I don’t hate it when students come into my classroom on the first day of a poetry unit and tell me how much they despise poetry. It’s always reassuring to start with a low bar – but also, I know exactly how we’re going to pick that attitude apart in our first lesson. “What’s poetry?”, I ask them back, and the room normally goes quiet.
Someone will inevitably shout something about rhymes and a few students will have remembered the word “stanza”, but they can’t normally give a clear definition. I give them mini-whiteboards and a few minutes in their groups to talk it through, then we collate their answers and write the common ones on the whiteboard: rhymes, stanzas, short pieces of writing, good words, makes you feel something.
Once we’ve agreed a healthy list of ideas, we move into examples and non-examples to refine their definition. We start with pictures of Shakespeare (“but he made up words and couldn’t spell”), Homer’s ‘Iliad’ (“didn’t you say poems should be short?”) and haikus (“no rhymes or stanzas here”), then move onto slightly more controversial illustrations. From Year 7 to Year 11, I’ve never met a class who didn’t enjoy trying to read out Edwin Morgan’s ‘The Loch Ness Monster’s Song’ and then arguing about whether or not it counts as a poem. Throw a pop star in at this point, too: “songs meet a lot of your criteria, don’t they? Is Lizzo a poet?”
I always keep my most provocative example (or non-example) until they’ve refined or broadened their definition as far as they can: normally something along the lines of “powerful words that make you feel something and sometimes they rhyme”. My trump card here varies each year, and it’s normally something that I know will make them all howl or groan. When Louis Theroux’s jiggly rap went viral, I used that. During the Gen Alpha internet invasion of 2023, I went with Skibidi Toilet. Whatever you use as your final example, it has to be something that you can apply their definition to in a way that’s completely infuriating for the entire class. When they tell you that Skibidi Toilet can’t be poetry because it’s annoying and it makes them despair for the next generation, hit them with their own definition: “I see it’s made you feel something – and listen, the song has some rhymes! Poetry!”
When their indignance is at its apotheosis, give them a definition they can work with, then give them a poem you love. The goal here is moving directly from general to specific knowledge, sequencing the activities to teach meaningfully (see Peps McCrae’s brilliantly succinct overview of why this works well).
For the definition, I give them my own rather than relying on Google, and I try to use as many of the words they’ve suggested as possible. Something like “powerful, expressive writing with rhythm and rules” is a good base for exploring language, form and structure over the coming weeks.
For the poem, I update my choice every year. Don’t give them something from the syllabus in this first lesson, or something ridiculously complicated. You’re looking for something short and powerful that you feel genuine enthusiasm for. Recently I’ve used short poems by Jasmine Mans, or something the brilliant Jaida Jones has shared on Instagram. Neil Hilborn’s “OCD” has silenced loud classes and moved silent students to talk (note that he swears at around 48 seconds).
The goal is to end on a high. They might have walked into your room telling you how much they hate poetry but unable to tell you what it is. Some of your students might already have loved poetry. Either way, they should all leave on the same page: with a secure definition, an inspiring example and a bit of excitement for the next lesson.
The above lesson can be downloaded for free here.
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