Vision: A Resource f

 Lazette Gifford
Publisher & Editor
zette@cableone.net

 

Punch up your Prose with Poetry

By Lisa Janice Cohen
© 2005,
Lisa Janice Cohen


“What do you write?”

“Poetry.”

“Oh.”

And the conversation typically stops.  On the rare occasions when it continues, it is usually with some comment about how the other person hates poetry, hated learning about poetry in grammar school, or can’t write poetry to save his or her life.

I am a poet.  Now cringe and get it out of your system.  Next, exorcise all the demons about poetry education in the school system and some quasi mystical connection your language arts teacher had with a long dead poet whereby the teacher had secret knowledge of what the poem means.

Take a deep breath.  Good.  Here’s a little secret:  writing poetry will improve your prose.

What is poetry?

When I teach poetry workshop with children, I tell them that poetry is the frozen orange juice concentrate of language.  It’s the ‘POW’ and the pucker before you put the water in.  Distill language into its essence and you have poetry.

If you analyze your prose from a poetry perspective, you will more easily see where your language falls flat.  The techniques that enliven poetry will work wonders on your prose.

Three steps to livelier language:

1.  Use verbs.  Strong verbs.

Verbs literally move language forward.  Adjectives and adverbs stall language.  Look at the difference between these two phrases:

           

The raptor’s shadow stretches over a frightened rabbit on the stubbled field.

A rabbit freezes when the raptor's shadow stretches over a stubbled field.

In the first example, ‘frightened rabbit’ uses an adjective to tell the reader what is happening.  In the second, the ‘rabbit freezes’.  The verb shows how the rabbit reacts.  The reader knows there is fear.

Here is my final version, with line breaks:

A rabbit freezes.

The raptor's shadow

darkens a stubbled field.

(from “The Healing”)

In this case, ‘darkens’ is a stronger verb than ‘stretches’ for the action of the raptor’s wings.  Ruthlessly eliminate any forms of the verb ‘to be’ (am is was were are) in your poetry.  Try to be diligent in limiting its use in prose. 

2.  Make unusual comparisons.

There are three main ways to include unusual comparisons in your writing:  simile, metaphor, and personification. 

Simile—comparison of two things using like or as.

I revel in long winter walks,

study lessons written by animal tracks

like hieroglyphs in snow.

(from “The Healing”)

 Metaphor—comparison of two things without using like or as

The male, the color of a child's

valentine against fresh snow, tucks

a single black sunflower seed

inside an orange beak.

(from “Love Notes of a Backyard Naturalist”)

Personification—giving living characteristics to non living things and or human characteristics to non-human things.

Its brambles snagged

my winter scarf, scratched

nail marks along the flank

of my car.

(from “Early Morning Berries”)

3. Engage all the senses in your descriptions

Don’t limit yourself to visual description.  Even though we obtain the vast majority of our sensory data through the eyes, remember that senses like smell and touch are linked by strong connections to the limbic system in the brain which ties into memory.  These senses can evoke powerful responses in your reader.

For two weeks

I let the sharp sweetness implode

on my blue tongue, stain careful

fingers.

(from “Early Morning Berries”)

 

A light

breeze lifts damp feathers, breathes

through my hair, brushes the invisible

down of my son's arms.

(from “Summer Requiem”)

 

A hot wind roils the curtains.   Behind

the scent of jasmine, the acrid

residue of smoke.

(from “The Price of Memory”)

 

The Revision Process

When I teach the process of revision for poetry, I ask students to mark every line:  underline the verbs, circle the comparisons, and star where there are sensory-rich descriptions.  If after completing the process, there are lines with little or nothing marked, you have an opportunity to enliven the work.  This can be a powerful tool in evaluating your prose.

So even if you run screaming from the thought of poetry, try some of the poetic tools at your disposal.  Poetry promotes punchier prose.  I promise.  

PS:  Extra brownie points to readers who can define alliteration, consonance, and assonance and can find examples of each in this article.   

Original poems used in this article:

The Healing

You knelt on the trail,

hands cradling my head

while I worried about you

worrying about me.  The fear

came later. 

A rabbit freezes.

The raptor's shadow

darkens a stubbled field.

They arrived quickly,

but I could see your eyes

marking the moments between

steep slope, sled, and ambulance.

Sometimes the falcon

fails, hunger

his only prize.

The patrol moved carefully,

bundling me in a rigid papoose.

Later, you told me you winced

with each turn and bump,

but I welcomed the pain.

The danger passes.

The rabbit quivers

and returns to feed.

The x-ray tech

joked with me

until the films emerged,

damage stark silver

against the black.

Five years later,

I revel in long winter walks,

study lessons written by animal tracks

like hieroglyphs in snow.

 

Love Notes of a Backyard Naturalist

The cardinals will not mate

until early spring, but today

I tell you about the pair in our yard.

The male, the color of a child's

valentine against fresh snow, tucks

a single black sunflower seed

inside an orange beak. He swoops

between the base of the feeder

and the hedge that hides his shy wife

to gift her with one morsel at a time.

When the babies hatch, he will feed

them also.  February is far too cold

for eggs and she will not construct her nest

until the sun lingers late in the sky.

Like the cardinals, we mate for life.

When the boys are asleep, you crush

fresh berries on my tongue.

 

Early Morning Berries

Its brambles snagged

my winter scarf, scratched

nail marks along the flank

of my car. Etched tattoos

on bare limbs of the unwary. It grew

tangled and dark in the driveway

that separated our houses; untamed,

unrepentant. Hard black knots

swelled in the spaces between thorns.

We waited: Sparrows and starlings,

blue jays, crows. Me with my cereal bowl,

milk in a glass bottle. For two weeks

I let the sharp sweetness implode

on my blue tongue, stain careful

fingers. I flew south

searching for more exotic fruit,

found papaya and banana, learned

to eat fried plantains

with red beans and rice.

But the tang of blackberries

lingered on my lips, teased me home.

 

Summer Requiem

I hold the body in cupped hands, 

nascent wings tightly folded

along its scrawny torso.  A light

breeze lifts damp feathers, breathes

through my hair, brushes the invisible

down of my son's arms.  He wants

to touch its beak, straighten

the twisted neck.  We hear birds

call from the maples that join

their hands above our heads. 

In this green cathedral, my son

hums a half-forgotten lullabye.

 

The Price of memory

They whisper across the small bed,

brown leathered hands clasped. 

A hot wind roils the curtains.   Behind

the scent of jasmine, the acrid

residue of smoke.  In a room

bright with pop-star posters,

a daughter strains to hear the cadence

of the past, the sing-song rhythms--

the language she only understands

in the space between wakefulness

and sleep.  She clings to her pillow,

tries to put a name to what's been

lost. But her tongue was never taught

to shape the sounds of bitterness.

So many conversations broken

by the silence of denial.

She picks her way carefully;

speaks in perfect imitation

of her American schoolmates,

watches her parent's amber eyes

fill with longing and quiet pride.   

(all poems by Lisa Janice Cohen)

ljcblue@aol.com

www.bluemusepoetry.com