I’ll state on the outset that the poem is a free verse poem. As such, it has no metrical pattern. That does not mean, however, that it is without structure. It most certainly has a structure and the close reader will notice it right away.

Furthermore, the poem has a set rhythm. It would be a mistake to say that the reader can place stresses wherever she likes. That isn’t true. Try reading the poem and placing stresses on odd syllables and see what happens. The fact that the poem is free verse does not preclude that metrical sequences are out of the question. The difference between free verse and metered verse is simply that free verse has no set pattern.

Now, I’ll introduce the poem, titled “When I Come Home”:

When I come home, don’t set the table.
Don’t put on your red sash,
or don suede slippers.
Don’t uncurl your curls.
Smiles will fade in time,
don’t paint one on for me.
We’ll hone our day by vis’ting URLs,
typing in mem’ries ne’er were. Pers-
picating pains – brack – sackcloth and ash.
I will hold you if I am able.
Don’t wait up, when I come home.

The Avant Structure Of Free Verse

The structure of this poem is decidedly and assuredly avant-garde, though not completely. There is a formalist element here as well. I think it may properly be best categorized at that which Ron Silliman refers to as “post avant.” The late Reginald Shepherd might have called it a lyric postmodernism, though I don’t like that term. Cole Swensen would likely refer to it as a “hybrid” poem, a term I like even less.

I don’t think it matters what you call it as long as you recognize its innovations, which, in the proper frame of mind, are not really innovations but elements brought forward from the past. The innovation is in the marrying up of elements that typically are not seen side by side.

“Avant” is a term that simply means out in front, or the front line. Borrowed from the French “avant-garde” meaning the advanced guard, the English army used it from the 15th through the 18th centuries to describe its front line soldiers in combat. Common English usage has replaced “vanguard” for the same concept.

The 20th century gave birth to an artistic movement, in literature and the other arts, that was based on this concept. The movers were experimental and considered themselves on the vanguard of new modes of expression. The poets of the movement were entrenched in free verse, not metered verse, after the likes of Whitman and the French symbolists.

The disciples of this movement still consider themselves the harbingers of something new despite the fact that experimental literature has not really caught on with the general public, alive though it has been for 100 years. While the ranks of those practicing in the same vein as early experimenters has grown, the preferred expressions – in literature and the arts – is ingrained in the traditions of the past. Let’s not divorce ourselves from reality.

Still, that’s not to say that experimentation does not have its place. Free verse, in a certain sense, is experimental. For a large part of history, metered verse was the dominant form in poetry, though some poets who wrote in meter could properly be called avant during their times, if such a phrase were applied to the literary arts at all.

It’s interesting to note the parallel histories of blank verse and free verse. The former can be traced back to at least the fourth century, though in English its most renown early practitioner was Christopher Marlowe. After Marlowe, who borrowed from the Earl of Surrey, other English dramatists made wide use of it, including Shakespeare, Milton, Cowper, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Keats. But Marlowe was certainly on the vanguard of the blank verse movement in English literature.

It is commonly thought that Walt Whitman was the earliest practitioner of free verse in English poetry. That, however, is not true. Henry Tompkins Kirby-Smith details the history of free verse in his book The Origins of Free Verse, tracing the form back to Abraham Cowley in the 17th century, which was about the time that both blank verse and iambic pentameter began to take on popular expressions.

The Pindaric odes of the 17th century, patterned after the odes of the Greek poet Pindar, fell into the non-structured form we call free verse, though they were much less loosely structured than much of the free verse of the 20th century, a fact their critics often pointed out. Still, later author’s of Pindaric odes were much more structured while still maintaining a close connection to the free verse style. Cowley, however, was the avant of his day.

Free verse has always been an avant form. It is, despite its growth into a tradition of its own, by nature a vanguard instrument for it relies upon a rebellion of the senses. It always has, always will be.

The Structure Of ‘When I Come Home’

So let us now look at my poem, “When I Come Home”, a rhymed free verse poem.

Did I say rhyme? Yes, take a look at the last words of each line and see if you see a pattern – there is one. Not a metrical pattern, but a rhymed pattern. It flows as such:

a
b
c
d
e
e
d
c
b
a
X

The rhyme scheme is a very important part of the structure of this poem. In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t plan it. I happened upon it. As I wrote the sixth line it occurred to me that I had a half-rhyme, an end rhyme where the final two letters of each line were the same. Though the words don’t sound like rhyme – it is indeed a near rhyme – the visual rhyme appealed to me. I decided to see how I could play with that.

In each of these end rhyme cases you’ll notice that the rhyme, if anything, is visual even when not aural. I was able, in the last half of the poem, to take the original word for the corresponding rhyming line and drop the first letters of the rhyming word to create the second rhyme in the sequence. In some manner, this has been a device used by poets of all forms throughout history, but it’s a technique that is very popular among free verse practitioners of the late 20th century. I like it.

Couple the end rhyme sequence with the repeating internal rhyme sequence of the letters “on” within certain words like “don’t”, “don”, “one”, and “hone” and the poem creates its own rhythm. I consider this a hallmark of my style. This is not the first poem I’ve been known to write this way.

You’ll also find evidence of consonance and other rhyme sequences. For instance, “come” and “home”; “suede” and “slippers”; “uncurl” and “curls” – a slight variation with a negative-positive twist; “curls” and “smiles”; “vis’ting”, “typing” and “in” with “perspicating”; “ne’re” and “were”; and “brack” and “sackcloth”. Then there’s the assonance of “perspicating” with “pains”. Word play is something I find irresistible.

It is also noteworthy that there is only one word in the entire poem with more than two syllables. This is not an accident. “Perspicating” is not even a real word. It’s a variant of the word “perspicacious”, an adjective which I have adopted into a verb form for effect. Other words, like “vis’ting” and “mem’ries” would ordinarily be three syllable words, but I am forcing you to read them as two syllable words. This is a classic device borrowed from 17th century metered verse. It’s called elision. I want you to read those words as two syllables, not three, because it fits the musical cadence that is just right for this poem.

To me, the music of a line is very important. In metered verse, rhythm is intrinsic to the metrical pattern established by the form or the poet’s preference in metrical patterns. The only tools a free verse poet has to establish rhythm are word choices, punctuation, and line breaks – enjambment. Proper use of those elements require a careful ear for a free verse poet and in many ways it is easier to write metered verse. If a poet has no ear for music he can always count syllables.

Even in metered verse, the natural rhythms of language will win out unless a poet is clear about where stresses should be placed by using proper elements like elision, caesuras, synaloepha, punctuation and, yes, even word choices. It’s important to understand where a stress falls in natural language. Rarely are words like “of’, “and”, and “but” stressed in common speech. Why should they be stressed in a poem?

It’s not really proper to perform scansion on a free verse poem, but if you were to scan “When I Come Home” I think you’d find a pretty consistent rhythm to it. Not a metered pattern, but a consistent rhythm.

