July and August are summer vacation for Home School Helps.
September resumes our blogs.
After taking a couple of summer months off, we start back with 13 bits of Pro Writer Advice.
These first blogs that move from summer to fall are designed for the writing people, especially the ones gearing up for National Novel Writing Month in November.
NaNoWriMo is an intensive, 1666 words per day push to complete the first draft of a manuscript. If you’ve never heard of NaNoWriMo, you’ll need to do a little prepwork to investigate, and if you’ve always dreaming of finishing that novel jumping on your shoulder, November is a great month for the push.
Most writing people muse their way through September, and our planned blogs will help. October is the time to gather and prep all the background for November’s big push.
October is the Grand School Month
If you’re just starting home school, if you want to start with grammar but don’t know what to do, Home School Helps won’t leave you hanging through the summer months.
Here’s what you can do. Go back and check out what the year has covered.
New blogs in the Monster Monday series will resume in October with the suitably-for-Halloween monstrous comma. We will follow that with the Short-cutters (including the apostrophe) and finishing with Special Marks.
When it’s easy to find exercises but not so easy to find explanations for all situations, the HSHelps area of Writers Ink is here to help.
Don’t forget to check out the Pro Writer Advice.
As always, you can email us at firstname.lastname@example.org. In the subject line, please state your concern.
See you in September!
(Wait! That’s from a song! Do you know it? If you go farther back into the WIS blog archive, you’ll find a whole series on poetry, including occasional poems and popular songs by Dolly Parton, Sting, Cold Play, the Eagles, Judy Collins, and more. These can serve as free guided literature lessons for home schoolers, especially when the student applies the lesson focus to other songs. Students can select another song and work on their own. For assistance, just email us, and we’ll respond!)
Poetry: Major Methods Every Poet Should Know, part 3B of 3
It’s our last blog on Poetry!
Here at Christmas, we’re looking back over our year.
We’ve had a long journey from modern songs: “Clocks” and “Counting Stars”, favorites like “Wildflowers” and “Tapestry”, unexpected connections to classical music with “Hotel California”, and detours to occasional poems and Aristotle’s three unities and the annual Summer Symbols blogs.
In October we looked at Free Verse, my favorite method of poetry. The gravitas of November, as the year closes and we consider everything for which we are grateful, called for a look at Blank Verse. Now, on Christmas Day, we have the second of our two blogs on Pure Verse.
Pure Verse contains rhyme and rhythm. This is the method people think of when they hear the word “poetry”. This is the method newbie poets and hacks use when they are writing and post their own poems in various forums and on sites like poemhunter .
(Wannabes think they are avant garde by writing free verse. Nope, sorry: the tide has changed. We have become so used to breaking the rules with free verse that it is now avant garde to write pure verse, especially such fixed forms as the sonnet and the ballad. For a modern ballad, try “The Stone” by Wilfred Wilson Gibson: The Stone by Wilfred Wilson Gibson.)
But I have digressed—twice.
On the 25th of October and November we examined the MMO—Means, Methods, Opportunity—of Free and Blank Verse forms. We guided ourselves through those blogs by contrasting an Old Master with a New One.
This time, we’ll still look at the MMO of Pure Verse, but we’re only going to examine 3 poems. And since it’s Christmas Day, that will be our focus
BTW, all our Christmas carols and songs are Pure Verse!
What Do We Think of When We Think of Christmas?
“This Section is a Christmas Tree” by Vachel Lindsay
This section is a Christmas tree: Loaded with pretty toys for you. Behold the blocks, the Noah’s arks, The popguns painted red and blue. No solemn pine-cone forest-fruit, But silver horns and candy sacks, And many little tinsel hearts And cherubs pink and jumping-jacks. For every child a gift I hope. The doll upon the topmost bough Is mine. But all the rest are yours. And I will light the candles now.
This poem brings to mind “Silver Bells”. This version is sung by Burl Ives, whom I have a soft place in my heart for. He opens my favorite Christmas movie with Rudolph and the Abominable Snow Monster.
This dramatic monologue appears to be one child showing other children around at Christmas. Where are they? The last three lines suggest they are at the first child’s home: her doll, her privilege to light the candles. Since she also hopes that every child will receive a gift, we can assume that her (wealthy) family is hosting an open house for less fortunate children. The house is decorated in different styles, with one room devoted to the Christmas tree.
While it looks like a single stanza, a closer look shows that it’s actually three stanzas, with an ABCB rhyme scheme. Occasionally, Lindsay tosses in slant rhyme (blocks/arks) and alliteration (popguns painted / forest-fruit).
