[Janice D. Soderling]

I know that many poets and writers keep notebooks of advice they have gleaned along the way from the truly fine poets, both contemporary and historic. I thought it might be interesting to give some rainy day attention (or insomniac nights attention) to share some of our favorite tips and how-to's, advice we might have stumbled across and then written down as "words to/from the wise".

Before there is a general outcry of reined-in poetic freedom, let me hasten to add that I don't mean "rules" but "guidelines". To paraphrase the old Abe Lincoln aphorism, these might suit some of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time, but will in all likihood not suit all of the people all of the time.

My thought is that if each person also gives the source, we might glean new ideas for our summer reading.

So I offer two from my own notebooks to start with.

From "After New Formalism" edited by Annie Finch.

In a good poem, as everybody knows, form is inseparable from sense and tone. No poem worthy of its name can be formless, whether it is written according to metrical rules or in free verse. The sounds, rhythms, pitch and intensity of the lines ARE the poem. Every poem IS its form.

Essay, "The Trouble with a Word like Formalism", by Anne Stevenson, p. 219.

and

From: "Poetic Closure: A Study of How Poems End". Barbara Herrnstein Smith, p. 51.

Now it has often been observed that the terminal rhyming couplet of the English sonnet allows the poet to end it with striking resolution, finality, punch, pointedness, and so forth. It is also true, however, that many sonnets are poorly concluded, their endings limp or flat. No matter how perfectly constructed the poem may be with respect to form, if its thematic structure is inadequately concluded, the terminal couplet will not do the job by itself. We may still ask how much of a job it does and how it does it—realizing that to speak of its epigrammatic force, or rounding off or knitting up powers, is only to restate the fact, but not to explain it.

There is good reason to maintain that a rhymed couplet, when it corresponds to a syntactically complete utterance, is, in itself, an effectively closed form. Nevertheless, the sense of closure produced by a sonnet ending does not arise so much from the independent effectiveness of the rhymed couplet as from its effectiveness in relation to the formal structure that precedes it.

I am assuming that most keep a notebook of sorts for this kind of reminders.

[Janice D. Soderling]

And of course, it's fine to discuss, disagree or be dubious.

Added in. I find that by concentrating on a rule/guideline and working on it via an exercise, I can incorporate it mentally rather than just attempting to remember that the idea/method exists.

[Julie Steiner]

Okay, I'll play. Off the top of my head, here are six things I've learned the hard way about working with rhyme:


1. It is always, ALWAYS better to write a good poem than a mediocre poem.

Most "poetry rules" have exceptions. This one doesn't.

Not even for rhyme. See #2 below.


2. It is always, ALWAYS better to write a good free verse or blank verse poem than a mediocre rhymed poem.

Strangely, many people who wholeheartedly agree with #1 seem to have reservations about #2. The brutal truth is that you get no brownie points for rhyme, acrostics, or any other difficult feat, if these handicaps make your poem stink. And if the stinkiness is actually caused by the extra effort of achieving that rhyme, acrostic, or whatever, then why bother with something that is clearly doing your poem no favors? By all means, cast off those shackles and write a better poem.

Again, a good free verse or blank verse poem beats a mediocre rhymed one, EVERY SINGLE TIME.


3. Rhyme is less important than meter, mood, and syntax.

Bartering those three away to achieve rhyme is a bad bargain.


4. Rhyme is a tool designed for emphasis, and emphasis is what it will deliver, whether you want it to or not.

If a rhyming word doesn't contain an idea, image, or emotion worth emphasizing, don't end-stop that line. If you do, you'll only be emphasizing how weak that part of your poem really is.

Enjamb that line if the content is necessary; cut it if it's not.


5. Don't enjamb rhymed verse too much.

Judicious use of enjambment de-emphasizes some rhymed lines in order to lend emphasis to others. Enjambment can also be very effective for accelerating the tempo of a poem. Many people feel that, by downplaying the rhymes and eliminating pauses at line ends, enjambment makes rhymed verse feel more modern and natural.

But if almost every line is enjambed, why bother with rhyme at all?

Seriously, what is the point of using rhyme--a tool designed for emphasis (see #4)--if you're going to de-emphasize it most of the time? It's like using a chisel as a screwdriver, or vice versa: sure, it works, after a fashion, but it's unnecessarily awkward, and the finished product is likely to be less impressive than if you'd used the proper tool for the job all along.

And sometimes the proper tool for the job is, indeed, blank or free verse. See #1 and #2 above.


6. Never settle for the wrong word, just because it rhymes with the right word (or words). The poet's challenge is to get all of the words right.

Two thoughts on this:

First, thinking that the wrong word will be excused by the fact that it rhymes shows a failure to grasp #4 above. The wrongness of a wrong word is emphasized when it is in a rhyming position.

