Birthing Corpses

“What do you mean when you say, ‘Break up these lines’?” asked Aamir, a gifted musician and writer in my Honors Creative Writing class who was often resistant to any suggestions to change in his work.

“When you speak or read aloud,” I said, “aren’t there some areas where you pause or emphasize a specific word? Do you just run through your sentence or your own lyrics in a monotonous way?”

Pause. 

“. . . I guess not?”

Exactly. And so, with time and some internal struggle and the modelling of mid-20th to early 21st-century poets in writing and in performance, Aamir learned to value and harness the power of a breath-stop or line break, as well as the judicious usage of enjambment, or the impact of the occasional single word as an entire line to punch up a poem.

I stood before a room of 34 students who had chosen this class but were not sure what to expect from a year of creative writing.

But this was near the end of year one of a two-year process during which Aamir grew as a thinker and writer to become one of five poetry editors who vetted student work, debated the merits of submissions, and democratically chose what to publish in HORIZONS—our award-winning literary and arts magazine—before then going back to the authors with editing recommendations of their own. The creative process, full circle.

The beginning of the process was, ironically enough, a variation of an Exquisite Corpse, a collaborative exercise in which each individual contributes a word or a line without having seen all (or most) of what was previously written. Day one of the class in the students’ junior year, I stood before a room of 34 students who had chosen this class but were not sure what to expect from a year of creative writing. 

“You . . . row one, seat one. What is your name?”

“Debbie.”

“Nice to meet you, and we will all get to know each other much better starting today. More importantly: Did you see, feel, experience, or do something different or unique today?”

Debbie: “It’s 8:45 in the morning!”

“I know . . . but think, please, and on this piece of paper write one descriptive phrase or sentence to capture whatever you choose to focus on, big or small.” 

Pause. Quick scribbles.

 “Okay! Thank you, and please pass that sheet backwards. Seat two, you are . . . ?”

“Margaux.”

“Hi, Margaux. Please read what Debbie wrote, and write something that is in your own style and language that continues the flow of the ‘narrative,’ maybe thinking about the same question I posed to Debbie to get her going?” 

More scribbles. 

“Now fold Debbie’s lines backwards so only yours is showing and pass the sheet back to . . . ?”

“Andrew.”

This process was then repeated 31 more times with two accordioned, 8½” x 14” sheets of paper filled with “random” lines. Now it is in Aamir’s hands, and he has just written his own and placed a period at the end of it.

“Aamir! You are our lucky winner today! Please unfold the pages. Start with Debbie’s page, which I numbered ‘one,’ and—loudly and proudly—read the collective poem you and your classmates have just written!”

And he did, quite well and at a decent pace for everyone to hear their own line and place it into its new and greater context. There were moments of laughter in the room from obvious disconnects in flow or imagery or ideas, but there were also more than a few utterances of “Huh!” or “Wow!” when a deeper insight was discovered, and then, spontaneous applause not just for Aamir’s reading, but for what they had all brought into being, together.

Not a bad start. Creativity and community ignited, thoughts firing, and lots of work ahead.

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For day two I distributed a typed version of their Exquisite Corpse, with every student’s name as co-author. I explained the concept of a “found poem” and told them why their collective work did not exactly fit the definition but would serve as a springboard for our next creative task. Each student was to read the complete piece, select any seven to nine lines, arrange them in an order that seemed fitting to them while editing words/phrases as they likewise saw fit, to “find” or “create” a poem that now would be singularly their own and which they would re-write on a clean sheet of paper.

The “fun” of day one gave way to deep consideration and some frustrations as students carefully read, identified lines, and began to shape their poems. I walked around, offering some guidance to those who seemed more in need, and generally let them think and work for approximately 25 minutes. With five minutes of this period to go, I told them to finish-up and when that time elapsed, I paired up students and gave them two new tasks:

• To explain their creative choices to their peers—the whys of which lines were chosen, the hows of line arrangement or modification, and the whats regarding the tone/impact they wished their poem to convey.
• After this discussion, their homework was to take their peer’s effort and critique it from both a “meaning” or “symbolic” perspective and to offer further editing suggestions.

