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Post 1: On Poetics

Poetry, am I right? Who needs the stuff? Well, I do. I get paid to go to school for it. I’m not going to bore you with some longwinded introduction where I satisfy your checklist of things that constitute a reliable source because I know you don’t really care. Instead, I’ll direct you to a list of the top 5 most important things to keep in mind when reading and writing poetry (for all ages!). As you can see, they aren’t written on stone tablets, so feel free to disagree with anything I say here (if you do leave comments of dissent, please be kind enough to follow it up with a “because” for others who may be interested).  This is just my personal take from my experiences. Take what you will.

1. Your Poem Should Have Some Sort of Surprise or Insight (It Should Change You) 

What distinguishes a good poem from a great poem (or a good poem from a bad poem) is its transformative qualities. To put it simply, a great poem is a poem that truly changes you. You should leave the poem feeling that you’ve learned something about yourself or about the world. Not only will minding the transformative qualities of a poem help you assess others’ poetry, but it can also serve as a guide for your own endeavors.

When writing a poem, we sometimes find ourselves engaging with things (emotions, memories, ideas, art, etc.) that we don’t quite understand or can’t account for. Let us, for example, say we are writing a poem about something wholly original and not at all trite: love. Anyone who has ever been in love has felt the strange emotions that circumspect its comings and goings: euphoria, despair, infatuation, apathy, content, anxiety, reassurance, fear. Now, imagine trying to describe these emotions in a way that accurately conveys their essence; “I’m afraid” isn’t much of a poem (though the conciseness of T.S. Eliot’s “and in short, I was afraid” is quite striking).

The arrival of the surprise in poetry is the result of a successful engagement with the ambiguous and arduous. Put simply, you get the surprise by working through your thoughts and emotions on paper. Be aware that there is no way to foresee the arrival of the surprise. In fact, you might find that it’s in the first few lines you’ve written. Conversely, you might find that it takes weeks of writing or revision to arrive at some sort of insight. Regardless, you should leave the poem somehow changed.

Examples of Surprises:

The Archaic Torso of Achilles- Rilke

The Warning- Creeley

2. Let the Poem Be Its Own Guide (Don’t Force It)

A successful artist is an artistic who recognizes their art and works with it. Well, what the fuck does that mean? Much like every other art, intention often finds itself at odds with the poem. Intention essentially means the objective we bring to the table when we make art. A simple example: “I want to write a love poem.” Great! Everyone loves a good love poem. However, where most beginning poets -and experienced poets time and time again- stall is reconciling intention with output. By output, I simply mean what ends up on the page.

Imagine this: you’re writing your love poem and, suddenly, you find yourself writing about a box of photos you found in your grandmother’s attic. Well that just won’t work, will it? We’re trying to write a love poem! Not a poem about old pictures of your grandmother. What the sensible person would do is get back on track, cross out those inane lines and continue their trek of love. What the poet does is follow the trail of memory. The poem knows what it wants to be just as your intuition knows what the poem should be.

Perhaps one of the greatest struggles beginning poets tend to face is the seemingly sporadic nature of intuition. “This is what I want the poem to be! Why can’t I get it to do what I want?!” Well, uh, that’s because the poem is kind of like a person. I mean, it’s being written by a person based on that person’s experiences, and we all know human experience is anything but simple and linear. Trying to force a poem to do something is like trying to force a person to do something.

As artists, we often forget that our art is not always going to be in tandem with our goals and aspirations. That’s okay. In fact, it’s great! It keeps us from being indebted to our own egos. “Oh? You thought you were going to write the modern epic? No no no! You’re going to write about the hole in your shoe.” Additionally, who’s to say that love and the box of photographs are entirely unrelated? Love is a complex and multifaceted emotion. There are many kinds of love: romantic, sexual, familial, idealistic, etc. What the poem is trying to show you is the relationships between your love for a partner and your love for your grandmother. Let the art run its course.  

3. Avoid Clichés

This, in my opinion, can be a make it or break it for poetry (and all art). Nothing turns an audience off like being cliché (think dad-rock). Unfortunately, there’s no end to the barrage of hip, Instagram poetry that somehow passes as insightful and profound (@ Milk and Honey). I try not to sound like a pompous asshole as much as possible, but everybody has a line in the sand, and this is mine. Just don’t do it. Don’t be that person (poet).

For one, it’s contrived, and it’s obvious because you can’t tell the difference between any of the people writing the “poems.” Two, it takes little to no effort to write Instagram poetry:

Just because you’ve decided to

Stay inside doesn’t make you

Anything less.

