TinkerX

Where there’s smoke

The thunder came back for a third time last night.
Explosive light spattered behind and beyond,
too far up the county to preview the drums
with a white, sharpened, spark bone
jammed into your eyes.

Sitting, not sleeping (for how could we sleep?),
as the fists of the clouds beat down on the tent
that night stretches over our streets and our eyes
now pointless as shelter
from violent light.

Each rumble is different, a fingerprint boom.
One feels like a train rolling over our graves.
While the next is a branch cracking under your foot
in a forest of black fingered
dry-as-dust wood.

The first wakes us up and the next pulls us out
of our beds with a fist of sound gripping the sheets.
By the third… we’ve relaxed, and got milk for the wait
while mountains of air
converse with the heat.

They talk to us, too, of course. Querulous bombs.
The volume is such that it’s hard to make out
what the words are. But listening, closely, we hear:
“Don’t fear us — we’re only
the gentlest of signs.”

* * * * *

[with thanks to Shannon whose comment improved this]

Bad Pun

he defines “untied”
as “tied to nothing”

no hope of hope
no jump into a lake of cool
sweet summer peace
no rope swing leap
from earth to air to water

boys fly free

men tire
mourn
hang rubber
on a dying tree

All communication intends to exchange meaning. "I’d like a cheeseburger with fries and a Coke." That conveys meaning from a hungry customer to a waitress or fry cook. And if the communication between customer and cook was reduced, let’s say, to the pushing of buttons with pictures of meal choices — as in a vending machine — we’d have communication that is almost perfectly mundane. By which I mean there is very little chance for interpretive meaning, only the exchange of explicit communicative chunks. "Almost perfect" because there’s a person on the other end of the process taking the mechanical order and doing the cooking. If a customer were to come in and push the "large fry" button 75 or 200 or 809 times in a row in quick succession, the cook might step out from the kitchen and make sure that there wasn’t a problem. Even in this simple example, there is room for interpretation at the edges.

And the edges are what poetry is all about.

If you want to make simple, declarative statements about feelings or beliefs… stick to prose. There’s no harm. Most of what I write is prose, and a good essay, rant, story or post is a joy forever.  But if you’re the type who is now thinking, "Yeah… I wonder how many times I’d need to mash the ‘fries’ button to get the cook to come out?" then you might be a poet.

Language is, of a necessity, symbolic. When I say, "It is cold," it doesn’t make it cold. It might not even be cold, by any reasonable assessment. When I change the words to, "I am cold," it can mean a couple of things, eh? Clearly, it can mean, "There is less heat in my environment than I am comfortable with." But we also use the term "cold" to mean emotionally distant, unloving, uncaring, etc.

The fact that one word, phrase, description or entire piece of writing can mean multiple things is what makes good poetry so beautiful. As humans, we like to see/make connections. We like solving puzzles. We make connections even where none are intended; how often have you looked at a cloud and thought, "That looks like a [whatever]." Our brains are programmed to seek meaning on multiple levels.

How is this useful in poetry? Well, let’s consider the "cold" thing again. If I simply say, "I am cold," without context, you can think either that I’d like to warm up, or that I’m emotionally distant. As soon as I provide some surroundings for this statement, though, you have more edges; more interpretive options:

I am cold
here in your bedroom.

Whoops! Hey… what?  OK. That’s weird, isn’t it? When "bedroom" is referenced in poetry (and much art) it is usually a place of warmth and connection. The poet is saying he’s cold (either lacking heat or feeling distant) in a place where both of those things are odd. It makes the interpretative process different and more interesting; there are more ways to put the pieces together, to make sense of the edges where meanings can cross. Let’s add another line:

I am cold
here in your bedroom.
Someone left the window open.

What’s going on now? Well… "window open" implies that the "cold" is possibly (more likely?) one related to temperature. We get cold when windows are open. But let’s check out that word, "Someone." Hmmm… Someone? Not "you" or "I." The two people we’d expect to be involved in a bedroom poem aren’t to blame. Let’s keep going.

I am cold
here in your bedroom.
Someone left the window open.
And the summer sun won’t touch me
on the dry, dark, hard wood floor.

Now it’s maybe getting contradictory and, possibly, a bit creepy. On the absolute surface level — no poetry intended — a reader could take this at face value and say, "OK. So a dude is sitting on the floor of his girlfriend’s room, and he’s out of the sun, so he’s cold. Big deal."

