http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_POINmSrkKgM/SMARzlqi6jI/AAAAAAAAA9E/VWxlS_sL8A0/s1600-h/Photo_090408_004.jpg Today in my intro to poetry writing class we discussed sensory triggers, and how we hope that our poems will succeed in recreating experience for our readers. As an exercise, the students (and instructor) went outside and found six concrete images on campus. From there, they will use those images in a poem that is not about campus.

Before we went outside and described angry squirrels and the delightful aroma of fresh mulch, we spent some time discussing our own sensory triggers, and what they make us feel.

I often think that my entire life is one big sensory trigger. I've been blessed (and cursed) with a really good sense of smell, and a sense of hearing that allows me to note a paper clip being dropped in a neighboring office. Dropped on carpet, that is. It's impossible to concentrate sometimes if there's noise.

Two triggers that I enjoy thinking about:

** Burning leaves on a fall day makes me think of a particular green sweater I owned in the 1980's, and of watching the Detroit Lions.

** Looking into a box of sugar reminds me of when my dad made me sugar and butter sandwiches (rarely) as a kid. Biting into them was the most lusciously gritty experience ever. My students tell me that such sandwiches should be toasted, and consumed with hot cocoa.

What are some triggers that you can remember, or sensory jolts that bring you to a certain place and time? Have you ever used one of your own triggers in a poem (such as wearing a green sweater and eating sugar and butter sandwiches while watching the Detroit Lions)?

I love this poem by Gary Soto, especially the final image. (Blogger won't let me put space in right now, hence the brackets.)

ORANGES

The first time I walked
With a girl, I was twelve,
Cold, and weighted down
With two oranges in my jacket.
December. Frost cracking
Beneath my steps, my breath
Before me, then gone,
As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose
Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather.
A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling
At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled,
Touched her shoulder, and led
Her down the street, across
A used car lot and a line
Of newly planted trees,
Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We
Entered, the tiny bell
Bringing a saleslady
Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies
Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted—
Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners
Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickel in my pocket,
And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime,
I didn't say anything.
I took the nickel from
My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quietly on
The counter. When I looked up,
The lady's eyes met mine,
And held them, knowing
Very well what it was all
About.
[--> ]Outside,
A few cars hissing past,
Fog hanging like old
Coats between the trees.
I took my girl's hand
In mine for two blocks,
Then released it to let
Her unwrap the chocolate.
I peeled my orange
That was so bright against
The gray of December
That, from some distance,
Someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hands.

Gary Soto,
New and Selected Poems, 1995