Help
I need help. I have to chose a poem to introduce to my class and promote discussion, discussion, questions, and insightful reflection by sharing what I have learned about the author or by encouraging others to contribute their ideas. 15 minutes.
Basically I need help choosing a poem. I've selected a few from my book that might be okay, but I need an outside opinion on which poem would be the most interesting or at least promote 15 minutes of discussion. Poems to follow.
Audre Lorde [1934-1992]
Coal
I is the total black
being spoken
from the earth's inside.
There are many kinds of open
how a diamond comes
into a knot of flame
how sound comes into a word
colored
by who pays what for speaking
Some words are open
diamonds on a glass window
singing out within the crash
of passing sun
other words are stapled wagers
in a perforated book
buy and sign and tear apart
and come whatever wills all chances
the stub remains
an ill-pulled tooth
with a ragged edge.
Some words live in my throat
breeding like adders
others
know sun
seeking like gypsies
over my tongue
to explode through my lips
like young sparrows
bursting from shell.
Some words
bedevil me.
Love is a word, another kind of open.
As the diamond comes
into a knot of flame
I am Black
because I come from the earth's inside
take my word for jewel
in the open light
The Sound
By Kim Addonizio
Marc says the suffering that we don't see
still makes a sort of sound—a subtle, soft
noise, nothing like the cries of screams that we
might think of—more the slight scrape of a hat doffed
by a quiet man, ignored as he stands back
to let a lovely woman pass, her dress
just brushing his coat. Or else it's like a crack
in an old foundation, slowly widening, the stress
and slippage going on unnoticed by
the family upstairs, the daughter leaving
for a date, her mother's resigned sigh
when she sees her. It's like the heaving
of a stone into a lake, before it drops.
It's shy, it's barely there. It never stops.
The Saint Vincent de Paul Food Pantry Stomp
"Waiting for the carton of food
given with Christian suspicion
even to agency-certified charity cases
like me,
thin and brittle
as uncooked linguini,
anticipating the factory-damaged cans
of tomato soup, beets, three-bean salad
in a welfare cornucopia,
I spotted a squashed dollar bill
on the floor, and with
a Saint Vincent de Paul food pantry stomp
pinned it under my sneaker,
tied my laces meticulously,
and stuffed the bill in my sock
like a smuggler of diamonds,
all beneath the plaster statue wingspan
of Saint Vinnie,
who was unaware
of the dance
named in his honor
by a maraca shaker
in the salsa band
of the unemployed."
-Martin Espada.
This post has been edited by JLV: 23 January 2012 - 04:24 AM
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they we easy to write about.
