Incendiary Lit

It saddens me how little attention is given to contemporary poetry in public schools. Even in college, my little brother is in a freshman literature appreciation class, and the only poets they covered were Melville and Poe. Sure, fine writers in their time, both have written classics of literature, but as the best example of poetry for non-English majors? The teaching of poetry writing is virtually non-existent in any school until it’s available as an elective at post-secondary schools. Where is one to learn what contemporary poetry even looks like? The problem that many beginning writers have is a lack of exposure to poetry outside a very small pool of poets. They’ve never seen or even heard of a literary journal (one such poet told me that journals are for anti-social wallflowers. The wording demonstrates a point which will be covered later) nor could they tell you more than three living poets: Jewel, TuPac, and maybe Maya Angelou. Could you imagine dedicating your life to a field whose pinnacle consists entirely of such poetry? Eek. In the words of a Tobias Wolff story, (which is excellent by the way) “Bullet in the Brain.”

Another obstacle that stands in the way of young writer’s progress is the idea that poetry is strictly self-expression. That the emotions one feels should not be criticized, thus, the poems stemming from those emotions must not be criticized. Not sure how this started. Perhaps it’s another unfortunate fallout from the “Barney syndrome” of “you’re perfect however you want to be,” resulting in cocky, deeply flawed human beings. Tangential, sorry. TS Eliot made this poignant comment on the role of emotion in poetry: “Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.” But where will a young poet get his hands on TS Eliot, and secondly, should they at that stage?

So young writers are greatly without guidance as they enter the wonderful world of contemporary poetry and writing workshops. Most are scared off or angered by the criticism they’d never before received. Mom and Dad rarely criticize ‘creativity’ nor do friends, who rarely have anything to say but “Cool.” It’s the water crashing down on your head after a cannonball into the lake, and it can be freezing. The easiest way to avoid such a harsh realization is to read some poetry. There are many poets who are easy to understand, write conversationally, and are relatable to young readers. Billy Collins’ Poetry 180 is a wonderful resource for teachers, and those who are interested in poetry, but not necessarily well versed in it. Sorry. Puns are my lifeline. There are many, many accessible, and entertaining poems there that can be a sort of poetry wading pool, if you will.

It’s also of note that though Ginsberg did say “First thought, best thought,” he still revised his own poetry extensively. There are many common pitfalls for beginning poets that will most likely result in their poems never making it out of the ‘bad poem bin.’ Luckily, that can be remedied:

1) Lack of details. Many young poets summarize everything. They’re taught to write essays mainly in summary (as proof that they read at least the SparkNotes), so how are they supposed to know not to do it in their poems? Specifics are very important to poems. Idiosyncrasies make a poem not only your own, but interesting as well. Things like the way someone leans against the wall, their left hand just touching the brick, or actually including brief bits of dialog instead of saying “we talked about____”

2) Lack of concrete nouns. This is important. Concrete nouns are actual things. Things that smell, taste, feel, things that have little room for interpretation. Concrete details ground the reader, give them a beacon of reality, so they aren’t lost in abstractions. Abstractions are the opposite of concrete nouns. They’re ideas or emotions, like hope, love, or beauty. They’re wonderful emotions and ideas to convey in a poem, but when you use the words, especially repeatedly, we have to offer up that old bit of workshop sagery: Show Don’t Tell. That’s right. A successful poem doesn’t so much say how you’re feeling, but rather explains it in a way that the reader can empathize and feel what you feel. It’s so much easier for someone to get behind what you’re saying, or really care, if you make it about them as opposed to just about you, because who are you to them? One of 99 thousand red balloons in the sky. But if your balloon drifts from the cloud, comes down and has a little personal/intellectual chat with them, they might just decide to take it home like a lost puppy. I once had a reader for a journal send me an email saying that they don’t think my poems were accepted, but that she disagrees, and that she made a copy of one of them and hung it on her refrigerator. To me, knowing your work is on some stranger’s refrigerator is worth ten publications. Tangential, sorry. An example of a concrete noun is the balloon I just mentioned. It has a shape, a color and even a location. Lots of concrete there, but it would still make a terrible poem. Or a pretty sweet pop song. Onwards!

3) Familiarity. Cliches are a part of society. Howeverm in some ways they are kind of the antithesis of poetry. Poetry is an attempt to “Make it New” as Ezra Pound (and Confucius) said, and cliches are the knee jerk reaction of the masses. They are things like a pretty girl being an angel, a raindrop being a tear from heaven, a red rose as a symbol of beauty or love, rainbows, or common phrases like “right as rain,” “the grass is always greener on the other side,” and “the writing’s on the wall.” Say it to yourself as a mantra: Make it new, make it new. Just avoid veering into treason and all will be well. And, until you’re a little more versed in poetry (hehe) just set that Ginsberg quote on the shelf. Remember, he’d read literally hundreds of books of poetry by the time he said “First thought, best thought,” and he was all into zen, which is interesting, but, like dropping a word like scansion outside of a literary group, the real zen stuff just confuses the crap out of most people. A quick excerpt from Kerouac’s Dharma Bums: (in my mind, definitely the best of the series) “It’s mean,” I complained. “All those Zen Masters throwing young kids in the mud because they can’t answer their silly questions.” “That’s because they want them to realize mud is better than words, boy.” There’s a labyrinth of perception out there, though imperceptible.