Try saying that first line out loud. There should be a natural flow. Imagine the first clause – “when I come home” – being spoken to a wife who is waiting the return of her husband after a hard day’s work or a mistress awaiting the return of a soldier from war. How would it be spoken in plain speech? I hear it this way:

When I come home

I hear it this way because natural language, it is said, is iambic. Not always, but often in common speech, if you could listen to yourself, you’ll find that your sentences follow a certain rhythmic structure. It’s really natural that this happens. Whether it is inherent to language, or inherent to the English language, or conditioned by social custom is a matter I’ll leave to the linguists and anthropologists. I have observed, however, that it is mostly true. Perhaps you have too.

That first line sounds like iambic tetrameter to my ears, with an extra half foot at the end of the line. If it were written as prose, it would sound the same. Though, truthfully, that third foot could – and perhaps should – be read as trochaic, making this line an imperfect iambic sequence. Even in metered verse, that happens.

This poem is not written as prose for a reason. That’s because it isn’t prose; it’s verse. And verse is poetry that emphasizes specific cadences and language sequences that are often not found in prose. An example of that would be the following three lines:

We’ll hone our day by vis’ting URLs,
typing in mem’ries ne’er were. Pers-
picating pains – brack – sackcloth and ash.

These lines would make no sense in prose. Take out the line breaks and you have a convoluted mess. Without context, poetic lines can be meaningless. The form provides the context. Let’s examine the lines:

The elision is key to understanding the rhythm of these lines. Remember, no accidents.

When analyzing rhythm, and this is true whether you are analyzing a metered poem or free verse, you should first look at the words and sequences that will give you the greatest difficulty. Often, they can provide clues on how the rest of the line should be read. There are only two ways to read “vis’ting”. You can put the stress on the first syllable – vis‘ting – or on the second syllable – vis’ting. Of course, it doesn’t take long to figure out that second option just sounds silly. In normal speech, the stress always falls on the first syllable. Again, it should be so in a poem unless there is a real reason otherwise.

Read the line aloud. It falls into a natural iambic rhythm and if you count the syllables you’ll find it has four feet. Cool, a perfect match with the first line. That wouldn’t have worked out that way had I not included the elision to force you to read it that way.

The next line is a real doozy. Not just one difficulty, but several. First, “mem’ries” is elided, as is the word which follows, and “Pers-”, the first syllable of a made up word ends the line being the first word after a period. Note that perspicacious – the root from which “perspicating” is derived – normally is broken into syllables thus: per ^ spi ^ ca ^ cious – with the first syllable ending after the ‘r’ rather than the ’s’. But I didn’t break up “perspicating” that way because it would have violated the rules I set forth in the rhyme scheme and the hard ’s’ sound of “pers” makes the line more musically palatable.

Note the rhythm of the line. Count the syllables. Eight. Do you think this might be a line that follows the iambic tetrameter rhythm sequence? Let’s see.

typing / in mem / ‘ries ne’er / were. Pers- //

Close, but no cigar.

Actually, the answer is yes. With the exception of that first foot, all the others are iambic. “Typing” is a word that would naturally be trochaic. You wouldn’t pronounce it typing. That would sound silly. So we’ll leave it as it is.

“Memories”, however, would naturally be stressed on the first syllable, even without the elision. As would “never”. And “perspicacious” too. All would be stressed on the first syllable. So we’ll leave them as they are.

But the elision is the key to getting the rhythm right on this line. “Memories” – a three-syllable word – becomes “mem’ries” – a two-syllable word. “Never” – a two-syllable word – becomes “ne’er”, a one-syllable word. So the natural rhythms of the language take over and when read with the elision of the two words back-to-back, the line becomes an acceptable iambic tetrameter, fitting in with lines one and seven.

But take a look at the next line.

pica / ting pains / – brack – / sackcloth / and ash.

This is a difficult line for scansion and the perfect evidence for why it isn’t necessary, or customary, in free verse. But if one were to scan it, I think the bold syllables offer the best opportunities for stresses.

Remember, start with the difficulties. The word “brack” right in the middle of the sentence, broken by front and rear dashes, caesuras, means this word is most definitely stressed. It’s got a hard sound and I’m sure most readers couldn’t say it in this context without stressing it.

The second syllable of the line – “ca” – is the third syllable of the word “perspicating” and, again, in natural speech would be stressed. For “sackcloth”, the natural stress falls on the first syllable. The line naturally reads with the stresses on the syllables where I have placed them. No accident.

So am I saying this poem is iambic tetrameter? No, not all. If you examine other lines in the poem they don’t conform to that pattern at all.

Don’t put on your red sash, = 6 syllables
or don suede slippers. = 5 syllables
Don’t uncurl your curls. = 5 syllables
Smiles will fade in time, = 5 syllables
don’t paint one on for me. = 6 syllables

Wait. Is that another pattern? Right in the middle of the poem? Yes, it’s a small pattern but not a metrical one. None of the lines read the same. The first line, the second line of the poem, could be counted as two feet. The others consist of three. But which words would you naturally stress?

Don’t put / on your / red sash,
or don / suede slip / pers.
Don’t un / curl your / curls.
Smiles will / fade in / time,
don’t paint / one on / for me.

Whenever in doubt, read a poem as you would speak in natural conversation. You’ll often hear the rhythm that the poet intended.

What’s the point? Free verse has no prosody. Scanning it is pointless, right? Well, it isn’t customary. I’ll give you that. But if it helps understand the rhythm of the poem then it’s an exercise worth undertaking. In this case, it simply proves that there is no metrical pattern, but we knew that. Didn’t we? Still, did you notice the two-line trochaic sequence?

But What’s The Poem MEAN?

I’m going to pretend for a minute that I didn’t write this poem, that I only found it in some obscure poetry journal and don’t know who the author is. I’ll talk a little bit about what the poem might mean based on the plain language of the poem. And I’ll try not to reveal any secrets. I’m just going to analyze it based on the words and the structure.

I agree with Archibald MacLeish: A poem doesn’t need to mean anything. It should just be what it is. But we humans like things to be pat so we tend to look for meanings.

Let’s start with the basics. The narrator is “I”, but not just any “I”. It’s a very specific “I” who is speaking to a very specific “you”, though “you” is never mentioned in the poem. It’s implied by lines like “(You) Don’t put on your red sash.” We know the person in the poem is talking to someone. And that someone is very familiar to the speaker.

I imagine a man returning from somewhere and speaking to his wife or significant other in a letter or a phone call, maybe an instant chat session. Maybe I’m sexist, but that’s what I imagine. It could be a woman talking to her house husband. Or it could be someone talking to his mother. Or the maid. But I’d say that judging by the language of the poem, it’s someone who is more familiar than a maid.

The speaker tells his listener, “Don’t put on your red sash or don suede slippers.” Why red sash? Why suede slippers?

The color red is generally associated with romance or love, sex and passion. And a sash is simply a type of garment worn around the waist, or it can be worn over the shoulder as a symbol of rank. To me, it signifies someone who is important. A red sash likely means the person being spoken to has a very special and significant place in the speaker’s world. It tells me that the person being spoken to is probably a familiar other – a lover, spouse, or maybe a parental figure.

