Other Stuff (Daily lectures and discussion points)

General Discussion Questions:
 
There are so many points we can discuss in any given piece of writing (style, subject matter, risk, background issues, intended audience, expectations, deliberately breaking grammar rules, why they chose a particular point of view or verb tense, why they used or didn't use profanity, humor, or shocking imagery, etc) that it can be tough to know where to start. In general, though, here are four questions that we'll return to again and again throughout the semester--not just because they're important when in comes to critical reading, but also because having these issues in mind will help you develop and define YOUR OWN writing style. (Feel free to make these questions the basis of your journal entries as well, if you like.)

1) What issues are being raised by the piece?

2) What RISKS does the author take in this piece and what is the potential BENEFIT?

3) Any particular sentences or images that you liked/disliked?

4) How would you describe this particular author's AESTHETIC? Note: you don't have to personally like or agree with this aesthetic, but how would you describe it if you were trying to be fairly objective? In other words, what's a working equation for a Kurt Vonnegut essay, a Tom Wolfe essay, a Lorrie Moore essay, a Hemingway short story, etc?

Vonnegut's 8 Rules for Writing Fiction

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things — reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a sadist. Now matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them — in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

- Vonnegut, Kurt Vonnegut, Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons 1999), 9-10.

Bullet in the Brain questions

How does the form/style of “Bullet in the Brain” mirror the subject matter?

What’s up with the ending?

What’s Tobias Wolff’s aesthetic?

It’s hard to catch but near the story, Wolff switches from past verb tense to present tense. What effect does this have and how does he signal the shift so that it looks deliberate, not just an accident?

How does the short film differ from the short story? Any thoughts on why they made the changes they did?

Especially in the short film, see if you can pinpoint why they made some of the choices they did (filming, casting, clothes, set design, whatever).

A Perfect Day for Bananafish class discussion questions:

Given that A Perfect Day for Bananafish is included in Nine Stories, a Salinger short story collection that begins with an epigraph (the famous koan, We know the sound of two hands clapping. But what is the sound of one hand clapping?), and given Salinger's interest in Zen at the time this story was written, it's probably reasonable to view this story itself as a kind of koan.  And much like a koan, A Perfect Day for Bananafish seems to be an exercise in dualities and contrasts.  For instance...


1) Critics often argue over Seymour's interaction with Sybil. Is it the bittersweet interaction of a hyper-lonely guy who can only relate to children (and why does he only seem to relate with Sybil)? Or is it downright creepy? Maybe both? Do these related but diametrically opposed interpretations say something about us as an audience?

2) On a more technical note...  Rather than simply say "he was sad" or "she was bored," good writers have their characters perform some kind of action that conveys this feeling. (Sometimes, they'll even have a character do something to replace the usual "he said/she said" tags, which can get a bit tedious.) The risk, of course, is that readers won't catch it; if they do, though, it's guaranteed to have a bigger impact than simple, lazy exposition. And more to the point, it's an invaluable skill to develop in our own writing.  With that in mind, go through "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" and see if you can spot some FIVE dialog gestures--that is, a specific action that conveys an emotion and/or tells you something about the character, big or small.

3) Most readers are surprised the first time they read the ending of "A Perfect Day for Bananafish." What seems to separate an "earned" plot twist from a plot twist that it is only there for shock value, though, is foreshadowing. What events, scenes, or dialog in this story foreshadow Seymour's actions at the end of the story?

4) Anything to the names in this story? Don't just look at their names, but the pronouns Salinger chooses to use when referring to these characters (ex. Muriel is "the girl.").

5) What's up with feet?

6) Seriously, why bananafish? Why bananas?

7) It's difficult to ascribe a "moral to the story" when it comes to koans because Zen acknowledges the limitations of language and thought (meaning that as soon as you start to say "This just means this..." you run the risk of over-simplification).  Basically, the point of a koan--like the point of a good piece of literature--is to pull your brain in two (or more) contradictory directions at the same time, and in so doing, give you a brief glimpse of the much bigger, much more complex story. So it's not necessary that we try and hammer out one single, over-arching message of the story; let's just see if we can come up with a list of some of what this story is telling us.

Harrison Bergeron short film discussion questions

1) Given the fact that we currently only have 27 Amendments to the Constitution, is there any significance to the fact that the dystopia in "Harrison Bergeron" seems to result from the 211, 212, and 213th Amendments?

