But nobody answers this bell!"
There was an Old Person of Bangor,

Whose face was distorted with anger;
He tore off his boots
And subsisted on roots,
That borascible Person of Bangor.
Most limericks do not use this repeating pattern,

but it might be a way for you to begin, especially
if you are using a difficult word like "Bangor." On
the other hand, you might search for another rhyme,
like "hang her" or "rang her," if the sense would
happen to fit.
If all of these rules and exceptions have made
you dizzy, let's recap them.
1. A limerick is made up of two metrical feet, the iamb

and the anapest.
2. The iamb may be used only as the starting foot, never
in the middle and never at the end.
3. Lines 1, 2, and 5 have three feet and rhyme.
4. Lines 3 and 4 have two feet and rhyme.
5. Anapests must always be used in the second and third
feet of lines 1, 2, and 5. Anapests must always be used
as the second feet in lines 3 and 4.
The Limerick 125
6. In some cases, an additional beat or two beats may
be added to the third foot in lines 1, 2, and 5.
To help you further, always read your lines aloud.

With practice you'll soon be able to hear if the limer-
ick doesn't romp along.
One wonderful thing about writing a limerick is
that you can use your imagination not only to make
up names but to think of humorous situations. A
limerick is not a serious kind of a poem—indeed,
the funnier you can make it, the better!
FREE VERSE AND OPEN FORMS
Not long ago I was visiting a class and asked stu-

dents if they ever wrote poetry. One boy volunteered
that he wrote poetry all the time. "What kind do
you write?" I asked, thinking he might tell me
whether his work was serious or funny. "Oh," he
answered, "I just write down whatever I think. I
like to be creative."
Later, when I saw his poems, I realized that his
idea of poetry was simply to write prose and arrange
it in lines. Some people would call this free verse
or open form. I see a great deal of so-called poems
written this way, by students and adults. By "free
verse" they seem to mean that poetry is nothing
more than what John Ciardi calls a "spillage of raw
emotion"—some thought put down any old way,
without rhyme or even much reason.
What I think we should mean by free verse, or
open form, is that which does not make itself a
slave to rhyme or traditional metrical patterns. It
becomes free of any restricting rules and remains
open-minded, if you like, to new sorts of patterns.
Most poets who write this way may have abandoned
126
Free Verse and Open Forms 127
traditional couplets, tercets, and quatrains, but they
do have definite ideas of how poetry means, and
how they will write. They do not just scatter words
on a page willy-nilly or arrange prose to look like
poetry. There is a reason for what they do.
Robert Frost has said that writing free verse is
like playing tennis without a net. Other poets would
agree with him that to work within set patterns offers
a challenge, helps to make us work harder and better
toward a good poem. But many poets today feel
that metrics or old forms are too confining and do
not express our tempo of life. Poets are divided
into schools of thought and disagree with each other
as to what constitutes a good poem. Many different
ideas have been offered. Some believe that poetry
should be written like a musical phrase. Some think
that each line represents what the poet can say in
a single breath. Some call each line they write a
single foot. Some compose their poems in short
lines and phrases, indicating that the reader must
pause after each cluster of words. In this way the
white space around a poem becomes a sort of punc-
tuation guide.
One of the first poets who broke from traditional
poetry was Walt Whitman. His poetry was free in
the sense that it departed from the use of end rhyme.
His rhythms, however, are still echoes of the psalms
128 Other Forms
of the Bible, strong in rising and falling rhythms.
In a line like
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
we find the traditional dactyl-trochee pattern. In
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
we hear the beat of iambic pentameter. Whitman

used a great deal of repetition, internal rhyme, and
consonance to create his rhythms.
Others who followed him set up new rules for
poetry. Some write their poems with a certain num-
ber of stressed syllables in each line. Some count
the number of syllables in each line. In her poem
"Mushrooms" Sylvia Plath begins
Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly
Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.
Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room. . . .
Count the syllables in each line and you'll discover
that there is a regular pattern of five syllables to a
line and fifteen to a stanza.
In her poem "Nevertheless" Marianne Moore be-
gins
you've seen a strawberry

that's had a struggle; yet
was, where the fragments met,
a hedgehog or a star-
fish for the multitude
of seeds. What better food
than apple-seeds—the fruit
within the fruit—locked in
like counter-curved twin
hazel nuts?
Here Marianne Moore uses six syllables in every

line. But did you also notice the rhyming pattern
of the tercet (yet/met) (multitude/food) (in/twin)?
In "The Fish" she uses an even more intricate
pattern.
wade
through black jade.
Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps
adjusting the ash-heaps;
opening and shutting itself like
130 Other Forms
an
injured fan.
The barnacles which encrust the side
of the wave, cannot hide
there for the submerged shafts of the
sun, . . .
While this may be difficult for you to read, it shows

how she sets up a syllabic pattern. Each stanza follows
the same pattern of one, three, nine, six, and eight
syllables. In addition she has used a rhyming-couplet
pattern for the first four lines of each stanza (wade/
jade) (keeps/heaps) (an/fan) (side/hide). This is just
the beginning of the poem. The pattern continues
for six more stanzas!
Arnold Adoff uses white space to indicate to his
readers how a poem means. Each word becomes
important not only visually, but also to the sense
of what he is saying. In Eats he writes
Sunny
side
up
bull
s
eye
egg
turn
over
easy
and
don bre
t ak
the
yolk.
If you ever hear Arnold Adoff read his poetry, you

