Not too long ago, Margaret asked if we should spend some
time talking about ways to critique poems.
I’ve been mulling that idea for a while and have some thoughts on how we
can do this. I want to be clear, though,
about the subject. Given Wednesdays@One
and our goal (to become better writers of poems today than we were yesterday),
we should concentrate on the making
of poems, and, therefore, on poems as made
things, as literary artifacts.
To do that, I am going to use a baseline definition of “poem,”
with a capital P:
A poem is a verbal artifact whose words
are meant to call attention to themselves.
This may sound hifalutin, but it’s a way to distinguish
poems and “the poetic” from other kinds of writing. Where other kinds of writing treat words as
tools or signs for meaning, they are usually thought of as being
transparent—you see through them to the meaning. Poetic language is opaque, and this
opaqueness is the whole point.
Now, what does this mean when it comes to talking about or
critiquing each other’s work?
First, I would ask that we all keep in mind the definition I
use above because it's probably going to be more useful for the practical critique than any theory of poetry. Our first discussion of any
poem should always be about how it foregrounds its own language,
how its arrangement of words calls attention to itself as an arrangement of
words. Sounds easy, but this isn’t
always easy to do!
Beyond this general principle, here are some avenues to a satisfying
critique of any poem we’re likely to encounter at Wednesdays@One:
- Word choice and juxtaposition. We’re pretty good as a group at noting each other’s diction preferences, use of syntax, deployment of modifiers and so on. But also think in terms of the resulting syllabification, of stresses and pauses, from the word choices a writer has made. Does the poem contain clichés, other shopworn language, and can this be justified.
- Tone of voice. In our discussions, certain tones are easy to identify: irony, despair, sorrow, joy, sobriety, humor, friendly, accusatory. Tones are products of emotion. But a more substantive critique might consider how sustained the tone of a poem is, how appropriate it is to the subject, how “believable” it is; whether it is nuanced or boldly displayed.
- Diction. What kinds of diction appear to dominate, e.g., Latinate, colloquial, obsolete, jargon, idiomatic, slang, technical? Is the diction “plain” or “high”?
- Lineation. What line break choices has the writer made? How do these affect the eye, the ear? On what parts of speech do lines most often break? Do lines approximate any breathing, rhythm, cadence, beat, meter? What about prose in poetry? Can a poem be a poem without line breaks? [1]
- Grammar. Think about use of parts of speech: action versus linking verbs, prepositions and prepositional phrases, relative clauses, articles, modifiers. Think about use of appositives, reversed syntax, parenthetical devices, and the like. How much is too much? When is it too much? Why?
- Figurative language. How apparent are the poem’s figures? Do the images appear to be carefully crafted? Do you detect bombast, hyperbole, cliché? Do any of the poem’s figures puzzle you, and if so, why, because they are new and fresh or because they are poorly crafted? Does the poem appear overburdened with fancifulness, e.g., overly clever metaphors or too many metaphors? Are metaphors extended, as in conceits, and if so, do these appear logical, forced, under control?
- Writer-reader relation. This category of inquiry may be new to you as an avenue for critique, but everyone has used it from time to time. Do you feel, when reading a poem, that the poem leads you on from one line to the next, directing your inner eye, ear, or other senses? Do you feel that the poem surprises you by directing your attention or your thoughts someplace other than you thought you were headed? Do you feel like you’re in “good hands,” that is, reading a well-controlled verbal artifact? Do you feel spoken to?
- Unity. Finally, does the poem feel “whole” and “of a piece” when you read or hear it? Does it come off as scattershot, and if so, does this feel deliberate? Does it seem to be self-contained (we might call this the “confidence of the poem”), sure of itself as a verbal artifact? Does it even appear to be self-aware as a verbal artifact, where all of the above is in play and under control of the writer.
What’s implied in every category of inquiry I’ve listed
above is question-asking, which in my experience is the most fruitful method
for helping a writer see and hear her poem as others see and hear it, and for
helping her articulate why she made certain decisions in the writing of the
poem. Your opinion about what makes a
good poem is just that, your opinion, so when you feel the need to offer an
opinion (rather than ask an inquiring question), be aware that opinions are not
insights but biases. When critiquing
your own or another writer’s poems, go for insight—which is always based on
your experience, and the wider that is, the deeper your insight is likely to
be.
Finally, you’ll note I’ve said next to nothing about subject
matter. It used to be that poetry was
the stuff of certain subject matters—life, death, loss, love and the like—and
you can still find these overarching themes cited in book reviews and book
jacket blurbs. But subject matter has
little or nothing to do with the poem as a verbal artifact, as a work of
art. Any subject will do.
[1] Of
course, especially when you define poetry as the deliberate fronting of
language! Finnegan’s Wake is one long
poem—or, if you must, one extended lyrical artifact whose words are as opaque
as the English language can be.
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