In a lec­ture on Zen Buddhism, Shunryu Suzuki explained, “In beginner’s mind we have many pos­si­bil­i­ties, but in expert mind there is not much pos­si­bil­ity.”1 As a writer, I am pleased by this notion; it seems true that every time I sit down to write, I am thump­ing across the field (some­times bat­tle­field) of the imagination’s pos­si­bil­i­ties, where I’ll encounter—in some order—both the oh! of won­der and the oh! of frus­tra­tion.2 Each time I sit down to write, I am learn­ing to write.

I sus­pect it is imper­a­tive that we student-teachers of writ­ing engage our “beginner’s mind” as we encour­age our stu­dents to do the same. One sim­ple way edu­ca­tors can do this is to offer—and to ask stu­dents to bring—a vari­ety of read­ings to class. Readings that reflect a range of styl­is­tic ten­den­cies and engage a num­ber of pre­oc­cu­pa­tions allow stu­dents to see not only poten­tial forms for their work but also mark your workshop/classroom as a space that hon­ors and is respect­ful of plu­ral­is­tic vision and voices. By show­ing stu­dents that both style and sub­ject can be explored in a num­ber of ways, you might offer stu­dents one of the few spaces where they feel safe exper­i­ment­ing with their writ­ing. This seem­ingly small thing can have enor­mously pos­i­tive effects as stu­dents develop their unique voices and preoccupations.

The fol­low­ing exer­cise, which I’ve often called a “Cookbook Model,” is meant to help both new and estab­lished poets by allow­ing them to escape—for a short time—preoccupations with inten­tion and per­fec­tion, as well as anx­i­eties about influ­ence. I’ve found this exer­cise is par­tic­u­larly suc­cess­ful with new writ­ers who are unsure about “where to begin” and with those more expe­ri­enced writ­ers who have reached a road­block in their work (by help­ing them to “walk around the block”). The exer­cise can work for reader-writers of all ages; you’ll just need to vary the ini­tial “read­ings” you offer your stu­dents. You can adapt this exer­cise as well for fic­tion courses by ask­ing stu­dents to com­plete “cook­book mod­els” of par­tic­u­lar sen­tences or para­graphs. The beauty of this exer­cise, as you will see, is that often two poems (or two inter­est­ing prose frag­ments) result from it. It also encour­ages stu­dents to read closely and to demon­strate what they’re attend­ing to as they read.

The Cookbook Model3

Poems are made from words, and often we think of words as famil­iar ter­ri­tory. In this three part exer­cise, you’re asked to:

  • review all of the poems that are attached and select one poem that you appre­ci­ate or enjoy the most;
  • con­sider what you appre­ci­ate about the poem; and
  • de-familiarize and reac­quaint your­self with the poem by walk­ing through its land­scape and cre­at­ing a “recipe” for it.

1) Begin by read­ing the attached poems4. I rec­om­mend read­ing them aloud, more than once.

2) Select one poem that you like more than the oth­ers. Type out a brief para­graph explaining—beyond the sub­ject of the poem—what appeals to you about the poem (rhythms, sounds, images, line breaks, etc. Be as par­tic­u­lar as pos­si­ble in your explanation).

3) Develop and type out a model of the poem. This model has two parts:

  • The first part is the recipe.
  • The sec­ond part is the poem based on the recipe.

All parts of the assign­ment should be typed and will be col­lected [at a future date].

Sample Poem and Model:5

The Cook Book model is a dis­sec­tion of the syn­tax, state­ments, obser­va­tions, and line breaks of the poem that you pre­fer. Don’t con­cern your­self with the con­tent. The con­tent is what you’ll pro­vide later (in Mad Lib fashion).

For instance, look at this poem by Frank O’Hara and the cook­book model and poem that fol­low it. The cook­book employs two steps: first you cre­ate a recipe, and then you fill the recipe with your own words and subjects.

Original Poem by Frank O’Hara6:

To My Mother

Oh Witness! to be sure,
you are gone in your vel­vet sleeve,
and I am rid­ing in a gray car
through the sub­urbs of my nose.

Have you escaped your impa­tience?
I am guilty and the sky is blue
as a restau­rant full of tapi­oca
and isn’t it ordinary?

Like the many famous things
that are called “stuff” some­where
And are on maps with their bloody veins,
I mean, high­ways somewhere.