But “suede slippers” says something different. It moves the relationship between speaker and subject a little closer. I’d say it rules out the parental figure and almost clinches the deal on the lover. Slippers are comfortable and worn in a familiar setting, a home. Suede is smooth and soft. The lines says we are very familiar and comfortable with each other. Nevertheless, don’t make yourself comfortable for me – don’t set the table and put on something special just because I’m coming home.

“Don’t uncurl your curls.”

Now we’re getting personal. We’ve moved from outside of the individual to actually talking about body parts. And this is what makes me think it’s a man talking to a woman. He doesn’t want her taking down her hair, or uncurling her curls.

The next two lines say a lot. People smile when they are happy. But people can often fake a smile and when they do it can often be noticed. Is the speaker saying to this familiar person, “don’t pretend to be happy to see me?” This is the implication.

But the next lines are somewhat difficult to interpret. There’s a mystery here. What is meant by “vis’ting URLs?” It’s an obvious reference to playing around on the Internet, but what are those URLs they will visit? We aren’t told, but we know they are important to the speaker. But “typing in mem’ries ne’er were” takes the poem to a new level. Are they going to be Googling their memories? The ones that didn’t happen? Are those memories positive or negative? I think the next line is a clue.

“Perspicating pains” – Perspicacious means discerning, or exercising keen mental judgment. This is what the speaker intends to do with “pains”. To seek a better understanding of their troubles.

“Brack” is very significant. It sounds like “break” and in this poem actually looks like one. Enclosed within two breaks – dashes – that give the word a harder sound than it otherwise would and draw attention to it like a bad bruise. Brack actually means a crack or flaw in something. It is a clear indication of a fissure in this relationship. Did the couple have an argument? Is the speaker still holding a grudge?

“Sackcloth and ash” is a specific reference that can only mean one thing. In ancient Israel, the Jews used to cover themselves with sackcloth and ashes to show penitence for their sins. It was a sign of humility, a way to mourn for the disappointment they have caused their God. The speaker here seems to imply a similar sentiment. Is he returning home to atone for some sin against his lover, the most important person in his life?

We’re not sure. There’s a mystery, but these are clues. Then he says “I will hold you if I am able.” If I am able. Does that mean physically able or emotionally able? I’m banking on the latter. But that final line – “Don’t wait up, when I come home.” – says the speaker is not concerned with being greeted. Perhaps he is not sure when he will come home and doesn’t want her waiting for him. Or maybe he doesn’t want her worrying over his absence. Or maybe …

We’re not sure of all the details. The poet has not given us everything he could. But he’s given us everything we need. The poem hinges on an emotional mystery. Two people have a riff between them, but what caused it? That’s not important. Otherwise, the poet would have mentioned it. What is important is that the speaker in the poem wants to humble himself and fix the break. The question is, can he?

Can The Same Thing Be Accomplished With Prose?

It’s pretty straightforward, really. Those eleven lines. Couldn’t they just be written as prose and achieve the same effect?

Some poets today have reasoned that their poems could just as well be written as prose since all they’re really doing is writing in prose-like sentences. But I think this is a deficiency in thinking.

It’s true that much of the free verse written today looks a lot like prose with line breaks. If you took out the line breaks then you’d simply have a short prosaic piece and it makes you wonder why these poets don’t just write prose. Some of them do and call their poems “prose poems.” Today’s best literary journals are full of poems that look like “lineated prose.” Is that all they are, and nothing more?

I don’t think so. That’s makes the nature of free verse an ontological permanent, which I’m not willing to accept.

“When I Come Home” would fail as prose. It wouldn’t retain the structure that it has now if it were prose. The end rhymes would hardly be noticeable; at best, they would be irrelevant. The rhythm of the poem wouldn’t change if it were prose, but rhythm is not all that free verse has to offer. The visual elements that make the poem a free verse poem, if exploited properly, would cause the poem to fall flat if it were written any other way. Here’s a look at the same lines written as prose:

When I come home, don’t set the table. Don’t put on your red sash, or don suede slippers. Don’t uncurl your curls. Smiles will fade in time, don’t paint one on for me. We’ll hone our day by vis’ting URLs, typing in mem’ries ne’er were. Perspicating pains – brack – sackcloth and ash. I will hold you if I am able. Don’t wait up, when I come home.

As prose, these lines are awkward and squeamish. We’ll deal with the obvious first.

Why the elision? If written as prose, there’d be no need to elide “visiting”, “memories”, or “ne’er”. There’s no rhythmic reason to do so. Furthermore, the sentence these three elided words reside in is missing the word “that” between “mem’ries” and “ne’er”. The correct prosaic way to render these lines would be “We’ll hone our day by visiting URLs, typing in memories that never were.” And there would probably be a better word for “hone” because the internal rhyme scheme is not a necessity and adds nothing to the prosaic nature of the lines.

The next sentence (”Perspicating pains – brack – sackcloth and ash.”) is a fragment. It looks completely out of place and the variation of “perspicacious” is an unnecessary liberty that draw undue attention to itself.

None of the elements that make “When I Come Home” interesting as poetry do the same for it as prose. Even the ominous – brack – looks out of place. It’s a device that, in prose, looks ridiculous but when used to break a poetic line is very effective. I’ve seen other poets do the same thing in similar ways in their free verse poems and it’s an effect, albeit a visual one (though there is a rhythmic component to it), that cannot be accomplished with the same precision in prose.

The New Face Of Free Verse

Ever since Dr. Frederick Turner, a New Formalist, challenged me to study meter while attending the University of Texas at Dallas in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I’ve considered that the line between free verse and metered verse is not really all that great. But contemporary poets seem to be trying to make that line greater and greater. I think they’re moving the wrong way.

Despite Reginald Shepherd’s and Cole Swensen’s studies in this area, even post avant poetics is grounded in avant-garde abnormalities. Even when the poets include elements of formal verse, they do so in such a way that the avant nature of their verse is more evident than the formal. I think this is detrimental to both traditions.

In my view, free verse and metered verse should be joined at the hip. I look forward to reading more free verse that incorporates metered sequences in the midst of freer lines. Not just as two-line sequences as I’ve done in “When I Come Home” but in longer sequences as well.

Is there a precedence for this in poetry? Not really. I don’t know of anyone who has written verse that way on a consistent basis, but there is one poem I can think of right away that does incorporate metrical sequences within an otherwise free verse mode. Examine these lines from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”:

IN Xan / adu / did Ku/ bla Khan	
    A state / ly plea / sure-dome / decree:
  Where Alph, / the sa / cred ri / ver, ran
  Through ca / verns mea / sureless / to man
    Down to / a sun / less sea.
  So twice / five miles / of fer / tile ground
  With walls / and tow/ ers were / girdled / round:
And there / were gar/ dens bright / with sin/ uous / rills
Where blos/ som'd ma/ ny an in/ cense-bear/ ing tree;
And here / were for/ ests an/ cient as / the hills,
Enfold / ing sun / ny spots / of green/ ery.

