By: Caroline Koppelman
Paragraph 1:
- Grab your reader with something he probably hasn’t ever heard before, which is either a figurative or metaphorical statement.
- E.g. “I’m completely blind and live to fill the void it creates”
- Draw out your original metaphor, giving the reader a small peak at, or a moment of, your world. But don’t reveal what the metaphor means just yet.
- E.g. “All I want is a speak of vision so I can see multiple colors again.”
I am completely blind and live to fill the void it creates. I want only to touch upon what I'm missing, to poke a pinpoint through my darkness, so I can see red, and green, and periwinkle, and the night sky, and the sun. All I want is a speck of vision.
Paragraph 2:
- Begin to explain the metaphor—without totally giving it away—by talking about the situation or feelings that led to it.
- E.g. “That my childhood should be reduced to a bunch of images on glossy 4” x 5” paper, the ones I could harness together from the top of my dusty self, reminded me of how quickly the past slips away.”
Yesterday I looked through my old pictures stashed in a dusty bin, strewn on the floor before me. That my childhood should be reduced to a bunch of images on glossy 4" x 5" paper, the ones I could harness together from the top of my dusty shelf, reminded me of how quickly the past slips away. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to recall some of the happy memories in those pictures. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, the track lighting on my ceiling suddenly seemed to blind me, and I winced away in pain.
- Draw out the metaphor by showing, not telling.
- E.g. “ I am blind because I am without the ability to re-experience what was once mine, and saddened because this makes me realize I am missing valuable colors from the palette of my mind”
But it wasn't the track lighting that made me blind. In fact, it is an affliction that all people suffer from as a consequence of having just one opportunity at life. Like blindness, it is the condition of missing a very vital sense: that childhood can be neither relived nor reanimated. I am blind because I am without the ability to re-experience what was once mine, and saddened because this makes me realize that I am missing valuable colors from the palette of my mind.
- Talk about why you feel the way you do; what in your past has made you the way you are? Is there any way in which you depart from your metaphor sometimes?
- E.g. “I cringe at the notion of time passing, and leaving childhood behind, because I am a visual poet, because I shape my surroundings, along with my deepest feelings—my love, my anger, my hope—into stanzas. And it is frustrating for me not to have the true-to-life sensations of childhood in my repertoire.”
I cringe at the notion of time passing, and leaving childhood behind, because I am a visual poet, because I shape my surroundings, along with my deepest feelings—my love, my anger, my hope—into stanzas. And it is frustrating for me not to have the true-to-life sensations of childhood in my repertoire. Poetry makes sense of the world I live in. For anything that matters, I record, and anything I record can never be lost. Poetry opens up channels that flow inward, abounding with the colors of my palette, which converge into a picture of myself.
- Talk about what the life situation you’ve described ultimately means to you. What is the point? How does the metaphor manifest itself in your life?
- E.g. “There is no greater pleasure for me than creating the necessary images to transmit feelings from my mind to someone else’s.”
Bringing forth into words what really is ineffable is the greatest trick poets, and all writers, must perform. There is no greater pleasure for me than creating the necessary images to transmit feelings from my mind to someone else's. This is a beautiful part of life known as art. Art adds to one's understanding of oneself, and doing so helps one to live in peace.
- Talk about how you plan to go forward now, how you want your future to be, referring back to the original metaphor.
- “Though I acknowledge that I can never restore the black and white photos to their pristine moments, I can always hold my palette snug to me; and add new, wonderful pigments to the ever-expanding portrait every day.”
To say that I am blind is, to me, admitting that I cannot feel anymore what a small child feels. I cannot use the colors of youth to paint a poem that might expose the process of emotional learning, or elucidate the sensitivity of youth. This is my blindness.
Staring now at the photos, I think about the real, unwritten poetry in childhood: of puppy love, of pride and embarrassment, of falling and scraping your knees. Though I acknowledge that I can never restore the black and white photos to their pristine moments, I can always hold my palette snug to me; and add new, wonderful pigments to the ever-expanding portrait every day.