Hi, and thanks for reading! Today is Monday, so we’re going to talk about poetry.
If you want to go directly to the poetry exercise, and skip all this “recipe blog” backstory, scroll to the next subhead.
When you begin submitting poems for publication, you have to come up with a bio. Big Poetry doesn’t want you to know this, but the bio is the hardest part of being a writer. Typically, they want you to set a limit between 75 – 100 words, give a brief history of your writing, provide your most impressive accolades, and include a way to find you online. When you haven’t published anything, this seems impossible because there’s nothing to say. When you’ve published a bunch, this seems impossible because what do you include?
Much of my mental energy over the last few years has been consumed by bios, cover letters, resumes, and other short writing assignments of this nature. They expect you to succinctly describe who you are and explain why your identity would make you a valuable addition to Whatever. It’s exhausting!
And that’s where poems come in. Today we’re going to work on a fun, creative version of this task that has tormented so many of my friends and colleagues. Instead of external observation, we’re turning our lenses inward for a comprehensive view of ourselves. Ahh! Perception!
This is a little bit like the list poems we’ve worked on previously, but we’re making more concrete, declarative statements about identity. In my mind, this is a nice writing exercise to revisit every few months – depending on the day, you could write a very different “I am” poem the next time you try to craft one. They can act as an interesting series of snapshots to gauge how you change over time.
Exercise: Building the Bio-Poem
I’m using a version of this prompt from Susan Goldsmith Woolridge’s book Poemcrazy, which I originally received as a gift when I was 11. It’s probably the first “craft book” I’ve ever read. She includes a mix of very straightforward exercises to create drafts, and more woo-y ones about letting the magic of language move you. I find this helpful – some days I’m woo-y, some days I just need to sit and put words down – and she also includes short essays about her life teaching poetry. Woolridge says that she uses “I am” poems like these as an opening prompt in many of her workshops, whether they’re adult writers or elementary school students.
Grab a timer and settle into your writing space. Set your timer for three minutes.
For three minutes, answer questions about yourself. Here are examples from Woolridge’s book:If I were a color, what color would I be?
What shape would I be – a triangle, an airplane wing, a boot, a sphere?
What car – what make, model, condition?
What kind of tree would I be? Flower? Bird?
What number would I be?
Which letter – the first initial of my name, or something else?
What piece of furniture?
What motion – a sweeping glide, a skittish scramble?
Here are some questions I came up with:
How tall do I feel? How tall do I seem?
If I were a perfume, what would I be called?
What zoo animal would I be? What farm animal? What insect?
Which TV, film, or book character do I see myself in?
Which celebrities do I look like? Which celebrities seem the most like me?
Which city am I? Which country?
Which weird roadside attraction would I be?
Which holiday would I be?
Which decade?
Which out-of-style hairstyle or clothing trend?
Which cocktail? Which candy? Which style of hot dog?
If I were a treasure, or an ancient artifact – which would I be, and where would I be hidden?
Once you have a list of answers, set your timer for two minutes. Go back over your answers, and start adding words to them – synonyms, antonyms, free association. You’re building a list of words to choose from, and so often, our first instinct in language isn’t the most accurate description of a thing. Maybe you said you’re “red,” but you’re really scarlet or crimson. Maybe you said that, if you were a country, you’d be France, but you really mean a specific region. Get specific.
Set your timer for five minutes, and get ready to compose your poem. The obvious entry point is “I am,” but as you write, you might want to introduce different states of being. Woolridge suggests “I remember,” “I was,” “I will be,” and “I let go of” to mix things up.
Write freely and loosely – you’re writing your audience. This is just for you! You might find strange links between the questions you’ve chosen to answer. Maybe people say you look like Mary Tyler Moore in tailored pants/but with the ass of a 2003 Mazda Miata. Maybe the crimson red you started with becomes a ruby in a dungeon by the end. Who knows!
When you’ve finished your poem, put it somewhere you can revisit later. Might I recommend keeping it in the same Google Drive folder where you keep resumes and cover letters? That way, the next time you write and re-write an 80-word bio so many times you no longer feel like a person, you have a full account of attributes and experiences to pull you back to reality.
Okay! Paid subscribers, I’ll see you tomorrow and Thursday. Free subscribers (and passers-by from social media – hey!), I’ll see you Friday. Thanks, as always, for reading.