I’ve always thought it was interesting that Coleridge wrote this with a clear metrical pattern in the first four lines and then moves off into a wild abandon afterwards. He was criticized for this in his day, but I quite like his style.

“Kubla Khan” is usually considered a free verse poem, and it is, but there is a clear iambic tetrameter sequence in the first four lines of the poem. Coleridge breaks that in the fifth line with a three-foot line. It’s a great line because as you read “down to a sunless sea”, the meter drops down a beat, a very appropriate rhythmic alteration.

Coleridge picks up the iambic tetrameter rhythm again in the sixth line, but breaks it again in the next with an added syllable. Personally, I think he could have done without “were” and held to the iambic tetrameter rhythm. The word is awkward in that line and adds nothing to the poem contextually. But he wrote what he wrote and that’s that. It has an extra syllable.

But then he quickly moves to a five-foot line in the very next sequence. The first line of the sequence has an extra syllable. That’s OK; I forgive him that. It works for that line. Still, Coleridge maintains his iambic pattern except for one foot buried in line 9.

These sequences all have rhythm. The rhythm is set by a meter, albeit a changing one. I don’t know if Coleridge was aware that he was doing this. He said he was not claiming the poem had any special literary merits so I’m inclined to believe that was aware of it. He just didn’t care. He probably thought that he’d be criticized for it because poets didn’t mix their meter. That would have been an unforgivable sacrilege for his time. Nevertheless, he did it.

Take a look at the next sequence:

But O, / that deep / roman/ tic chas/m which / slanted
Down the / green hill / athwart / a ce / darn co/ ver!
A sav / age place! / as ho/ ly and / enchant / ed
As e’er / beneath / a wan/ ing moon / was haunt / ed
By wo / man wail/ ing for / her de/ mon-lo / ver!

Don’t worry. I’m not going to scan this entire poem. I’ll spare you that. But take note that this metric sequence is dominated by 5-1/2 foot lines carrying an iambic rhythm with a few variant feet here and there. The sequence doesn’t match the previous sequence at all. But it does establish its own pattern. With the exception of the first line, a 6-foot line, the other lines in this sequence all bear a striking resemblance in structure, rhyme, and rhythm. Even that first line conforms to the pattern of the sequence despite its extra syllable. However, it does not conform to the pattern of the sequence before it, or the one before that.

So we can see metrical sequences within the free verse form of “Kubla Khan”. Did Coleridge plan that? Probably not. But he should have. Had he established that as his poetic for this poem he might have been able to tighten a few lines and perfect it. I’m suggesting that free verse poets of the future follow Coleridge’s example and add metrical sequences to their free verse lines. It will establish a new poetic, but it’s not like that’s never been done before. Has it?

Sure, publishing credits are great for the ego. But I’d much rather have one great poem than 100 mediocre ones. I’d much rather publish one great book of poems than 100 mediocre books. I think that too many poets rush to publication without putting forth the necessary hours in revision. Revision is the essence of craft.

That’s not to say that there aren’t poems that can come to you in a flash and they are publication ready the moment you receive them. It could happen. But I always wince when I hear a poet say that he rarely revises a poem. A poet that doesn’t revise is like a mechanic that doesn’t tighten his screws. How many wheels will fall off before you realize that your poetry needs a few more tighter lug nuts?

I recently took another look at Rumsfeld’s Sandbox, which has been languishing in my desk drawer for over a year now. I ceased to put much work into it when my grandchildren came to live with me last year. I just haven’t had the time and my concentration has been lowered as a result of the (mostly) welcome distraction. Now that they have gone to live with their mother again I decided to take another look at the manuscript. I’ve felt all along that something was missing and allowing it to sit for a year has allowed me to put some distance on it. I was right. There are a few pockets of dead air.

I started thinking on this because a local poet just published her second book of poems in as many years. Her first book was published rather suddenly. She took a little more time with the second one, she said. And it shows. A part of the problem is she didn’t do much revision on the first book of poems. Again, it shows.

What Is Psychological Distance?

Psychological distance doesn’t come in just one form. There is the distance that you can put on your poetry, which is good for the crafting of poems in most cases. But that kind of psychological distance is secondary when it comes to covering topics that are difficult to write about, particularly topics of a personal nature.

In my friend’s case, the topic was the death of her husband. In my case, it’s the unjust war that is known as the Iraq War. The more distanced I become from the event itself, the more I find myself able to write about it in more nuanced terms and less from my emotional reaction to it. The emotion is important, but good writing rarely takes place from pure emotion. It is emotion filtered through the lens of intellect, or adjusted by reasonable critical controls.

After looking at the manuscript for the first time in over a year, I decided that some of the poems had to go. It’s not that they didn’t possess certain qualities that might prevent them from being published. It’s that they didn’t really belong. They were out of place.

A well-written poem that is out of place in a manuscript is just as bad as a poorly written poem that tries to fit in. When you are writing around a certain theme then you should go through every pain possible to ensure that all the pieces fit into the theme. Otherwise, don’t write around that theme.

I am nearly done with Rumsfeld’s Sandbox. I realize that you have to finish it up at some point. Just a few extractions, a couple of revisions, and maybe the addition of one or two more poems to fill in the dead air and that will be it. In all but a few rare cases, psychological distancing can strengthen a poem or an entire manuscript.

eHow has grown into quite a successful website, with short how-to articles on just about everything. And nearly all of them that I have read have been as ridiculous as the one on How To Write An Epic Poem.

This is the kind of article that causes me to wonder who can sleep at night knowing they’ve created such a production. I’d imagine it could be one of those freelance writers who end up writing gag lines for the opening monologues of late night talk show hosts. But I could be wrong.

The opening paragraph attempts to define epic poem, but rests its epic laurels on the classic definition all the way down to the obligatory chain mail gauntlet:

An epic poem is a long narrative centering around a single hero, presenting his or her adventures within a suitably heroic framework. An epic hero is usually a person of great strength, wit or skill whose adventures usually contribute to the development of a particular race or nation.

Not bad. If you accept that what you learned in high school English is the gospel truth. And the folks at About.com don’t do any better:

Definition: A long and highly stylized narrative poem celebrating the heroic achievements of its hero. Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey are usually regarded as the first important epic poems and are considered to define the form.
Examples: The most important epic poem written in English is “Paradise Lost” by John Milton.

Who defines “most important?” What are the criteria for such a distinction?

But let’s get back to eHow. The humorous anecdote about your dog Champ is an obvious literary device meant to make the post more interesting to the eight year olds who will take this article at face value. The writer quickly advises would-be epic writers to “invoke the Muse”.

Huh? Come again?

I’m not going to give a play by play of eHow’s silliness, but I believe this sage advice is at least 300 years old or so.

Say Good-Bye To Deus Ex Machina
I’m willing to accept that the Muse, as used in this eHow article, may be another literary device. But probably not. Anyone who advises to praise the Muse then ask her “to aid you in the writing of your poem” is probably more into sackcloth and ashes than hyperbole and irony. And given the attempt to bring Champ into it and the final hail mary wisdom of asking the gods to intervene, well, this article doesn’t really inspire me.