will discover that each word is meant to be read
by itself, the blank space indicating the pause in
your voice. Each is also important in considering
how a fried egg is cooked. Make sure you heed
his warning not to break the yolk, by emphasizing
the breaks in the words. Splitting these letters up,
let your voice drop as though you yourself are hear-
ing the warning!
In his book i am the running girl he sets up
132 Other Forms
patterns that seem to imitate and underscore the
actual act of running.
the end
is past the tape at the finish line
and i am bending to the ground
out of breath
and strength
the coach is shouting

i have broken three
minutes
for the first time
but i am out of
time
i have no bones
i have no legs
i have no
stomach that will stay
where it began
but i have won
Here the phrases, set in separate lines, are written

to represent the way in which the running girl might
be speaking as she crosses the finish line. White
space again indicates where the pauses come. Notice
how often repetition is used here to hold the poem
together.
Lucille Clifton also uses repetition, yet writes her
poem "Good Times" with an image in each line,
leading us from one picture to another.
My Daddy has paid the rent

and the insurance man is gone
and the lights is back on
and my uncle Brud has hit
for one dollar straight
and they is good times
good times
good times
My Mama has made bread
and Grampaw has come
and everybody is drunk
and dancing in the kitchen
and singing in the kitchen
oh these is good times
good times,
good times
oh children think about the
good times
The best of open-form poetry is, indeed, more

than the license to write down anything you wish.
Elements of traditional meter, of sound patterns,
of repetition, of syllable count, of word stress, and
of rhyme all contribute to how these poems mean.
134 Other Forms
Those who write well in open forms have learned
their craft. They usually know the rules, but they
also know how and when they break the rules, and
why\
If you'd like to try writing in open forms, take
time to read other poems that might give you ideas
on how to begin. But, by way of a warning, don't
make the mistake of thinking that a poem that uses
lines of different lengths is necessarily free verse.
Many poets (and I am often one of them) like to
break up long lines, to make the reader pay atten-
tion to certain words, to play with the shape of a
poem.
In "Telling Time" Lilian Moore begins
Time ticks,
whispers,
rings,
sounds a chime,
a ping,
a tock,
or the long slow
bong
of a grandfather clock.
At first this would appear to be either a nine-line

stanza or even free verse. But reading it aloud, you
will suddenly hear that "tock" in line 6 rhymes with
"clock" in the last line. The poem, then, we recognize
as a quatrain. If written in four lines it would look
like this:
Time ticks, whispers, rings,

Sounds a chime, a ping, a tock,
Or the long slow bong
Of a grandfather clock.
Its rhythm is largely iambic and anapestic. It is not

free verse but a metered poem using end rhyme.
Another reason for you to always read poetry
aloud!
CONCRETE, SHAPE,
AND PATTERN POETRY
Concrete poetry, often called pattern poetry or
shape poetry, is a form of playing with words, ideas,
letters, and art. It is, in a sense, a picture poem,
one that gives not only words but delight to the
eye.
Sometimes this is accomplished with the outline
of a recognizable shape into which words are poured.
In Reinhard Dohl's "Pattern Poem with an Elusive
Intruder" we see immediately the shape of an apple.
136
Concrete, Shape, and Pattern Poetry 137
.pfelAp/elApfelAptei,
.pfelApfelApfelApfelApfb
pfelAptelApfelApfelApfelAL
>TelApfelApTelApfelApfelApfei
3lApfelApfelApfelApfelApfelAL
ApfelApfelApfelApfelApfelApfe
DfelApTelApTelApfelApfelApfely
?IApfelApfelApfelApfelApfelA(-
pfelApfelApfelApfelApfelAp'
elApTelApfelApfelWurmAp'
ofelApfelApfelApfelApff
lApfelApfelApfelApfp'
*elApfelApfelApF
-folAnffilAn*
138 Other Forms
The word for apple in German is apfel, which the
poet has used over and over to reinforce the idea
of the fruit. But if we look very closely we will dis-
cover another word, wurm, which is German for
"worm." This is the "elusive intruder" hiding within!
Look at this concrete poem by Edwin Morgan:
s sz sz SZ sz SZ sz ZS zs ZS zs zs z
Its title, "Siesta of a Hungarian Snake," makes clear

that the snake is a long reptile. What amuses us is
the use of the letters 5 sz sz SZ, which suggest, as
in comic books, the sound of snoring. A siesta is,
of course, another name for a nap. The snake is
sleeping. But notice that in the middle of the line
the sound changes from sz to zs. This indicates the
natural sound of snoring, broken by the way breath
may be taken in and out. In addition the consonants
sz and zs are common to the Hungarian language.
The meaning of the title is now clear!
In her poem "Concrete Cat" Dorthi Charles not
only outlines the shape of a cat, but makes the letters
work hard.
A A
e * e t
eYe eYe stripestripestripestripe ^
V
*hisker *&&* stripestripestripe * / * '
^ ^ stripestripestripestripes
^^xS o t ls
ker stripestripestripe
U stripestripestripestripe
paw paw paw paw ssrtoui
dishdish litterbox
litterbox
140 Other Forms
Notice how the poet has capitalized the A, Y, and
U to suggest the shape of the cat's ears, eyes, and
mouth. The spaces left between the letters of the
word "tail" seem to elongate and emphasize its
length. Both words and letters contribute to the fun
of the poem. What other details do you notice that
might be important to reading this poem?
In her poem "How Everything Happens (Based
on a Study of the Wave)" May Swenson imitates in
lines the motion of waves coming into shore and
going out again.
happen,
to
up
stacking
is
something
When nothing is happening
When it happens
something
pulls
back
not
to
happen.
When has happened,

pulling back stacking up
happens
has happened stacks up.

