This is part II of a multi-part series about how to make a poem more memorable and resonant. In part I, I looked at movement, change, simultaneity/dissonance, and the volta.
Surprise has been studied quite a bit in the field of cognitive neuroscience.
Surprise can lead to a shift in attitude—and creative works that employ surprise can help lead shifts in society itself.
A creative work might dare to startle or astonish through big surprises, like a plot twist. Or it might employ more subtle surprises, like fresh and unusual descriptions and language.
Let’s look at a few (of the many) effective ways to avoid expected constructions and overuse, and instead trigger surprise:
circumlocution
synonym
simile
metaphor
and magical realism.
Circumlocution
AI (Dall-e) says circumlocution without saying circumlocution
Circumlocution means talking around a thing (like a noun) in order to say that thing. Lately on social media sites, I’ve seen a trend inviting a creator to “say you’re from X place without saying you’re from X place” — then they create a video that demonstrates the vibe and sense of that place (usually humorously). They’re essentially circumlocuting with images and videos.
Circumlocution can be a way of speaking a foreign language you’re not yet fluent in. For example, in French I might not know how to say “margin” but I could say “the side of the page.”
Icelandic kennings are my favorite form of figurative circumlocution:
And by the way, reading scientific papers on surprise brings its own circumlocutive delights, such as:
surprise —> expectancy discrepancy
Synonym
So simple – multiple words for the same thing! Pick a more sonically and rhythmically interesting word, or one with multiple meanings. Pick one that’s a homonym. Pick one with cultural or historical associations (if appropriate) that you can use to add subtle textures and hints to your poem.
Instead of “food” you could say fare, viddle, ration, slop, chow. Instead of “hard” you could say arduous, formidable, trying, heavy, demanding.
I love a thesaurus so much that I own a giant, honking, real-life book.
(Do I use it? No… because thesaurus.com is so much quicker… but!! I mean to use it… when I go write in that ever-elusive cabin-in-the-woods-without-internet…)
Simile & Metaphor
Two of the oldest poetic tricks in the book—as far as putting things in new and engaging ways—are metaphor and its sibling, simile. These two get mixed up a lot, so here’s a refresher:
Simile:
Uses the words “like” or “as” – an explicit, stated comparison.
Like all tools, simile can be used poorly or well. A few cliché examples of simile:
Their love was as deep as the ocean.
Her conscience was as light as a feather.
Some better examples:
I remembered the way laughter felt when you stifled it in a sleeve, like extra padding between your skin and the cold.
I admire effective similes. In my own writing however, I tend to lean into the more confident magic of beingness (metaphor) rather than likeness (simile).
Metaphor:
Implicit rather than explicit comparison. Does not use “like” or “as.” Rather, it tends to use the verb “to be.” The two things compared often seem very different, and the linkage may surprise, delight, bewilder, or enlighten.
Examples:
war is the frantic wet nurse / running between us / we are both thirsty / we are all thirsty
Leo is a linebacker swallowed by a young child’s laugh
- Clint Smith, “Beyond This Place” from book Counting Descent
A metaphor—especially an extended (lengthy) metaphor—can sometimes lead into the realm of magical realism, shifting our view of reality itself.
Magical realism
This is writing that’s based in reality but dripping in (or sloshing in) magic/unreal/surreal elements. It’s perhaps most known for its use in fiction. But poetry is absolutely drenched in it.
Through persona poetry, nonhuman objects and animals can speak. Through metaphor, the universe is malleable and reality bends to any whim. Poems can employ other devices like allegory (longer narratives/stories that teach a lesson) and analogy (comparing two things to make a point). And there are so many other creative ways to include magic or surrealism.
Poetic devices are frameworks, not absolutes
Poet Natalie Diaz has spoken about how the need for everything to be classed a simile, metaphor, or magical realism is based on English-language-centric ways of thinking: Perhaps two unlike beings sharing identity does not have to be a poetic device. It can, instead, be.
In her poetry there is much that can be categorized as metaphor and magical realism. For example, her extraordinary poem It Was the Animals describes how jaguars, pumas, raptors, and other animals march into the house, and then into the living body of her brother. It’s clearly not “actually” happening, so we think of it as metaphor or magical realism. But is the line between real and magical so thin and straight?