I will say that the concepts of in media res and building a framework for your narrative are solid advice on building plot, which is a necessary component for any work of narrative literature, poetry or prose. Particularly if the work purports to be epic. Even then, some contemporary authors have managed to dispense with plot and focus on other storytelling elements.

The real wrinkle in this quilt are the final two bits of how-to ankle wash -

Confront your hero with dangerous monsters and other incredible adventures. Include vivid and explicit descriptions of warfare (particularly weapons and combat).

and

Use the supernatural to get your protagonist out of tough situations. If your hero or heroine is in a no-win situation, simply send in a god or goddess to help out at the last moment.

While I admit that lightsabers and big gorillas with godzilla complexes can be entertaining, those elements are not necessary for a compelling epic. The article misses a whole range of epic devices that can be deployed apart from the traditional storytelling techniques, and the ancient ones, this author encourages.

Nevertheless, the worst advice of all is the idea that a divine interventionist should come to the rescue. Not in this curtain call.

In contemporary literature, it’s typically best to leave Deity out of it unless it is done as characterization to show the state of mind of the players involved. Sure, there may be exceptions to that rule, but serious epic writers have not used deus ex machina for ages and we can thank the Holy Trinitarian God for that.

1. The struggle is in maintaining a balance between the narrative and the poetics
2. Too much narrative and the poem becomes prosaic
3. Too much poetry and the poem will lilt into lyrical patterns that kill the narrative
4. Employment of fiction writing techniques are necessary, but they can get in the way of the poetry if you let them
5. Double risk of saying too much or leaving something out

The essence of narrative poetry is such that you have a story to tell, but the way in which you wish to tell the story is not traditional. In other words, the poem becomes a story without becoming fiction. If it were fiction then it wouldn’t be a poem, but it must contain fiction, or fictional elements, in order to achieve the narrative effect. Even lyric narratives must incorporate some element of fiction telling or the narrative is no longer narrative.

I am currently struggling through an experimental narrative poem that is causing me to think more deeply about what a poem is, how a poem should be structured, and why the narrative form is necessary. The poem is based on my experience as an Iraq War officer who was against the war on moral grounds but chose to participate rather than break the law in an act of civil disobedience as so many others have done. The story itself is fictional; the “truth” part is the emotional-philosophical basis upon which its message is communicated.

My Current Narrative Poem Struggle

Initially, I wrote the poem in three-line strophes and it felt contrived. I thought the poem was too stilted and therefore restructured it. I am now taking it into a totally different direction, using experimental techniques, backward lines, angled verses, concrete elements, and formal line units interspersed between free verse lines. It’s working much better, but I’m still not satisfied.

I have a particular style of writing that is unique. I didn’t develop it. It comes naturally. I’ve always been able to tap into this style in one way or another and draw from different parts of my being (intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and intuitive) in such a way that they play nicely together. Sometimes they struggle against each and sometimes they compliment each other, but they are always all involved. What I’m trying to achieve with this poem is a message, a philosophical proclamation that doesn’t come out preachy or didactic. That’s a tough thing to do in any work.

The narrative is necessary for POV, a fictional technique embodied in my natural lyrical style. But it’s a long poem.

As it stands now, the poem is 13 full 8 1/5 X 11 pages with normative 1-inch margins all around. Some of the lines are short, some long. Some are merely one word in length. The stanzas are all different lengths and there is no set metrical pattern throughout the poem. The meter often changes and changes often. Furthermore, there is a setting as in fiction and several characters, each with their own POV and developed personalities. Then I toss in some metaphors and traditional poetic devices like rhyme, near rhyme, internal rhyme, assonance, consonance, repetition, synecdoches, etc. You get my drift.

The problem I’m having is this: Keeping the narrative moving through execution of action (both narrative action and action of language) without making it look and sound ridiculous. I suppose it’s the same struggle that many fiction writers find themselves in when they reach a chapter or a point in their story where they don’t know where to go with it any more. You know it’s not finished but you’re not quite sure what it needs. I’m at that point.

I think it may actually be that I know what it needs. I just don’t know how to give it what it needs, if that makes any sense. Like a man who knows his wife needs a hug but he is incapable of allowing himself to give into the temptation to share that emotional moment with her, be it out of pride, insecurity, or just lack of know-how. I am there and I’m not quite sure why. The poem needs an injection of something but I cannot say what kind of injection because I haven’t diagnosed the problem properly. Have you ever been there? What did you do?

The Too Much-Too Little Dichotomy

I am trying my hardest to maintain a balance between saying too much and telling the whole story. With any narrative, whether it be fiction, poetry, or nonfiction, you have an obligation to the reader to tell everything that is important. You don’t have to tell everything there is to know, but you must tell everything that is important to the story. Otherwise, the reader won’t have a good experience.

Nevertheless, you’ve got to keep it short. Brevity is key in any writing. Say what needs to be said and get out. So my struggle is there, how do I keep it as short as it needs to be and still say everything that needs to be said? In general, a story should tell itself. I’ve always believed that and still do.

I’ve had hard poems to write before. I’ve have some poems so easy to write I couldn’t believe they were actually poems. But this poem is hard. I think it’s hard because of the narrative imperative. It won’t work simply as a lyrical poem, but as narrative it works splendidly. I just wish I could get it off my chest and get on with living.

Before I share the poem with you I’d like to tell you what a Twitter poem is or may be. But first, what is Twitter?

Twitter: The Who, What, When, Where, And Why

Twitter, by all accounts, is a social media application that allows multiple people to carry on an extended conversation and various cross-conversations simultaneously. It’s like the party version instant messenger. You can type a message of up to 140 characters (that is the limit, no exceptions) and anyone who is following you can read that message.

It’s really very simple. But there are some complexities that go beyond the mere communication aspect of Twitter. I won’t get into those. Suffice it to say that Twitter is a means of communicating with a mass of people at one time through ultra-short messages.

Before you can follow someone on Twitter, you have to have an account. You simply fill out the application, fill out your 140 character profile and start finding people to follow. But why?

There are likely as man reasons to follow someone as there are people on Twitter. It’s whatever you want to get out of it, but generally people follow people they have an interest in or that typically post messages that are of an interesting nature. I follow several poets and publishers, business people, other Internet marketers, and some famous people I admire. Some of them follow me back. I also have a following of close to 170 people, some of whom I follow back. At present, I have 163 followers and 139 people that I follow.

When you log in to Twitter you see a simple screen with a write box at the top. That’s where you type your messages. Below that, you can see the messages of the people that you follow in an aggregated rollup so that there is no common thread between them. Those followers may or may not be following each other, but it doesn’t matter. They all have one thing in common: You are following them. Here’s a screenshot of my write box and a few messages from the people I am following.

My Twitter Poem – The Method Of My Madness

The method of writing this poem was fairly simple. It wasn’t difficult and didn’t involve some elaborate scheme. There really wasn’t much “craft” involved in a traditional sense. I’m not even sure it’s any good. Just a little tinkering.

