Persona
What is a persona?
A persona is a poem in which the writer takes on the perspective of another person, place, or thing. Aligned with its Latin meaning, persona requires the writer to "mask" themselves and work through the eyes of something or someone else. Writers employ this technique for a variety of reasons: as a "revisionist history", in order to draw attention to something, or simply for self expression.
Sample persona poem
Ludwig Van Beethoven's Return to Vienna
by Rita Dove
Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn,
or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me....
The Heiligenstadt Testament
Three miles from my adopted city
lies a village where I came to peace.
The world there was a calm place,
even the great Danube no more
than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscape
by a girl's careless hand. Into this stillness
I had been ordered to recover.
The hills were gold with late summer;
my rooms were two, plus a small kitchen,
situated upstairs in the back of a cottage
at the end of the Herrengasse.
From my window I could see onto the courtyard
where a linden tree twined skyward —
leafy umbilicus canted toward light,
warped in the very act of yearning —
and I would feed on the sun as if that alone
would dismantle the silence around me.
At first I raged. Then music raged in me,
rising so swiftly I could not write quickly enough
to ease the roiling. I would stop
to light a lamp, and whatever I'd missed —
larks flying to nest, church bells, the shepherd's
home-toward-evening song — rushed in, and I
would rage again.
I am by nature a conflagration;
I would rather leap
than sit and be looked at.
So when my proud city spread
her gypsy skirts, I reentered,
burning towards her greater, constant light.
Call me rough, ill-tempered, slovenly— I tell you,
every tenderness I have ever known
has been nothing
but thwarted violence, an ache
so permanent and deep, the lightest touch
awakens it. . . . It is impossible
to care enough. I have returned
with a second Symphony
and 15 Piano Variations
which I've named Prometheus,
after the rogue Titan, the half-a-god
who knew the worst sin is to take
what cannot be given back.
I smile and bow, and the world is loud.
And though I dare not lean in to shout
Can't you see that I'm deaf? —
I also cannot stop listening.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20618#sthash.7DEp5Awy.dpuf
by Rita Dove
Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn,
or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me....
The Heiligenstadt Testament
Three miles from my adopted city
lies a village where I came to peace.
The world there was a calm place,
even the great Danube no more
than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscape
by a girl's careless hand. Into this stillness
I had been ordered to recover.
The hills were gold with late summer;
my rooms were two, plus a small kitchen,
situated upstairs in the back of a cottage
at the end of the Herrengasse.
From my window I could see onto the courtyard
where a linden tree twined skyward —
leafy umbilicus canted toward light,
warped in the very act of yearning —
and I would feed on the sun as if that alone
would dismantle the silence around me.
At first I raged. Then music raged in me,
rising so swiftly I could not write quickly enough
to ease the roiling. I would stop
to light a lamp, and whatever I'd missed —
larks flying to nest, church bells, the shepherd's
home-toward-evening song — rushed in, and I
would rage again.
I am by nature a conflagration;
I would rather leap
than sit and be looked at.
So when my proud city spread
her gypsy skirts, I reentered,
burning towards her greater, constant light.
Call me rough, ill-tempered, slovenly— I tell you,
every tenderness I have ever known
has been nothing
but thwarted violence, an ache
so permanent and deep, the lightest touch
awakens it. . . . It is impossible
to care enough. I have returned
with a second Symphony
and 15 Piano Variations
which I've named Prometheus,
after the rogue Titan, the half-a-god
who knew the worst sin is to take
what cannot be given back.
I smile and bow, and the world is loud.
And though I dare not lean in to shout
Can't you see that I'm deaf? —
I also cannot stop listening.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20618#sthash.7DEp5Awy.dpuf
Understanding the poems:
In my first poem, I took on the perspective of Temple Grandin, a famously autistic animal science doctor. Grandin was diagnosed with autism at the age of 2, and suffered from hypersensitivity to various sensory stimuli. She was the subject of ridicule all through her schooling and never felt truly comfortable in her environment. In fact, she explained being around "neurotypical" people made her felt as if she was an anthropologist on Mars. In college, she invented something she called the "Squeeze Box" or "Hug Machine", a deep-pressure device used to calm herself from overwhelming social interaction. This idea came to her when she studied cows at a slaughterhouse. She noticed that, like her, the cows panicked as they were being pushed through unfamiliar places, but when they were placed in a chute that applied pressure, the cows relaxed immediately. She believed this was essential for the cows--as she believed we too often treat animals as things, when in reality they are alive like you and I. I tried to reveal some of her qualities (as well as typical qualities of those with autism) through my writing including repetition, panic attacks, and hypersensitivity, as well as tie in some of her experiences such as being the subject of ridicule and relating herself to an animal going through a cattle chute. Especially as a future teacher, I think it is important for us to understand how the minds of those with autism work, and therefore I used this poem as a device to show how we cannot expect that the same things that comfort us (i.e. human hugs) will comfort those with autism, and that those with autism react differently to situations than we might.
For my second poem, I wanted to personify a pillow, drawing attention to just how reliable it is in comforting nearly aspect of a person's life. Like Sylvia Plath sheds light on how much a mirror witnesses, I wanted to show that a pillow does just about the same. We often have one-sided conversations with objects without realizing it, and it is they who hold our deepest secrets and insecurities.
For my second poem, I wanted to personify a pillow, drawing attention to just how reliable it is in comforting nearly aspect of a person's life. Like Sylvia Plath sheds light on how much a mirror witnesses, I wanted to show that a pillow does just about the same. We often have one-sided conversations with objects without realizing it, and it is they who hold our deepest secrets and insecurities.
Pillow
I am more than cotton or feathers,
more value than my tag: I hold your muted secrets, your whispered convictions, your prayers and your stifled laughter. I have comforted your tired head and protected your fragile thoughts. I have shut out the day and the night. I have never once complained of a visitor, or of your buried face in mine when they leave. |