Max is not a poet. Feelings and thoughts soar in his head, but…splatter on the page. He chases them down, but they slip out of his grasp. Disappointed with the gap between his writing and the work of the famous poets he admires, Max wrestles with his words…and loses. He scratches them out, crumples them up, and throws them away. But everything changes when Max stops chasing and fighting—letting the words come to him instead.
MAX IS NOT A POET (231 words) is a picture book which explores the creative struggle of writers young and old. Like THE DOT by Peter H. Reynolds and THE MOST MAGNIFICENT THING by Ashley Spires, MAX IS NOT A POET explores the self-doubt, fears, and frustration (as well as the connection, satisfaction, and joy) of the creative process.
Poetry is STEAM! EducationWeek, a resource for K-12 education news notes, “Poetry is part of the common core. A closer look at the grade-level standards reveals that poetry, poetic language, and poetry terminology…are specifically mentioned in all grades.” MAX IS NOT POET could include back matter defining the poetry terms featured in the text: assonance, consonance, rhythm, etc. appropriate for a curriculum aid spanning multiple grades.
I live in New York’s Hudson Valley now, but when I lived in NYC, the Poetry In Motion program on the subway was a source of inspiration (and longing) for me as an aspiring writer.
MAX IS NOT A POET
by Kerry McQuaide
[art note: Max is in New York City traveling with his notebook on the subway. Poems are displayed as part of the city’s Poetry in Motion program.]
Max is not a poet.
He is awed
moved
inspired
by other people’s words.
[“Respond to every call that excites your spirit.” —Rumi]
In those poems, some words fold up on themselves and others…
e x p a n d.
[“Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.” —Langston Hughes]
With one swift stroke, light is shining in.
[“Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise” —Maya Angelou]
He tries,
[art note: Max comes out of the subway onto the street, passes a song lyric floating through the air: “Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.”— Tupac ‘The Rose That Grew From Concrete’]
but cannot make his words work like that…
percussive.
Ringing in his mouth
…and his mind.
Max is not a poet.
His words are shifting and shadowy. He chases after them, but they slip out of his grasp.
Feelings and thoughts take flight and circle in his head, but…
splatter on the page.
He crumples up his words and throws them away.
Max is not a poet.
But Max keeps writing.
His words do not sit or stand or sound the way he wants
—clumsy, they clunk and clatter together.
Max wrestles with his words.
He loses.
[art note: Max arrives home and his mother comforts him.]
But Max keeps writing.
Max thinks about how the words sound
and how the sounds feel.
P’s and K’s feel harsh.
T’s feel hard and final.
[Pain
Cuts
Tough luck]
He scratches them out.
No, what he’s trying to put down on the page is softer than that, more hopeful
—long ee’s and rounded r’s.
[Deep
Heal
Tender]
Max holds the feeling close and tests out the sounds in his mind.
Unexpectedly, a word blows in.
Max lures more in with breadcrumbs from his heart.
He catches the words on paper
one
by
one…
and then a whole flock of words
—timid and fluttering, but almost in the right order.
[Cut deep.
Heals tender.
Reshaped. Not broken.
My heart (still sore)
still soars.]
Max is a poet.
And he keeps writing.
Possible Poetry Backmatter:
Assonance
Consonance
Rhythm
Metaphor
Imagery