Sharpening Language—Opening the Imagination
Comparisons—Metaphors and Similes
Read pages 27-31 from Kevin Clark’s handbook The Mind’s Eye, attached to the handout you received in class. We’ll talk more about metaphors and similes next week. See Lisa Coffman’s example of a list poem on page 30. Marge Piercy’s “The Secretary Chant” uses metaphors effectively in a list-type way.
Assignment, choose either option below
Also, post a poem (it can be this one) for the next workshop 4/8. Same groups as last time.
List poem with similes:
List poems give you practice in creating strong imagery while you also become attuned to the demands of rhythm. Write a list poem that uses similes. You may want to begin with one of the following phrases: “My grandfather’s face looks like . . .” or “My mother’s skin feels like. . .” or “The clock in my head rings like. . .” Keep repeating the phrase and altering the end of each line. After four or five lines, vary the rhythm and pattern slightly to avoid boring your reader. Try to build to some kind of unpredictable resolution.
List poem with metaphors:
You can also write a list poem that uses metaphors rather than similes. Metaphors usually render a more immediate sensation than similes, and similes generally render a more reflective or considered sensation than metaphors. Both are extremely important tools in poetry. In order to try a list poem using metaphors, you might begin with something like this: “My grandfather’s face is a side of cooked beef. . .” or “My love is a four-headed rose. . .” Again keep repeating the phrase that begins the line and then eventually vary the rhythm and structure slightly. If you can try to change the nature or intensity of the comparisons as you move toward the end of the poem. Such change might correlate to a change in understanding.
The Secretary Chant, Marge Piercy, 1973
My hips are a desk,
From my ears hang
chains of paper clips.
Rubber bands form my hair.
My breasts are quills of
mimeograph ink.
My feet bear casters,
Buzz. Click.
My head is a badly organized file.
My head is a switchboard
where crossed lines crackle.
Press my fingers
and in my eyes appear
credit and debit.
Zing. Tinkle.
My navel is a reject button.
From my mouth issue canceled reams.
Swollen, heavy, rectangular
I am about to be delivered
of a baby
Xerox machine.
File me under W
because I wonce
was
a woman.
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