Page:
Where I'm From [writing prompt]
PREFACE:
I've searched the archives and found a few submissions using this prompt and would love to see more. I didn't find a thread covering this, so here I am starting one and including what I know about it for anyone who hasn't been introduced to and/or tried it yet.
During a creative writing course in 2005, I was presented with this fantastic idea created by a writer named George Ella Lyon who penned a poem titled "Where I'm From". We were assigned to mimic the poem using our own background. I thought this would be an interesting topic for a thread because of the diverse cultures here at DUP.
I'm including George Ella Lyon's original work below, as well as a link that gives a bit of background about how she came to write it. You'll find writing tips for different approaches using the prompt, some history about how far reaching it has been and there's also a link to the Kentucky Arts Council with an interactive map containing 731 poems from writers all over their state. I'm sure Google could show you even more, if interested.
Whatever I wrote during that assignment in 2005 has been lost to the hounds so I'm looking forward to doing this again, but mostly I can't wait to read yours ❣
Where I'm From
-George Ella Lyon
http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html
I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening,
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush
the Dutch elm
whose long-gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own. I'm from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I'm from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from Perk up! and Pipe down!
I'm from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself. I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger,
the eye my father shut to keep his sight. Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments--
snapped before I budded --
leaf-fall from the family tree.
I've searched the archives and found a few submissions using this prompt and would love to see more. I didn't find a thread covering this, so here I am starting one and including what I know about it for anyone who hasn't been introduced to and/or tried it yet.
During a creative writing course in 2005, I was presented with this fantastic idea created by a writer named George Ella Lyon who penned a poem titled "Where I'm From". We were assigned to mimic the poem using our own background. I thought this would be an interesting topic for a thread because of the diverse cultures here at DUP.
I'm including George Ella Lyon's original work below, as well as a link that gives a bit of background about how she came to write it. You'll find writing tips for different approaches using the prompt, some history about how far reaching it has been and there's also a link to the Kentucky Arts Council with an interactive map containing 731 poems from writers all over their state. I'm sure Google could show you even more, if interested.
Whatever I wrote during that assignment in 2005 has been lost to the hounds so I'm looking forward to doing this again, but mostly I can't wait to read yours ❣
Where I'm From
-George Ella Lyon
http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html
I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening,
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush
the Dutch elm
whose long-gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own. I'm from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I'm from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from Perk up! and Pipe down!
I'm from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself. I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger,
the eye my father shut to keep his sight. Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments--
snapped before I budded --
leaf-fall from the family tree.
Natural Tunnel
I'm from
family of six in a four room house
with mandatory labor and
back seat on the hump.
I'm from hand me down britches
thwacks from wooden spoons
and red rimmed eyelids.
I'm from
lights out at 9
lights on at 7
Granny's homemade apple butter
and Grandma's rum in the kitchen.
I'm from
Dad's not here and never will be again
to Mom's not awake
and walking to school unchaperoned.
I'm from
three varsity sisters with homecoming titles
a flute, a piccolo, a color guard flag
and a bullied marching band uniform.
I'm from
skin tight denim with Marlboro pockets
riding in farm trucks
riding bareback horses
and shoveling knee deep horseshit
out of barns.
I'm from
chow chow soup beans
diggin' taters, settin' t'baccer and
hangin' out to dry.
I'm from
never going on vacation
never getting "the talk"
and extra large helpings of the silent treatment.
I'm from
out houses and bonfires
too much time alone
full service gas and telephones attached to the wall
getting up to change the television
not leaving the house without hairspray
boys dragging cigarettes behind bleachers
and wild turkey behind the band room
during all the touch downs.
I'm from
bluegrass clogging trophies to
put your dukes up
from street dances with fundraiser jails to
"do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you.."
God,
I'm from Joe Dirt
I'm from carnival scams
and spray painted overhangs
I'm from Appalachian By God Virginia
where the mountains
and music
make
memories.
I'm from
family of six in a four room house
with mandatory labor and
back seat on the hump.
I'm from hand me down britches
thwacks from wooden spoons
and red rimmed eyelids.
I'm from
lights out at 9
lights on at 7
Granny's homemade apple butter
and Grandma's rum in the kitchen.
I'm from
Dad's not here and never will be again
to Mom's not awake
and walking to school unchaperoned.
I'm from
three varsity sisters with homecoming titles
a flute, a piccolo, a color guard flag
and a bullied marching band uniform.
I'm from
skin tight denim with Marlboro pockets
riding in farm trucks
riding bareback horses
and shoveling knee deep horseshit
out of barns.
I'm from
chow chow soup beans
diggin' taters, settin' t'baccer and
hangin' out to dry.
I'm from
never going on vacation
never getting "the talk"
and extra large helpings of the silent treatment.
I'm from
out houses and bonfires
too much time alone
full service gas and telephones attached to the wall
getting up to change the television
not leaving the house without hairspray
boys dragging cigarettes behind bleachers
and wild turkey behind the band room
during all the touch downs.
I'm from
bluegrass clogging trophies to
put your dukes up
from street dances with fundraiser jails to
"do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you.."
God,
I'm from Joe Dirt
I'm from carnival scams
and spray painted overhangs
I'm from Appalachian By God Virginia
where the mountains
and music
make
memories.
