I suppose most of us would agree that more certainly does not translate to better. This could be said of many poetry components; more lines do not make a poem necessarily better, more adjectives, more images, the list could go on. I would like to add to this list emotion. That’s right, good ole emotion—that which we have been taught to tap into and let flow forth on the page.
Most humans are emotional creatures. Poets, well, we are a different breed; we are thought to be even more emotional. Even though this might be the case, incorporating too emotion and passion into a poem can be overwhelming for the reader, and, frankly, there is little to be admired in a poet who lets it all loose on the page without care of the consequence. When I think of this sort of poet, the Romantics come to mind first, specifically Shelley and Byron. At times reading their work can be exhausting because we must muddle through all their selfishness and dramatics. However, to be somewhat reserved, to be selective and restrain some of the emotion and passion…that takes skill. Of course I am not advocating we all write poems that read like robots spit them out and are void of any sort of sentiment. A cold, lifeless poem shouldn’t be our aim here. I would, though, suggest visiting or revisiting some of the Confessionalists, namely Sexton and Plath, for superb examples of poets who are able to pull off the autobiographical poem without too much sentimentality.
I have noticed that as my practice of writing poetry has progressed, I pay more attention to controlling the emotion. When I first began writing, I wrote about ex-boyfriends, boyfriends, war, poverty, and wrote about all these passionately. However, it wasn’t the subject matter I had chosen to write about—it was the overabundance of sentiment that my reader was smacked with. Were these poems successful? Most likely not. Looking back, I see that I didn’t really give my reader the opportunity to feel much of anything because I was feeling it all.
Poet Kurt Brown has said that too much “passion and self-indulgence can overburden the reader and sink a poem.” Remember, it’s too easy to write everything we feel; let’s practice a little bit of restraint. Let’s be a little mysterious. Let’s not be an open hand.
Jenny Sadre-Orafai
We would be remiss to think the ever-evolving realm of technology does not also affect the publishing industry. With the advent of the internet, the online literary journal was bound to happen. While this newer delivery of literature garners more and more attention, it has also come under fire as some question the merits of online publications. However, many both in and outside the academy are beginning to see the online format as reputable. For instance, the ever resourceful Poets and Writers magazine has a regular section in every issue entitled “Literary MagNet” in which Senior Editor Kevin Larimer often highlights news about online literary journals. In addition, some online journals have International Standard Serial Number (ISSN) as well as belong to the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP). Adding to the credibility of online publications, several online journals nominate their contributors for the esteemed Pushcart Prize just as their print counterparts do. Lastly, some poems selected to appear in The Best American Poetry series first appeared in online literary journals.
As poetry editor for both a print journal and an online journal and as a poet who has had work published in print and online publications, I would like to point out some benefits of online publishing. One benefit is the turnaround time. Most online magazines boast of fairly quick response times. For those poets who despise waiting by the mailbox for acceptance and rejection slips, the online literary journal can be very attractive. In addition, by having such a quick turnaround time, poets are able to send out more work to more places more frequently, hopefully upping their chances of getting published. Of course with this quicker response time from editors comes the possibility of seeing your work appear in the journal faster as well. Since online journals do not have to wait for printers, you will see your work “in print” that much sooner.
Read more: Stop the Presses!Recently, I was sitting around with some other writers and someone questioned why we call fiction writers “writers” and poets “poets.” After all, aren’t poets writers too? Many would argue that most writers, regardless of genre, are solitary. I would agree with this. However, it would seem that poets are even more solitary than their writer counterparts. I don’t have any statistical information to back up this statement. It’s simply an observation. Perhaps, then, it would make sense that poets like to think of themselves as separate from other writers? Certainly this divide is not imaginary. Just look to the indispensable Poets and Writers. Clearly, the writing world embraces this notion that poets and writers are two different animals. But, are we really?
One of my good friends, Rebecca Cook, is an amazing writer. That’s right, writer. Rebecca writes poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction. And, she does them all extremely well, so well that she has had some of each genre published. I mention Rebecca to illustrate my point that we are capable of stretching our “poet” selves and shifting how we view ourselves. I also mention Rebecca because she has been and continues to be a huge inspiration and reminder that I can break out of the comfortable poet box and try on other genres.
