I''ve found on poetry in schools visits that out of a class of, say, 15 at 
least 13-14 can be helped to write things that actually are poetry and most 
of the productions are good in some way.  The odd one out will just be so shy 
or obstreperous that they can't join in -- and I always say, "Fair enough" 
and put no pressure on.

All you need is: (a)  an intention to teach poetry not as a set of themes 
(how it gets ruined for students in schools) but as music (this is the 
dreadful lack in schools -- I remember getting a punk kid to realise, as in 
an amaze, that Pope was really like rap);  (b)  a set of amusing shock 
tactics which can break through their inhibitions.  

Under the heading (b), for example, I've told a new class, looking at me the 
visiting poet with apprehension in case I'm going to get too high flown with 
them, that poetry is written to such strict rules that I'm going to write 
them up on the whiteboard.  They all start looking tense -- this idea was 
influenced by Ron Padgett who told me once that he said to new classes that 
he was the freelance punishment teacher -- a joke, folks. 

So I put up the first rule: "You are not allowed to write well", and they 
begin to relax.  After further disconcerting instructions, there's a final 
rule, "I'm going to try to stop you writing".  Then I go round and read in 
their ears while they try to concentrate, etc., or suddenly play loud, 
disruptive music.  It's surprising how this, in fact, helps them to 
concentrate without inhibition on writing serious things -- because it's all 
fun too, for Chrissake. Another thing I've done with kids and adults is to 
give them each a project and then get them to telepathise their thoughts on 
to a tape recorder.  When they've finished telepathising, I solemnly run the 
tape recorder back to the beginning and tell them to write down what they 
hear when I play the (silent) tape.  Gets surprising results, great gouty sex 
stuff from the stomach of very cosy "housepersons" sometimes.  

So I don't believe in the poetry gene (or, of course, in behavioural 
specification by any one gene of any description, since the manner in which 
genes co-operate is not understood well, despite so much work on "mind" and 
on hormonal messengers taking mind's information genewards).  Instead, I 
believe that most people, through education and upbringing, lose access to 
those unprotected, "naive" parts of the psyche where language slips its 
moorings and becomes interesting.  It's fairly easy in my experience to get 
even adults to escape their upbringing if you take them by surprise, while 
children are particularly susceptible because less hard-wired.  

Both my own kids wrote remarkable poetry when they were young (Kate was a 
national prizewinner -- an acrostic poem sent in by her school, not me), but 
in adult life haven't continued much beyond their private notebooks, which I 
don't inquire into.  Step-sons Anselm and Eddie (Eddie published his first 
book at the age of eight and had three out, plus an adult St Marks Poetry 
Project reading under his belt by the age of 14) now have sizeable 
reputations.  The other day, an Exquisite Corpse anthology published by Black 
Sparrow came in the mail while my physiotherapist was getting me to do all 
sorts of painful things.  From the other side of the room, Alice exclaimed 
that she hadn't realised she was in this anthology.  "Aaargh!" I replied, 
cautiously.  Then she said, "But so are Anselm and Eddie!"  "Aaargj!  Aaargh!"

Then she said, "And they've got more pages than me!"

Best

Doug


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