What is Lindsay telling us here? That we should open our houses to the less fortunate? That, in doing so, we offer glimpses to an abundance that those of us who are less fortunate can only dream about? I think that’s over-thinking—but my mind went there, didn’t it? I have also decided I don’t particularly care for our little guide. I am certain that was NOT his intent.
Lindsay is doing very little more than listing the types of Christmas ornaments that would please children: “No solemn pine-cone forest-fruit” but “silver horns and candy sacks” and “popguns painted” and “jumping jacks” and “blocks” and “arks”. This Christmas afternoon is going to be LOUD.
Remember the Reason for the Season
“I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The song that I grew up with has a melancholic melody. Casting Crowns has created an updated version, not quite so doleful, which you can listen to as you read the lyrics:
Each stanza is a separate sentence, each presenting the situation, the problem, the emotion about the problem, the solution to the problem, and the result when the solution is implemented. This is classic essay form that Longfellow has used (and as usual, Longfellow makes it look easy when it’s not).
Longfellow forms each stanza by opening with a couplet, a third line that uses internal rhyme, and the fourth line repeating throughout the poem.
Internal rhyme is a clever way to create the additional rhyme per stanza that people subconsciously listen for: 1) sweet/repeat, 2) along/song, 3) strong/song, 4) fail/prevail, and 5) chime/sublime. I could write an interpretive essay on how Longfellow’s choices for the internal rhyme echo his theme … but I won’t.
The bells, in the fourth of five stanzas, are personified by giving, through their “wild and sweet” sounds, the solution to the speaker’s problem: If we treat each other as Christ would have us do, with love and harmony and cooperation (rather than hate and discord and competition), then the “wrong will fail, the right prevail”.
Longfellow uses Christmastide to remind us of the reason for the season. While we love the presents and the cooking and the reunion with families and friends, we should focus on our fellow man and how we can improve their lives.
“Jest `Fore Christmas” ~ Eugene Field
I certainly didn’t know who Eugene Field was when I started researching Christmas poems for this blog. Field wrote the classic nursery rhyme “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod”. He announces in his title that he is going to have some fun. And he certainly does. Read this one aloud for full appreciation.
Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill! Mighty glad I ain’t a girl—ruther be a boy, Without them sashes, curls, an’ things that ‘s worn by Fauntleroy! Love to chawnk green apples an’ go swimmin’ in the lake— Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache! ‘Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain’t no flies on me, But jest ‘fore Christmas I ‘m as good as I kin be!
Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat; First thing she knows she doesn’t know where she is at! Got a clipper sled, an’ when us kids goes out to slide, ‘Long comes the grocery cart, an’ we all hook a ride! But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an’ cross, He reaches at us with his whip, an’ larrups up his hoss, An’ then I laff an’ holler, “Oh, ye never teched me!” But jest ‘fore Christmas I ‘m as good as I kin be!
Gran’ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man, I ‘ll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan, As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon’s Isle, Where every prospeck pleases, an’ only man is vile! But gran’ma she has never been to see a Wild West show, Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she ‘d know That Buff’lo Bill an’ cowboys is good enough for me! Excep’ jest ‘fore Christmas, when I ‘m good as I kin be!
And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemnlike an’ still, His eyes they seem a-sayin’: “What’s the matter, little Bill?” The old cat sneaks down off her perch an’ wonders what’s become Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! But I am so perlite an’ tend so earnestly to biz, That mother says to father: “How improved our Willie is!” But father, havin’ been a boy hisself, suspicions me When, jest ‘fore Christmas, I ‘m as good as I kin be!
For Christmas, with its lots an’ lots of candies, cakes, an’ toys, Was made, they say, for proper kids an’ not for naughty boys; So wash yer face an’ bresh yer hair, an’ mind yer p’s and q’s, An’ don’t bust out yer pantaloons, and don’t wear out yer shoes; Say “Yessum” to the ladies, and “Yessur” to the men, An’ when they ‘s company, don’t pass yer plate for pie again; But, thinkin’ of the things yer ‘d like to see upon that tree, Jest ‘fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!
Fields is taking a note from Father Christmas, who gives gifts to the little boys and girls who are good and coal to the ones who are mean. Santa is making his list and checking it twice. Bill, wise to the world, has got Santa’s system figured out.
We see how Bill goes throughout his year—he is all boy, “snips and snails and puppy dog tails”. He’s not having the problems of modern little boys who never go outside to play. And I have great nostalgia for a world I never knew, when the grocery cart delivered to the houses and I didn’t have to spend an hour shopping up one aisle to get one thing then down another aisle to get one thing.