Even as I write this, I am writing something that doesn’t necessarily come as naturally for me as poetry. That’s not to say that poetry is easy, but it comes easier than this column sometimes. I stretched myself a little bit more this month when I submitted a couple of creative nonfiction essays for publication. While I have had a creative nonfiction essay published in an anthology a couple of years ago, it was refreshing to revisit nonfiction again. I even took some fiction class when I was an undergraduate. Even though I wasn’t all that great at fiction writing—I seemed to surface in every short story and never cleverly disguised. I can say though that I tried it out and walked away with a greater appreciation for people who write fiction.
So, “poets,” sign up for a fiction class. Try it out. See how it fits. Stretch yourself a little. You might even find me sitting next to you. While you’re at it, respond to a call for creative nonfiction. Calls for nonfiction anthologies are great places to start because there is always a theme or subject. Having a bit of specificity in unsure waters tends to help a little. Keep in mind, it might be a little uncomfortable at first, but don’t you owe it to yourself to try it on for a while? Remember, you haven’t always written poetry. You have to start somewhere, writer.
Taking a cue from the wildly popular BBC show What Not to Wear, I thought I would offer one do and don’t when selecting a topic for your poetry.
Don’t approach timeless topics with tired tricks.
In other words, don’t write about topics that have been written about extensively—such timeless topics include, but are not limited to: war, natural disasters, death, class issues, racism, and the biggie…love. While these subjects seem right for poetry writing given their popularity, I would urge you to be wary of writing about these topics in the way that they have already been written in. And this is where the tired tricks come in. Some tired tricks include cliché, poetic diction, and rhyme. Where’s the challenge in writing about love in the same way Shakespeare did? I am pretty sure that we are all familiar with his love sonnets. You run the inherent risk of sounding like a copycat and thus risk sounding unoriginal. And, honestly, isn’t the whole point of writing to contribute to your art in an authentic and unique way? Furthermore, most of the poets we remember are remembered because they were innovative.
Do approach current issues with creativity.
While racism is one of the abovementioned timeless topics, there is no better an example of a race discussion in such a successful poem than in Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem “A Bronzeville Mother Loiters in Mississippi. Meanwhile, Mississippi Mother Burns Bacon.” Since the poem is a whopping 139 lines, it is too long to include in this column, but I would urge you to take a serious look at it some time. I mention this specific poem because Brooks is able to pull off a topic that can quickly become cliché because of her unique approach—she does not try and teach a lesson to her reader by “telling.” Instead, the poet illustrates the Emmett Till scandal with delicacy by showing how two women connected to the incident react, one Caucasian and the other African-American. There is a quiet restraint in her writing, but the impact of the situation is felt just as deftly. And, cliché, poetic diction, and rhyme are nowhere to be found in the poem.
So, the next time you write, please keep in mind the universal goal of the poet—to say something and to say it in a fresh way. Avoid those timeless topics and tired tricks and you are on your way to becoming a do.
Although most of us get our poetry fix from the written word, the spoken word can be just as fulfilling. Unfortunately, there is a great divide when it comes to the written and spoken word. We tend to forget that poetry began as an oral art. Of course, when most of us are invited to read our poetry aloud, whether it is to a friend, a loved one, or a crowded theatre of strangers, we freeze up. However, I’ve found that it helps to know that poets before me took part in the ritual of reading as well. So, my goal with this column is to help you embrace your inner poet and tackle the other (often ignored) aspect of writing poetry, reading aloud.
When I first began reading and recording my work, what was most helpful was listening to other poets. I collected cassette tapes of poets like they were baseball cards. I studied cadences so that I could find my own. For me, nothing is better than reading Anne Sexton…well, one thing is better than reading her and that is listening to her hoarse voice. She breathes even more life into the poems, word by word. I scoured independent bookstore walls looking for readings and consumed reading after reading. After I listened to as many tapes as I could get my hands on and attended all the readings, I began practicing reading my poems by myself. I walked around my apartment and read poem after poem, still slowly developing my own rhythms. Once I felt somewhat confident, I began reading at open mics. I found that reading one poem was the perfect public practice. Before I knew it, I became the hostess of one of the open mics I frequented. My fear of reading aloud did not dissipate overnight, but I think it’s important to remember as trite and cliché as it sounds, it’s never too late. Don’t let your fear of reading in public deter you from contributing to poetry in the way poetry was first meant to be consumed.