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Welcome to 2020

We’ve been running the poetry slam for, oh my gosh, five years now? That’s five times twelve, minus the critique post, carry the haiku… um… at least fifty different types of poetry. And it occurred to us that we’d spent so much time on “how to write a poem” that we’d entirely skipped “what is a poem, anyway?”

So 2020 is the year we fix that. Each month we’ll read a poem and focus on one technique that the writer used that separates this poem from prose. And don’t worry: you’ll be able to apply these lessons to your prose as well.

For January we’re getting very, very basic, and reading a poem most folks have probably seen before–it’s one of the most popular poems to parody, after all. But first, this:

Image: a tumblr post by otomurakagaya reading "a sentence / will always look / like poetry / / if you / hit enter / a lot"

Note that the meme says LOOK LIKE a poem. It won’t BE a poem. It’ll just be a
sentence
and you will
have
a sore enter
finger, whichever one
that
is.

See what I mean? Not poetic. And yet, line breaks are a critical part of good poetry, so let’s look at some arguably good poetry. How about a little William Carlos Williams for your January reading? (Note: This is not my favorite WCW poem. If you have a little extra time, read The Red Wheelbarrow. Everything I’m about to say applies to it as well.)

 

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

So, line breaks, right? Let’s see what that poem would have looked like without them:

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast.
Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold.

Boring, right? That’s because the line breaks affect where and when you need to pause when reading the poem. Also these are seriously run-on sentences, which takes talent in a sentence this short. But here we are.

Are you noticing the same thing I am? These don’t have to be run-on sentences. With a little punctuation, they can be super functional. And those line breaks? They fall right in the same places that the punctuation would. Interesting. It’s as though a line break were a form of poetic punctuation.

And actually, it is.

One of the biggest mistakes new poets make, especially when they’re writing rhyming, scanning forms, is to make each line a complete phrase. The combination of period and line break makes an extra pause there, breaking up your poetry into what can be really stilted lines that sound childish. (Looking at myself, here. This is something I struggle with.) So what you end up with is something like:

Hi, this is just to say
I ate your plums today
I saw them in the fridge
I wanted them a smidge

They were so sweet and cold
And I was feeling bold
I guess they were your lunch
I kind of had a hunch

Forgive me won’t you please
I’m down here on my knees

It’s… not as good, right? It’s in fact pretty bad? The HARD STOP at the end of every phrase is part of that. Stopping at an unexpected place in a thought or sentence to let the reader linger matters in poetry. So as you write this month, think about where you’re stopping and starting. Whatever word you put at the end of that line is going to linger in your reader’s mind.

SLAM:

Write a short poem with line breaks that add emphasis but don’t fall at the end of phrases.

Bonus round: write a poem in the style of This is Just to Say, but not about plums. Put the words “forgive me” in the same place, and use the same title.

About the author:

Rowan submitted exactly one piece of microfiction to YeahWrite before being consumed by the editorial darkside. She spent some time working hard as our Submissions Editor before becoming YeahWrite’s Managing Editor in 2016. She was a BlogHer Voice of the Year in 2017 for her work on intersectional feminism, but she suggests you find and follow WOC instead. In real life she’s been at various times an attorney, aerialist, professional knitter, artist, graphic designer (yes, they’re different things), editor, secretary, tailor, and martial artist. It bothers her vaguely that the preceding list isn’t alphabetized, but the Oxford comma makes up for it. She lives in Portlandia with a menagerie which includes at least one other human. She tells lies at textwall and uncomfortable truths at CrossKnit.

rowan@yeahwrite.me

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