When it something nothing
pulls back while
Then nothing is happening.
happens,
and
forward
pushes
up
stacks
something
Then
142 Other Forms
Robert Froman mixes pictures, shapes, and words
in his poems. In "Skyscratcher" he outlines the shape,
putting his poem, an apostrophe to the skyscraper,
around it.
144 Other Forms
In "Catchers" he again uses drawings, this time
of antennas, among which he presents us with a
metaphor.
Antennas
on
the
roofs.
Fishing poles
to catch
flying
fish.
146 Other Forms
It is difficult to say whether or not the idea of
shape comes before the words, or whether the words
suggest a shape. I have worked both ways. My poem
about a Monterey cypress (page 22) was based on
the twisted shape of this tree. In a book Space Songs
I became intrigued with reshaping the words to sug-
gest patterns of a crescent moon, a satellite, or the
tail of a comet. One of my first poems, "Buildings,"
has a long thin stanza suggesting a tall building as
well as a quatrain stanza suggesting the shape of a
house. For me the words are always more important
than the pattern, yet certain words and ideas lend
themselves to the making of concrete poetry.
Trying out pattern poetry can be fun. One of the
problems, however, is that oftentimes we let the
shapes work so hard—place so much attention on
the art—that words become secondary. In classes I
teach, students often become so involved with a
drawing they forget to give meaning to the real idea
of their poems. Words merely become an after-
thought.
In the best of concrete poetry there should always
be a balance between the idea of the poem and its
visual expression.
Acknowledgments
Every effort has been made to trace the ownership of all copyrighted
material and to secure the necessary permission to reprint these
selections. In the event of any question arising as to the use of any
material, the editor and publisher, while expressing regret for any
inadvertent error, will be happy to make the necessary correction
in future printings. Thanks are due to the following for permission
to reprint the copyrighted materials listed below:
Joan Aiken for the excerpt from "The Ballad of Newington Green"
from her book The Skin Spinners, Viking Press, 1976. Copyright ©
Joan Aiken. Used by permission of the author.
Catherine Beston Barnes for "I Took a Little Stick" by Elizabeth Coats-
worth from her book The Sparrow Bush, W. W. Norton, 1966. Used
by permission.
Carcanet Press Limited for "Siesta of a Hungarian Snake" by Edwin

Morgan from his book Poems of Thirty Years, 1982.
Laura Cecil for the excerpt from "Tree Gowns." Copyright © James
Reeves from The Wandering Moon and Other Poems (Puffin Books)
by James Reeves. Reprinted by permission of The James Reeves Estate.
Curtis Brown, Ltd., for "July" by Lucille Clifton from Everett Anderson's
Year, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1974. Text Copyright © 1974 by
Lucille Clifton. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd.
Doubleday for "The Ceiling," copyright 1950 by Theodore Roethke.

From The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke. Used by permission
of Doubleday, a division of Bantam, Doubleday, Dell Publishing Group,
Inc.
147
148 Acknowledgments
Tom Farber for "Bandit Bee" and "Taking Turns" from Small Wonders
by Norma Farber, copyright © Thomas Farber. Used by permission.
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc., for: "Camel" and "The Mirror" from
Laughing Time by William Jay Smith. Copyright © 1955, 1957, 1980,
1990 by William Jay Smith; "Clock," "Frog," and "Sun" from Small
Poems by Valerie Worth. Copyright © 1972 by Valerie Worth; and
"Safety Pin" from More Small Poems by Valerie Worth. Copyright ©
1976 by Valerie Worth. All reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus
& Giroux, Inc.
Samuel French, Inc., for "The Snail" by John Drinkwater, copyright

© 1929 by John Drinkwater. Reprinted by permission of Samuel
French, Inc.
Robert Froman for "Skyscratcher" and "Catchers" from Street Poems

by Robert Froman, The McCall Publishing Company, New York, 1971.
Copyright © 1971 by Robert Froman.
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., for: "The Opposite of Doughnut?

Wait" from Opposites, copyright © 1973 by Richard Wilbur; and "Lady
Bug" from Everything Glistens and Everything Sings, copyright ©
1987 by Charlotte Zolotow. Illustration copyright © 1987 by Margot
Tomes. Both reprinted by permission of Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
Inc.
HarperCollins Publishers for: "i am the running girl" from i am the

