In the last issue, I wrote about the first two steps I usually take when I embark on revising a poem:
Identifying the thesis of a poem, and
determining where the writing ends and the poem begins.
Today I’ll detail the next three steps I usually take in poetry revision:
Applying the two tools of “showing” and “telling”,
ensuring a consistent “world” across the poem, and
examining the power held by the poem’s title.
3. Show & Tell
In the visual art world, you might paint a portrait of a person, or you might paint the areas of the canvas where the person isn’t—but either way, an image of a person will come through. This is the concept of positive and negative space (check out examples).
In poetry, I’d venture to say the same concept applies. But instead of negative & positive space, I’m inclined to sum it up—however haphazardly—as the ability to be roundabout or straightforward (more commonly referred to as showing or telling).
For example, to describe a thing, you could be very straightforward:
In his office was a red flower in a vase
Or, you could use symbolic imagery, metaphor, simile,1 and etc, such as the following (rather excessively flowery) examples:
Sunset on a single green leg stood in his study
*
a bloody bloom had shaped itself upon a scented stalk & posed by his paperwork–
*
as in a dragon’s den, a flame—born from nature's breath— warmed his officious hearth
All these examples talk around the actual thing being described, they never just say “red flower”. You could even talk around the flower completely and just say something like:
a stiff, dead reminder of her stalked the empty room pieces of it fluttered dryly down
Bad Guys vs. Good Guys
I’ve noticed a tendency in the arts to form and obey “rules” which dictate the baddies and the goodies — for example, that telling is bad and showing is good. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Writing in a straightforward way (or “telling”), is an excellent tool. Many exquisite poems straightforwardly tell us what they want to say. For a pristine example, I offer the aptly-named “This is just to say” by William Carlos Williams.
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
It’s important to note that by “straightforward”, I do not mean to imply a lack of imagery. Williams’ poem is in fact an example of Imagism, an early 20th century movement which valued precise imagery and clear language. There is intense imagery in it—olfactory and visual and tactile—but the key here is that it’s conveyed in a clear, straightforward manner.
I find flax eggs to be very helpful with baking—they’re a handy replacement for chicken eggs. But either flax eggs or chicken eggs will get the job done, just to different tastes. The same applies in poetry, not only with the tools I’m discussing right now but with virtually any tools whatsoever.
Below are just a few practical ways to check through a poem and enhance it by swapping out different kinds of “eggs.”
Senses & Sensibilities
Moments in your poem which include imagery may be opportunities to replace “straightforward” descriptions with “roundabout” ones. Look for descriptive sections that stimulate any of the senses—olfactory, visual, auditory, gustatory, tactile, kinesthetic (a sense of motion) or organic (internal sensations).
You can also look for particularly emotional or intense places in the poem:
A description of a feeling or character
A description of something extreme, whether hideous, beautiful, hilarious, boring, sarcastic or another extreme attitude, occurrence, or state of being
Any act that evokes strong emotions in the reader, such as a teen being kicked out of the house, or trying and failing to quit smoking, or learning to walk again after a stroke.
A more roundabout approach can cushion a negative blow, rescue an overly-sentimental moment, or add much-needed subtle humor to balance out grief.
Tangents & Attention Spans
One key place to look for parts you may want to change from “roundabout” to “straightforward” is in tangents—abrupt changes of course or digressions.
Let’s say your poem is about the glory and danger of historical polar expeditions, but at one point you blow off course and discuss fast food (perhaps it’s even mentioned in parentheses). First of all, awesome subject, and gnarly (cool) tangent!! I’m excited to read this poem!
But if the handling of this tangent (the mention of fast food) is too removed from straightforward reality or from the main topic at hand, it may slow the reader down, confuse, or even bore them. In other words, if the reader gets mired in a dense extended metaphor about various french fries being like the fingers of specific Greek gods, it may make it difficult for them to remember or care about all that bracing and intriguing stuff you were leading up to in your grand poem of Edwardian glaciers and sledges.
That isn’t to say there isn’t a glorious art to dense tangents and asides, because there definitely is (hello most 19th-century authors & soooo many contemporary poets). One way to install a glorious volta or turn in a poem is to go on a spectacular tangent and only get to the point right before the end, à la For You by Sharon Olds. (Okay, I’ll admit Olds’ poem is not a textbook example of a tangent, but perhaps it’s a backwards tangent, wherein the digression is the main discourse, until it’s not…)
But although tangents are lovely, you’ll want to navigate them carefully—always keeping in mind the thesis2 of the poem and how to best serve it.
