Favorite Poet - Shel Silverstein
Though eight years have passed, I can still distinctly remember the evenings that I spent curled up on a beanbag chair in my closet, reading “Falling Up” to the rhythmic patter of the rain. The comforting simplicity of Shel Silverstein’s poems seemed to surpass even the stress-free straightforwardness of my 4th grade life. They weren’t just short and clever, but were complemented beautifully by the minimalistic illustrations and crisp, clean formatting. However, after several engrossing reads, “Falling Up” was eventually lost to the messy stacks of books in the corners of my room.
It was just last week that I rediscovered the book, picking it back up as I cleaned my room. I briefly flipped through it, fondly remembering the good old days, and before I knew it, more than an hour had passed. Each poem was just so readable, so casually enjoyable, that it felt almost impossible to put the book down. More so than any other text that I’ve read in my life, “Falling Up” was genuinely effortless to blow through in a sitting or two. That isn’t to say it was mindless; the poems weren’t necessarily oriented towards critical analysis and controversial interpretation, but they were stimulating and entertaining. I suppose that you could skim through a children’s book just as quickly as you could read through “Falling Up,” but the experience would be comparably dull and tedious.
Nostalgia certainly factors into my perception of “Falling Up,” but I’ve gone through some of Silverstein’s other works, including “Where the Sidewalk Ends” and “A Light in the Attic,” and I’ve found them to be just as engaging. Silverstein’s creativity seems boundless, and each poem is as fresh and charming as the last. From the relatable cynicism of “Whatif” to the concise humor of “Snowball,” pretty much every poem is a masterpiece.
When it comes to teaching Silverstein’s work in a high school poetry class, the reading level would probably be the source of the most widespread opposition. Indeed, every poem could be easily read and appreciated by an 8 year old. However, I don’t think that a poem’s accessibility is in any way a measure of its worthiness to be taught – different audiences (in this case, people of different ages) will certainly interpret and appreciate the media in different ways, and I’d argue that this is a benefit rather a drawback. Because the poems are tailored to appeal to both kids and older audiences, I found them to be much more versatile. Sure, there were plenty of things that I could focus on and admire as a high school senior, but everything about the poems – their topics, their aesthetics, everything – depicted a child’s thought processes and ideas so accurately that it was incredibly easy to shift my perspective back in time, and see them from the point of view of my 4th grade self. I could appreciate things like the relatability of a “homework machine” far more, and even the most fantastical of ideas felt tangible in the 4th grade perspective that I slipped into, whether they were “toy eaters” or “sharp-toothed snails” that bit off fingers that found themselves too far up a kid’s nostril.
What felt so remarkable about this situation was that I wasn’t making any conscious effort to do this; I never thought to myself “hey, wouldn’t it be dope if I could remember what it was like to read stuff like this as a kid?” Instead, I was repeatedly surprised to find myself spontaneously viewing the poems through that filter. My time with Silverstein poems as a kid could have something to do with this, but I think that the poems capture the essence of childhood so perfectly that other people could have a similar experience.
This unprompted shift of perspective wasn’t just some goofy, novel occurrence either – I thought that the altered point of view presented a unique lens through which I could compare my current self with my younger self. I could visualize everything that I would have loved about the poems in the past (typically the wacky subject matter), and compare it with what popped out now (usually the thought-provoking complexity that lies beneath the surface of many of the wacky subjects, whether imagining what it would be like if they truly existed, or expanding on an interesting message/moral/theme). Through this comparison, I could easily see how I’d grown, and how I hadn’t (I’m still just as mesmerized by Silverstein’s zany inventions).
As mentioned previously, plenty of Silverstein’s poems also have a slight degree of depth to them as well, like “Masks” – “She had blue skin / And so did he / He kept it hid / And so did she. / They searched / for blue / their whole life / through / Then passed / right by / and never knew.” Whereas an elementary schooler might be amused at the situation in which two people have blue skin and coincidentally pass each other without recognizing the truth, an older student could more easily extrapolate and expand on themes of identity and “being yourself.” The message itself would be fairly blunt and obvious to a high schooler, but it could easily serve as the starting point for deeper reflection and conversation. Silverstein’s “Reflection” similarly explores the idea of perspective, identity, and acceptance – “Each time I see the Upside-Down-Man / Standing in the water / I look at him and start to laugh / Although I shouldn’t oughtter / For maybe in another world / Another time / Another town, / Maybe HE is right side up / And I am upside down.”
While I personally think that it wouldn’t even be a stretch to teach an entire unit on Silverstein’s work, his poems could also be easily and flexibly integrated into an already established curriculum, given their accessibility and simplicity. They would provide a great contrast and change of pace from poems like Carolyn Forché’s “The Colonel” (which is another great poem) and could serve as a reinvigorating bout of simple, innocent fun, mixed in with some introspection and analysis. I also think that a project in which students attempted to imitate his poetry could be incredibly entertaining.