2) Any significance to the short film's reference to the ballet, "Sleeping Beauty?"

3) Thoughts on their casting choices?

4) Thoughts on set design?

5) How does the short film differ from the short story? Do you think it's a faithful adaptation (however you define that)?

6) What are some "dialog gestures" or metaphorical actions, camera angles, etc, in the short film?

7) How does George feel about Hazel in the short film? Does that differ from the short story?

8) Based on the last few scenes of the short film, do you think anything will change in this dystopia?

9) Compare and contrast Vonnegut's style in "Harrison Bergeron" with the tone and style of Chandler Tuttle in "2081."

The End of "Cathedral"

I've noticed from past classes' journals that a few students tend to have a little trouble getting the ending of the story. One way to get what Carver is talking about is to consider a famous but really quite simple thought experiment, often referred to as "Mary's room."

In the "Mary's room" thought experiment, basically assume that a super-intelligent scientist has been living in a black and white room with a black and white television and plenty of books, i.e. with plenty of access to knowledge but no exposure to any other colors (red, green, purple, etc). She understands every bit of readable information on the concept of wavelength, how that affects the retina, etc. In other words, she knows that other colors EXIST, but she's never actually SEEN them.

One day, she leaves the room. Even with all of her vast knowledge, will she learn anything new the first time she, say, looks at the sky or a blade of grass? Is she going to be surprised? If so, why?

Relating this back to the story, even though the narrator in "Cathedral" hasn't yet opened his eyes, is he "seeing" the drawing (and whatever it represents) in a clearer way than he was when he was watching the television? How about the blind man's perceptions? And the $10,000 question. how would our lives be different if we "saw" everything with that same kind of awe, all the time? What's the value in that, and why don't we do it already?

Another quick point, then I'll get off my soapbox. Don't just think of stories and poems as stories and poems; think of them as the very tricky, very powerful intersection of science, history, philosophy, language, religion. and, well, everything else. As Robin Williams' character said in "Dead Poets Society," we don't read and write because it's cute; we do it because we are members of the human race.



Some Discussion Points for A Good Man is Hard to Find:

All of the fiction writers we have studied incorporate a lot of foreshadowing in the first page (often the first paragraph) of their stories, not to mention a lot of irony throughout. These are relatively simple things that writers can do to add more depth and dimension to the story. This is also another thing that separates good writers from hacks.

1) To start off, look for 3 examples of irony and/or foreshadowing in the story.

2) What economic class is this family and what are some clues?

3) Like "The Killers" and "Cathedral," there are slight racial undertones to the story. What do you make of that short, seemingly random scene of a black child waving from the door of a shack as they're driving by (p. 99)?

4) Writers (including screenwriters) have to have a good understanding of what their audience wants and/or expects, then decide if they're going to give it to them or mess with their expectations (or maybe a little of both). What does Flannery O'Connor give her audience in "A Good Man is Hard to Find?" In other words, what's the payoff?

5) Many stories take their titles from a line of dialog in the actual story (in this case, Red Sammy saying "A good man is hard to find" while talking to the grandmother about how people are untrustworthy). How seriously should we take the grandmother?

6) How sympathetic are you to the children, John Wesley and June Star?

7) What do you make of what the grandmother tells the Misfit: "I know you're a good man. You don't look a bit like you have common blood. I know you must come from nice people!"?

8) The Misfit says that his father said this of him: "it's some that can live their whole life out without asking about it and it's others has to know why it is, and this boy is one of the latters." What does he mean and does that mean anything in the context of the story? Put another way, how is The Misfit different from the two dimensional, crazed killer portrayed in the papers?

9) What do you make of the ending?

10) None of the fiction pieces we've read come right out and say what philosophy on living and morality that they recommend (that would be too preachy) but their message seems to be there, nonetheless. Considering the dialog between the Misfit and the grandmother, what's the message of "A Good Man is Hard to Find?"

SOME TERMS AND DEFINITIONS

Quite a few terms get tossed around in writing workshops—some of which you might not be familiar with—so I typed up a handy cheat-sheet.

Lyric Poetry – In general, lyric poetry uses image, sound, and other poetic techniques to inspire a certain feeling in the reader, sometimes in a “non-traditional” or “experimental” way, WITHOUT putting forth a clear, story-type narrative. Examples of lyric poets: e.e. cummings, Bob Hicok, maybe Sylvia Plath and some of Kim Addonizio’s stuff, etc.