Second, behavioral scientists have long observed something called the Einstulling ("settling") effect: when most people are presented with a three-step solution to a problem, they "settle" for that method and stop looking for a two-step solution. The Einstulling effect goes beyond simple laziness: people become emotionally attached to that first solution, to the point that their problem-solving creativity becomes blocked by it. They are quick to conclude that problems that can't be solved by their beloved method can't be solved at all.

Likewise, it's tempting to fall in love with the first set of rhymes that seems promising, especially in multi-rhymed forms (e.g., Petrarchan sonnets and villanelles). And when we fall in love, we settle. We overlook, or even become defensive about, our beloved's shortcomings.

How many times have we heard, or said ourselves, something like "But I have to say 'micturition' there, because if I don't I'll have to change three other lines, too!" (Yep. Better get started.)

I find it useful to remind myself, even in the initial excitement of finding a set of rhyme words that (sort of) works, that there may be a more elegant solution out there--another set of rhyme words that works better. I try not to get too infatuated with and committed to a particular set before I've explored a few options.

[Julie Steiner]

Oh. Oops. This is probably one of those "Musing on Mastery" type thingies where we're not supposed to post our own stuff, isn't it? Oh well.

[ross hamilton hill]

Couldn't agree more Julie, enjambment has become the drug of choice on Erato and in my opinion spoils many poems by relegating the meaning/emotional impact of the sentence to second place.
On other forums I post/used to post many people hate rhymes, they are sick of them, sick of all the old forms that people love so much here, one can understand that as almost every word that can be rhymed has been rhymed, but I love songs so I love the power of rhyme, how it unites a poem. Rhymed words produce the same musical note and give a poem a melodic coherence free verse often lacks. But I love free verse for its freedom, why limit oneself?
I don't read books about poetry, except I've read The White Goddess by Robert Graves (twice) to see something of the Celtic/magical/classical roots of poetry and The Vision by Yeats, it's about the occult but I think poetry is often a part of magical practices so it was interesting to me given Yeats is such a great poet, I also read the biography of Dylan Thomas by his wife. I gleaned from it that Dylan Thomas wrote out his poems many times ( up to 70) as a way of polishing them and finding better means of expression. I also learnt that he used a Thesaurus but his wife complained that this practice lead to his poems becoming incomprehensible, he even admitted so himself but said it was justified by the 'sound' of them, I think that's a mistake, if you see poems as more sound than sense you might as well scat sing instead.
Two sayings that come from other disciplines often occur to me when on Erato, one 'form follows function' from architecture, echoes Janice's excerpt, if the form is right the poem is more likely to work, if the form is wrong the poem will never work so think what the function of the poem is, is it to instruct, tell a story, create an emotional response, it is about the contemporary world, this moment or about the past, history or one's memories, etc etc, what ever the function and function is diffferent from content, the form must be appropriate.
The last is a buddhist saying 'first thought, best thought' in relation to my own poetry and those of others I'm often aware that poems can be spoilt by over-working them. I used to paint as much as I wrote and in painting it is even more true, it is very easy to spoil a work by over-doing it, you can go back with poetry if you keep drafts but even so I think you can end up too far away from the original impulse and then you've lost it. This to some extent contradicts what I learned from Dylan Thomas, 'it's all about balance' shall be my contribution to notebook wisdom.
Janice.. I think this may prove a very useful thread to have started.

[E. Shaun Russell]

A few random thoughts in this vein.

-There's nothing wrong with the occasional metrical substitution.

It took me a long time to realize this. A lot of my earlier poems are admittedly metronomic. Being around the 'Sphere long enough prompted me to realize that throwing in the occasional extra trochee or iamb in an established meter can sometimes benefit the poem as a whole. Sort of like slipping in an "accidental" in a music composition. Too many and you lose sight of the key signature, but once in awhile variety is nice.

-If you're going to use a modifier or qualifier, make it interesting.

I'm seriously thinking of writing an essay, if not a chapter, on how detrimental words like "such," "so," and "very" are to modern metrical poetry. Sure, they can be used sometimes in the right contexts, but often they are nothing more than metrical detritus. There are many ways to emphasize a point in an interesting way. "Very" just doesn't cut it very often.

-"Big words" are great. Accessible words are greater.

I can't count the number of times that I've read poems here that seem to deliberately plunk down a big, fancy, gotta-grab-a-dictionary word at random. I suspect that a lot of slightly insecure poets do this so that the reader will assume the poet is erudite. But in most cases, if you're writing a half-decent poem, the reader will know that you're erudite (unless you're Longfellow, but I digress). There are few points that I preach repeatedly around these parts, but attempting to balance depth and accessibility is one of them. While it's nice to learn a new word or two along the way at times, it's frequently the case that an obscure word does not add anything to the poem. And it's exactly the reason why I have yet to whip out "paraskavedekatriaphobia" in one of my poems, despite how delightfully trochaic it is...