When it comes down to it, though, I think that the greatest merit to Silverstein’s poems is in their pure, brilliant simplicity – on thematic, aesthetic, and auditory levels alike. His ideas never bore, I find the cadence and rhyme schemes to be almost always perfect, and each page’s artistic renditions complement the eccentric poems beautifully. Even for someone who had never read a Silverstein poem in their life (no nostalgia factoring into it), I’m sure that the poems would evoke a sense of childlike wonder, transporting them through time and space to a place of simple comfort and happiness.
It was just last week that I rediscovered the book, picking it back up as I cleaned my room. I briefly flipped through it, fondly remembering the good old days, and before I knew it, more than an hour had passed. Each poem was just so readable, so casually enjoyable, that it felt almost impossible to put the book down. More so than any other text that I’ve read in my life, “Falling Up” was genuinely effortless to blow through in a sitting or two. That isn’t to say it was mindless; the poems weren’t necessarily oriented towards critical analysis and controversial interpretation, but they were stimulating and entertaining. I suppose that you could skim through a children’s book just as quickly as you could read through “Falling Up,” but the experience would be comparably dull and tedious.Nostalgia certainly factors into my perception of “Falling Up,” but I’ve gone through some of Silverstein’s other works, including “Where the Sidewalk Ends” and “A Light in the Attic,” and I’ve found them to be just as engaging. Silverstein’s creativity seems boundless, and each poem is as fresh and charming as the last. From the relatable cynicism of “Whatif” to the concise humor of “Snowball,” pretty much every poem is a masterpiece.
What felt so remarkable about this situation was that I wasn’t making any conscious effort to do this; I never thought to myself “hey, wouldn’t it be dope if I could remember what it was like to read stuff like this as a kid?” Instead, I was repeatedly surprised to find myself spontaneously viewing the poems through that filter. My time with Silverstein poems as a kid could have something to do with this, but I think that the poems capture the essence of childhood so perfectly that other people could have a similar experience.
This unprompted shift of perspective wasn’t just some goofy, novel occurrence either – I thought that the altered point of view presented a unique lens through which I could compare my current self with my younger self. I could visualize everything that I would have loved about the poems in the past (typically the wacky subject matter), and compare it with what popped out now (usually the thought-provoking complexity that lies beneath the surface of many of the wacky subjects, whether imagining what it would be like if they truly existed, or expanding on an interesting message/moral/theme). Through this comparison, I could easily see how I’d grown, and how I hadn’t (I’m still just as mesmerized by Silverstein’s zany inventions).
As mentioned previously, plenty of Silverstein’s poems also have a slight degree of depth to them as well, like “Masks” – “She had blue skin / And so did he / He kept it hid / And so did she. / They searched / for blue / their whole life / through / Then passed / right by / and never knew.” Whereas an elementary schooler might be amused at the situation in which two people have blue skin and coincidentally pass each other without recognizing the truth, an older student could more easily extrapolate and expand on themes of identity and “being yourself.” The message itself would be fairly blunt and obvious to a high schooler, but it could easily serve as the starting point for deeper reflection and conversation. Silverstein’s “Reflection” similarly explores the idea of perspective, identity, and acceptance – “Each time I see the Upside-Down-Man / Standing in the water / I look at him and start to laugh / Although I shouldn’t oughtter / For maybe in another world / Another time / Another town, / Maybe HE is right side up / And I am upside down.”
While I personally think that it wouldn’t even be a stretch to teach an entire unit on Silverstein’s work, his poems could also be easily and flexibly integrated into an already established curriculum, given their accessibility and simplicity. They would provide a great contrast and change of pace from poems like Carolyn Forché’s “The Colonel” (which is another great poem) and could serve as a reinvigorating bout of simple, innocent fun, mixed in with some introspection and analysis. I also think that a project in which students attempted to imitate his poetry could be incredibly entertaining.
When it comes down to it, though, I think that the greatest merit to Silverstein’s poems is in their pure, brilliant simplicity – on thematic, aesthetic, and auditory levels alike. His ideas never bore, I find the cadence and rhyme schemes to be almost always perfect, and each page’s artistic renditions complement the eccentric poems beautifully. Even for someone who had never read a Silverstein poem in their life (no nostalgia factoring into it), I’m sure that the poems would evoke a sense of childlike wonder, transporting them through time and space to a place of simple comfort and happiness.
Are any of you familiar with Shel Silverstein's work? If so, do you think you'd be able to parody his poetry style? Considering the conciseness, simplicity, and diverse subject matter of his work, I think it could be an accessible but interesting exercise.
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