I wonder how far in advance of Christmas that Bill manages to be good. And how long his goodness lasts? Does he make it through Christmas Day?
The dialect is pure boy, running wild most of the year, totally appropriate for Bill’s voice. And the spelling! If I screw up my eyes, I can see a paragraph he wrote at school about his great-uncle Dan, “et up by the cannibuls”, dutifully red-marked by the staid teacher who rolled her eyes and moved to the next paragraph. Field writes in couplets, eight lines per stanza, another appropriate form for a child’s voice.
What opportunity is Fields’ taking? Mother loves her little “Willie” while Father has to correct “William”. And we have a surfeit of reasons for William/Bill to need correction.
Is Fields reminding parents that their little jewels at Christmas are manipulating the system?
Or is he reminding little boys to be nice at Christmas in order to get their presents (reinforcing Santa’s list)?
Or has he created a character that little boys agree with—yes!—and he’s reminding them to be extra nice at Christmas?
And the Traditional
C.C. Moore’s “The Night Before Christmas”
In the past few years a controversy has swirled around and around about the authorship of “Night Before”. You know what? It’s long past copyright. Time to let it go. Just enjoy.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Now a classic, this Christmas story has inspired songs and films and Golden Book stories. Who doesn’t love a good story before bedtime? And Moore? delivers: descriptive, amusing, plenty of favorite lines to choose from.
The poem is a series of couplets, easiest to write and appropriate for a simple story. For all my bashing of the simple couplet, when telling a simple story, it’s best not to overly complicate things. Similes and metaphors and symbols, repetition and alliteration: all abound.
It’s Christmas. Who doesn’t want a good story at Christmas? And when Moore? wrote this, children basically had the Biblical story and very little more. Now, we have an embarrassment of riches, Rudolph in song and film (Abominable Snow Monster!), classic songs like “12 Days of Christmas”, and multiple stories from Charlie Brown to Santa Clause—as well as some unnamed drivel that gets classified with the “riches”.
In January, we start considering the nuts and bolts that affect all writers.
I like to think that all writers can learn from practicing devices for the different genres. Poets can teach novelists and non-fiction writers quite a good bit about concise communication and repetition keys. And studying the logical arc of non-fiction and the plot/suspense arc of fiction can teach poets how to lead from an inspiring thought to an thoughtful insight.
So, Writers Ink Books remains on the 0s, and Writers Ink Services remains on the 5ths. Join us three times each month (2 x 3 = 6) for promos and writing nuts and bolts.
Remember, we’re examining the poems using MMO: Means, Methods, Opportunity (Aristotle’s Kairos). This time we won’t have three different forms to analyze. Blank Verse only has one form.
Old Master 1: William Shakespeare
Macbeth’s Famous Speech
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
Till the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Patrick Stewart delivers the best version of this speech in a modern adaptation of the play. Some prefer Michael Fassbender, but I think that one drags too much (Fassbender taking direction from the word “creeps”, just as his whole 2015 film does. That thing is slooooooow) while Ian McKellan seems too insouciant.
Means: 4 sentences, each expressing the futility of life. Remember, this is Macbeth talking, not Shakespeare. Never consider a character’s words as the writer’s personal philosophy.
Method: alternating lines of 10 and 11 syllables, with the next to last hitting 12 syllables and the last line hitting 6. Not for nothing is Shakespeare called genius. In the world of symbols …
10 represents completion (the completion of Macbeth’s life is drawing close).
11 represents transition (and the greatest transition is death, doubled here as Lady Macbeth to whom he speaks is dead and his own death is rapidly approaching).
12 equals man’s relationship with God (and Macbeth will soon be judged for his crimes).
6 represents doubled mystery (and the greatest mystery is Death, again for Lady M and himself).
Opportunity: Shakespeare is reminding the audience that everything we do in life will have consequences far reaching into our deaths. Time may seem to pass slowly … until our own death approaches. We may never understand our lives; they may seem no more than a shadow or an idiot’s tale with no meaning ~~ but we must still answer for the sins we commit.
Old Master 2: William Cowper, who brought about a revival of Blank Verse in the late 1700s, just in time for the English Romantics Wordsworth and Coleridge, Shelley and Byron.