Each page of Twitter features 20 messages. So I went back two pages and copied the messages from the people I’m following – each 140 characters or less – and pasted them into Notepad. I started with one line per strophe and carried that out until I found a tweet that was naturally two lines long. I then made each strophe two lines in length even if that involved two tweets. I maintained that rhythm until two-line strophes only consisted of one tweet, then I added another tweet to make that strophe three lines. I did that until two tweets produced four lines and continued this pattern until the end of the poem and it played out. I made no revisions to the tweets themselves.

I had considered, initially, of taking out the @ replies and just using the tweets themselves (I did, by the way, delete all URLs included in tweets, with one exception). The @ replies are replies that I or another Twitterer made in response to someone else’s tweet. Chances are, you have no idea what the original tweet was because all you see if the @ reply. That means the person who made the original post has no relation to me whatsoever, but the person who replied is someone that I am following.

You will notice a connection to some of these lines. That’s because the same Twitterer is the author of those lines. But none of the tweets by the same Twitterer are back-to-back.

Does a Twitter poem necessarily have to be done this way? No, not really. It could be done any number of ways. This is simply the way I approached this one and decided to leave it at that. It’s only an experiment. I’m sure there will be readers whose response is “WTF”? Others will likely consider it genius. I’m OK with either response. I’m just doodling. Nothing serious. And I don’t mean that to be any pejorative slap at Flarfists. It’s just the way it is.

Social Media Poetry – A New Form?

Flarf has managed to gain some notoriety since its inception. I’m not sure why. The few Flarf poems that I’ve read are a bit senseless, much like what you’ll read below. But the way you should read this poem is not as one line of thought as you would much of contemporary poetry, or classic poetry for that matter. Rather, it should be read as multiple one-sided conversations going on at once, for that is precisely what it is. Imagine yourself at a party and hearing multiple conversations taking place throughout a crowded room, but you can only capture snippets of each conversation. That’s essentially what this is.

Could this be the advent of a new type of poetry? I don’t know. I’m sure someone will have an answer for that. But I do see where innovative poets could take this idea and run with it. Not just with Twitter, but with any social media tool. The idea of a social communication poem strikes me as more valuable than Google sculpting, a practice taken up by the Flarfists. One could classify this type of poem in the Flarf category. Google sculpting relies on one’s ability to search for key phrases and use snippets of conversation or content from websites, forums, blog posts, and other website content to create a poem. But the social communication poem has a different approach and focuses instead on a different aspect of human interaction. It involves taking snippets of written communication from the above-mentioned content publications and using those to craft a poem. How many ways can this be done? I think the possibilities are limitless.

But without further ado, I give you this, my first Twitter poem. Love it, hate it, throw verbal insults at me if you will. I don’t think it’s much, but it was interesting just to experiment.

Man pays electric bill with spider

wow pownce was aquired by six apart

Learned that in middle/HS culture getting your house TP’d is says “you are admired!”. Wouldn’t a Hallmark card been cheaper and less work?

i wonder why sixapart would aquire pownce and then close it down
How to tell the difference between a recession and a depression;

holy carp this is a good heroes. gripped for the whole thing. if you stopped watching the show (I’d understand why), start watching again.

Bet you they’re going to fold Pownce into Vox.
I think they plan to role the technology into their own micro-blogging platform

Looking for a picture on my computer. I have about 20000 ugh I am looking through
WOW!! I received ‘The Arte y Pico Award’, which is for writers, to inspire others with creativity by @debgallardo

So my Twuffer ‘future tweets’ actually went live 30 minutes early…..
@Kimberly_Bock Thanks for the warning. Didn’t realize that would jack with the stumbles. TY for the Stumble.
Accidentally put on the christopher cross SAILING – still an awesome song – so much testosterone! Hard core.

Ha and it uses the triangle. Even less popular than COWBELL
common consensus from y’all is that Six Apart bought pownce and killed it for talent/developers and the IP/technology.
plus…. Pownce was probably going cheap…. was anyone still using it?
Jonathan Coulton performs Code Monkey Unplugged

Creepy Doll – Jonathan Coulton
Someone opened Bartleby, The Scrivener by Herman Melville
Dont miss it! You can get the notification w/password (free) by registering at http://www.selfstartersweek…
@remarkablogger Wish I knew how to do that. I hate Vista SO much.

funny how much talk there is about Pownce on Twitter. There’s a little on Pownce but more here – guess that says something
4 Cool Resources You Need to Check Out –
The skies are not happy
@Allen_Taylor you’re welcome. going to comment after i write this post…

Shall we play a game?
Gotta run out and do an errand. Keep it up everyone.
I am better now listening to some yelling and atonality
just tried to log into pownce and got an error –
@problogger I’m with the consensus
you are not expendable.

this takes a lot for me to tweet, but with the holidays nearing, I wish I was more spiritual. I’ve got good morals, values, etc. but…
@Kimberly_Bock Thanks!
The State of the Micromediasphere. Wanna join in and be a guest on the show DM me!
Please keep praying for Zoe http://www.zoesheart.com/ @Nikki_s just told they found her a heart.

@amyderby I got this week off!
Flogging Molly – Death Valley Queen
Flogging Molly – Another Bag of Bricks
@Kimberly_Bock Nice heart.

Well, that’s it. Any suggestions for a title?

In summary, Jerry Seinfeld’s formula for success is so simple. It boils down to these three points:

• Bust Your Ass
• Be Attentive
• Fall In Love

I like this list. Now here’s my interpretation as it relates to writing and publishing poetry:

• BYA – Work hard. Every day. Improve. Don’t be satisfied until you outdo yourself.
• Be Attentive – Pay attention to what others are doing. Emulate those you like, learn from those you don’t, and pave your own path among the trees in the forest. Simplification: Borrow what you like, toss what you don’t. Read a lot.
• Fall In Love - Learn to the see the good in life. Bask in the glory of your situation, even when it sucks. Turn it into poetry.

Thanks Jerry Seinfeld!

For the purpose of this discussion I’m breaking poetic history down into three periods: The pre-literate, the literate, and the post-literate. The pre-literate period refers to the time in prehistory when poetry was an oral art form and not written. The literate age consists of the bulk of history when writing and reading has allowed for the production and enjoyment of literature as a written art form. The post-literate age is now in its infancy and represents a decline in reading for pleasure and therefore a decline in producing written works (yet to come).

I believe it is necessary to discuss the epic past before getting into the epic future so I will digress to a lengthy discussion on poetic history, in particular, the epic. Most of this first post will be nothing new to most of my more savvy and learned readers. If you don’t want a brush-up, feel free to skip it and wait for the next installment.

Ancient Epics And Setting The Rules
In the pre-literate age, the epic was the preferred poetic form. Because there was no writing, entertainment came by way of those who were willing to perform for others. They sang, danced, chanted, told stories, and re-told the popular and familiar. This was their craft.

When men started writing and creating a written language they naturally took the popular songs and chants and put them on the page for people to read. At first, few people could read. But over time more and more people learned to read and eventually reading became a popular form of entertainment.

