Teaching Teen Poets

The UT Creative Writing Program has this event each Spring for area high school students called the Young Writers' Institute. From what I understand, students in the local public and private schools are nominated by their teachers to come take morning and afternoon workshops in different genres, free of charge. Man, where was a program like this when I was in high school?

I taught a free-verse poetry workshop to ten 14- and 15-year-old girls yesterday morning. I'm not lying y'all--it was the most fun I had all last week. These young writers were fantastic: motivated, interested (and interesting, which is always a plus), and really eager to learn something about writing. I opened up the workshop with a warm-up Write-Around-The-Room activity, which was a hit (it's always a hit). We got a great group poem about machine gods torturing pink rhinos. I explained to the writers that maybe these things could be metaphors--the machine gods might be wars or capitalism, the pink rhinos might be soliders or children. Or a team from Legends of the Hidden Temple.

After that we talked about Plath's "Metaphors," Brautigan's "All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace," and Marge Piercy's "Barbie Doll." I wanted them to see how poets take deeply personal, and even embodied experiences, like pregnancy in Plath's case, and attach the meaning to concrete objects outside of themselves to create specific images in their poems that are loaded with different levels of meaning. Then I did love-candy (Thanks, Monda!) and brought out my bag of tricks: a bag full of random things from around my house, including a blue bandanna, a miniature print of "American Gothic," a Barbie doll in a jar, a Jesus action figure, my Honors College medallion--just whatever. I had the writers draw objects and see how they could work together as images that form metaphors for the internal. One of the most interesting poems was by a girl who drew a can opener and a postcard that says "Free Love." She wrote about the mechanization of human emotion. An interesting line from her poem: "Red is vodka and sex." I love it, but I'm a bit concerned. She's 15. Sweet Jesus, please don't let her have any experience with "red."

I was so impressed by how eager they were to share their writing, and how friendly they were with each other. Without much prompting from me at all, these writers commented on their peers' work in very complimentary and helpful ways. By the end of the workshop, I had them all read at least one thing they'd written, laughing up a storm at my funny stories about New York subways and the awkward turtle hand gesture, and many of them asked me to read and comment on some of their earlier poems. I felt like a real teacher.

So I did get some angsty teenage poems about disillusionment and the "enormity of my hatred." But whatever. They're 9th and 10th graders. If they aren't surly teen poets now, God save them when they're writing howlers at 23. As long as they are writing and they are interested, I'm proud. I'm happy. These girls are writers.

On an interesting side note--Monda, this is particularly for you--at the open mic event at the end of the day, the students volunteered to read their work. Like I said before, we had all the different schools represented, and thus students from an array of socio-economic backgrounds. While I'm a dork and really get enthusiastic about any student writing, I'll be honest: The girls from Austin-East, Knoxville's poor, under-performing, inner-city school, were the most talented poets in the room. Phenomenal young talent--probably because they have real stuff to write about.

P.S.--My apologies to Josh and Charlotte for blathering on and on about my workshop yesterday afternoon. If I was rude, it was unintentional. I was just so damn excited. Next time just tell me to shut up, and I am excited to hear about yours.