A better question: Must it be?
In her book Postcolonial Love Poem is a poem called “The First Water is the Body.” In it, she states clearly:
The Colorado River is the most endangered river in the United States—
also, it is a part of my body.
I carry a river. It is who I am: ‘Aha Makav. This is not metaphor.
I think one takeaway (of many) here is we don’t need to be bound by these tools I’ve described. They’re starting points. That’s it.
Why surprise?
So we’ve looked at some of the many tools for adding surprise or the unexpected to a poem. But why use them?
There’s nothing inferior about simple and straightforward language; indeed it can be profound and complex even in its simplicity, and it carries many benefits (it can often be more immediately accessible to a reader, for example).
But what might we accomplish if we push ourselves to seek out, create, and devise more unusual, unexpected, surprising elements to put in our poetry?
1. We’ll actively involve the reader more. Using creative descriptions and phrases and language and images helps to make your reader think even as they feel. The more open you leave the language of your poem (using phrases and ideas and imagery that don’t necessarily have a clear, simple, recognized meaning), the more a reader can interpret and envision and connect on their own unique terms. This openness invites a reader to be a conversation partner rather than an audience member.
2. It can help illustrate complexities—such as what it’s like to experience multiple conflicting feelings at once (and we can have a lot, as Sandra Lim’s short poem At the Other End of a Wire describes).
Sure, we can use a familiar, stock word like “bittersweet” to express this and everyone will know what we mean.
Or we could close our eyes, dip into the landscape of the co-existing feelings, learn their bodies—and write about what we find. Our reader will encounter a new and unexpected depth, and perhaps a new name for an experience they could never quite put words to.
3. Surprise elements will help us to include contexts in our poems. By contexts I mean the entire scope of the situation within which a poem is expressed or created: The time, place, language, culture, relationships, background, future, epoch, technology—everything that surrounds a poem.
In fiction and the movies we might call it “world-building.” In non-fiction we call it biography or history. Pulling in our mythologies, beliefs, politics, angers and hopes through devices like metaphor or circumlocution offers an opportunity to include the world around us, even as we’re describing something unrelated.
And when a poem is encountered by a reader, whether 5 minutes or 500 years after it was written, a beautiful marriage of contexts occurs—the poet’s and the reader’s. It’s a gorgeous intermingling of almost infinite complexity, something to be in awe of: it’s communication, perhaps at its most delicate, subtle, and masterful.
4. And finally, if you still need a reason,surprise elements will make our writing less forgettable (as noted by the aforementioned science!). There is plenty of valuable-yet-forgettable writing out there, designed to inform a reader, help them pass time, or passively entertain them.
But if you’re aiming to create unforgettable writing, employ a little surprise.
Writing Challenge:
door = dragon? -ish?
For this challenge, choose a poem that you’d like to revise. Make two copies of it (for a total of 3 copies). Then follow three steps:
Rewrite one copy of the poem using a thesaurus. Play with words! Replace every single word you can with something from the thesaurus. Be bold. Be ridiculous.
For the second, separate rewrite of the original poem, replace as much as possible with metaphor, circumlocution, and the like. Go way overboard!
For example, if the phrase is: he walked to the door and turned the handle, then replace it with something like:
he swam heavy with his bone-and-sinew pedal pushers
to the through-way dragon—sentry of passages—
parked his fingered claw on its brass tongue, and twisted
Now lay the original poem alongside the two rewrites, and put together a Frankenstein’s monster – combine what you like best from each version (plus anything you thought of along the way) to make a new working draft.
Thank you!
Thank you to all the new readers who’ve signed up in the last month. I am grateful to you for lending me some of that holy commodity—your attention! I’d love to hear from you – leave a comment below or reach out to me.
P.S.
I’ll be doing in-person readings at two upcoming events:
Wednesday March 15th at Lit Club at the Radio Bean at 8 N. Winooski Ave in Burlington, VT: Sign-ups for the open mic start at 6:30 PM, with readings starting soon after. As featured poet,my set will run from about 7:30 - 8:00 PM. After me, there’ll be more open mic opportunities until 8:30.
Tuesday May 23rd at the Cabot Library in Cabot, VT. I’ll be giving an author talk. I’ll include more details on this in a future newsletter.
Great read! :)