running girl by Arnold Adoff. Copyright © 1979 by Arnold Adoff;
Text from "Charles" from Bronzeville Boys and Girls by Gwendolyn
Brooks. Copyright © 1956 by Gwendolyn Brooks Blakely; text from
"The Flying Festoon" from Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein.
Copyright © 1974 by Evil Eye Music, Inc.; the first 2 lines from "The
Man in the Iron Pail Mask" from A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein.
Copyright © 1981 by Evil Eye Music, Inc.; text only from "Moon"
from Dogs & Dragons, Trees & Dreams by Karla Kuskin. "Moon"
originally appeared in Near the Window Tree by Karla Kuskin. Copy-
right © 1975 by Karla Kuskin; the first 4 lines of "My Cat and I"
Acknowledgments 149
from Out in the Dark and Daylight by Aileen Fisher. Text copyright
© 1980 by Aileen Fisher; text from "There Was a Wet Pig from Fort
Wayne" from The Book of Pigericks: Pig Limericks by Arnold Lobel.
Copyright © 1983 by Arnold Lobel; text from "A Lonely Sparrow"
from Flower Moon Snow. A Book of Haiku by Kazue Mizumura
(Thomas Y. Crowell). Copyright © 1977 by Kazue Mizumura; text
from "Aunt Roberta" and the first 3 lines of "Things" from Honey, I
Love by Eloise Greenfield (Thomas Y. Crowell). Text copyright ©
1978 by Eloise Greenfield; and "When I have seen the sun emerge"
by Emily Dickinson from Poems of Emily Dickinson, selected by
Helen Plotz, Thomas Y Crowell, 1964. All selections reprinted by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
Harvard University Press for "I Never Saw a Moor" by Emily Dickinson.
Reprinted by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst
College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Thomas H. Johnson,
ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press,
Copyright 1951, © 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of
Harvard College.
Henry Holt and Company, Inc., for: 4 lines beginning "Once, when
the sky was very near the earth" and ending "her silver necklace,"
from The Sun Is a Golden Earring by Natalia M. Belting. Copyright
© 1962 by Natalia M. Belting; and the first 4 lines of "Tree at My
Window" from The Poetry of Robert Frost edited by Connery Lathem.
Copyright 1928, © 1969 by Holt, Rinehart and Winston, © 1956 by
Robert Frost. Both reprinted by permission of Henry Holt and Com-
pany, Inc.
Houghton Mifflin Company for "It Makes No Difference to Me" from

Doodle Soup by John Ciardi. Copyright © 1985 by Myra J. Ciardi.
Illustrations copyright © 1985 by Merle Nacht. Reprinted by permission
of Houghton Mifflin Co.
Olwyn Hughes for the first 9 lines of "Mushrooms" by Sylvia Plath.

From The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath, Faber and Faber London.
Copyright © 1981 & 1967 by Ted Hughes. Reprinted by permission
of Olwyn Hughes.
150 Acknowledgments
X. J. Kennedy for "Concrete Cat" by "Dorthi Charles" from An Intro-
duction to Poetry, Seventh Edition, Scott, Foresman/Little, Brown.
Copyright © 1990 by X. J. Kennedy.
R. R. Knudson for "How Everything Happens" by May Swenson from

Iconographs, copyright © 1970 by May Swenson and used with permis-
sion of the Literary Estate of May Swenson.
Little, Brown and Company for: the first 11 lines of "Adventures of

Isabel" from The Bad Parents' Garden of Verse by Ogden Nash. Copy-
right © 1936 by Ogden Nash; "Cocoon," the first 3 lines of "Father
and I in the Woods," the first 8 lines of "Marty's Party," and "This Is
my Rock" from One at a Time by David McCord, copyright 1929,
1952, 1974 by David McCord. "Cocoon" copyright 1949 by The New
Yorker. "This Is my Rock" first appeared in Saturday Review; and
"The Eel" and the first 2 lines of "Between Birthdays" from Custard
and Company and Versesfrom 1929 On by Ogden Nash. All reprinted
by permission of Little, Brown and Company.
Macmillan Publishing Company for: "The Hills" and "Whistles" from

Poems by Rachel Field (New York: Macmillan, 1957); 11 lines from
"The Fish" from Collected Poems by Marianne Moore. Copyright
1935 by Marianne Moore, renewed 1963 by Marianne Moore and
T. S. Eliot; 10 lines from "Nevertheless" from Collected Poems by Ma-
rianne Moore. Copyright 1944 and renewed 1972 by Marianne Moore.
All reprinted with permission of Macmillan Publishing Company. "Fly-
ing Uptown Backwards" and "Rain into River" from The Forgetful
Wishing Well by X. J. Kennedy. Copyright © 1985 by X. J. Kennedy.;
"Playing soccer, Plato Foley" from Brats by X. J. Kennedy. Copyright
© 1986 by X.J. Kennedy; "Monterey Cypress: PT. LOBOS" fromMonkey
Puzzle and Other Poems by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1984
by Myra Cohn Livingston; excerpt from "Turtles" from Remembering
and Other Poems by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1989 by
Myra Cohn Livingston. All Reprinted with permission of Margaret K.
McElderry Books, an imprint of Macmillan Publishing Company. "Ver-
mont Conversation" from The Apple Vendor's Fair by Patricia Hubbell.
Copyright © 1963 by Patricia Hubbell; 4 lines from "While You Were
Acknowledgments 151
Chasing a Hat" from Something New Begins by Lilian Moore. Copyright
© 1982 by Lilian Moore. Both reprinted with permission of Atheneum
Publishers, an imprint of Macmillan Publishing Company. "The Song
in My Head" and "The Year" from The Song in My Head and Other
Poems by Felice Holman. Copyright © 1985 by Felice Holman. Re-
printed with permission of Charles Scribner's Sons, an imprint of
Macmillan Publishing Company.
William Morrow & Company, Inc., for: "Poor Old Penelope" from
The Queen of Eene by Jack Prelutsky. Copyright © 1970, 1978 by
Jack Prelutsky; "The Lurpp Is on the Loose" from The Snopp on the
Sidewalk by Jack Prelutsky. Text copyright © 1977,1978 by Jack Prelut-
sky. Both by permission of Greenwillow Books, a division of William
Morrow & Co., Inc. "Sunny" from Eats by Arnold Adoff. Text copyright
© 1979 by Arnold Adoff. By permission of Lothrop, Lee & Shepard
Books, a division of William Morrow & Co., Inc.
Harold Ober Associates for "The Crow" and "Old Man Ocean" from
The Pedaling Man by Russell Hoban. Copyright © 1968 by Russell
Hoban. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorpo-
rated.
Random House, Inc., for: Excerpt from "Mushrooms" reprinted from