Even the butterfly needs

Time alone to grow

 Truly inspired.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, there are other clichés that you’ll want to avoid. The most common ones usually occur in metaphor or simile:

My love, you are like a flower

Swaying in the summer breeze

Okay, so let’s break this down. One, there’s nothing really surprising about comparing your love to a flower. It’s been done many times; at this point, probably too many times. Two, there’s also nothing surprising about a flower in summer. It’s to be expected. Three, while the entire image itself is beautiful (flowers in the summer breeze), it doesn’t reveal anything unique about the speaker’s love. In fact, some would find the use of such a bland and predictable simile almost insulting.

*Now, here’s where an exception to clichés comes in. This would be a perfect simile if you were trying to be sarcastic or humorous about your relationship without being too on the nose*

So how do we spice this up? Well, we make the simile surprising:

My love, you are like the muddy river that runs under the bridge

Cool and murky as you drift through my fingers in the summer’s heat

Okay, not the greatest lines ever written, but more interesting than flowers in the summer breeze.

What often helps all writers think about interesting comparisons and images is being honest about the emotions behind them. We understand that you’re in love, so we want to hear about it, actually hear about it. When you think about the person you love, do you actually think about flowers in the summer breeze? Or do you think about the dumpster behind the cafeteria where you first kissed? Or how they snore in the middle of the night? Or how you’re always late because you both decide to lounge in bed until 2 in the afternoon?  I guarantee you that being honest about the mundaneness of love (or whatever else you decide to write about) will produce something with more candor and accessibility (meaning, resonant with others) than lofty misconceptions about what love is.

As a final note on the cliché, always remember to be true to your own voice. Emulating other people’s poetry can be a fun and useful exercise to develop your own skills, but it is not an end. I’m honestly surprised how many times I’ve encountered poetry from the 21st century written like this:

Hark! Mine fellow scholars! Doth thou hear the gentle wings of poesy?

No, sir, I don’t hear it. Chaucer is dead. Shakespeare is dead. And for good reason. Let’s keep it that way. While most of us don’t speak poetically often, we certainly don’t speak like that anymore. Stay true to the times.

Examples of subverting or flirting with the cliché:

Porphyria’s Lover- Browning

The Flea- Donne

4. Play With Formalities of Structure and Grammar

I’ll keep this point brief because it’s pretty straightforward. Poetry does not have to abide by the formal rules of structure and grammar. In fact, there are very few rules at all.

You can write your lines as whole sentences

Or you can break them up.

You can use commas, periods, exclamation points, etc.

Or you can completely forgo them?

CAPITALIZATION and italics can help

Emphasize certain words that you think are IMPORTANT

Words can be bro     ken up in any num-

Ber of ways do(n’t) be afraid 2

Experiment w/the formalities of language!

5. Stay Grounded in the Real

This may seem like an odd piece of advice but it’s something that has significant consequences for most art. A few, short years ago I was briefly enamored with the complexities and possibilities of language that poetry offered, which manifested in this poem:

For if she flees I should pursue, Through vision, Thereafter? Feather footed, criminal as we are.

 Samael, So once we were, Golden swans littered across the sky, Bathing/bourn/bearing

Light

 Time beyond candlelight, Wicks, unto you, Progenic burning, Great love, Fallen

 Meadows, Whisper sweetly and, Slither into my dreams, Carry with us, black as we rose So Mourned, Thus forgotten

 Disembodied, I will never be beautiful

 Windows, Searching fragments, Arrested above the surface, And if we look back, Snatched away

 Remnants, Objects of decay

 Simply, perpetually, Echo

 From you, Eternity, Effusive threshold, Forlorn foundation, Dripping through fingers, All the things you are

 Cuping flame, Gentle blow

 I was new enough to poetry to still be proud of my writing and gave it to my mentor for his thoughts. After reading it, he asked me “what part of this poem is grounded in the real?” At that moment, I realized that I had gotten so caught up in creating images that I had forgotten to give the poem any kind of “soul.”

Indeed, all this poem is is a bunch of nebulous images that say nothing of the world. There’s a reason we relate to Lucifer instead of God in Paradise Lost. It’s because Lucifer represents us, “the real.” Despite the fact that he is a celestial being, his actions and emotions are human and that’s why we like him. He’s grounded in the worldly.

Think about it like this: the reason you probably hated those books you read in high school and college is because they didn’t resonate with you (yet?). There’s nothing in those books that speaks to your reality. Take, for instance, The Crucible; it’s written well-enough, but I hate it because it doesn’t say anything about my experience. It doesn’t say anything that I can relate to or care about. You “don’t get” Shakespeare, or Chaucer, or Faulkner not because you’re dumb or you didn’t try hard enough, but because their stories might not speak to your experience as a human being.  

It’s also worth noting that age does play a factor in almost every kind of art. That’s why you grow out of certain literature, tv shows, genres of music and people, because they no longer speak for or reflect who you are. The art that remains is the art that continues to say something about the world in our eyes.