Challenge:
Find and swap out some eggs in your poem. Look to see if there is a particularly straightforward description which might benefit from being replaced with a more “roundabout” or non-straightforward description.
Equally, look for places where there are many metaphors or similes and/or dense symbolism or symbolic imagery, and ask yourself whether those lines or passages might benefit from being simplified into more straightforward language.
4. Consistency
When you’re applying different stylistic approaches, such as writing in straightforward or roundabout ways, the next issue that pops up is consistency across these approaches.
Consistency doesn’t mean sameness or dully keeping to one thing. Rather, I use it more as I would the word “housekeeping”. A bathroom and a bedroom require very different cleaning protocols, but overall, keeping them equally clean is the “housekeeping” or consistency you’re after.
In your poem about love, do you reference soda, pigs, tumbleweeds, and make-up in turns? Can you wrestle those into plausibly being from the same “world”? A poem can often be strengthened by having all its imagery and metaphors & etc be related somehow, however distantly. Endeavor to streamline your references to be all part of the same world of things.
Here’s a steamy little number I threw together for the revision workshop I led recently. Note the many sea-related references, and then the odd one out:
Bow to my imminent tides’
perilousness: Risk everything.
Visit. Remove your shell. In
exchange I’ll salt your flesh,
make your own sweat flow
like oil down a hot pan in my
wrecked hands. Give me your
frenzied froth, your drift,
your wood. I’ll flood before
you’ve left.
Replacing the simile “like oil down a hot pan” with something more ocean-y would likely make this a more coherent, consistent poem.
But like all rules in art, throw this one out if it doesn’t help your poem. Some poems thrive on inconsistency.
Challenge:
Choose a poem (or indeed a chapbook/book manuscript) which you’d like to revise and which utilizes “roundabout” approaches.
Make a list by writing down one word summarizing the “world” of each metaphor, symbolic image, simile, or other roundabout way of saying a thing.
Does the list seem random or can it be tied together in some overarching way? Make alterations toward consistency, according to what you deem best.
3. The power of a title
Titles are extravagantly powerful. They can constrict or free, frame or confuse, guide or abandon, elucidate or obscure. And they can be wallflowers, just barely there, not making any particular splash—merely a utilitarian hook for the cloak which is the poem. (I see you, “Untitled”, and you too, first-line-of-poem-doubling-as-title).
To determine what kind of title would best suit your poem, one consideration (of many) is whether the poem itself is more straightforward or roundabout, overall.
Perhaps for your straightforwardly-written poem about growing lettuce, your title could reference something more roundabout-ly that would add a touch of needed depth. Perhaps the title could provide a contrast to the happy lettuce poem by hinting at regret:
“I should have…”
- last words of my grandfather
To give the poem some bite, you could give it an angry title—
I hate my mother’s hobby
—or make it into a dramatic lament:
portrait of the artist if she weren't a trainwreck
For a touch of humor, perhaps:
"You will accomplish great things."
- my high school advisor
Equally, a more roundabout poem may be enhanced by a complementary straightforward title. For example, this poem of mine. The body of the poem was adapted from found text from the Wikipedia article on missing persons, and as such, it’s quite roundabout. Without its very straightforward title, I would have been unable to communicate the thesis of the poem.
Challenge:
Pick a poem of yours, preferably an already-revised one, but any poem will do.
Give it three new, different titles. Craft each title so that it re-frames the poem in an entirely different way.
Thanks!
I’ll write more about poetry revision tips & tricks in the next issue of lullabies & alarms – specifically, on the spectrum of intentionality.
Be sure to check out my upcoming workshops. And if you enjoyed this newsletter, consider sharing it with friends and colleagues, or gifting a paid subscription. I subsist on a low income, so every contribution supports me and my writing and teaching in a very tangible way.
Quick reminder:
Simile: Uses “like” or “as” - an explicit, stated comparison
Metaphor: Implicit rather than explicit comparison. Does not use “like” or “as.” The two things compared often seem very different, and the linkage often surprises, delights, or enlightens.
The thesis of the poem is its essential message, or reason for existing. See part 1 of my poetry revision newsletter series.