The Colossus and Other Poems by Sylvia Plath. Copyright © I960 by
Sylvia Plath; "The Warning," "Niagara," and "Winter" from Verse by
Adelaide Crapsey. Copyright 1922 by Algernon S. Crapsey and
renewed 1950 by The Adelaide Crapsey Foundation; "The Brave Man"
reprinted from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. Copyright
1936 by Wallace Stevens and renewed 1964 by Holly Stevens;
"Dreams" and "Poem" from The Dream Keeper and Other Poems
by Langston Hughes. Copyright 1932 by Alfred A. Knopf Inc. and
renewed I960 by Langston Hughes. All reprinted by permission of
Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. "Good Times" from Good Times by Lucille Clifton.
Copyright © 1969 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted by permission of Ran-
dom House Inc. Excerpt from The Odyssey of Homer, translated by
Robert Fitzgerald. Copyright © 1961, 1963 and renewed 1989 by
152 Acknowledgments
Robert Fitzgerald. Reprinted by permission of Vintage Books, a Division
of Random House Inc.
Marian Reiner for: "Go Wind" from / Feel the Same Way. Copyright
© 1967 by Lilian Moore; "Message from a Caterpillar" from Little
Racoon and the Poems from the Woods by Lilian Moore. Copyright
© 1975 by Lilian Moore; Excerpt from "Telling Time" from Think
of Shadows by Lilian Moore. Copyright © 1975, 1980 by Lilian Moore;
"Foghorns" from / Thought I Heard the City by Lilian Moore. Copyright
© 1969 by Lilian Moore; Excerpt from "Aelourophobe" and "From
the Japanese" from Rainbow Writing by Eve Merriam. Copyright ©
1976 by Eve Merriam; "Metaphor" from A Sky Full of Poems by Eve
Merriam. Copyright © 1964, 1970, 1973 by Eve Merriam; Excerpt
from "Sunset" in Fresh Paint by Eve Merriam. Copyright © 1986 by
Eve Merriam; "New Notebook" from Flashlight and Other Poems by
Judith Thurman. Copyright © 1976 by Judith Thurman; "Broken and
Broken" (Chosu), "If Things Were Better," "Well! Hello down there,"
and "What a Pretty Kite" (Issa) and "That duck, bobbing up" Qoso)
from Cricket Songs, Japanese haiku translated by Harry Behn. Copyright
© 1964 by Harry Behn; "A dry leaf drifting" and "The best I have
to" (Basho) from More Cricket Songs, Japanese haiku translated by
Harry Behn. Copyright © 1971 by Harry Behn; "There was once a
young fellow of Wall" from A Lollygag of Limericks by Myra Cohn
Livingston. Copyright © 1978 by Myra Cohn Livingston; "Conversation
with Washington" and "Power Lines" from 4-Way Stop and Other
Poems by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1976 by Myra Cohn
Livingston; "Daddy" (formerly "Leroy") from No Way of Knowing:
Dallas Poems by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1980 by Myra
Cohn Livingston; "Garden," "little o," and "T-shirt" from O Sliver of
Liver by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1979 by Myra Cohn
Livingston; "Skating Song" from The Moon and a Star and other
Poems by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1965 by Myra Cohn
Livingston; "74th Street" from The Malibu and Other Poems by Myra
Cohn Livingston. Copyright © 1972 by Myra Cohn Livingston; "Discov-
ery" from Whispers and Other Poems by Myra Cohn Livingston. Copy-
right © 1958, 1984 by Myra Cohn Livingston. All are reprinted by
permission of Marian Reiner for the authors.
Acknowledgments 153
Norman H. Russell for "Beware of Me!" (Cherokee Indian). Copyright
© 1972 by Norman H. Russell. Reprinted by permission of Norman
H. Russell.
The Society of Authors for: "The Wind" from The Collected Poems
of James Stephens, Macmillan, New York, 1927. Reprinted by permis-
sion of The Society of Authors on behalf of the copyright owner,
Mrs. Iris Wise; "The Snowflake" and excerpts from "The Bees' Song"
from Rhymes and Verses by Walter de la Mare, Henry Holt, 1947.
Reprinted by permission of The Literary Trustees of Walter de la
Mare and The Society of Authors as their representative.
The University of California Press for "Song of the Deer" from Singing
for Power: The Song Magic of the Papago Indians of Southern Arizona
by Ruth Underhill. Copyright © 1938,1966 by Ruth Murray Underhill.
Reprinted by permission.
University Press of New England for the first 5 lines of "The Redwoods,"
copyright © 1960 by Louis Simpson. Reprinted from At the End of
the Open Road by permission of University Press of New England.
Viking Penguin for "Firefly" and 4 lines from "Strange Tree" from
Under the Tree by Elizabeth Madox Roberts. Copyright 1922 by
B. W. Huebsch, Inc., renewed 1950 by Ivor S. Roberts. Copyright
1930 by The Viking Press, Inc., renewed © 1958 by Ivor S. Roberts
and The Viking Press, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Viking Penguin,
a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
Index
A bee put on a zephyr 61 Aunt Roberta 8