Right. But it’s not hard to see the edges in this one, is it? Why would the writer choose (and good poetry is all about word choices) to make the narrator cold in the summer? That’s a contrast, and contrast immediately shows of the edges between possible interpretations and makes us look for patterns and meaning. There’s even sun, which implies it’s day and not night, and probably not "cold" in an absolute sense. That is, at least, a strong implication.

So what else might be going on here? Always make the assumption that a poet is choosing his/her words with great care. You’ll do that when you write good poetry, so make the assumption. So… just like we asked questions last time about Shakespeare’s sonnet, let’s ask some questions:

• Who left the window open?
• Why is the narrator alone (apparently, at this point) in "your" bedroom?
• Why is the poem addressed to "you" and not "her" or "him?"
• Why is the narrator on the floor?
• Why use the word "touch" related to what the sun can/can’t do?
• Why use the word "won’t" for the sun’s touch — which implies intention on the part of the sun or avoidance on the part of the narrator — rather than "can’t?"
• Why use the words "dry," and "dark" to describe the floor, other than that "dark" emphasizes the lack of sun?
• Is it important that the floor is "hard wood?"

I’m intrigued. Are you intrigued? Whenever you read poetry, do so like a detective. Think about the words as if they are all clues to places where the poet has been and wants you to follow.

Most poets, myself included, *hate* explaining their work. The whole point is to let the reader pull out meaning and depth based on their interpretation. Explaining your own poetry is like starting a joke with the punchline or saying, "I’m going to tell you a neat, provocative mystery in which the main character’s sister is the killer." Blech. But today, because we are doing lessons, there will be some explication of the aforementioned questions: 

• Who left the window open? Can’t be "me" (the narrator) or "you" (the object of the poem). Must be someone else. Not normally a comfortable implication in a poem. Probably a cause for stress or drama between "me" and "you."
• Why is the narrator alone (apparently, at this point) in "your" bedroom? Maybe "you" left. Maybe "you" are still there, but are very quiet (also a disturbing possibility). Maybe "you" didn’t expect me. Maybe "you" are out with whomever opened the window.
• Why is the poem addressed to "you" and not "her" or "him?" Using the 2nd person implies familiarity. It also makes the reader feel more like an outsider, as the use of the 3rd person ("I am cold / here in her bedroom") would imply that the narrator expects the piece to be read/seen by the reader. In the 2nd person, there is a feeling of overhearing a conversation between two others, rather than reading something explicitly public. The "you" is the intended recpient, the object of the communication. This is subtle, sure… but important.
• Why is the narrator on the floor? "Bedroom" implies, pretty strongly, one piece of furniture: a bed. The implication is that he’s not using the one thing that makes a bedroom a bedroom. This is a strong clue that something is wrong or not comfortable. Why would the narrator avoid a bed in a bedroom? Especially if he is cold, and beds are used to keep warm.
• Why use the word "touch" related to what the sun can/can’t do? The sun doesn’t really "touch" us. The light/heat do. But "touch" is a verb that implies personal, often emotional or intimate contact. So the lack of touch is another clue that there is some kind of personal, intimate lack here.
  
• Why use the word "won’t" for the sun’s touch? The sun doesn’t make choices in reality. The sun doesn’t withhold its "touch" based on some kind of consciousness. So we’re left to make one or two assumptions. Either the narrator is anthropomorphizing the sun and it’s affect on him (cold) — which is a sign of psychological distress — or the narrator is avoiding the sun’s touch on purpose. "It won’t touch me," implies a choice made, rather than "It can’t touch me," which implies an unavoidable situation.
• Why use the words "dry," and "dark" to describe the floor? Sure, dark reinforces the lack of sun’s touch. But we’ve already made the assumption that the narrator has chosen to be on the floor, and has possibly, deliberately picked his spot. If the floor is, itself, dry and dark, what is that in contrast to? Why even describe the floor? Well, because it’s not the bed. The light, we assume, is touching the bed. And, while dryness is not necessarily associated with warmth, those romantic things that happen in beds are often moist; kissing, sweat, sex, etc.
• Is it important that the floor is "hard wood?" Well… if you’re looking for sexual references (and in a bedroom, that’s a good bet), "hard" has implications, as does "wood."

So, above and beyond the surface, narrative meaning… we now have someone addressing someone in a more personal way (2nd person object), alone in a place that would normally have another there, on the floor instead of the logical bed, avoiding touch purposefully, in a dry/dark place, with (let’s push this a bit, students) an errection.