Narrative Poetry – Put simply, narrative poetry is poetry that tells a story. What distinguishes it from prose is the greater attention played to image, sound, line breaks (especially if they cause dramatic affect and/or create double meanings), etc. Put another way, in narrative poetry, the primary energy comes from the story (often told via elegant use of colloquial language), with the language backing that up, whereas in lyric poetry, the energy comes more or less entirely from word choice. Examples of narrative poets: Tony Hoagland, Marie Howe, Billy Collins, William Carlos Williams, Sharon Olds and Dorianne Laux.

Note: a poem could also be considered a “lyrical narrative” if it tells a story while maintaining hyper-awareness of sound and image to produce a strong “lyric” affect. In other words, “lyrical narrative” poetry is poetry that fires equally with both barrels. I think Anne Sexton’s poetry fits into this category, maybe George Bilgere as well. However, it’s tricky to try and assign writers to categories because, like we discussed, some poets change styles depending on what they’re writing.

Prose-Poetry – Basically, a prose-poem is the bastard offspring of poetry and prose, i.e. a poem told in paragraph form, or a piece of prose with atypical attention paid to language. Obviously, prose-poetry doesn’t utilize line breaks; it does, however, require a level of attention paid to sound and language that is more commonly seen in poetry than in prose.

Flash Fiction – This is where things get tricky. Think of flash fiction as a prose-poem that’s tipping a little more in the prose direction, i.e. a “prose-poem” that’s more than one paragraph, maybe a whole short story told in the space of just one or two or three pages. Another note: flash fiction and prose-poems are a great middle ground between poets and fiction writers. Often, it’s the best way for those who want to experiment with other genres to get their feet wet. Besides that, I think all poets should have a healthy respect for fiction, and vice versa, since it just puts more tools in the figurative toolbox.

First Person Point of View -- The entire story is told from the perspective of an "I" who assumed to be the writer him/herself in creative nonfiction but may or may not literally be the writer in the case of fiction and poetry.

Second Person Point of View -- The entire story is told from the perspective of "you," which tends to take on a very direct tone that can be used to enhance humor or a tense, accusatory tone. "You wake up late. You shower then realize you forgot to pick up the dry-cleaning. You're pretty sure you're wasting your life. You stop by the coffee shop. The girl behind the counter smiles at you." etc.

Third Person Restricted Point of View -- The story is told from the perspective of a single character, generally using "he" or "she" pronouns. We see that character's internal monologue but NOT the internal monologue of the other characters, unless we've changed chapters or sections. In other words, if you're telling the story from John's perspective, the story can't go on once John leaves the room because he's not there to witness it.

Third Person Omniscient Point of View -- Unlike Third Person Restricted, in this one, you can show MULTIPLE characters' internal monologue, show things from multiple perspectives, etc.

Point of View Violation -- Basically, this is a mistake in point of view. An example would be a story that goes from "I" to "he or "she," simply because the writer forgot what perspective they were using. Another common example is when a writer is using Third Person Restricted, then suddenly gives information that this character couldn't possibly know. This is one of the biggest signs of bad or careless writing.

Verisimilitude -- Essentially, this is the believability of your characters within the world you've created. Would your character actually talk that way? Would they actually act that way in this particular situation? What clues, what foreshadowing, have you given us?

Internal vs. External Conflict -- That your characters (or you) must experience conflict is obvious; that there's a difference between internal and external conflict might be a little less so. Basically, if you want your characters to appear three dimensional, you want to give them both an internal and an external struggle that they must overcome (or fail to overcome).

Accessibility – This relates to how obvious or hidden you want the overall feeling or message of your writing to be. The more “accessible” a poem is, the “easier” it is for the reader to “get” at least some of it early on (maybe even on the first read). Important: even with very accessible poetry, though, the goal is that the more time you spend with the poem, the more you’ll get out of it.

On the other hand, some poets (like e.e. cummings) prefer to write poems that are more difficult to “get” the first time, the thought being that the harder you have to work, the more you’ll enjoy the prize. Compare e.e. cummings or even Emily Dickinson to, say, Billy Collins or Tony Hoagland and you can see they’re generally on opposing ends of the “accessibility” spectrum.

Aesthetic – As it pertains to us as writers, what you personally think constitutes “good” and “bad” writing—or, to phrase it a bit less judgmentally, the kind of stuff you want to write versus the kind of stuff you don’t, and why.