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Now they were burgeoning Poets, Collaborators, Reflective Thinkers, and Editors . . . and it was only day three!

Day three generated lots of conversational back-and-forth, and some debate, as students defended or explained elements of their own pieces or suggested changes to those of their peers. Ultimately, each had to submit a polished “final” version of their own work to me for further feedback with written explanations for the choices they made (as drafted above).

Now they were burgeoning Poets, Collaborators, Reflective Thinkers, and Editors . . . and it was only day three!

But as this was also a traditional English class that needed to meet curricular benchmarks and prepare students for a state-wide exam at the end of junior year, I still had to develop and assign some “traditional” work. This did not mean creative writing was jettisoned, but these assignments needed to walk the line between academic and creative in order to further the students’ range of poetic knowledge and possibilities (the reading and writing of fiction and creative non-fiction were obviously also vital components of this class, but here I am focusing on the poetry).

Thus, the “American Poets Project” was born, a marking period-long assignment integrating research, writing, and presentation components. For this project, I divided students into groups of three or four to collaborate on investigating the life, perspectives, and style of a specific poet. They were to explore the poet’s influences and legacy, critical reviews/receptions of their work at time of publication and in the present day, any controversies associated with the poet’s work, and informed opinions as to why this poet should be considered a “great” American poet.

The poets to be explored included Gwendolyn Brooks, E.E. Cummings, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Allen Ginsberg, Langston Hughes, Audre Lorde, Naomi Shihab Nye, Sylvia Plath, and Walt Whitman. I gave the groups explicit instructions about what to investigate and which specific poems to focus on but allowed them complete freedom as to how to “teach” their peers about this poet and their work in an interactive way during a full period lesson. These lessons were also to include, where possible, excerpts of recordings of the poet reading their work or one of the students reading the work aloud in the poet’s stead.

Some students initially found it a challenge to decide who would tackle each component of the assignment and how to divvy up the work in an equitable fashion, but they had worked together long enough over the course of the year that these issues were soon worked out to their satisfaction. 

The “driver” of this classroom and this project was most decidedly not me by this point . . .

Aamir’s group was randomly assigned Allen Ginsberg, and by this point in the year I knew him well enough that we had discussed favorite hip-hop artists and particular songs whose language was often very “colorful.” Nevertheless, Aamir approached me on behalf of his group with written excerpts from “Howl” and asked, “Can we really play the mp3 of this or distribute the text to our classmates?” I asked him what his group was concerned about, and he responded, “Well, Ginsberg’s life and work was very controversial and contains a lot of language and ideas we wouldn’t normally hear in a classroom.” I replied that this was an honors class in a high performing school and that any language they found awkward or uncomfortable to say aloud could be changed to something “safer,” but the texts and mp3 files needed to remain as-is to respect the work of the poet. Aamir shrugged and went to report my response to his group mates. I noticed one student, Alice, who I knew to be more reserved, shake her head.

As the weeks of preparation in advance of the presentation days proceeded, interspersed with readings and other traditional English classwork, many groups approached me with ideas or concerns. Some of these involved internal group collaborative challenges, some were about the poets themselves—their lives or work—and others just involved decision making. More often than not, I would suggest a few different options for them to debate and decide on themselves. 

The “driver” of this classroom and this project was most decidedly not me by this point, and this—more than the research or organization of material—proved to be the most challenging aspect for many groups who were used to a teacher-centered learning environment. My job was to walk around, observe the students interact, and interject where needed, guide as needed, and serve as a springboard for them to pitch questions, ideas, and concerns. I took note of those students who seemed to serve as focusers or leaders in each group, always considering who might serve as an editor on the following year’s literary magazine.

