Is a workshop for you?

Let me introduce Ann Howells, my dear poet friend whose depth of experience makes this post a valuable one!

Bio: Ann Howells’s poetry recently appeared in Borderlands, Calyx, Crannog (Ire), Free State Review, RiverSedge, and Third Wednesday among others. She serves on the board of Dallas Poets Community, a 501-c-3 non-profit, and has edited its journal, Illya’s Honey, since 1999. Her chapbook, Black Crow in Flight, was published by Main Street Rag Publishing (2007). Another chapbook, the Rosebud Diaries, was published in limited edition by Willet Press (2012). She won first in The Legendary’s Bukowski contest in 2011, was a finalist in both NavWorks and Southern Hum contests in 2008, won first in the Southwest Writer’s Club poetry contest in 2006, and was named a “distinguished poet of Dallas” by the Dallas Public Library in 2001. Her work was read on NPR, and she was interviewed on local television in Annapolis, MD. She has been nominated twice for both the Pushcart and Best of the Net.

Picture the writer, an emaciated poet, bent over his desk, working late into the night by the light of a candle stub. He is wrapped in a blanket, but still shivers in his drafty garret room. Granted, our circumstances are likely not so dire, but writing is a solitary pursuit. Other than readings, lectures, and the occasional poetry festival, how can the writer make contacts with and benefit from other writers? Enter, the workshop.

I am, perhaps, a bit biased, as I have workshopped for over twenty years. During that time I have stayed consistently with Dallas Poets Community, but at various times, I have also belonged to two other groups. Each had its advantages and disadvantages. Not every workshop will be a good fit for a particular writer. It is a good idea, when considering a workshop, to visit once or twice (with or without bringing a poem) and take part in discussion. A poet who writes only sonnets might feel uncomfortable in a group where everyone else is writing in free verse; on the other hand, all participants might benefit from the mix. The sonnet writer might find a different type of critique helpful and be able, in return, to teach other participants something about writing in form. Also, if other participants are a bit more accomplished, you may learn from them. If they are less accomplished, you have an opportunity to teach and to view your poems as a reader might. If members are genuinely interested in poetry, offer constructive criticism and avoid ego, the group will work.

Finding a workshop takes a bit of research. You might ask at your local recreation center or public library where poetry workshops often meet. Check bulletin boards. Ask other poets for recommendations. Find a group on-line; there are many. Some have flourished for years. If all else fails, find several like-minded individuals and start your own group. I have heard tales of workshops in which name-dropping and self-aggrandizement seemed the norm and critique was often hurtful. I have never encountered such a group (and suspect they are urban myths). Another complaint about workshops is that, eventually, everyone’s poems begin to sound the same. I suppose that could possibly happen, but I find it hard to imagine a writer so willing to give up his own voice.

Some workshops charge a fee per meeting, some require you to send your work to other members up to several weeks ahead of the workshop. Some groups exist mainly to approve each other’s work and give little critique beyond spelling and grammar. Some have been meeting together for years and will be difficult for a new member to enter.

Let me tell you about my workshop group, Dallas Poets Community. Our group currently has eight to twelve attendees at each workshop, a good number for a two hour workshop. We have a good mix of sexes, ages (we’ve had as young as 16 up to mid-80s) religious preferences, and ethnicities. A wide variety of occupations are represented. Anyone seriously interested in writing good poetry is welcome. Our meetings are open. Those of us who have been with the group a while can generally recognize a poem by another member of the group by the individual voice (which we consider proof that workshopping has not made our writing generic).

We begin critique by having a member do a cold reading of another poet’s work. This allows the poet to really listen to what he has written. It allows him to catch sound patterns and places where his writing does not flow. Then, the poet rereads his work aloud. After that, he remains quiet as the group discusses the poem, trying to answer four questions:

What is happening in the poem?
What is working in the poem?
What is not working in the poem?
Where might the poem be elaborated or expanded?

We make it a point to critique the technique used and never the philosophy behind a particular poem, and we encourage everyone to voice their thoughts, even dissenting opinions. We also offer suggestions for places where the poem might be submitted, and let the poet know of any other poems on a similar topic or in a similar style that he might want to read. At the end of this discussion, the poet may ask any questions he has about the poem that were not answered or request further clarification about points made.

We bring enough copies of our poem for each person to have one on which is can write comments and either keep or return to the poet. A good workshop will allow you to see your work as an editor might see it, encourage thoughtful revision and allow you to develop your own voice. The Dallas Poets Community workshop has been meeting twice monthly for twenty-three years. We have included high school students, college students, retirees, MFAs, PhDs, and even the occasional songwriter. Some have stayed, some have moved away, some have left and returned, and some gone on to other pursuits. I credit the turnover with keeping the group from becoming stale and predictable. That said, currently five of our members have books published by national presses; one has two. Most of the group has work in a variety of small press and university journals.