It’s interesting, though, that when we examine the ancient epics they all have a few things in common:

• There is a larger-than-life hero
• Action begins in media res – in the middle
• The hero must overcome insurmountable odds to eventuate a victorious outcome
• The hero is rewarded for his courage, strength, and/or heroic deeds (the rewards can be material or immaterial, but often come from the gods)
• Usually, the hero is a warrior, but at times we also see an adventurer-hero
• There is usually some element of romance or a hint of sexual relations between the hero and a maiden or beloved, and often even with a god or two
• The gods often get involved in the affairs of men (and that’s not a sexual reference)

Because performers recited the poems before audiences they needed to remember the lines and most epics were huge. Homer’s epics were quite long so trying to remember every line became a chore. That was the purpose for the rhyme. It was as much a tool for memorization as anything else. Nevertheless, the definition of an epic came to be a story or narrative that told of a hero overcoming grand obstacles to reach a worthy goal. Usually the hero was one person but there have been instances when the hero was a lovable beast or a group of people, a nation even.

The movement from pre-literate storytelling to literate storytelling was a bit subtle in terms of forms. They didn’t change much. The forms and methods used by oral storytellers were the same forms and methods used by those who wrote them down. Initially, written works offered nothing new. They were simply a written re-telling of the stories that had been passed down orally for centuries.

In the next installment of this series I’ll discuss the literate age in depth, though not as in depth as possible (that would take a book). I will cover some highlights and mostly discuss the 20th century. See you then.

I found myself in the unusual position of defending a piece written by a young college-bound woman who was new to the group. It’s not unusual that I was defending a young woman, but that I was defending her Cubist aesthetic. As you know, I’m not preferential to the avant-garde schools, and particularly Cubism, but I’m a firm believer in critiquing a poem toward a poet’s intent and not toward my own preferences.

The regulars of the group are a rather diverse crowd. We met in Michael Hoover’s home. Mike is the current poet laureate of Hanover, Pa. He is a poet’s poet, a sort of John Donne among a cast and crew of rather colorful characters. My friend Gary is the Beat poet, protege of Jack Kerouac. Anna is an older woman, a traditionalist who is rather rigid in her poetics. Janet is another older woman who is quiet most of the time, but who writes strictly in form and meter, almost always. Tonight she presented a sonnet, complete with the obligatory and obvious end rhymes. Katie is much more contemporary and Millennial-thinking in her approach than the others, tipping toward the postmodern without falling into it. Then there is me and I’m all over the poetic map. Some of the other regulars weren’t there.

At any rate, the young college-bound lady is a former student of Mike’s. Her poem was firmly entrenched in the avant garde. Her poem consisted of several hyphenated adjectives, a handful of colons followed by short bouts of terse pith, imagery that would make Ezra Pound stand up and sing “Holy Moses”, uncanny indentations, and an all-around creative visual and thought-provoking piece. It was quite imaginative and I was blessed to have read the poem. At her age, to have pulled that kind of poem off without the use of the most overused word in any language – the confabulated “I” – was incredible. I think it may have been the best, and certainly was the most creative, poem of the evening.

I defended her because everyone else in the group seemed to want to change the strophe in the poem that I thought was the heart and soul. In the midst of all this imagery surrounding that verse, the poet committed the cardinal sin of “author intrusion”, only it wasn’t so much an author intrusion as it was an addition of “self” in a family portrait. The poem’s title, you see, was “Cubism Family Portrait.”

What Is Cubism?
Anyone who has seen a Cubist painting will have one of two reactions. They’ll either love it or hate. I hate them. Pablo Picasso, heralded a genius by many art lovers in the 20th century, was a crazed, maniacal canvas abuser. I don’t like his Cubist art and I much less like his Blue Period paintings. But a thing is what it is.

When a poet presents a poem that is titled “Cubism Family Portrait”, it is pretty obvious what she is attempting. As a critique group participant, it is my duty to help her achieve her goal in creating the poem that is true to her aesthetic and reaches the point of perfection according to the principles of that aesthetic and not to infuse her poetry with my own aesthetic preferences or attempt to turn her into a miniature me. But that, unfortunately, is the approach of many critique group participants.

The Cubists attempted to present their subjects as geometric lines and shapes rather than the way we would normally see them. Cubist paintings are like stick figures on steroids. They are, in a certain sense, simplistic, but then they are also quite complex in other senses. The idea is to turn reality into an abstraction and the Cubists did that quite well.

I thought the young lady’s poem captured that sense of abstraction that can be found in Cubist art quite well. There was no mention of “I” in the poem, which I thought was a marvelous absence, yet the poet, or narrator, was definitely present. The poem attempted to describe the family in a very imagistic sense, including the dog, and even included two thoughts, spelled out explicitly, of the narrator regarding two imaginary events based on the movement of a chair in the scene. I thought the scene was spelled out quite well. Others didn’t think so. I didn’t have a problem with their inability to visualize it so much as I did with their attempt to fix the problem.

The suggestions had more to do with changing the way the poem was presented rather than improving it in the direction that it was moving. Group members didn’t like that she numbered her thoughts; well, it was unconventional, sure, but I thought it worked for her poem. The “author intrusion” as it was called was a necessary component to the poem because how can you have a family portrait without the painter, who is also a part of the family? The painter has to draw herself in too, doesn’t she?

So what we had was a poem that was primarily based on images, but which took a short excursion in two ways:

1. The painter, who was also a member of the family, entered the poem with thoughts and feelings (well, she is human, isn’t she?)
2. And the form of the poem changed, including a numbered sequence of the intruding author’s thoughts along with double indentions and italics

I thought the author intrusion was appropriate, but I was in the minority.

That’s not to say I thought the poem was perfect. I had my issues with parts of it, but I thought the one verse that everyone seemed to fixate on and wanted to fix was the part that needed the least work. Michael was the only one who saw my point, though I could see that Katie also agreed with me in at least one sense. While Michael could see my point, he still insisted the verse needed to be fixed.

I never try to fix someone else’s aesthetic while in a critique group. I don’t think it’s appropriate. I may not like their approach to writing, but it’s not my place to say it there in that setting. The best influence I can be is to help them improve their poem in the direction that they want it to go. If the aesthetic they have chosen doesn’t work for their poem, I think they’ll discover that on their own in due time. If they don’t then it will just have to be a bad poem. I’m not there to put a clay roof on a steel building.

Who’s your favorite virgin?

Deborah Ager’s unwritten poetry rules. I like Nos. 1 & 2, and have always obeyed No. 2.

Diane Lockward’s. I like 7, 11, and 12, but I think No. 4 is quickly becoming overdone.

Poetry Hound’s poetry review tips.

The Shepherd on the poetry and criticism split.

And the final word: I’d rather read someone with whom I disagree, but who is capable of making me think, than to read the writing of someone whose premise I find agreeable, but who writes in such a way that even I can find holes in their theories. Kudos to Reginald Shepherd and Ron Silliman.

The problem with didacticism isn’t that you take a position, it’s that you take it from the start — maybe it’s as simple as the reader’s trust, and being suspicious of rhetoric. Although I think it’s more than that — I think it’s hard to write a poem that isn’t dull without surprising yourself.

