How a poem lays on the page is a topic, I admit, that fascinates me. First impressions are important. A first impression can stay with one for years—even if we later discover we were incorrect about assumptions we may have made during that first encounter. I know I can still remember the first time I saw the man who would later become my life-long love. My assumptions? I don’t remember those so much, except that he needed to style his hair differently. (Hah. Can’t say I was a fashion icon myself at the time.) But it is telling that some fifty-plus years later, I still remember that detail. And he remembers the plaid shirt I was wearing. That is the power of first impressions.
To read or not to read
Suppose you’re flipping through an anthology, and you stop randomly at a poem. Is there anything that immediately makes you decide “nope,” not gonna read this one right now?
Is it the length of the poem? Is it the density of the lines? Is it that it’s scattered all over the page in what seems like an arbitrary spitting out of words? The title? Or what makes you decide, “yep” I think I’ll stop and read this one? Is it the openness of the lines on the page? Is it how short it is? Is it that you love poems that scatter their thoughts across the page in an energetic way? We all have our likes and dislikes. Those can pop up quickly when we first meet a new poem. What we see becomes our first impression. That primary sense of sight controls an awful lot of our lives.
Loosen up
So, what can we do about that as poets? I’ll be frank here for a moment. If you only write in one way by utilizing one format/formal style there may not be a way for you to change easily. It may take a lot of effort. But do realize that the containers for our poems—the way they are laid out on the page—is a major factor in a reader’s desire to read or not to read.
Okay. Maybe you’re of the opinion you don’t need to change, your readers do. Fine. But having that attitude, least in my opinion, alienates a great deal of your audience. My recommendation is to change things up, at least occasionally. If you’re used to writing left justified tercets, take a baby step and switch to couplets. Or, be brazen and scatter your words like the wind across the page. You may find that you might be able to breathe a little easier by unloosening that outer garment that’s got you girdled into one shape. (Enough of that metaphor.)
Which comes first—the chicken or the egg
Now the inevitable question arises: the chicken or the egg? Should you decide upon a container first—how your poem is laid out—or simply write the content that your heart desires and then work on the shape of it? This was a question at a program I recently did for the Florida State Poetry Association. A good question.
Really, it makes no difference. I would hazard a guess to say that most folks write through to the heart of what they want to say first and then figure out what the best container for the poem is. I know that most of my poems start out this way. And many of mine use some form of a typical stanza format. At this point I’m not worried. I know it is through revision that I will find the best way to present the poem. However, not all my poems start out like that. Some are simply that I want to write to a specific form such as a haibun, or a tetractys. Then I need to think of a subject that would work well with that form. These are often writing challenges I set for myself.
Finding a natural fit
Usually my mind is in free-flow while I write, and I simply allow the lines to form in a random pattern as they come to me. These might start out left justified, but very quickly morph into other patterns. When I write like this, I find it is easier to use pen and paper so I can scribble all over the page. Later, on my laptop, I’ll commit the lines to their places. Many times, I simply know, as I’m forming the content, that a certain pattern will work to enhance the piece. This was the way the poem Torn Promises: A Poem for Many Voices (a poem first published in the 100,000 Poets for Peace project.) came about. The words/voices are separated from each other just as the children were torn from their parents.
My point in all this? Allow yourself some freedom. Give your imagination room to expand beyond the stanza. Try other layouts just for fun. Challenge yourself. Any writing exercise you do has value, even if you toss the container in the recycle bin at a later stage. If published, you may lose a few readers who prefer the orderly calm of stanzas. But you may also gain readers who prefer the eclectic charm of something a bit more abstract/wild on the page. Stretch those writing muscles!
Niki Kantzios
I so agree! Sometimes just choosing a “container” and deciding to write something to fit into it is the best sort of prompt. In either case, giving all this some thought makes us more conscious of the importance of form for the content. It can make a big difference in hoow the poem hits.
Lynda Courtright
Thank you, Shutta, for these freeing thoughts.