-Meaning is paramount. (Duh.)

Julie covered this quite nicely, but it cannot be overstated. Poems that prize meter over meaning usually come across as mere exercises in form. I mention above that there are few points I preach about here. Well, the other big one is that a balance between the objective (form) and the subjective (meaning/content) is key...though over the years I have come to accept that if you have to lean one way or the other, lean toward meaning. Poetry is more of an art than a science, after all, though I think the very nature of metered verse requires at least some science or math. I've said before that a 50/50 balance between form and content is ideal. Well, I'm older and more experienced now, and I'll take it to 40/60.



Edited to add: cross-posted with a few folks. Maybe this thread is going in a bit of a different way than Janice intended, but I can imagine it would be helpful to some regardless.

[Susan McLean]

In defense of enjambment:

Rhythms should vary; enjambing allows you to put the pauses in different locations, which adds interest.

Location adds emphasis. The beginnings and especially ends of lines call attention to themselves. Dick Davis points out that if you look only at the rhyme words, you should have a clear idea of what the poem's about. Put key words in rhyme position. I would add that if you are writing obscene poetry, rhyme on the obscenity, if possible.

Susan

[Charlie Southerland]

Hi Julie, I agree with much of what you say here with one glaring exception.

#5. Don't enjamb rhymed verse too much.

I went back to all the Nemerov winners and found that most winning poets enjambed the heck out of their poems. I kind of consider the Nemerov the"Cadillac" of formal poetry prizes. Many of the winning poets were not bashful with enjambments. I realize it's a relatively small sample, but it is the best I can find. My take on it is if the best poets are doing it then why shouldn't we? Several of those poets are members of the Sphere. I would love to hear from them and why they do it.

[R. Nemo Hill]

If the thoughts in or meaning of a poem can be clearly and completely paraphrased, then I believe it is not a poem. Poetry is for the expression of those states that cannot be expressed in the usual logical language of so-called meaning. It's the difference between allegory and symbol. An allegory is a stand-in for something else, a riddle with an answer. A symbol is chosen because there is no other way to express the inexpressible something that it dares to approach. It is a question whose only answer is itself. This is I think what Rilke meant when he said (in his Letters To A Young Poet) that the point was to "live the questions now" rather than "to seek an answer". Poetry is symbolic language, not allegorical language. If there is not some crucial core to a poem that cannot be translated or interpreted or reduced to the clear-cut meanings of the language of discursive thought, then it isn't speaking in the language of poetry. It is only the inexpressible that poetry expresses. And, of course, there are exceptions to every rule--even this one!

Here is a brief collection of tidbits from my own teachers, some of whom contradict each other.


People pretend not to pay too much attention to the fact that the logical mechanism of the sentence alone reveals itself to be increasingly powerless to provoke the emotive shock in man which really makes life meaningful.
(Andre Breton
Second Manifesto Of Surrealism/trans Mary Ann Caws))


So were assembled in my mind before the birth of a poem the ideas implicit in it. But when the poem was born it was as much a surprise to me as if a flower had suddenly glowed before me in the hollow of air... I can only assume that the philosophical antecedents in some way followed the psyche into that high state where, as the seers tell us, the gold-gleaming genius makes beauty, joys, rejoicings, dance, and song, and it changed the dry-as-dust logic into color and music and a rapture of prophecy.
(AE
Song And its Fountains)


Even if we measure the footsteps of the goddess, note their frequency and average length, we are still far from the secret of her instantaneous grace.
(Paul Valery
The Art Of Poetry: Problems Of Poetry/trans Denise Folliot)


You could almost touch it. But you did not touch. Because you cannot touch a music, a flowering of water, the white smile on the sleeper's mouth.
(Patrick White
The Aunt's Story)


.....a disclosing that lets us see what conceals itself, but lets us see it not by seeking to wrest that which is concealed out of its concealedness, but only by guarding the concealed in its self-concealment.
(Martin Heidegger
Poetry, Language, Thought: "...Poetically Man Dwells..."/trans Albert Hofstadte)


The poet must seek in himself the impression of being mute, of not being able to say what he has in his hold, and then strive to phrase it without ever finding fulfillment.
(Ramon Del Valle-Inclan
The Lamp Of Marvels/trans, Robert Lima)


We make of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry. Unlike the rhetoricians, who get a confident voice from remembering the crowd they won or may win, we sing amid our uncertainty; and, smitten even in the presence of the most high beauty by the knowledge of our solitude, our rhythm shudders.
(W. B. Yeats
Mythologies: Per Amica Silentia Lunae, Anima Hominis)