Bear in mind that didactic poetry is instructional and, as such, its purpose is to teach. Now, I come from the position that there is a place for didacticism in poetry. I think that all poetry is, in some sense, instructional, but the problem with much of the poetry that seeks to be instructional as an end in itself is that its instructions are preachy and detract from the poetry. I believe that poetry must always strive to be poetry first and anything else secondarily.

That said, however, I take issue with Tim’s opening statement here. He likely didn’t intend it the way it sounds, but this is how I took it. Where you start out with a position that you believe and you write a poem to defend that position. Tim’s statement makes me think that he believes that isn’t appropriate, but I think otherwise. There are many great poems that do just that. One such poem is Archibald MacLeish’s “Ars Poetica.”

In “Ars Poetica”, MacLeish sets out to tell us what a poem should be. Right from word one he takes a position and he sticks to it. All the way down to his final line, that poem makes one point. Every line contributes to the point. It’s a fabulous exercise in polemics. He doesn’t say what he needs to say in every way possible, but he does say it in every way that it needs to be said in order for the poem to make its point. And he took his position right from the start.

I think that’s what good poetry does, but I also agree with Tim’s last point. It’s hard to write a poem that doesn’t surprise yourself. I think Archibald MacLeish would honestly say that he did surprise himself in writing “Ars Poetica”. The lines are surprising, not for what they say, but in how they say it. Again, that is a mark of good poetry.

Pardon Me For Being A Wise Ass
I’d like to thank Jim Murdoch for his response to my last blog post. I think anyone who reads my blog long term has figured out by now that I don’t believe that a poem is a poem just because somebody decided to throw some lines on a page and call it a poem. My point for that post was two-fold: No. 1, I just wanted to be a wise-ass and make fun of myself a little bit, and, secondly, just prove that I’m a bit of a contrarian on these matters. I don’t follow rules too well. I prefer to deal with principles because principles are flexible; rules are not. That doesn’t mean that everything is equal. To echo the words of the Apostle Paul, the author of much of the Christian New Testament, all things are permissible, but not all things are profitable. In other words, anyone can call himself a poet and just toss words onto the page, but the real test of one’s work is not what he himself thinks of it, but what the aggregate of posterity thinks of it.

The Many, Many Types Of Poetry
I’d like to issue a third thank you. This one to G.M. Palmer who writes the Strong Verse blog. He’s drawn a bit of a line in the sand over there about what constitutes good poetry and what doesn’t. I certainly give him credit for his passion. I like many of his ideas and agree with them. But he’s got a few as well that I think are a bit stuck in the barn.

What I do like about him is his willingness to promote narrative long-term poetry. I too believe that it’s time to bring back the long form narratives, though not necessarily in the traditional rhyme and meters of old. Nevertheless, his passion is commendable.

Where I do take issue with him is in his insistence that avant garde poetry and Spoken Word forms are not poetry. While my readers know that I’m not preferential to the avant garde, I don’t think it’s fair to dismiss them on the basis that we don’t like them. Just because I don’t like somebody’s style or techniques doesn’t mean that what I do is superior to what they do. Palmer’s polemics leave much to be desired and I’ve found that, by reading his blog, he often contradicts his own principles.

For example:

1. In his “Modern Aesthetics As Sola Fide” post he criticizes contemporary poets for their “it’s poetry because I say it is” position then he turns around in less than one week later and makes the argument that Language Poets, Spoken Word poets, and avant gardeists are bad because he says they are. Well, I think he owes it to us to defend his position with some examples rather than saying Google will lead you to the self-evident truths. Sorry, bad positing.
2. In his bio he says his favorite book is The Divine Comedy by Dante then he says in “Why I am a Skeptic” that he dislikes anything trendy or experimental. This is really quite laughable. Dante himself was an experimenter. All great poets are. Dante’s experimentalism is evident in his use of the terza rima, which was never used before he employed it in The Divine Comedy. Dante’s work went on to inspire Petrarch and Chaucer, who borrowed the form for English literature. Other English language poets followed, all the way down to William Carlos Williams, who is perhaps an iconic figure in the avant garde traditions. Personally, I’ve got no use for any poet who doesn’t step outside of the ranks and do a little experimenting. Who wants to read the same rehashed lines over and over again?

Rather than wear myself out poring over every word of his blog, I’ll just stop right there. I am not setting myself up as opposition to Palmer’s ideas. I simply think he should communicate them better. I like what he has to say in “A Declaration on the Revision of Poetry”, but we can’t get too wrapped up in the language of forms.

To say that no one reads poetry today because “artsy journals” publish crap is ludicrous. People stopped reading poetry when they could just flip on the channel and watch Uncle Miltie wearing a dress and smoking a cigar. Poets have to stop dreaming about the future halcyon days when poetry makes a big comeback. We should instead put our overactive imaginations to work and produce good, imaginative literature for the people who appreciate it. What do I care if my audience is 500 or 5 million? I hope, of course, that it’s 5 million, but I’m not holding my breath.

While Palmer’s declaration has merit, I wouldn’t expect it to revive interest in poetry. People just aren’t going to flock to Borders Books to buy the latest issue of Palmer’s grand opus. They might, but they’ll only do so if their friends tell them it’s good enough to spend their money on. Otherwise, they’d rather watch Homer Simpson.

Poets have got to quit blaming each other for the problems that we find. It isn’t Ron Silliman’s fault that your books don’t sell on Amazon. It isn’t some vaguely-defined School of Quietude’s responsibility to ensure that the avant garde poets are represented in the great poetic pantheon. These kinds of ridiculous assertions are just rhetoric that gets us nowhere. If you don’t like concrete poetry then don’t read it. Someone else may love the hell out of it. That’s their business. Leave it alone.

Today, there are more poets writing poetry than there ever have been in U.S. history. There are also fewer non-poets reading it. Dana Gioia noticed that 20 years ago. He wrote a manifesto and it was widely distributed. Still, even after the New Formalists waged their hostile takeover and ransacked the halls and walls of academe and the NEA, fewer people care about poetry. I’m not going to cry about it. Ultimately, poetry will live on in some form. If it’s a form that I don’t appreciate then at least I’m glad that it’s still alive.

How Many Types Of Poetry Are There?
The answer to the question, “How many types of poetry are there?” is this: As many as people read. The poetry tent is big enough to hold the Language Poets, the New Formalists, and everyone in between. It’s big enough for lyric poetry and narrative poetry. It’s even big enough for a few lyric-narratives. Perhaps we’ll all have to tolerate a little bad poetry in order to enjoy the good, but the good that is there is really good so why let the rest get us down?

This isn’t some “live and let live” manifesto. It’s a hope that poets will take the time to learn from each other. I think you can learn good poetics from bad poetry. I also think you can pick up bad habits from good poetry. The real issue is, What are you doing to make yourself as good a poet as you can be? And don’t spend all your time fixating on the different types of poetry. Rather, take some time out to invent a type of your own.