This begins a multi-part series I’ll be sending out over the next several months. It’s about how, through the use of poetic devices, language, and forms, we can help bring a poem forward—make it noticeable, memorable, resonant.
In this first issue: movement, change, simultaneity/dissonance, and the volta.
Being literally moved
What we call goosebumps or goose pimples is the result of a physical process. Mini muscles in the skin contract, which raises the hair follicles. If you have fur and this happens, it will stand up and out from the skin, and you’ll look bigger and more imposing. Raised hairs can also help hold in a layer of body heat, which is useful in the cold.
So fear-based and cold-based goosebumps are an archaic, practical response which no longer particularly helps our species (furless as we are).
But what about awe-based or art-based goosebumps? Why do we get “the shivers” when we encounter a work of creative expression that moves us emotionally? Scientists are less certain.
Surprise as Pleasure
In music, the phenomenon has been called “frisson.” Dr. David Huron, a musicologist and emeritus professor at Ohio State University, has a theory about frisson.
His idea is that we’re biologically primed to have a fight-or-flight reaction when anything unpredictable happens, like when our expectations are raised and then either not met or surpassed.
He postulates that when a sudden change happens in music, it causes surprise—which in turn generates a micro-instant of panic or fear.1
Unlike danger- or cold-induced goosebumps, when a frisson is induced by a unpredictable piece of music (such as when the dynamics switching unexpectedly from soft & gentle to loud and energetic) our brains are aware we’re not in danger. So Dr. Huron thinks this tiny shock almost instantly switches to relief. The pleasure centers of the brain get active. Blood flow increases and dopamine gets flowing. It feels good.
Dr. Huron’s theory is just that—a theory—but it’s intriguing, and it rings true for some of my experiences of goosebumps while reading or listening to poetry.
Moving between two states
The moments where I experience a poetic frisson often involve the juxtapositioning of two different ideas, or rapid movement from one emotional place to another, one meaning to another, one implication to another, or from a simpler emotion into multiple complex emotions.
Holding multiple truths at once
I also experience a frisson when a poem moves from a single idea into a set of ideas that have a hard time co-existing and yet—somehow—do.2
A 2017 study examined the psychophysiology of chills or goosebumps from pieces of music and found, among other intriguing things, that “a song that induced chills was perceived as being both happy and sad, whereas a song that induced tears was perceived as sad.”
It’s very similar for me with poetry. When multiple dissonant aspects come together simultaneously in a line or section of a poem (like happiness + sadness, hope + despair, outrage + forgiveness + guilt) I feel like the poem speaks to many parts of me at once, rather than to only one side of me (e.g. my imagination or morality or wit). I get goosebumps from that, and from the implied sense of some grand bouquet of emotion or meaning that I had formerly sensed but never had words for.
The Volta
A formal name for one type of juxtaposition or change in poetry is the volta. As you can see in the chart below, it can go by many other names. Volta means “turn” in Italian and refers to a point in a poem where there’s a switch or change. It could be a turn in style, plot, meaning, tone, or almost anything else you can imagine.
A volta might be subtle—a slight turn toward optimism after some pessimism, for example, or a minor alteration in tone, energy, or pace. It might take the form of a modulation—an altered reiteration of the same thing (like moving up one key in the repeated chorus of a song).
It might be dramatic—a plot “twist” or a magic trick that wows us with its sudden, improbable revelation.
Below—some of the many possible types of volta:3
How to find a volta
Some of the more obvious volta signifiers include: “And yet” “but” “still” “then” “thus” and “however”. But usually—and especially in modern and contemporary poetry—a volta isn’t so obvious.
The best way to become more familiar with how voltas work is to read poems containing them.
Challenge:
Read the following poem examples. For each, consider where the turn might be, and what form(s) it takes.
If We Must Die by Claude McKay (this poem is a sonnet, a form which calls for the formal and purposeful inclusion of a volta)
Slam, Dunk, & Hook by Yusef Komunyakaa
[I come weary] by Matsuo Basho (this poem demonstrates the Japanese technique kireji or “cutting word,” similar in function to a volta)
What He Thought by Heather McHugh
Archaic Torso of Apollo by Rainer Maria Rilke
A Sandal Dropped in a Swamp by Ngo Tu Lap (link includes an accompanying essay by poet and translator Martha Collins)
By the way:
A volta is not the only path to beauty, depth, meaning. It’s just one of many tools. A poem does not have to have a volta to be moving, powerful, or strong.
It’s the same as in life: a dog’s simple joy at being reunited with his human friend and the complex fluid dynamics of wind both have power. To me, one is not more valuable than the other. They each have their own distinct value.
Challenge:
Using the chart below (or downloaded as a PDF) to help you, write three short poems (no longer than 10 lines), each of which incorporates a different type of volta.
More…
If you’d like to read more about voltas, I recommend perusing the poems and essays over at voltagepoetry.com.
In part 2, I go over more craft tools for upping the oomph of a poem, including circumlocution, metaphor & simile, synonyms, and magical realism.
As ever, I’d love to hear from you. Leave a note below, or visit my website at www.elisabethblair.net for more ways to reach out.
“Musical Expectancy and Thrills” by David Huron and Elizabeth Hellmuth Margulis
Side note: I recently happened upon the optical illusion called the “Ames Window” – an impressive example of how the brain makes up new realities in its effort to marry what the eyes interpret as two dissonant or incompatible truths.
The Wikipedia page on the volta describes even more types.
wonderful, thanks for all this juicy stuff, the saucy challenge, and citing Huron's work--all this reminds me of the music neuroscience term "reward prediction error" --when we are surprised, expectations undone, by a change in rhythm in music. I know that infants begin to do little surprise experiments on their caretakers, as though playing with this momentary induction of grace. "Humor is what happens when we are told the truth more quickly and more directly than we're used to." --George Saunders