Have you escaped yet? If you
haven’t I hope you’ve killed some­one,
or suicide’s grown curi­ous of some­one,
or someone’s acci­den­tally died.

Step 1: writ­ing the recipe

Title:
  • a ded­i­ca­tion
Stanza 1:
  • Invocation/exclamation about the per­son fol­lowed by affirmation
  • Statement of his/her loca­tion (per­haps use arti­cle of clothing)
  • Statement of per­sonal loca­tion (a mode of transport)
  • Where are you trav­el­ing? (make it cor­re­spond to a part of your body)
Stanza 2:
  • Ask the per­son a ques­tion about one of their qual­i­ties that you dislike
  • Identify your­self as a feel­ing, make a mun­dane obser­va­tion about the color of some bit of nature
  • Use a sim­ile that com­pares the color to a man-made place that is iden­ti­fied with food
  • Ask a rhetor­i­cal ques­tion that reflects boredom
Stanza 3:
  • Make a vague simile/comparison to the sub­ject of your rhetor­i­cal question
  • Modify the abstraction/vagueness with another name
  • Give the abstrac­tion a loca­tion and describe what it looks like
  • Apologize for what you’ve just said, rename the abstrac­tion and offer it a new, vague location
Stanza 4:
  • Ask the sub­ject a yes/no ques­tion regard­ing emo­tional cir­cum­stance; begin with “If…” then make an absurd wish for the subject
  • Qualify the wish using much of the orig­i­nal lan­guage of the wish
  • Modify the wish again, using much of the orig­i­nal language
  • Modify the orig­i­nal wish one more time

Step 2: Building a poem using the model/recipe

(Please note: your poems should not use the same phras­ing as the orig­i­nal poem)

To Bailey (a departed fish)

Mute, beau­ti­ful! Surely you
weren’t meant to be blue and in a pipe
with your red tail-fan. I am pac­ing the empty
liv­ing room beside the high­way of my heart.

Have you stopped, unblink­ing against the rocks?
I am less sad than yes­ter­day, and the leaves have turned
rust-red as swing-sets aban­doned for lemon­ade.
Has the night ended?

Like the many things closed,
things blind or sleep­ing,
things under­ground and fist-less,
I should have said “marigolds wait­ing for spring.”

Are you there yet? If not I wish you
left toward the ocean and its coral,
or that the ocean and coral turn to you,
or that you hadn’t left.

Once stu­dents have com­pleted a draft of the poem, I sug­gest that they mod­ify and edit the poem that they’ve pro­duced (the excel­lent thing about a recipe is that you can vary and mod­ify it to suit your tastes). At this point, I also stress that their new alle­giance should rest with the poem that they’ve cre­ated; they should edit and make it the best poem pos­si­ble, with­out regard for the recipe.

Sources & Notes

1. Shunryu Zuzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (PDF) (Accessed August 29, 2009)

2. Though I’ll claim this occupation, I like to think that we’re all beginners. Fact: If the chronological history of earth was represented using a roll of toilet paper that is 400 squares in length—with each square measuring approximately 11 centimeters—then I have been learning to write a poem for approximately .0000141 centimeters (rounding up), which is a somewhat invisible percent of the earth’s time. I have also been teaching others to write for .000012 centimeters, an even smaller percent of invisible earth time. To figure out the limited representation of toilet-paper time you’ve been writing/teaching, go here.

3. Note to Instructors: At the earliest levels, i.e. elementary school, you can walk students through the cookbook model as an in-class exercise by focusing on one poem. It may make the most sense, in that instance, to use this as a group exercise. Write the original poem on the board, and then have the group build a collaborative “recipe,” which you will also write on the board. Questions like: “now what happens in this line (of the original poem)?” can guide them through building the recipe for a new poem and collaboratively creating (in “exquisite corpse” fashion) a new poem.

4. Note to Instructors: The attached poems should reflect a range of styles (narrative, lyrical, meditative, associative, experimental, formal rhyme/meter, etc.). When I used this exercise recently, with college students, I included poems by: Frank O’Hara, Elizabeth Alexander, Ray Gonzalez, Harryette Mullen, Brenda Hillman, Li Young Lee, CD Wright, Mary Jo Bang, Larry Levis, and Maura Stanton.

5. It is imperative that you offer your students an example of how this works.

6. Frank O’Hara, “To My Mother,” The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara (Ed. Donald Allen. Berkeley: UC Press, 1995), 160.