Now… some of you are no doubt saying, "C’mon! That’s reading a lot into those word choices." Yep. And an argument I have time and time again with new readers of poetry is on the subject of reading more into a piece than was intended by the poet. First of all, assume that the poet intends the maximum number/levels of interpretation. It’s a good bet that he/she thought more about the writing of the piece than you are about the reading. Second, even if you do read something into the poem that wasn’t intentional… that’s ok. Part of the fun/joy or poetry is finding a picture of a dragon in a cloud that was painted to look like a bunny. I don’t know a poet out there who will complain if you find some extra, bonus meaning in their piece.

I’ll finish this poem next time, when we’ll cover tension and release (or the lack thereof) as poetic devices, and why you should aim for "frisson" as a poet. Until then, your assignment is to take a very simple, declarative phrase and embelish it with at least three phrases that put its surface meaning into question, or provide alternate contexts. Don’t worry about being "poetic." Just start with a phrase like:

The car is going fast.

And then think of three phrases that, in juxtaposition with the first, might cause a reader to ask some questions. Like:

• It’s making me sleepy
• Although it’s out of gas
• My mom’s a crazy driver

All of those phrases are somewhat unexpected when coupled with "the car is going fast." Go be unexpected on purpose.

Disclaimer: Go back and read the introduction to this series. The part about "there is no bad poetry." These lessons aren’t for people who want mindless stroking for their work, or who are content with their current output… it’s for folks who want to improve. If I say something in here that offends your artistic sensibilities… so be it. This series is for writers who want to improve their craft, and so when I say "poetry" in this context, I mean serious writing intended to impact readers. And away we go…

• Poetry is not prose with funky line-breaks.
• Poetry is not writing that rhymes
• Poetry is not writing that adheres to a specific meter
• Poetry is not writing that is purposefully vague or confusing
• Poetry is not purple prose in a different box
• Poetry is not archaic for the sake of sounding "poetic"

Now… poetry can have one or more of the above attributes. But just because something rhymes, doesn’t make it a poem. And just because it doesn’t, doesn’t make it not. Er…. yeah. You know what I mean.

My definition of poetry: writing that purposefully communicates on levels of meaning beyond those of simple, definitional comprehension.

OK… I wrote that… and then I checked Wikipedia. Their definition is similar to mine, but better: a form of art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to, or in lieu of, its ostensible meaning.

Those are pretty close. The main point being that the poet intentionally uses language in ways that aren’t, let’s say, ordinary. Rhyming, for example, is not something you do when simply trying to convey meaning in normal, conversation:

Give me a meal, the type that is happy,
With nuggets and fries, and please make it snappy

That would be obnoxious. It’s also a good example of a type of non-poetry called "doggerel." Good poetry is almost as much about what to avoid as what to do; avoid doggerel.

The best first step to writing better poetry is to look at what is (generally) considered good poetry and try to understand why it is not prose; i.e., the difference between simple, declarative writing (as in an essay), and a poem on the same subject.

We will start, therefore, with the first exercise: taking a classic poem and un-writing it. That will help us understand what a poem is, apart from what it is not. I will use an absolute classic that everyone should know, the sonnet, "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day," by William Shakespeare:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

What is the poet saying… if we get right down to the meat, away from all the poetry stuff? Perhaps…

You’re very beautiful.

Wow. OK. That really takes out, well… everything. But think about it: why take the time to write all that other "stuff," put in the rhymes, make the meter very precise, whip out the old metaphors. If you just want to tell your girlfriend, "You’re pretty," well… why all the extra labor?

"Aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to or in lieu of ostensible meaning."

So… why is this a poem, and not just writing with some poetic attributes? What makes it *good?*

Well, first we must ask, why does it rhyme and hold to a specific, particular meter? In this case, the rhyming structure and meter are those of the English sonnet. The rhymes go: ABAB, CDCD, EFEF, GG. The meter is iambic pentameter. That’s an English sonnet for you. To a certain extent, Shakespeare used that form because it was popular at the time, and considered (when done well) particularly beautiful. We still appreciate the form, especially when written well and spoken well. In a later lesson, we’ll get into the specifics of subtle iambic meter as opposed to drum-like, irritatingly simple iambs.

And we’re not going to do a complete analysis of this piece today, either. What I will do, though, is point out some "poetic stuff" that adds all kinds of meaning. Socratic as I am, let’s pose the following questions:

• Why is the main metaphor one of time? That is, comparison to a season as opposed to physical objects?
• Why does the poet go into detail about the ways that summer doesn’t hold up so well in this comparison?
• Why is very little detail about the subject (thou… presumably, on one level, the beloved) actually given?
• Is the subject actually, let’s say, the poet’s lover? What else could be the subject? Why would we even consider this?
• What is the signifigance of the words, "temperate," "lease," "gold," "posession," "grow’st," "breathe (and) see?"