If you are new to workshopping, keep in mind that your work will be criticized. If you believe revisions alter the original thought and make it inauthentic, workshops are not for you. If you feel compelled to defend every word you’ve written, workshops are not for you. If you keep an open mind and consider changes other suggest, you might benefit from workshopping, but remember, it is your poem and recommendations put forth can be rejected as well as accepted.

Use what you like, ignore the rest.

TIP!

Find Dallas Poetry Community on Facebook or their website:

http://dallaspoetscom.org/index.html

https://www.facebook.com/DallasPoetsCommunity

Writing Prose Poems

Welcome to my prose poem binge! In the last few weeks, I've written most of my poems in paragraphs rather than lines. I start a sentence and just keep on typing, ignoring phrase endings, commas, weighty words – all places where I usually press RETURN. The momentum carries forward like an ocean wave, not breaking until the shore of the final period.  One reward: figuring out which topics lend themselves to prose poems and how to use this form effectively.

Poems that tell a story lend themselves to prose poems.  Makes sense, right?  The difference between fiction and the prose poem, though, is brevity and language play.  Instead of a full story, we usually get a single scene.  Or just an action.  Or one memory.  Also, most sentences contain sensory details, figures of speech, creative turns of phrase, or sound devices.  This is where the "poem" part of "prose poem" earns its name.

Poems with a strong voice make good prose poems.  If a character starts speaking and won't shut up, give her some free rein by letting the line run all the way to the margin and wrap around to the next line.  Create a persona.  Readers enjoy hearing a particular personality express itself -- as long as the language is tight, rings true, and captures interest.

Casual poems benefit from the prose form.  A lined poem seems to announce itself as a serious item, just by its form on the page.  Meanwhile, the prose poem greets us with a familiar wave.  It uses humor, sentence fragments, and slang with nonchalance.  Since a short paragraph doesn't intimidate, you can write one of these in your flip flops.  Just don't forget the basics of strong writing: active verbs, specific nouns, few adjectives, and fewer adverbs.

Sound-rich poems work well in prose.  Try repeating consonants in clusters to create sonic interest.  Do the same with vowels.  Rhythm and momentum make the poem flow or jerk or tumble forward.  Direct that flow with punctuation.  Without the line and white space to control pacing, turn to the period, comma, semi-colon, colon, and dash to speed up and slow down.  Try following a long sentence with a short one.  Like this.  Consider using repetition.  Repeating a word or phrase creates a series of dots for the reader to connect, so it benefits structure as well as sound.  A prose poem is an especially good place to use rhyme because no line endings will draw undue attention to it.

The best way to learn how to write prose poems is to read some.  I enjoy Mary Oliver's.  My own "Guatemala" is a favorite of my readers, which I'm reading below.  Enjoy writing one of your own!

Rhyming Well

This is such a challenge that I often discourage first-timers from trying it.  Sorry to start with a downer, but it's true.

After all, the case against using rhyme in contemporary literary poems is strong.  I've read a good number of serious poems whose rhymes created accidental humor.  Doh!  I've also endured rhyme-machines, masquerading as poems, that wallop me at the end of every line.  Duh-da-duh-da-duh-BAM.  Duh-da-duh-da-duh-WHAM.  In these poems, rhyme bullies every other element, pushing the content around and locking even figures of speech in the bathroom.

But Rhyme can use his power for good.  A well-turned rhyme can take the reader's breath away.  Plus, rhyme is fun to work with.  And for spoken word and slam poetry, you gotta make this bully into a buddy.

Step 1:  Don't WHAM-BAM.  Enjamb!
Enjambment simply means breaking your line in the middle of a phrase rather than at the end.  Shakespeare did it.  You can too.  Here's an example from Sonnet 130.  It's a love poem that makes fun of love poems.  Shakespeare's always goofing around!  Here he talks about his beloved (italics mine):

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight (not done yet!)
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

Here's another example from hip-hop artist, Big Daddy Kane.  This is his response to the fierce competition between rappers (italics mine):

I relieve rappers, just like Tylenol
And they know it, so I don't see why you all (not done yet!)
Try to front, perpetraitin' a stunt
When you know that I'll smoke you up . . .

Notice how enjambment makes the reader wonder how the phrase will end.  That makes the poem less predictable and more fun.  Beginning poets tend to write toward that end rhyme, land on it hard, and stop.  This is "end-stopping."  Instead of all end-stopped lines, lend variety to your poems with enjambment.

Step 2:  Use long words for end rhymes.
A sophisticated rhymer goes beyond those one-syllable thud words.  Instead of great--wait, try ingratiate, calibrate, celebrate.  Happily, the Internet can help.  Click on http://www.rhymezone.com/ for an easy search of 1-, 2-, 3-, 4-, 5-, even 6- and 7- syllable words and phrases.  When I typed in "great," they listed "circumnavigate" and the phrase "physiological state."  They also provide a search for near rhymes, such as laughter--bachelor.  Throw some longer words into the mix; you will sound and be more accomplished.