Diction – This refers to your word choice.

Syntax – This refers to the order of your written words. Compare, for example, the experimental syntax of e.e. cummings versus the more straightforward syntax of Billy Collins.

Denotation – This refers to the literal meaning of a word.

Connotation – This refers to the general implication of a word.

For instance, compare the denotation and connotation of the word pleasure. The denotative meaning is simply a feeling of enjoyment, whereas the connotative meaning (i.e. how writers and speakers actually use it) refers more often than not to something sexual.

Ictus – When scanning lines, an ictus is a stressed syllable, represented by a / symbol.

Breve – When scanning lines, a breve is an unstressed syllable, represented by a U symbol.

This is important for poets and fiction writers alike. Most writers try to have more stressed than unstressed syllables in a line, the reason being that stressed syllables generally carry more energy (which is why the most emphatic-sounding swear words are just one or two syllables). The natural way to have more stressed than unstressed syllables is to use common or “colloquial” language, but do so in an elegant manner. Of course you can break this rule, i.e. use “bigger words,” but be aware that you’re doing it and ask if the payoff trumps the risk.

Stop for a moment and think about your college textbooks. Ever read one that struck you as unbelievably boring? I bet the reason was that it was written in an overly formal style that used too many unstressed syllables (“utilize” versus “use,” “consequently” versus “thus” or “therefore,” “erudite” versus “smart”, etc.). On the other hand, using unstressed syllables as a build up to a tone change (similar to the punch line of a joke) or using longer words in an usual or unexpected way, can have a big payoff if done well.

End-stop – A line of poetry that ends in punctuation. Example:

   As if your cancer weren't enough,

   the guinea pig is dying.

Enjambment – A line of poetry that runs over into the next line. Example:

   The kids brought him to me

   wrapped in a bath towel

In these examples (from Guinea Pig by Julie Cadwallader-Staub), the poet uses end-stops in the first two lines for dramatic effect, then enjambs the next two lines to give the poem momentum.

Stanza – A grouping of lines in a poem; basically, this is the poetry equivalent of a paragraph. Types of stanzas: a couplet has two lines; a tercet has three lines; a quatrain has four lines; a quintet has five lines; a sestet has six lines; a septet has seven lines; an octave has eight lines; after that, my friends, you’re on your own.

Alliteration – Generally, this means the repetition of consonant sounds. Technically, though, it means the repetition of the initial letter or sound, while consonance means the general repetition of consonant sounds. Usually, to keep things simple, I use them interchangeably.

Having some basic understanding of consonant sounds is important. For example, “S,” “L” and “M” sounds invoke a flowing, watery feeling (“smooth,” “slither,” “liquid”) whereas “B” and “K” sounds tend to have a harder, more staccato feel (“grate,” “cat,” “cacophony,” etc). Whenever possible, you choose your words and sounds based on the overall feeling you want the reader to have.

Assonance – The repetition of vowel sounds. Again, think about sound frequencies. Words that make use of lower vowel frequencies (“bone,” “gloom,” “brood,” etc) tend to create a deep, rumbling, ominous feeling, whereas words that make use of higher vowel frequencies (“light,” “might”) —can create a lofty or energetic feeling. Middle frequency words like “apple” and “braid” tend to be neutral. Note: obviously, the use and context of the word creates plenty of exceptions to these rules. This is just something to plant in the back of your mind and/or bear in mind while revising.

Personification – Giving human qualities to a non-human thing (an animal, a chair, a mirror, etc).

Meter and Form

I don’t do much with this since the past hundred years have trended towards free verse, but…

Iamb – (u/), or an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. Adjective form: iambic.

Trochee – (/u), or a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable. Adjective: trochaic.

Anapest – (uu/), or two unstressed syllables followed by a stressed syllable. Adjective: anapestic.

Dactyl – (/uu), or a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed syllables. Adjective: dactylic.

Spondee – (//), or two stressed syllables in a row. Adjective: spondaic (//).

Pyrrhic – (uu), or two unstressed syllables in a row. Same word in both noun and adjective form.

Rhyme – If you don’t already know what this is, there’s no hope for you.

End rhyme – Rhyming the words at the end (duh!) of lines.

Internal rhyme – Rhyming other than the first or last words of lines.

Masculine rhyme – When one syllable or a word rhymes with another word (“hat” and “bat”, “grave” and “brave,” etc).

