Rant ahead, I warn you. A mild rant – but still.
So I took this MOOC – let’s name no names – about poetry. I don’t write poetry, but I greatly admire the skill of compressing meaning into a limited amount of words, structured and highly shimmering. I’ve always yearned to achieve at least a little of that focused effectiveness… And last year, in the spirit of “you won’t know until you try in earnest”, I’ve decided to stop yearning, and try instead. So I took a MOOC – and liked it a good deal. I’m not saying that I wrote good poetry, mind – but exploring the mechanism was absolutely fascinating.
So a few weeks ago, when another poetical MOOC came my way, I decided to repeat the experience – all the more so because it promised to focus on the “craft” aspect of things…
Instead, it turned out to be all rather vague and generic… Oh well, I told myself. It’s the first week, it will go deeper as we proceed, surely? At the end of the week we were given an assignment: we were to write a found poem, and submit it for peer review. So I took bits from a series of billboards and a theatre programme, and arranged them into a found poem, and submitted it…
And the system informed me that it was too short. If I wanted helpful feedback, I needed to write more.
I was baffled – and also a little annoyed: the poem was indeed short, but had a structure and a pattern: was I to wreck or dilute it, to meet a minimum word-count that had not been specified in the first place? I tried to contact the team about this – and when there was no answer whatever, I decided to cheat. I submitted my short poem and added a series of “o”, until the system decided that it was long enough.
And one of my reviewers took this padding for a second, and especially impressive, stanza, but it wasn’t her fault: she expected me to have put it there for a reason – a better reason than “you can’t submit a short poem”… And besides, for this first assignments, we were required to say only “positive things” – so I guess she did what she could.
But then I went on to review other submissions. I reviewed three poems – and not one of them was a found poem, as clearly required. Why, one was even some kind of short story… And because I could only say “positive things”, it was hard to point this out. So, to recap: my found poem would not do (until I cheated) – while the random poems that did not meet the assignment’s requirements were perfectly fine?
All of a sudden, I was twelve again, on the day when our teacher asked us to write a poem about spring… Being a cynical child, I wrote an entirely unsentimental, sarcastic little thing about allergies, sudden downpours and other evils of spring – in rhyming octosyllables. And was told that it was not a real poem, like the ones my classmates had written. Now, most of my classmates had written about the blue sky, the daisies, and the butterflies – with plenty of random line-breaks, and maybe one cliché rhyme thrown in… But those were real poems – while mine was not.
And mind: I’m not saying that either my found poem or my spring doggerel were especially good in any way – but… my own sense of unfairness apart, wouldn’t it be nice if people teaching poetry (whether in college or middle-grade) tried to impress on their pupils that poetry is more than just a matter of random inspiration and weird line breaks?
This is a very well structured post. I agree, the whole point of poetry is the fact that it can twist the rules of grammar and that it’s a person’s most personalised means of communication. To deem it as a specifically hard ruled writing piece designed to the choices of a certain sect of ideals is deceiving the entire morality of poetry and that is downright outrageous.
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Yes – it _can_ twist the rules, but for deliberate reasons, to express meaning in a certain way – not “to make it look like poetry” or out of sloppiness… Because, like all forms of art, poetry has its own kind of discipline. I’ve always imagined poetry as an especially exacting mistress. That said, I believe that no one can rule on what subjects – or what ways of looking at a subject – are acceptable when it comes to poetry.
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In my certainly limited and biased experience, if wannabe novelists can be a bore, wannabe poets can be a royal pain in the backside – they and their frigging Muse.
I find it unsurprising that banality trumps inventiveness when the subject is taught.
As John Gay wrote, “If Poverty be a Title to Poetry, I am sure no-body can dispute mine.” But I know my limits. I don’t do poetry, and I live in happy, un-poetical poverty 😉
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Even at twelve I truly failed to see why unbridled sentimentslity should trump rhyming octosyllables… At a remove, I’m not sure whether my teacher was more appalled at the choice of giving myself a set of formal constrictions or the lack of daisies and blue skies – both of them clear symptoms of a hard heart, I’m sure.
In the end it’s the same old story, isn’t it? The notion that writing should consist of opening your heart and pouring the messy contents on paper…
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A hard heart?!
You mean you still had yours, back then?
(ducks for cover)
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Back then – yes: a very small, very hard one. A few years later I threw it at the head of someone who wanted me to add more sugar in a novel. I gave them a concussion.
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