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Fast-forward to the beginning of April, National Poetry Month, during which time these lessons would be delivered, followed the next day by a full-period classroom debriefing, constructive criticism, and praise. Content-wise the material offered was generally strong and well-organized and the work was shared among all partners. There were varying degrees of success in the dynamism of the presentations/lessons and the student’s public speaking, owing to different personalities and levels of comfort in being the center of attention in the classroom. Likewise, the required “interactive” segments where classmates/audience had to be engaged in some task related to the poet or his or her work varied in terms of creativity. For some groups, the limitations of near freedom were daunting. But there were also bright and shining moments.

Knowing Ginsberg’s work and having suggested “Howl” as one of the potential poems to be featured, I had concerns about that particular lesson even though I chose to include Ginsberg in the mix of poets. I did not share that concern with Aamir and his partners because I needed them to be decisive and confident, and they did not disappoint.

I even saw one young lady lean over to a peer and mouth, “This is a poem?”

Most groups presented the background material on their assigned poet and then ended their presentation with excerpts from and discussion of a representative poem. This group deliberately went the opposite route. Carrie opened with a simple sentence: “Allen Ginsberg was a poet whose fame began in the 1950s.”

Aamir then stood and read the first line from “Howl.” I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked. . . . Then Carrie, Alice, and Aamir took turns reading lines as they walked throughout the classroom, forcing the audience to focus on each of them as they spoke. The group ended with the provocative 11th line . . . with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls. . . . 

There were no changes or edits to the language in their performance, done with minimal use of index cards and spoken with appropriate emotion and volume, but there were audible gasps and confused looks in the eyes of their classmates. I even saw one young lady lean over to a peer and mouth, “This is a poem?” When it was over, the first reaction was crickets—silence.

But then some hands started going up. The first question was: “How did you feel reading those words?” Alice answered that they had debated doing this performance in an unedited way, and that she herself felt very awkward, but as she read and learned more about Ginsberg’s life and writings, she learned how he fought for freedom of speech and the freedom to live as he wished, and she decided she did not want to change a word.

I stood in the back of the classroom, barely able to contain my smile, though concerned that a more conservative student might “report” this to a parent. And some heads started nodding.

“What makes that a poem?” was the next question, which started a discussion about Blake’s influence on Ginsberg; about the rebelliousness of students growing up in the post WWII and Korean War era; about the proto-hippie scene then starting to emerge; about the growing informality in format, style, and language of American writing in general; and about how works like those Ginsberg wrote were still considered poetry because “If it ain’t a pleasure, it ain’t a poem” (quoting William Carlos Williams who I had taught earlier in the year). Another student responded, “But how can that be pleasurable? It seems so dark!” Aamir quickly took out the full text and read some highlights from Part III, aka the “Carl Solomon, I’m with you in Rockland . . .” section, which Aamir argued ended a bleak poem in a positive and supportive way, as Ginsberg was speaking directly to a friend who was admitted to a mental hospital and to whom the entire poem was dedicated.

The group then backtracked and used the rest of their time to provide the necessary biographical details of Ginsberg’s life, the legal issues with “Howl,” and thoughts on Ginsberg’s impact on American poetry. One mission accomplished.

And Aamir? He did earn a position as one of the poetry editors the following year, bringing his creative, analytic, and collaborative skills to the fore. Once, during a session of editor-run poetry writing workshops, as I floated between the three classrooms that housed different genres, I overheard Aamir say to his class: “You each will write one line in response to the line that came before you in any way you choose. Then fold the page over so only your line is showing. . . .”

Exquisite Corpses, indeed.

Featured photo: “Poet Allen Ginsberg with broken leg, laying on floor meditating, 1973” by Tony Barnard, courtesy of UCLA Library Digital Collections.

More about Allen Ginsberg in the magazine: “Delicatessen Intellectual: Sharon Mesmer on Allen Ginsberg” by Sharon Mesmer.