Feminine rhyme – Also known as “double rhyme,” this is a form of rhyme that matches two or more syllables (“fashion” and “passion,” “painted and “acquainted,” “lawful” and “awful,” etc).

Triple rhyme – Yup, you guessed it: rhyme that matches three syllables (“victorious” and “glorious,” “mystery” and “history,” etc).

Eye rhyme – This refers to words that don’t actually rhyme but look (hence, the name) like they should (ex. “love” and “move”).

Near rhyme (aka “slant rhyme,” “half rhyme”) – Words that somewhat rhyme, but not quite (“breath” and “deaf,” “ill” and “shell,” etc).

There are about a zillion other poetic and literary terms. As always, knowing what something is called isn’t nearly as important as using it correctly.

Discussion questions for "Howl"

"Usually during the composition, step by step, word by word and adjective by adjective, if it’s at all spontaneous, I don’t know whether it even makes sense sometimes. Sometimes I do know it makes complete sense, and I start crying. Because I realize I’m hitting some area which is absolutely true. And in that sense applicable universally, or understandable universally. In that sense able to survive through time—in that sense to be read by somebody and wept to, maybe, centuries later. In that sense prophecy, because it touches a common key . . . What prophecy actually is is not that you actually know that the bomb will fall in 1942. It’s that you know and feel something that somebody knows and feels in a hundred years. And maybe articulate it in a hint—a concrete way that they can pick up on in a hundred years." -Allen Ginsberg

According to Ginsberg and the film…

1) What is the problem with literature? In other words, what’s the major trouble that many would-be contemporary writers run into?

2) In the film, the prosecution says that the judge should take into account how the “average person” will respond to “Howl.” What’s the problem with this? Try to tie this to the message presented in Kurt Vonnegut’s “Harrison Bergeron.”

3) During World War One, Siegfried Sassoon and John Owen were extremely celebrated war heroes who started writing gritty, straightforward poems about what life was really like on the front lines. As soon as they did so, they became controversial figures and the object of ridicule. Eventually, though, majority opinion shifted. Are there any other instances that you can think of in which the majority view on an issue changed, but only after a fight?

4) “If you’re a foot fetishist, write about feet. If you’re a stock market freak, you can write about the rising sales curve erections of the Standard Oil chart.” What’s Ginsberg saying here?

5) What does “Moloch,” an ancient deity associated with child sacrifices, seem to represent in “Howl”?

6) Ginsberg writes: “They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! … Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!” This seems to echo religious/philosophical views from Zen Buddhism (which states that our attachments to trivial things impedes our personal growth) and a passage from the Gospel of Thomas (one of many texts omitted from the canonized Bible) that says the following: “the Kingdom of God is inside of you, and it is outside of you… Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift a stone, and you will find me there.” How does this relate to the later, “holy holy holy” section of the poem? How does that conflict with traditional, conservative views of religion, the world, Heaven, etc?

7) The defense attorney equates parts of “Howl” to the Book of Job which (like Ecclesiastes) speaks openly of the suffering and despair of Man. According to the witness, Professor David Kirk (played in the film by Jeff Daniels), this is a bad comparison because (in Kirk’s view) Ginsberg is advocating the total destruction of society. Do you agree?

8) Did you notice any similarities among the trial witnesses who were either praising or deriding “Howl”?

9) Parallels are often drawn between “Howl” and a famous poem by 19^th century poet and abolitionist, Walt Whitman (especially Whitman’s poems, “Song of Myself” and "Song of the Open Road"). Ginsberg even addresses Whitman directly in his poem, "A Supermarket in California". How are their styles similar and different? Quick aside: think of your writing as a conversation with the reader. You can also write poems or stories inspired by or even addressing other writers, other artists long gone.

Another quick aside: here's probably my favorite poem by Walt Whitman, called "When I heard the learn'd astronomer" (Whitman didn't title many of his poems so, for convenience, scholars later titled them by their first lines, something they also did with the poetry of Emily Dickinson).

Schools of Poetry

There are many different schools of poetry reflecting (or reacting to) major shifts in history and culture. Here are just some of the different classifications and schools that affect us as contemporary writers. Some poets’ individual poems might fit into different schools, obviously, but here’s the general layout.

