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Originally posted by Seree Zohar:
Stephen - in order to better understand the idea of open-ended . . . can you DO something with any of the 3 pieces I posted to show open as opposed to closed ??? thanks.
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Hi Seree,
Lee has some interesting things to say about "openendedness" in his reply above to Martin. Specifically,
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End-stopping: It mostly has to do with the ideational content. When we get to the end of the poem, has the poet said all there is to be said or is there something left for the reader to ponder? And by ponder I don't mean admire the poet's cleverness or wit, but something deeper--has the poet found something interesting in the experience itself that is worth sharing?
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Obviously the question of whether there's "something left for the reader to ponder . . . that is worth sharing" is going to be subjective to some extent, and as writers of course we always hope there will be. But looking at a specific text, it's sometimes possible to identify particular aspects of it that (arguably)
close down interpretive possibilities, and thus lead to a less "openended," less inviting poem. I can't speak for what Lee is seeing, but since you ask me too, I'll try an "objective" application of the principle, and see what I can in fact DO.
Take, for example, your Rembrandt poem:
“The Jewish Bride” hosts
immaculate despite centuries
dead flies at her hem
I didn't know the name of the painting (I'm dreadfully ignorant of art), and so without your explanation above, I wouldn't have got this at all. Anyway, once that's cleared up, here's how I read the poem:
“The Jewish Bride,” immaculate despite (the passage of) centuries,
hosts dead flies at her hem.
In other words (if I understand correctly), "hosts" is a verb here, and you are describing a scene in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam: Rembrandt's "Jewish Bride" is still glowing and beautiful despite its (her) great age, but dead flies have gathered on the floor, or on the frame, below--the painted figure "hosts" the dead flies "at her hem." Frankly that's a fair bit to figure out (or it was for muddledly duddledy me!) and in that sense you certainly do leave some connections for the reader to "ponder." But--to use another of Lee's metaphors--do those connections "spark" across the gap, or are they too close (closed circuit, no spark) or too far (isolated terminals, no spark) to do so?
I think you have (paradoxically) both problems, though the "too far" issue is mostly my unfamiliarity with the painting. If I knew that you were referring to an Old Master--even without knowing the painting--I could bring the scene into focus much more easily, so that's my first recommendation: "Rembrandt's 'Jewish Bride.'" The more serious problem, however, is that your images are also "too close." To quote Lee again (from
Haiku: Formal Elements),
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The second formal element [of haiku] is the syntactic cut that divides the poem into two parts. The primary poetic technique of the haiku is to place two images (most commonly literal rather than figurative images) side by side without interpretation.
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In other words, it's a question of haiku's preference for "cutting" and juxtaposition.
I think that the two images in question here-- "The Jewish Bride" and the flies--make for a striking and potentially quite powerful juxtaposition, so that's not a problem. But two other things stand out. First, by adding the verb "hosts" here, you eliminate the cut--in effect, you unite the two elements in a single sequence, instead of juxtaposing them:
“The Jewish Bride” hosts . . . dead flies at her hem
The intervening stuff about "immaculate despite centuries"
does make for a kind of disjunction (it divides verb and object, without quite "cutting" them), but then it introduces a different problem. As Lee says, juxtaposition works best when images are placed "side by side without interpretation." And with that, we really get to the nuts and bolts of "openendedness." What is the meaning of the juxtaposition of painting and dead flies here? It could be any number of things, but crucially, you've supplied us with the start of an "answer" by adding in the interpretive, "telly" stuff about "immaculate despite centuries." In other words we do get the connection--a kind of ironic commentary on art (immortality) and nature (death), or however you want to phrase it. But the connection is too close. There's room for different interpretations--no text is ever completely "closed"--but crucially you have narrowed the range of possibilities for the reader, and therefore made the poem less "openended."
Does that make sense?
Anyway, that's a lot of explanation, but perhaps an example will help. You could rewrite your piece in any number of ways; this is just my attempt at a more openended, haiku-like version. So, assuming the flies are on the frame, not the floor . . .
Rembrandt's "Jewish Bride"
dead in a gilt-framed corner
two winter flies
(I say "winter flies" because they're the sort that wind up dying in our window sills etc. And yes, "winter fly" (fuyu no hae) is in fact a traditional season word in haiku.)
A last point: some readers might find a pun in "gilt" (guilt) here, and that too might be seen as a distracting, "interpretive" element. It may be safer to be plain:
Rembrandt's "Jewish Bride"
dead in a corner of the frame
two winter flies
But I do like that glint of dull gold beside the little black bodies. As for "two" . . . completely arbitrary.
Anyway, this is just one way you might go. The possibilities are, ahem,
openended. The key to writing a really striking haiku is to get just the right combination so that the images communicate and "spark" . . . then getting yourself out of the reader's way so he or she can watch, and interpret, the magic for him or herself.
Long answer. I hope it's useful.
Steve C.
Edit: Added link.
[This message has been edited by Stephen Collington (edited October 17, 2008).]
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