A dry leaf drifting 105 Away beyond the Jarboe house
A little light is going by 40 4
A lonely sparrow 106
A narrow fellow in the grass 67- Ballad of Newington Green, The
68 95
About his shadowy sides: above Ballad of the Burglar of Babylon,
him swell 43 The 52
Adoff, Arnold 130-32 Ballads 49-52, 103
Adventures of Isabel, The 11, 13 Bandit Bee 61
Aelourophobe 11 Basho 105-6, 108
Aiken, Joan 95 Bees' Song, The 62-63
Alliteration 58-61, 70-71 Before I melt 22
American Indian poetry 21, 54 Behn, Harry 24
An epicure, dining at Crewe, 121 Belting, Natalia M. 89
An old silent pond . . . 108 Betty Baker bought some butter
Anapest 75-76, 117-124, 135 58
Antennas 145 Between Birthdays 74
Apfel 137 Beware of Me! 54
Apostrophe 5, 16-19, 30 Bible, The 128
As I was standing in the street Birds all the sunny day 78
41 Bishop, Elizabeth 52
Assonance 68-71 Blake, William 67
at whim of winds 22 Brats 11
155
156 Index
Brave Man, The 88-89, 100 Couplets 14, 36, 38-39, 43, 44,
Broken and broken 108 45, 46, 102
Brooks, Gwendolyn 65 Crapsey, Adelaide 111, 112
Brown and furry 18-19 Crow, The 45
Browning, Robert 13
Dactyl 77-78, 128
Burgess, Gelett 122
Daddy 65-66
By the shores of Gitche Gumee
de la Mare, Walter 22, 25, 62-63
76
Dickinson, Emily 7, 44, 67-68
Discovery 35
Camel 46 Dohl, Reinhard 136
Carroll, Lewis 12, 14-15, 42 Don't shake this 20-21
Casey at the Bat 13 Double, double toil and trouble
Catchers 145 71
Ceiling, The 45 Dreams 90-91
Charles 65, 68 Drinkwater, John 27
Charles, Dorthi 138
Cherokee Indians 54 Eats 130
Chosu 108 Eel, The 39
Ciardi, John x, 39, 126 Emerson, Ralph Waldo 29
Cinquain 102-3, 111-16 Envelope verse 43, 45
Clementine 52 Evangeline, Prologue to 77-78
Everett Anderson thinks he'll
Clifton, Lucille 41, 132-33
make 41
Clock 73
Closed, it sleeps 93 Fable 29
Coatsworth, Elizabeth 97 Farber, Norma 24, 61, 91, 99
Cock a doodle doo! 42 Faster than fairies, faster than
Cocoon 44 witches 78
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 52 Father and I in the Woods 41
Come down, O Maid 63 Father! father! where are you go-
Concrete Cat 138 ing? 67
Concrete poetry 136-46 Father William 42
Conkling, Hilda 17 Field, Rachel 74, 93
Consonance 67-71 Figures of speech 80-101
Conversation 6, 26-30 Firefly 40
Conversation with Washington Fish, The 129-130
28-29 Fisher, Aileen 74
Index 157
Fitzgerald, Robert, translator 14 Hills, The 93-94
Flonster Poem 60 Hoban, Russell 27, 45
Flying Festoon, The 42 Hold fast to dreams 90-91
Flying loose and easy, where does Holman, Felice 55, 100
he go 45 Homer 12
Flying Uptowri Backwards 84 How Everything Happens 141
Foghorns 96 How frail 112
Forms of poetry 14-15, 19, 76, Hubbell, Patricia 26, 27
102-42 Hughes, Langston 53, 90-91
Four Foolish Ladies 60
Fox, The 50-51 I am a sea-shell flung 24
Free verse 19, 126-35 i am the running girl 131-32
Frog 84-85 I celebrate myself, and sing my-
From a Railway Carriage 78 self 128
From the Japanese 92 I climbed a mountain three feet
Froman, Robert 138, 142 high 39
Frost, Robert 3, 4, 17, 127 I don't mind eels 39
Frutta diMare {Fruits of the Sea) I get way down in the music 8
24 I look in the Mirror, and what
do I see? 38
Garden 16, 62 I loved my friend 53
Go Wind 18 I never even hear 74
Go wind, blow 18 I never saw a moor 7
Goblin Market 78-79 / Ride an Old Paint 52
Good Times 133 i stand on the rock 54
"Good weather for hay." 26-27 / Took a Little Stick 97-98
Greenfield, Eloise 8 I wish that my room had a floor
122
Haiku 102, 103, 104-10 Iamb 73-74, 118, 120-22, 128
Here I come forth 21 Idylls of the King 13
He's the man in the iron pail If things were better 108
mask 75 In the morning her dress is of
Hey diddle diddle 11, 13, 14 palest green 5
Hey, this little kid gets roller Isabel met an enormous bear 11,
skates 33-34 14
Hiawatha 76 Issa 104, 106, 108
Highway Man, The 13 It Makes No Difference to Me 39
158 Index
Jabberwocky 12-13 Marbles that grow on trees 91
Jimmy Jet and His TV Set 15, 59 Marty's party? 76
John Henry 49-50 Marty's Party 76
John Henry was a little baby 49- Mask 5, 20-25
50 McCord, David 40, 41, 44, 76
Joso 107 Merriam, Eve 9, 63, 65, 68, 77,
July 41 92-93
Just now 112 Message from a Caterpillar 20-
21
Kalevala 76 Metaphor 9
Keats, John 52 Metaphor 9-10, 81, 87-94
Kennedy, X. J. 10, 12, 77, 84 Meter 72-79
Kraken, The 43 Mirror, The 38
Kunimoto, Tsumori 83 Mizumura, Kazue 106
Kuskin, Karla 17 Monterey Cypress: Pt. Lobos 22,
146
Ladybug 82 Moon 17
Lear, Edward 13, 62, 123 Moon 17
Limerick 76, 103, 117-25 Moore, Clement Clarke 75
Lines 83 Moore, Lilian 18, 20, 25, 74, 96,
Little Boy Lost, The 67 134
Little ladybug 82 Moore, Marianne 129-30
Little mouse in gray velvet 17 Morgan, Edwin 137-38
little o 114 Morning and evening 79
Livingston, Myra Cohn 16, 21-22, Morning is 9
28-29,32-34,45-46,62,65-66, Mother Goose 13
87-88, 114, 117-20, 146 Mountains are moving, rivers 5
Lobel, Arnold 121 Mouse 17
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 76, Mushrooms 128-29
77-78 My birthdays take so long to start
Lurpp is on the Loose, The 59 74
Lyric 4, 7-10 My Cat and I 74
My Daddy has paid the rent 133
Macbeth 71
MacDonald, George 29 Narrative 5, 11-15
Man in the Iron Pail Mask, The Nash, Ogden 11, 14, 39, 74
75 Nest Eggs 78
Index 159
Never stopping 33 Peter Piper picked a peck of pick-
Nevertheless 129 led pepper 58
New Notebook 83 Pied Piper of Hamelin, The 13
Niagara 112 Pigericks 108
Noyes, Alfred 13 Plath, Sylvia 128-29
Nursery rhymes 11, 13, 14, 26, Playing soccer, Plato Foley 77
38, 41, 43, 58 Poem 53
Poor Old Penelope 60
Octaves 36, 46 Poor old Penelope 60
Odyssey, The 12, 13 Power Lines 87-88
Off-rhyme 65 Prelutsky, Jack 59, 60
Oh, I'm going to ride on the Fly-
ing Festoon— 42 Quatrains 14, 36, 41-43, 44, 45,
Oh the lurpp is on the loose, the 46, 51, 102, 134
loose 59 Quintets 35-36, 44
Old Man Ocean 27-28
Old Man Ocean, how do you Rain into River 10
pound 28 Redwoods, The 5
Old Mother Hubbard 14 Reeves, James 3, 5
Once a jolly swagman camped by Repetition 53-57, 132
a billabong 56 Rhyme 15, 31-43, 49, 55-57, 60-
Once, when the sky was very near 62, 64-71, 84, 93, 102
the earth 89 Rhythm 14-15, 72-79, 117-124,
Onomatopoeia 61-63 128, 135
Open form 126-135 Rime of the Ancient Mariner, The
Opposites 38 52
Out of the cradle endlessly rock- Roberts, Elizabeth Madox 3, 4, 40
ing 128 Roethke, Theodore 45
only know I loved you 66 Rossetti, Christina 8, 9, 18, 35, 78
Overnight, very 128 Round and round and round I
Owl and the Pussycat, The 13 spin 35
Papago 21 Safety Pin 93