Step 3: Mesmerize When You Internalize
Poor rhyming words.  :-(  They get stuck out there at the end of the line every time!  Bring them into the middle once in a while.  Called, internal rhyme, this can give a free verse poem some juice.  It gives rhyming poems texture as well.  Here's a line from a poem I'm working on:

"Mom and I surf an escalator wave to the store's second floor where"

It's not an exact rhyme, but it's in there.  Store--floor.  Here's another example from the Academy Award-winning "Lose Yourself" by Eminem:

"All the pain inside amplified by the fact
That I can't get by with my 9 to 5"

He puts the rhymed words back to back.  Inside--amplified.  And he's using our Step 2 technique by using a long word like "amplified."  The point is that you can sprinkle rhymes in for flavor anywhere.


Step 4:  Don't Just Rhyme
Using enjambment, longer words, and internal rhyme will go a long way towards making a strong poem.  But don't let rhyming be the only trick your poem has up its sleeve.  Give it figurative language, interesting word combinations, and a point.  Give it concrete objects and people, sensory details, and voice.  Rhyme can't do it alone.

If you have a favorite poem that uses rhyme well, I hope you'll share it in a Comment.  Meanwhile, happy rhyming!

P.S.  Thinking of checking out some Shakespeare?  This is my favorite edition of the sonnets, loaded with scholarly discussion and dissent.  Original spellings and fonts, with modern font on the facing page.

Revising Your Poem: Four Ladders to the Next Level

So your poem is good.  Clever ending, a few cool metaphors.  Why isn't it getting accepted for publication?  Or making your loved ones dab their eyes and beg for a copy?

Now that I've published over fifty poems in journals and magazines, I'm starting to figure out why certain poems find a home and others sit in my files.  I'm also getting better at turning good poems into great ones.  When I want to polish up a poem, I reach for these four tools:

1) Voice:  Inject the poem with voice, baby!
We tend to start a poem using everyday language, then spruce it up with two or three figures of speech.  I call this the polka dot approach.  The poem is mostly plain with a few spots of color.  For a next-level poem, you want total coverage.  You want every word colorful.  Find places that use language in ordinary ways, then freshen them up with unusual word combinations.  Find places that sound -- let's just say it -- generic.  Punch up the personality.  Say it like only your imagination can.  Would your poem's speaker call clouds gauze or is she more of a cotton ball person?  Look at every blah phrase as a chance to rewrite and inject voice.

2) Adjective jacking:  Take 'em away!
"A bored-looking woman."  This is a phrase from a poem I'm working on this week.  I know it's weak because it makes the reader do all the work of imagining what "bored" looks like.  Instead of the adjective, "bored-looking," I need to use body language, action, or sensory detail.  I could try,

• a slouching woman  (body language)
• a snoring woman  (action)
• the woman rested her chin on one hand and stared into space, seeming to focus on the place where the wall met the ceiling (visual sensory detail)

Find the places in your poem where people or situations are described in one-word adjectives.  Replace these words with crunchier stuff.  Don't say she's obsessive.  Tell us she color-codes her To Do lists.

3) Gift for the Selfish Reader
News flash!  Readers care nothing about your experiences unless those experiences enlighten their own.  Your traumas, your joys, the loved one you lost, the new baby -- none of these are powerful enough on their own to make a great poem.  Maybe a good poem, but not a next-level-er.  What you need is a gift for the selfish reader.  Something for her to take away.  Great literature offers insights into life.  Next-level poems make readers feel that, having read your poem, they must look at life in a new way.  Examine your poem for the take-away.  You can think of this as your poem's mission statement.  You might not write it into the poem directly, but make all the elements of the poem serve this mission.  Decide what you want your poem to convey.  Remember that readers don't want to learn about the poet; they want to learn about themselves.

4) The Knife:  Cut a lot
While I love excess, overflow, and voluptuousness in some places, most poems are just plain flabby.  To make your poem lean and mean, remove throat-clearing openings and spell-it-all-out endings.  We tend to to "ramp up" rather than jump in.  We tend to explain the meaning of our poems to make sure the reader gets it.  Give your readers some credit; no need to hand-hold.  You can also cut "the" in many places.  Cut "of gold," and use "golden."  "Of " is a wordiness alarm!  Get rid of author commentary too -- noise-some parts in the middle that explain stuff.  Let the poem embody the message rather than preach it.  A warning: Don't let the knife cut out the heart of your piece, nor every bit of whimsy or flair.  Whatever adds to the poem should remain.  Whatever obscures your larger intent should go.

OK, writing this post has inspired me to go do something better with that "bored-looking woman."  Wish me luck!  And I wish it for you, too.