4) Lack of Focus. Every line should add something new and important to the poem. Consider the rough poem (or poem idea swimming around in your head) notes for the final poem exam. The test will be entirely on the theme of the poem and how that theme can be reinforced. The excess notes that have nothing to do with the exam need to either be crossed out, or the little nugget that pertains to the exam needs to be brought out in a way that is more in line with the rest of your notes. An example? Say the poem’s about the beach, and the descriptions of things are: The towel’s lumped up like marshmallows, and a purse looks like a once bitten hot pocket. If the poem is about being hungry, or that’s a part of the poem, sweet, the theme’s at least somewhat streamlined in the images, but if food or hunger have nothing to do with the theme, then maybe try to re-envision the images more in line with the theme. Or if a character or object enters the poem, and doesn’t add anything to the theme or the understanding of the theme, you may just have to play the cold blooded assassin. Or, take the Martin Blank (of the fantastic Grosse Point Blank) route, discover a newfound respect for that part of your poem, and find a way to make the appearance of the person/object qualify, or add to the theme. For instance, in the earlier example, if the theme of the poem is mourning for someone lost, then instead of the towel being marshmallows, maybe a shed death shroud, or have it lying lifeless, partially buried by the sand. Or if a skinny guy walked by, perhaps he’s gaunt, as the word has somewhat darker connotations than skinny, or maybe make him a shriveled elderly man. Things more in line with the theme.

5) Archaic wording. Thou dost not repair to thine study ‘fore yond guest goes thither? Know the type of words I mean when I say archaic? Anything you wouldn’t expect to say, or hear, maybe when talking to someone a little older, but still, someone alive. If it is archaic, it has to explain itself, make a case for why that word is necessary when there’s a word in the popular vernacular of the day to suit it. Yes, Shakespeare used dost’s and thou’s, but that was hundreds of years ago when people spoke like that, or, spoke closer to that.

6) Syntactical inversion. That sounds bad, don’t you think? It can work, but again, it is usually only used when the regular syntactical sentence alignment was weighed against the inversion, and the inversion suits the rhythm of the poem. OK, that’s a bunch of mumbo jumbo, which is a cliche, but basically, write your poem in sentences. Exclusion of unnecessary words, the whittling down to the core of the language is where the ‘poetic’ lies, not in rearranging sentences so that they sounds poetic.

7) Forced or easy rhymes. This is the main cause of syntactical inversion. Rhyme, along with “First thought, best thought,” and syntactical inversion, should be put on hiatus for awhile while the young writer is learning the ins and outs of poetic language and organization. If the writer feels they absolutely must rhyme, the line should be worked entirely around making the end words fit into the poem naturally. I like the term Eye Poking Rhymes for the types of rhymes that really draw attention to themselves, where all the stress of the line falls on the ending word. Easy rhymes are like Love/dove/above, heart/apart. If it sounds like you’ve read the rhyme a few times, try to think of another way to say it. Here’s an example I’ve taken from an actual young poet’s poem: Without you how can the day be light / How can I dream in dark of night. I bet you had a feeling that the writer would rhyme night with light didn’t you? One great way to avoid your rhymes appearing eye pokey or easy is to use enjambment. Enjambment is basically just the idea that you don’t have to pause at the end of the line, so your sentence continues onto the next line like a normal sentence, like this line from Gabriel Spera’s “In a Field Outside the Town”: over itself, the sound crinking from one / end of the sky to the other. The sound took possession /

8 ) Repetition. Not all repetition is bad, in fact it can be used to great effect, but it can also be used to bore and annoy the reader. Anaphora is a commonly abused literary device. But even more than exact repetition, double, or triple stating really clutters up many young poet’s poems. Once you say something, there’s no need to say it again in a slightly different way. An example would be: He crumpled to the floor, slumped like a dropped washcloth. That is saying he fell twice, differently, and while they both may apply, one only needs to say things once, so decide on the more descriptive/better in line with the theme phrasing, and just go with that.

9) Abstract themes. Writing a poem that is to encompass the very essence of an abstraction like Love or Despair is a very ambitious project, a book length poem, an epic. Focus your theme (there’s that word again) to a part of that abstraction, like fleeting love at the workplace, or despair from the loss of something small and replaceable, like when there is an empty Dorito’s bag on the fridge, and you get excited, only to be dashed on the rocks of an empty bag’s crinkle. Woe is me.

10) Fatty Prose. If it is, of the, but and/or is not meaningful, chances are it isn’t needed. Poetry is the art of exclusion. You want the line to still make sense, but there are many ways to rephrase your sentences so that the nothing words, words that add nothing like many prepositions and pronouns, are minimized, so the meaning of the sentence is compacted, stripped to the very core, the most raw. Sentence fragments are the poet’s friend. Young poets also tend to pile on adjectives. Very rarely will you see more than two adjectives describe something in a successful poem, and when there are, it is always a conscious choice. A good verb is a poet’s best friend. A good verb will easily take the place of two adjectives. Learn to love a good verb.

11) Boring titles. Love. The Shoe. Timid. Yawn. A title is essentially a foreword to the poem. It is a chance to do a little bit of exposition, to foreshadow an important image or metaphor, to grab attention. Why waste it by calling the poem “Hope” when the major thing you convey in the poem is a sense of hope? It’s an opportunity, don’t waste it.

There is, of course much more to a good poem than avoiding these mistakes, but for the most part, successful contemporary poems avoid all of the points I’ve mentioned. I hope this helps someone out there, because it took a long time for me to figure it out on my own.