Sunday, December 28, 2008

Poyms

I decided pretty early on in life that there were a few words in the English language that had gone slightly wrong and needed a bit of help. WREN was one of them. Stupid spelling, I thought, of a bird which is quite clearly should be known as a WERN. And POEM. What kind of a word what that? There was no way I was ever going to pronounce it as POH-EM . Surely a better pronunciation was POYM, and that was how I was going to say it, so there.

I finally gave way on the WERN when I found out that you said it out loud as REN. But POYM I have stuck with, doggedly, through much teasing, and I don't care.

I was asked yesterday about the poem that I put on my blog: how can you tell that's a poem and not just bits of prose chopped up?

Good question, I thought. Then I started thinking - - well, what is a poem, as opposed to verse, and what is a poem, as opposed to prose?

At school, too many of us were bored nearly to death by poetry. "Oh, give us double maths instead!" we cried (oh, okay, that's probably exaggerating a bit) "for I shall die if I have to look at one more line written by Alexander Pope!"

I don't know what they thought they were trying to teach when they plonked all those dreary old classics in front of us - - but it certainly wasn't to love poetry. You had to look up one word in three and that wasn't likely to inspire us in any way "and this is a satire on the Foreign Minister of the day" - - - "OH, GIVE ME DOUBLE MATHS INSTEAD!"

So what makes something a poem, instead of prose?

To me, each new line should move it forward, should have a new thought, a new idea. Rather than making it harder to understand, the layout should make it easier.

Here's my perfect example:

There was a young girl from Australia
Who went to a dance as a dahlia
But the petals revealed
What they should have concealed
And the dance - as a dance - was a failure

Now, I would say that's verse rather than poetry - to me a poem has to have something a bit deeper to it - but each line moves it on beautifully, to the punchline at the end. Also, to me, ideally the words of a poem should have rhythm.

I like rhyme, too, though it's not vital - - but it has a comforting, soothing quality and can also be very funny. I hate it when writers will twist anything round to get a rhyme, though - to me anything that has a line like "the birds did sing" is really bad writing.

And a poem should be somehow greater than the sum of its parts - - that particular combination of words, of rhythm, of rhyme should immediately either suggest something to you that makes you go "oh, I never thought of that" or "oh YES, that's just what a summer's afternoon feels like" or it takes you straight to a certain feeling.

We think poetry can be "difficult" - but it shouldn't be and I hate it when poets write just to show off how clever they are. The best poetry should take you straight there - to wherever the poet was wanting to take you.

And, to be fair, that's probably what old Alexander Pope's writing did in the eighteenth century - it's just that because he was writing about topical stuff it's not relevant now. It'd be like showing some of the great Spitting Image episodes which we loved so much to a modern eighteen-year-old: they wouldn't have a clue who many of the characters were.

I think it's a terrible shame that so many of us had such a dull experience of poetry at school and I do think that the teaching of poetry - and the poems that are chosen - have improved since then. But it's true that poems do arouse strong feelings - and it's possible to recognise that something's a good poem, and still hate it: or to know that it's not very good, and still love it.

4 Comments:

Blogger Grumpy Old Ken said...

Blimey, that's a bit serious for late December. Good though. When I taught I tried not to lay the law down too much re poetry and in the main we enjoyed ourselves, both me and the kids.Some teachers were so obsessed with their own cleverness they forgot poetry was there to be enjoyed.( I should of course write the children and I but I also abhore pomposity.)

11:18 am  
Blogger rhymeswithplague said...

Daphne, with fear and trembling I invite you over to my blog to read and perhaps comment on a poem of mine called "The Writer." It's embedded in my post of December 26, "Of hymns and trees and grandfather clocks" and I apologize (U.K., apologise) in advance if you find the trip was not worth the effort.

2:43 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wilfred Owen is one of my favourites. Also WH Auden. Who cannot fail to be moved by:

'Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone'

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

8:37 am  
Blogger Daphne said...

Ken - I totally agree with you and I bet the kids got a lot from the lessons.
RWP - thank you!
Milo - I like Wilfred Owen too and I love the WH Auden poem - very moving.

10:56 pm  

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