A few lines from “Winter Morning Walk”, Book V of The Task:
’Tis liberty alone that gives the flow’r
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume,
And we are weeds without it. All constraint,
Except what wisdom lays on evil men,
Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes
Their progress in the road of science; blinds
The eyesight of discov’ry, and begets,
In those that suffer it, a sordid mind
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit
To be the tenant of man’s noble form.
Means: You can hear the intellectual conversation the poet is having in the rhythm of his words. While Cowper is writing strict Blank Verse (count the syllables, every line is 10), he avoids the rocking-chair beat. In this section we hear the conversations of the coffee salons of the 1700s, when people discussed the role of man in society and the ills of society in harming man’s soul.
Method: pure Blank Verse, unrhymed which allows the conversational tone. Only one line appears to have more than 10 syllables, but if we pronounce “bestial” as “beast-al”, we achieve 10.
Opportunity: Look at Cowper’s theme: Liberty/Freedom gives life its beauty. Only those restrictions which prevent evil should be allowed (as in “no murder”). Cowper believes restrictions hurt us and hurt progress while those who impose those restrictions are narrow and base.
That’s an interesting juxtaposition to Macbeth’s Famous Speech, isn’t it?
New Master 1: Robert Frost
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
Means: “Birches” is a long poem, 60 lines, another one of those poems that high school students hate and adults remember with confusion. This section is the poet addressing his audience: Remember when you were a child and had fun ~ until Truth broke into your life. In this, Frost is like Cowper: restrictions restrict us. Where’s our freedom, the freedom we had in childhood, the freedom we have lost and dream of regaining?
Method: Primarily 10 syllables per line, with others that reach 11 and 12. Curiously enough, the two lines about Truth are 11 and 12 syllables; check back up to Macbeth for the meanings of those numbers. See a sly point by Frost?
Opportunity: It’s an ice storm that bends the trees down, Truth reminds the speaker, but he would rather it were a boy at play. And while Frost describes the childhood event, he zings us with two truths: “He learned all there was / To learn about not launching out too soon” and “So was I once myself a swinger of birches / And so I dream of going back to be”.
New Master 2: Wallace Stevens
The Plain Sense of Things
After the leaves have fallen, we return
To a plain sense of things. It is as if
We had come to an end of the imagination,
Inanimate in an inert savoir.
It is difficult even to choose the adjective
For this blank cold, this sadness without cause.
The great structure has become a minor house.
No turban walks across the lessened floors.
The greenhouse never so badly needed paint.
The chimney is fifty years old and slants to one side.
A fantastic effort has failed, a repetition
In a repetitiousness of men and flies.
Yet the absence of the imagination had
Itself to be imagined. The great pond,
The plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves,
Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence
Of a sort, silence of a rat come out to see,
The great pond and its waste of the lilies, all this
Had to be imagined as an inevitable knowledge,
Required, as a necessity requires.
Means: 5 stanzas, each presenting an idea: literal, vacuum, need, silence, potential ~ the great flashiness set aside for a time, we have a chance to think and peruse and rebuild, focused on the essentials rather than the amendments.
Method: This is a loose Blank Verse, meaning that most but not all of the lines are 10 syllables. “Plain Sense” is not conversational, not philosophical. It is introspection, one of the few times we can point to master poetry and say, “This is what the poet is thinking.”
Opportunity: “Plain Sense” was published in 1954, a year before the poet’s death. Is he discussing the loss of his imagination, his creativity with poetry? Is he discussing the drained feeling of every person who has poured every bit of self into a project and sits back after its completion with a sense of emptiness rather than success? “After the leaves have fallen”, after the work is finished, what do we have? Is Stevens capturing that moment before the next project seeds itself?
The Irony of Blank Verse
Most writers launching into poetry as a career will avoid the Blank Verse and Pure Verse methods of expressing themselves. They seek the freedom of Free Verse without realizing that Free Verse is actually bounded by more rules of structure than Blank and Pure Verses are.
Robert Frost shares with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Edna St. Vincent Millay a great benefit that is also a detriment: all three poets make writing poetry look easy. Their lines are easily understood and accessible. They don’t find it necessary to twist the words or show off their snobbery. They make it look so easy that sometimes we don’t really see what they are doing.
And all three poets, along with Wallace Stevens, work in very structured poetic forms, both line and stanza—and rhyme scheme, as we will consider next month.
Free or Blank or Pure?
While I have a great love of Free Verse, especially the challenging poems by e.e. cummings, writers working in poetry make a great mistake in thinking Free Verse is the best method for their writing.
Let me quote Andrew Hamilton in his review of Robert Shaw’s “Blank Verse”, a review you can find here: link opens in a new window.