The Romantics (late 18^th and early to mid 19^th century)—these are probably the poets you read in high school. Romantic poets tended to write formally—that is, with strict rhyme and meter. Examples: William Blake, William Wordsworth, Lord Byron, John Keats, Mary Shelley, Samuel Coleridge, etc.

The Imagists (early 1900s)—these poets reacted to the lofty language of the Romantics by stressing clear, “simple” imagery (hence the name). Examples: T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, D.H. Lawrence, etc. Eliot’s famous poems, The Waste Land and The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock come out of this movement. Imagist poems are often a bit more overtly “personal”, but not quite confessional. This is often seen as the dawn of English free verse (although its granddaddy, Walt Whitman, died in 1892).

The Beats (1940s)—Examples: Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs. Mostly New York poets known for more political and social commentary, bawdy subject matter, free association, etc. Ginsberg’s famous poem, Howl, fits in here. Subjects like drug use, rebellion, and sexuality (also homosexuality) are often graphically addressed in Beat poetry. The Beat poets are known for high energy work that signaled an increase in the accessibility of poetry to a wider audience.

The Confessionalists (50s, 60s)—U.S. poets who drew off their own personal experience in a more direct manner. Examples: Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, John Berryman (famous for The Dream Songs), etc. Some would say that Sharon Olds and Marie Howe fit into this category. Note: this is when we start seeing female poets gain respect (and criticism). Before the Confessionalists, poetry was often considered a man’s game.

The New York School—seen as a reaction to the Confessionalists, started close to the same time (maybe a bit later). Their writing is often more abstract (maybe less “I”), more cosmopolitan (a little more focus on the world than on the inner self), although they had quite a bit in common with the Beats. Some drew inspiration from art, especially surrealist painters like Jackson Pollock. Examples of “New York School” poets: John Ashbery, Barbara Guest, Kenneth Koche and Frank O’Hara.

Deep Image (latter half of the 20^th century to present)—these poets rely on concrete images, allowing the imagery to tell the story (Deep Image poems are usually narrative) and generate the feeling (they often have a strong lyrical component as well). Examples: James Wright, Galway Kinnell, maybe George Bilgere.

There are many other schools—the Black Mountain poets, the San Francisco Renaissance, etc.—that are a little obscure. You also have Language Poets (inspired by Gertrude Stein, who died in ’46), who push the boundaries of form and syntax. Slam Poets, very popular right now, focus almost entirely on presentation rather than how a poem actually looks/reads on the page. The closer we get to the present, the harder it becomes to lump poets into categories or define the prevailing school of thought. You also have a lot of poets who might seem, say, Confessional on one page then Deep Image on the next.

All we can really say about now is that we’re living right smack dab in this hyper-social/super-political/mega-technological confusion we call the Postmodern Age. As with music—more than ever—there are countless different genres, forms, theories, reactions, and reactions to the reactions all floating around (and competing) simultaneously. Basically, you have to establish (and often reassess) your own Personal Aesthetic—that is, what you like, what you don’t like, and why—and go with it.

When it comes to the format of a poem, different approaches have different benefits and risks.  One form might build energy by incorporating line breaks that slow the reader down and create the possibility for double-meanings. Another approach might sacrifice line breaks but build tension by forcing the reader to read more quickly, more frantically. Still another approach can isolate certain words and phrases for extra emphasis, irony, etc. What form you take is entirely up to you, of course, though experimenting with different forms can help you make an informed decision. To see what I mean, compare the original format of Stanley Kunitz's famous poem, "The Portrait," with some other versions I made.

The Portrait (original version)

by Stanley Kunitz 

My mother never forgave my father
for killing himself,
especially at such an awkward time
and in a public park,
that spring
when I was waiting to be born.
She locked his name
in her deepest cabinet
and would not let him out,
though I could hear him thumping.
When I came down from the attic
with the pastel portrait in my hand
of a long-lipped stranger
with a brave moustache
and deep brown level eyes,
she ripped it into shreds
without a single word
and slapped me hard.
In my sixty-fourth year
I can feel my cheek
still burning.

The Portrait (non-Kunitz version 2) 

My mother never forgave my father for killing himself,
especially at such an awkward time and in a public park,

that spring when I was waiting to be born.
She locked his name in her deepest cabinet

and would not let him out, though I could hear him

thumping. When I came down from the attic

with the pastel portrait in my hand of a long-lipped

stranger with a brave moustache and deep brown level eyes,

she ripped it into shreds without a single word
and slapped me hard. In my sixty-fourth year

I can feel my cheek still burning.