Great poets (and Bill is among the greatest) don’t just throw in words or rhymes willy-nilly. There is almost always a reason (or many reasons) why one word is chosen over others. That’s one of the signals, for example, of writing that rhymes — it tells the reader, "I have picked these words carefully, not just for their simple meaning."

Next time we’ll spend some effort on how the meaning of this poem may be, in fact, "in lieu of" its ostensible meaning; how it may be saying some things that are at odds with the surface meaning.

In the meantime, your assignment is to find a poem and strip away all the poetry stuff. What is the *least* that a poet may be saying?

I’ve been meaning to do this in one form or another for some time. And Jen (Hi, Jen!) told me I should blog more about poetry, so this is a good excuse to get started.

It seems to me that:

1. Lots of people want to and/or try to write poetry. There’s lots of it on the Web, anyway. And when I was studying writing in college, lots of us were doing it even without teh intranets.
2. There are not a lot of "how to" books, articles, blogs, etc. on how to write poetry. Plenty on how to read it. But, while reading poetry is very important for those who want to improve their writing, the skills needed are different and require different pokings.

Hmmm… Usually my lists have at least three things. Three being the magic number. But two is OK here; a need and a lack of support for the need. Perfect niche to fill.

Let’s look at #1 first. If you do a search on "poetry," you’ll find plenty of places where thousands of people are posting their work. The very first thing I want to make absolutely clear is that there is NO SUCH THING as bad poetry, from the point of view of poetry as a creative outlet. There are several reasons why people write poetry, and they should all be respected:

• As an outlet for creative thoughts
• As an outlet for emotion
• To vent
• To explore thoughts/ideas
• To explore your own psychology
• To work with language
• To communicate using different skills
• To communicate with contextual richness
• To communicate with nuance
• To build confidence, either in the craft or as a communicator in general
• To connect with others
• To score chicks by the busload

That last was the reason I got into poetry. Trust me… good poets drive the ladies wild.

Now… some people write for only one or two of those reasons. If you are writing poetry as an outlet for emotion or to explore your own psychology, your work falls under the "no bad poetry" rule. Spending time doing something introspective and creative will only bring you good things.

That being said… most of the other reasons above require that you consider your readers, not just your own bad, poetic self. Within the context of poetry that is meant to communicate creatively, interestingly, contextually, fully and artfully (wow… that’s a lot of adverbs), there is such a thing as poetry that is much, much better.

This really can’t be emphasized enough: nobody should be discouraged from writing poetry; it’s too close to the heart. If you’ve started, don’t ever stop. If you haven’t ever tried it, give it a whirl. It provides great benefits.

Those beneifts, however, expand greatly when you study poetry (reading and writing it) and work to hone your craft. The more you know about the elements of poetry, and the more you practice, the more joy you will have in it. And, after a time, others may also have a joy in it. Because reading good poetry can be a wonderful, mind-expanding experience.

And just as I said there is no such thing as bad poetry… there is also not enough really good poetry.

Which brings us to #2.

I make no claims about the quality of my own work. I like some of it. I do it for all the reasons listed above, and writing poetry has improved (I know) my prose writing, my reading abilities and my overall creative oomph. It has also provided me with opportunities to make many good friends and have wonderful discussions and learning experiences.

I have spent many years writing, both prose and poetry. I spent a good chunk of time in high school and college studying poetry, writing it, discussing it with others, editing it, etc. Again… I make no claims about the overall quality of my own work (judge that for yourself), but I do know that what I’m writing now is much, much better than what I started writing in the 7th grade. God, I hope so… And what I hope to do with this series of posts is provide a framework within which others who are interested in improving their work might do so.

These lessons will be based, loosely, on practices and projects that I’ve been involved with. They will provide some thoughts on how to read poetry, with an eye towards incorporating those thoughts into your own work.

There is no bad reason to write poetry. And the writing of it, no matter the quality of the output, is an important activity that should always be encouraged. I’ve never, ever told anyone (or even thought), "Wow. Your stuff reeks. You should really just stop." Bad, bad, bad idea. But I’ve also never, ever told anyone, "Your poetry can’t be improved," or "Don’t actively work on your writing."

These lessons will be for folks who want to work on the work.

Let’s get started…