One of my earliest memories of poetry involves people-watching with my father. As we waited for my mom to find her perfect pair of shoes, Dad and I leaned against the railing on the second floor of the local mall and invented stories about the shoppers scurrying below us on the first floor. He would always end our sessions with Shel Silverstein’s “My Hobby”.
When you spit from the twenty-six floor,
And it floats through the breeze to the ground,
Does it fall upon hats
Or on white Persian cats
Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?
I used to think life was a bore,
But I don’t feel that way anymore,
As I count up the hits,
As I smile as I sit,
And I spit from the twenty-sixth floor.
Without realizing it, my dad had created a lifelong fan of both poetry and Shel Silverstein. It wasn’t until my third year of teaching and dragging students through analyzing poems about stuff they’d never experienced, written with words they’d never seen before, and using images they didn’t understand, that I grabbed Mr. Silverstein from the shelf. In a huff of frustration, I threw his poems at them. (Not literally. That would be wrong.)
I emphatically inquired, “See the internal rhyme? See the imagery? Notice the progression of plot and how the speaker’s perspective changes?”
They did. They saw it. They noticed. They loved it.
Do you know what happened next? They started noticing the same kinds of things in more sophisticated poems by people like Tennyson, Poe, and Shakespeare. While these poets may have created more sophisticated verses that we absolutely should expose our students to, we should not dismiss poets like Mr. Silverstein as not worthy of study.
Every year, I start our poetry unit by reciting the very poem my dad taught me at that shopping mall. Immediately, students are laughing and enjoying poetry. They want to know where I learned the poem. They want to know the story behind it. See? Already, they’re engaged in poetry study, and they don’t even know it. They begin to understand that although the poem contains a stand-alone message, the story behind the poem (my dad and I enjoying some bonding time) enhances their understanding of it. This idea carries over to all the other poems we read in class. Who wrote it? Why did he write it? Did he mean for the words to be interpreted the way we interpret them? Shel Silverstein’s silly poem about spitting on people’s heads creates curiosity, and isn’t that half the battle?
Before jumping from spitting on heads to talking ravens, I introduce another Silverstein masterpiece, “The Fourth”. This poem is loaded with onomatopoeia, and the shape of it sort of resembles a firecracker. So, that’s fun. Again, they get it immediately. They start discussing how sound words can create imagery because there is no way you can read “The Fourth” without a picture of Independence Day celebrations forming in your mind. Their wheels start turning. At this point, usually someone asks if they can try it. They want to mimic the style with a different holiday or celebratory occasion. Mr. Silverstein’s simple little firework-based sensory experience creates eagerness. I don’t know if eagerness makes up the other complete half of the battle, but it comes close.
This is when I ask them if they’d like to hear another poem with excellent use of onomatopoeia. Of course, they do. So, I pull out a longer piece, “Peanut Butter Sandwich”. Remember, they are engaged, so they are ready to listen to a two-and-a-half page poem. This poem about a “silly young king” contains enough thematic prompts to keep you busy for a week. At the end of the poem when (spoiler alert) the king’s mouth is finally pried open and freed from the foolishly masticated extra-sticky peanut butter, and his first royal request is for yet another sandwich, I lead the students into a “bonus lesson” on characterization: round, flat, dynamic, static. Now, we’re making real progress.
“Merry…” is another favorite that spurs deeper conversation than you’d think for a poem about a Christmas tree left up for three months. It’s a great one to use to recognize a shift in tone. The haunting repetition seems so sad until the humorous, ironic twist at the end. Eventually, someone brings up the idea that it’s still kind of sad, though. It’s not just a funny commentary on people who leave the lights up until Easter, but it’s also a statement on how Christmas sentiments such as love and peace shouldn’t be seasonal, but they are. And just like that, we’ve just won the battle to entice reluctant students to study poetry.
After a few days of enjoying Mr. Silverstein’s verses, students clamour for something more sophisticated. They feel secure using the terminology as well as their own analytical skills. Confidently, they will approach “The Charge of the Light Brigade” and notice stylistic rhymes and rhythms similar to Silverstein’s, as well as the narrative nature of the poem. They will revel in the sound devices of “The Raven”. They will understand the symbolic nature of a season in “Sonnet 18”.
Students claim they hate poetry because it’s boring, they don’t understand it, or they can’t comprehend hidden meanings. I boldly declare that they don’t hate poetry at all. They detest the dreadful experiences they’ve had trying to live up to the expectations of teachers who want them to interpret figurative language the “right” way. After all, the blue curtain must mean the speaker is sad, right? Right?
If we can convince students that poetry is fun, they will stop hating it. They might not admit it, but they will. When they realize that they are capable of recognizing deeper meaning and analyzing poetic devices, they will stop resisting. Once they stop resisting, they start learning. They start appreciating. They start–dare I say it–loving poetry.
All of the Silverstein poems mentioned in this blog come from his book, Where the SIdewalk Ends. I recommend keeping a few copies of it and A Light in the Attic on your shelves for students to enjoy year round. Shuffle in several collections by other poets, and before you know it, your students will begin expanding their poetic tastes.
Another great resource is ShelSilverstein.com where you’ll find free downloadable kits, activities, and lessons. And remember, whatever engaging, analytical lessons you use with Dickinson or Longfellow or Hughes, you can also use with Silverstein. After all, my dad inspired in me not only an appreciation for Shel Silverstein, but also a love for John Donne. The collections of these two masters still live side-by-side on my dad’s wall of bulging bookshelves and on mine, too. If my dad, who never really liked school, can do that for me, imagine what you can do for your students.
I would love to hear about your experiences with poetry. In the comments below, please share which seemingly simplistic poems or children’s verses you use to engage students and foster curiosity.
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