Pattern Poem with an Elusive In- Said the Wind to the Moon, "I
truder 136 will blow you out; 29-30
Personification 81, 95-101 Sandburg, Carl 17-24
160 Index
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Squeezing round a bend, train
Not Take the Garbage Out 15, shrieks 84
59 Stanzas 14, 35-46, 48, 51, 55-57,
Scott, Geoffrey 24 93, 102-103, 129-130, 134
Septets 36, 46 Stephens, James 97
Sestets 36, 44, 45 Stevens, Wallace 88-89, 101
74th Street 33-34 Stevenson, Robert Louis 78
Shakespeare, William 71 Stories in verse 49-52, 103
Shape 136-42 Story poems 5, 11-15
She sells sea shells by the sea- Storytellers 49
shore 59 Strange Tree 4
Sick-times, you go inside yourself Sun 91-92
65 Sun is a Golden Earring, The 89
Sunny 131
Siesta of a Hungarian Snake 137-
Sunset 68
38
Suppose the Ceiling went Out-
Silverstein, Shel 15, 42, 59, 75
side 45
Simile 81, 82-86
Swenson, May 140
Simpson, Louis 3, 5
Skating Song 32-33, 35
Taking Turns 99
Skyscratcher 143
Tall 140
Smith, William Jay 38, 46-47
Telling Time 134-35
Snail 27 Tennyson, Alfred Lord 13, 43, 61,
Snail upon the wall, 27 63, 69-70
Snow/lake, The 22-23, 25 Tercets 36, 39-41, 44, 45, 48,103,
Sometimes I think the hills 93 129-30
"Son," 41 That duck, bobbing up 107
Song in My Head, The 55 Thayer, Ernest Lawrence 13
Song of Hiawatha, The 16 The best I have to 106
Song of the Deer 21 The Camel is a long-legged
Space Songs 142 humpbacked beast 46
Splendor Falls on Castle Walls, The cold 113
The 69 the end 132
Spring brings out her baseball The foghorns moaned 96
bat, swings it through 98 The fox went out on a chilly night
Spring tried and tried, but could 50-51
not make 97-98 The horses of the sea 35
Index 161
The little caterpillar creeps 44 There was an old man with a
The mountain and the squirrel beard 123
29 There was an Old Person of Ban-
The opposite of doughnut? Wait gor 124
39 There was once a young fellow
The song in my head 55 of Wall 117
The splendor falls on castle walls They did it, George. They did it
61, 69, 70 28-29
The spotted frog 84-85 Thin robots, 87
The summer night 92 Things 8
The sun 91-92 This clock 73
The sun, that brave man 89 This is My Rock 40
This is my rock 40
"The time has come," the Walrus
This is the forest primeval. The
said 15
murmuring pines and the hem-
The wild geese returning 84
locks 78
The wind 74
Thousandz of thornz there be 62
The Wind is a man with a spade
Thurman, Judith 83
in his hand 89
Time ticks 134-135
The wind stood up, and gave a
To make a prairie it takes a clover
shout 97 and one bee 44
The Year 100 Tom or tabby 77
There is no rhyme for silver 65 Tree at My Window 5, 17
There was a wet pig from Fort Tree at my window, window tree,
Wayne 121 5,17
There was a young lady of New- Tree Gowns 5
ington Green 95 Trochee 76-79, 128
There was a young woman from T-shirt, 114
Niger 122 Turtle, The 45-46
There was a young woman named 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Bright 121 12, 14
There was an old man from Black- 'Twas the night before Christmas,
heath 120 when all through the house 75
There was an old man in a tree,
62 Vermont Conversation 26-27
There was an Old Man who said, Visit from St. Nicholas, A 75
"Well!" 123-124 Voices of poetry 3-31
162 Index
wade 129-30 When the young Dawn spread in
Walrus and the Carpenter, The the eastern sky 12, 14
15 While You Were Chasing a Hat
Waltzing Matilda 56 74
Warning, The 112 Whistles 74
We found him down at Turtle Whitman, Walt 127-28
Creek 46 Who has seen the wind? 8-9
Well! Hello down there 104 Who has the better 16, 62
Went to the corner 8 Wilbur, Richard 38
What a pretty kite 106 Wind, The 97
What do people think about 8 Wind and the Moon, The 29-30
What's the news of the day 26 Winter 113
When he went to the house, Winter 113
75 Worth, Valerie 73, 84, 93
When I flop down 74
When I have seen the sun emerge Yankee Doodle 52
68 Year, The 100
When John Henry was a little Yellow and pink as a peach 68
babe 50 "You are old, Father William," the
When my friend Lessie runs she young man said 42
runs so fast 8 You've seen a strawberry 129
When nothing is happening 141
When sun goes home 99 Zolotow, Charlotte 82-83