The Portrait (non-Kunitz version 3)

My mother never forgave

                                         my father

for killing himself,

                               especially

at such an awkward time

and in a public park, that spring when

                         

                    I was waiting

to be born. She locked his name in her

deepest cabinet and would not

                                                 let him out,

though I could

                        hear him

thumping.

When I came down from the attic

with the pastel portrait in my hand

of a long-lipped stranger

                                    with a brave

moustache and deep brown  

                                             level eyes, she ripped it

into shreds

without a single word

                                    and slapped me hard.

In my sixty-fourth year 

I can feel 

                my cheek

                                 still burning.

The Portrait (non-Kunitz version 4)

My mother never forgave my father for killing himself, especially at such an awkward time and in a public park, that spring when I was waiting to be born. She locked his name in her deepest cabinet and would not let him out, though I could hear him thumping. When I came down from the attic with the pastel portrait in my hand of a long-lipped stranger with a brave moustache and deep brown level eyes, she ripped it into shreds without a single word and slapped me hard. In my sixty-fourth year I can feel my cheek still burning.

An Alternate Approach to Revision:

Hopefully, you've grasped by now the necessity of toiling over every word and line break; that writing good poetry takes passion and energy and it should be fun, yes, but it also takes some sweat and dedication.  Especially when we spend a great deal of time crafting our individual lines, though, it can be very easy to get tunnel vision.  That means we end up tinkering with a few syllables when the hard truth is that the poem might require something more radical.

One technique I developed for getting around this (not to mention developing a more conscious awareness of one's own rhythm and style) is to basically rewrite a poem backwards, starting with the last line and ending with the first.  Then, tinker with the punctuation, grammar, and word choice to clear up any syntactical disasters or contradictions.  When you're done, put the two drafts side by side.  Which do you like better?

Incidentally, this doesn't just have to be a tool for radical revision; you can also use this as an invention exercise and produce a whole new piece, inspired by a certain line or imaginative leap you might not have otherwise made.

To show you what I mean, I'll break the cardinal rule and demonstrate this with one of my own poems (The Birthdays of Ex-Lovers, from my third book, Damnatio Memoriae).

The Original...

The Birthdays of Ex-Lovers

 How they pinball through the mind
like the combinations of outgrown lockers,
a mishmash of Virgos and Cancers

on whose soft favor we once depended --
useless now like the few syllables
bored in from foreign language classes,

the equations of elementary physics
they swore we must memorize
if we held any hope for future happiness.

But no — the world knuckles along
whether we remember or not,
hauling everyone for whom the heart once

flounced like a broadsided schooner,
for whom we raised mythologies
all sin-sweet, proud as a dead religion.


Stage 2 (reversing the lines but preserving all the formatting, which at first looks like narrative gibberish)

The Birthdays of Ex-Lovers

All sin-sweet, proud as a dead religion.
For whom we raised mythologies
flounced like a broadsided schooner,

hauling everyone for whom the heart once
whether we remember or not,
But no--the world knuckles along

if we held any hope of future happiness.
they swore we must memorize
the equations of elementary physics

bored in from foreign language classes,
useless now like the few syllables
on whose soft favor we once depended--

a mishmash of Virgos and Cancers
like the combinations of outgrown lockers,
How they pinball through the mind


Stage 3 (tinker with punctuation, capitalization, and syntax, maybe adding or cutting a word here and there to help it make sense)



The Birthdays of Ex-Lovers

All sin-sweet, proud as a dead religion
for whom we raised mythologies
that flounced like broadsided schooners,

hauling everyone for whom the heart,
whether we remember it or not,
once knuckled along as the world does.

If we held any hope of future happiness,
they swore we must memorize
the equations of elementary physics

and all those foreign verb conjugations,
useless now like the few syllables
on whose soft favor we once depended.

A mishmash of Virgos and Cancers
like the combinations of outgrown lockers--
how they pinball through the mind.


Overall, I find myself liking different elements in each of the two versions and if I hadn't already published the original, I might be hard-pressed to choose one over the other (which is a good problem to have).  In the original, I like the pacing and beginning a bit better.  In the reimagined version, I like the turn of it being our mythologies (instead of our hearts) that do the flouncing, as well as the ambiguity of what those "few syllables" actually are.

Try this with your own poems and see what you come up with!