“In ‘The Problem of Form’, poet J.V. Cunningham spoke in 1962 of the exhaustion of modernism: “We have lost the repetitive harmony of the old tradition, and we have not established a new. We have written to vary or violate the old line, for regularity we feel is meaningless and irregularity meaningful. But a generation of poets, acting on the principles and practice of significant variation, have at last nothing to vary from. The last variation is regularity.”
When modern poets abandon the structured verse methods and consider themselves edgy and avant-garde by doing so, they forget the very point that Cunningham made in 1962. Modernism has created a curious situation in which breaking the rules is considered establishment and following rules is considered anti-establishment: rebellious.
So, if you want to be one of the avant-garde poets, you need to write structured verse.
Walt Whitman is laughing at the irony.
Join us in December as we take our last looks at poetry, the method of Pure Verse. We’re on the 5ths!
We’re having a brief concentration this time on the MMO of free verse: the poet’s means, method, and opportunity, or kairos, as Aristotle called it.
The Old Master: Roger McGough, “40 Love”
Means: lobbing the words back and forth, just as a tennis ball does.
Method: the shape of a tennis game.
Opportunity: the couple stays together, even though they may bicker, even though they may no longer love each other, they have lost the connection between them (a barrier is there, invisible to us but relevant to them).
The New Master: well, this is an interesting problem.
It’s hard to find contemporary shaped poetry that doesn’t devolve into sentimentality or juvenile wish fulfillment. Let’s try the Prose Poem.
Carolyn Forché’s “Ancapagari” (found on Poetry Foundation)
In the morning of the tribe this name Ancapagari was given to these mountains. The name, then alive, spread into the world and never returned. Ancapagari: no foot-step ever spoken, no mule deer killed from its foothold, left for dead. Ancapagari opened the stones. Pine roots gripped peak rock with their claws. Water dug into the earth and vanished, boiling up again in another place. The water was bitten by aspen, generations of aspen shot their light colored trunks into space. Ancapagari. At that time, if the whisper was in your mouth, you were lighted.
Now these people are buried. The root-taking, finished. Buried in everything, thousands taken root. The roots swell, nesting. Openings widen for the roots to surface.
They sway within you in steady wind of your breath. You are forever swinging between this being and another, one being and another. There is a word for it crawling in your mouth each night. Speak it.
Ancapagari has circled, returned to these highlands. The yellow pines deathless, the sparrow hawks scull, the waters are going numb. Ancapagari longs to be spoken in each tongue. It is the name of the god who has come from among us.
Means: four paragraphs. Fragmented sentences alternated with complete ones.
Method: It looks like any other prose; however, it reads as poetry, compact ideas with rhetorical repetition and climatic ordering.
Opportunity: the resurgence of life once gone yet never departed, the power of the cyclical eternal to influence us when we allow ourselves to open and “speak it”.
The Old Master: Walt Whitman again. “I Hear America Singing”.
Means: a list of common people going about their work.
Method: extended lines that briefly describe an array of everyday jobs.
Opportunity: celebration of the everyday worker that makes America great.
Two New Masters: Let’s starT with Maya Angelou’s “Women Work”
Means: a list of jobs that every married mother must do.
Method: short lines listing the jobs, one after another, until they are all done and the persona can sing / enjoy the free things of life.
Opportunity: Getting the chores done, the good and the bad, often leaves little time for reflection. Slow down and enjoy the free things of life: good and bad, sunshine and rain, dew and storm, all necessary to know we are living. The only things that we can truly call our own are the moments we take to enjoy.
Billy Collins’ “Introduction to Poetry”
Means: presenting the reactions a poet wants to hear from the audience.
Method: the catalog across stanzas.
Opportunity: Collins wants students to enjoy the poem, not analyze it to death. Literature classes often over-analyze. As Archibald MacLeish says, perhaps the poem “should not mean / But be.”
Old Master: Carl Sandburg’s “Bones”
Means: a dramatic monologue of someone who died at sea.
Method: the speaking voice contrasts the mundane grave with the “song of thunder, crash of sea”.
Opportunity: if we cannot live an extraordinary life, we can give our bones an extraordinary death.
New Master: Charles Simic’s “Stone”
Means: a simple imagining of the life of a stone.
Method: three unrhymed stanzas, repetition, anaphora and other devices.
Opportunity: Like Sandburg’s “Bones”, this poem is about transformation. Simic, however, imagines the serene existence of the stone only to wonder if it hides a more volatile existence beneath a cold, hard covering ~ as we often encounter with people, the difference between their exterior and interior lives.