Poem-Making Myra Cohn Livingston PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Poem-Making Myra Cohn Livingston PDF

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Poem-Making Myra Cohn Livingston PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

POEM-

Myra Cohn Livingston

A Charlotte Zolotow Book

and with thanks to Bob Hendershot of Wyoming, Michigan,

The Voices of Poetry 3

Sound and Rhyme 31

Other Elements of Sound 53

Rhythm and Metrics 72

Other Forms 102

JLMAGINE that you've been spending the last few

V ^ A N E DAY in a fifth-grade classroom I read to

Away beyond the Jarboe house

And the girl began "Over the fence I saw a tree," a

When this girl began to write "Come into the room,

Mountains are moving, rivers

Still others preferred to stay with the narrative

In the morning her dress is of palest green,

A lyric poem is one that expresses the feelings

I never saw a moor,

We cannot mistake this voice, for Emily Dickinson

Sometimes we must read further before we know

What do people think about

The pronouns "me" and "I" establish that this is

Went to the corner

Christina Rossetti writes in this same voice when

Who has seen the wind?

There are times however when the poet's voice

Rain into river

It should not be difficult to learn to recognize a

The narrative voice tells a story. It may b e a story

Hey diddle diddle,

It may be a humorous story such as Ogden Nash's

Isabel met an enormous bear,

When the young Dawn spread in the eastern sky

Lewis Carroll begins his famous nonsense narra-

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Whether you prefer a short nursery verse like

Hey diddle diddle,

Poets seem to plunge right into their narratives, en-

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

Shel Silverstein's "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Who has the better

I have talked not only to bees but to telephone

Some of my favorite poems are written in the

Little mouse in gray velvet,

And in "Go Wind" Lilian Moore tells the wind what

Christina Rossetti addresses a caterpillar.

Brown and furry

These poems are written in many different forms.

Don't shake this

Perhaps you imagine, as I do, that almost anything

In this poem, called "Monterey Cypress: Pt. Lobos,"

When I teach classes, I ask students to use the

A sea-shell is washed up by the ocean.

How much more fascinating this is when GeoflFrey

I sing to myself all day

But lift me from the ground,

For what the wise whales ponder

Norma Farber has written poems in which she