In a poem, therefore, the sense must not triumph over the form and destroy it beyond recall; on the contrary, it is the recall, the conservation of form, or rather its exact repetition as the sole and necessary expression of the state or the thought it has provoked in the reader, which is the mainspring of poetic power. A beautiful line is constantly reborn from its own ashes, it becomes again—as the effect of its effect—its own harmonic cause.
(Paul Valery
The Art Of Poetry: Commentaries On Charmes/trans Denise Folliot)


We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us—and if we do not agree, seems to put its hand in its breeches pocket. Poetry should be great & inobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself but with its subject. —How beautiful are the retired flowers! how would they lose their beauty were they to throng into the highway crying out, "admire me I am a violet! dote upon me I am a primrose!"
(John Keats
Letters, Letter of February 1818/ed, Robert Gittings)


So then he tried saying the grass is green and the sky is blue and so to propitiate the austere spirit of poetry whom still, though at a great distance, he could not help reverencing. "The sky is blue," he said, "the grass is green." Looking up, he saw that, on the contrary, the sky is like the veils which a thousand Madonnas have let fall from their hair; and the grass fleets and darkens like a flight a girls fleeing the embraces of hairy satyrs from enchanted woods. "Upon my word," he said (for he had fallen into the bad habit of speaking aloud), "I don't see that one's more true than another. Both are utterly false." And he despaired of being able to solve the problem of what poetry is and what truth is and fell into a deep dejection.
(Virginia Woolf
Orlando)


The essential poem at the center of things,
The arias that spiritual fiddlings make,
Have gorged the cast-iron of our lives with good
And the cast-iron of our works. But it is, dear sirs,
A difficult apperception, this gorging good,
Fetched by such slick-eyed nymphs, this essential gold,
This fortune's finding, disposed and re-disposed
By such slight genii in such pale air.
(Wallace Stevens
A Primitive Like An Orb)


Without metaphors it is impossible to express a single thought. All effort to rise above images is doomed to fail. To speak of our most ardent aspirations only in negative terms does not satisfy the craving of the heart, and where philosophy no longer finds expression, poetry comes in again.
(J. Huizinga
The Waning Of The Middle Ages)


Things seem pretty crummy, but if they could carry us away with them, we'd die of poetry.
(Louis Ferdinand Celine
Death On The Installment Plan/trans, Ralph Manheim)


Contrary to opinions prevalent in the Twentieth Century, for him a poem was not a linguistic structure whose meaning originates in, and is inseparable from, the structure, but rather the by-product of a spiritual attainment which must precede a poet's struggle with the insufficiency of language.
(Czeslaw Milosz
The Noble Traveller, The Life & Writings of O.V. de L. Milosz: Introduction)


.....poetry cannot be defined as being either the subject or the form of the composition; poetry is a state of mind or soul—'un etat d'ame' the Symbolists were to call it later—and this state of mind or soul will find its own inevitable expression.
(Enid Starkie
Biography of Arthur Rimbaud))


Poetry occurs less in what is being said than in its passing through language all the way to silence, the beginnings, the inaudible. The greatness of this poet is not that he fell silent, but that he arrived at silence: Rimbaud's work was not abandoned, it is complete.
(Alain Borer
Rimbaud In Abyssinia)


Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you—like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist—or else it is nothing, an empty, formalized bore, around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
(F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Crack-Up: Letter—August 3, 1940/ed, Edmund Wilson)


A poem must be entirely inexhaustible, like a human being and a good proverb.
(Novalis
quoted in Novalis: A Romantic's Theory, Kristin Pfefferkorn)


Within this temporal body composed of a hundred bones and nine holes there resides a spirit which, for lack of an adequate name, I think of as windblown. Like delicate drapery, it may be torn away or blown off by the least breeze. It brought me to writing poetry many years ago, initially for its own gratification, but eventually as a way of life. True, frustration and rejection were almost enough to bring this spirit to silence, and sometimes pride brought it to the brink of vanity. From the writing of the very first line, it has found no contentment as it was torn by one doubt after another. This windblown spirit considered the security of the court life at one point; at another, it considered risking a display of its ignorance by becoming a scholar. But its passion for poetry would not permit either. Since it knows no other way than the way of poetry, it has clung to it tenaciously.
(Basho
The Knapsack Notebooks/trans Sam Hamill)


Nemo

[Wintaka]

Hi, Janice:

As you know, I usually leave rules, laws and guidelines to Dennis Hammes, Earl Gray or Peter John Ross but I was struck by this:

Annie Finch wrote:

Every poem IS its form.

Annie was wise to stress the present tense here. It cautiously avoids the most obvious objection: there was poetry for milenia before form or meter and before attention was paid to "sounds, rhythms, pitch and intensity." Even so, the ghost of an elephant in the room remains, that being the question: "Why did we develop these things?"

-o-