Coming in November: We look at Blank Verse. Part 2A will introduce considerations with Blank Verse; part 2B will provide more examples.
We’re on the 5ths! Join us.
More old-style poetry, but with Pure Verse, we can return to SONGS!
Poetry is SOUND before it is SIGHT. This is especially true of songs.
Yet in special cases Poetry is SIGHT before it is SOUND.
The typography of the words can capture us visually before the ideas capture us. If the “shape” of the letter ensnares us, we will stay to read the ideas.
With free verse, it is the SIGHT, the typography, that captures our attention.
Divide to Conquer
The realm of poetry can be divided in two different ways:
1st, the purpose of the poem: lyric (songs of emotion, virtually everything we hear in music), narrative (story songs, lot of the hits by the Eagles: “Lying Eyes” and “Hotel California”), and dramatic (story without exposition, folk ballads like “Lord Randall”).
2nd, the method of the poetic structure: pure verse, blank verse, and free verse. It’s these 3 methods that we’ll examine in this series of blogs.
Pure Verse = Rhyme and rhythm: that’s the poetry we are conditioned to accept. The poems of childhood and the songs of our everyday life fall into this method. Even rap music has an expected rhythm (beat, cadence, meter) as well as rhyme. This is Dolly Parton’s “I will always Love You” or George Harrison’s “What is Life”.
Blank Verse = rhythm without rhyme. This poetry is usually intellectual. Think Shakespeare, especially the major dramatic speeches: Macbeth’s “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” and Hamlet’s “What a piece of work man is”. Think Robert Frost at his best and most unexpected, in “Out, Out—” or “Once by the Pacific”.
Free Verse = no rhyme, no rhythm (but plenty of reason). The poet controls the line in other ways than the expected.
A Word on Line Structures
Songs become memorable when key elements are emphasized. Emphasis through unusual punctuation and capitalization are not acceptable means for our minds unless our minds truly love puzzles.
*Emily Dickinson and e.e.cummings break the punctuation and caps “rule”, but they are purposeful with their rule-breaking. It’s not communication anarchy.
Free Verse MMO
While free of rhyme and rhythm, free verse by master poets—and if we want our poetry memorable, we learn from the mastera—gives us Means, Motives, and Opportunities for structuring our poems.
Once we see the MMO in action, we discover free verse is as highly structured as the pure and blank verse forms.
The Old Master: George Herbert’s “Easter Wings”
A first practitioner of shaped verse, Herbert did follow a rhyming pattern. He worked in the early 1600s. How’s that for age?
Our souls, in celebration of the Resurrection at Easter, are enabled to fly up to Heaven.
The New Master: Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s “Constantly Risking Absurdity”
Ferlinghetti reminds us that poets are performers, risking their public acceptance just as a trapeze artist does. Both work without a safety net. Ferlinghetti’s structure mimics the acrobatic performance as the words walk back and forth across the taut lines of verse.
The Old Master: Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself 26” (selected series of lines)
Now I will do nothing but listen,
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals,
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,
Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals,
The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronoun-cing a death-sentence,
The heave’e’yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters,
The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streak-ing engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color’d lights,
The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching car. . . .
The New Master: Gwendolyn Brooks’ “We real cool”
We real cool
The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Simple Form :: Is anything ever simple?
The Old Master: Stephen Crane’s “The Wayfarer”
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
“Ha,” he said,
“I see that none has passed here
In a long time.”
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
“Well,” he mumbled at last,
“Doubtless there are other roads.”
The New Master: Arcelis Girmay’s “Elegy”
What to do with this knowledge
that our living is not guaranteed?
Perhaps one day you touch the young branch
of something beautiful. & it grows & grows
despite your birthdays & the death certificate,
& it one day shades the heads of something beautiful
or makes itself useful to the nest. Walk out
of your house, then, believing in this.
Nothing else matters.
All above us is the touching
of strangers & parrots,
some of them human,
some of them not human.
Listen to me. I am telling you
a true thing. This is the only kingdom.
When we examine these poems, we see interconnections of ideas through the shape, through the catalog, through repetition, and through other rhetorical techniques. In addition to other techniques, Whitman’s catalog uses anaphora, Brooks plays with alliteration, Crane writes a narrative, and Girmay uses repetition and typography and contrast.
Our next blog, 1B of 3, will provide another glimpse of old and new masters working in free verse.
Join us for Carl Sandburg, Charles Simic, Carolyn Forche, and others.