A Strict Beauty: The Corset of Form in Poetry

Do you cringe at the thought of writing poetry in strict form? I'll admit, I used to.

In some of my MFA workshops at Spalding University, it became a running joke that as newer poets, we would groan when Jeanie Thompson, Maureen Morehead, or Debra Kang Dean would read a piece and say, "This wants to be a sonnet...". We were quite certain our poems did not want to be sonnets. In fact, we did not care what our poems wanted to be when they grew up - like parents staunchly defending their children against a theater arts major, we defended ourselves from having to work in form. Form was scary. Form was restrictive. Form was draconian, and stifled our untrained free verse sensibilities. Mostly, though, form was difficult. We complained our way through rhyme schemes and meter. We wrestled out wordy verse into the tight corset of form.

And sometimes we surprised ourselves, and a sloppy, slovenly slattern of a poem became quite beautiful.

After a few years of study, many years of reading, and finding the open-mindedness that comes with both exposure to and practice of a new thing, I have reached a delicate balance with formal poetry structures. I had the good fortune to attend lectures and a workshop by renowned sonneteer Molly Peacock, who is not only a poet of great talent, but a lecturer who engages with the material in such a way that strict form seems approachable - in light of her discussions, formal poetry becomes the whalebone and strict seaming of fine clothes, as opposed to the rusted chains and straitjacket many fear.

To me, working in form almost always feels like work. On the other hand, there is work I love, and work I despise - my approach is to ensure that I walk into a poem open-minded. Nearly all of my first drafts begin free-form, free verse, no meter or rhyme (aside from the occasional slant-rhyme), and no real structure. I am what I would call, out of the gate, a lazy poet. After whatever inspiration I've had is out on paper, I look at it the way a craftsman might look at a piece of wood, and form is one of the tools I have to shape it. I think about the subject matter and flow, about where the line breaks should happen, and tone. And I think about form. Could it be a sonnet? Is there a turn in there? Is it an echo-ey sort of poem, that could do with a repetition-form like a villanelle or sestina? Is it an overly emotional piece, and do I need the container of form to give me some structure, so that i am not simply vomiting onto a page? Poet Helen Rickerby notes: "Sexton said she liked to use strict rhyme schemes, particularly in her early work, as a way of containing the strong emotion. The harder something was to write about, the more restrictive the scheme."

As I mature in the craft of writing, I have a greater appreciation of form. I highly respect poets who gravitate toward strict form for their work, because it takes quite a bit of discipline (and I am prone to admire folks who make what I find difficult look easy), and there is a special beauty to a poem that is crafted well. I am not scared of form, and cannot articulate why I was - form is a guideline, a structure, not a thing of snapping metal teeth. When I run up against a wall with a topic, or find myself in need of a prompt, I often turn to different forms so I can experiment and see what happens. I've even gotten lucky a few times - I've had sonnets placed in Sixty-Six: The Journal of Sonnet Studies and a handful of other journals.

Now when I think of form, I think of a corset. It may make it a bit more difficult to breathe when you wear one, and perhaps harder to sit down comfortably. However, it improves the posture, it positions the bosom to advantage, and when properly fitted, can be a beautiful addition to your wardrobe.

If you are interested in learning more about forms and finding an encyclopedia of forms which you can read and use as a basis for practice, I highly recommend The Making of a Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms as a comprehensive, encyclopedic guide, and A Kick in the Head: An Everyday Guide to Poetic Forms as a more informal introduction to the topic.

Why Beautiful Covers and Good Books Are Like Potato Chips

The Kentucky Vein is getting even closer to being on shelves and in hands! My cover designer, Julie, has done a gorgeous job with some photos by Kentucky native and excellent photographer (and former student employee of mine), Erik Tuttle.

Right now I'm cooing over Julie's designs as I try to decide which I like better, and finding it difficult to choose just one - sort of like potato chips, only not as fattening, and far more compelling.

Another way book covers are like potato chips: it's rare that they're shared. (What? Am I the only greedy lout around?) In this case, I got lucky with some very generous folks. Punkin House Press (namely Amy, who has been my primary contact for big things; Cheryl, editor and fixerof-things for the text; and Julie, my designer for the cover) has solicited my input in a number of ways. I have heard stories from established poets that an unknown writer should not expect to get any input on anything regarding their book's cover, and changes to the text are mandated rather than requested. My experience has been quite the opposite - everything has been a conversation, I feel like my opinions and input have mattered at every point along this book's journey, and that in addition to writing the book, the rest of the work that goes into making text into a book has my name somewhere in it as well. (Given that it would be much easier for the Punkin team to just do as they wanted to speed things along and avoid any possible disagreements, it really is a testament to how this press treats their authors.)

So, Punkin is the type of place where they share their potato chips. For a fluffy lady like me, it is one more sign among many that this is the right place for my work.

Okay, so admittedly the potato chip metaphor is a little bit of a stretch. On the other hand, I do hope when you read through The Kentucky Vein, you find that you can't stop at one, and want to re-read it again and again. (With potato chips, if you like.) It's coming soon...are you ready for your copy?

Starting the Year With Short Stories

2010 went out with a roar, leaving me happily stranded in New York with the opportunity to spend another few days with family. 2011 has started with the same white roar, as I'm moving in to Day 2 of Snowpocalypse Chattanooga. The university is closed, and I am ignoring work I should be getting done in favor of lounging on my couch with hot cocoa, writing like a madwoman.

I know it would be wrong to wish for a two-month blizzard just so I can get some concentrated writing done...but I'm tempted.

Surprising myself, I sat down to wrestle some new poems into the world, and instead have two brand new short stories. They're very short for short stories - probably closer to flash - one at just over 1,000 words ("The Reader"), and the other just under 2,000 ("Stacked"). I could probably harangue them into longer form, but I like them in their current spare forms. I think I'm going to send them out for critique and maybe to a few lit mags, see if they gain any traction, and hope that these seeds grow into a short story collection.

But for now, while the snow is still making my parking lot look beautiful, I'm going to ignore my looming responsibilities a little while longer and write some more.

On Writing Reading

While I usually use this space to talk about writing, reading is nearly as important to my identity as a writer. Many writers I admire claim the same, and I think it is something, as readers and writers alike, that we should think about more often.

I am a voracious reader. I can't tell you how many nights I've chosen a book over sleep, and that started before I turned ten years old. I blame - or, rather, credit - my mother, who always loved books and their inner-worlds, and taught me a love for them early. For me, writing and reading are inextricably linked. As I read, I often jot down notes, and as I write, if I find myself blocked, I'll take a break and read a bit.

In an attempt to keep track of my reading habits (and, selfishly, to see how much I was really reading per year), at the beginning of 2010 I started a reading diary on Tumblr. It's essentially a quickie log of all the books I've read for the year, and a brief thumbs up or down. If you take the time to scan through, you'll find my reading tastes are all over the map - lots of paranormal romance, psychological thrillers, murder mysteries, horror, poetry. Books on librarianship, education, and the craft of writing. The list is as scattered as my interests, and I often forget to list one here and there. I like to think of it as a sort of "grade deflation," if you will. In any case, it's a very interesting exercise, and I recommend it. Without keeping such a log, I wouldn't be able to tell you that I'm up to more than 111 books read in 2010. The holidays hold a bit of travel for me, so I imagine I'll make it closer to 120 before 2010 is officially nailed into its coffin. While I tend to read in clumps, particularly holidays and weekends, it averages to about one book every 3 days.

Am I afraid what I read affects my writing? Yes and no. "Afraid" isn't really the right word - I think we are influenced by everything we read, see, hear and do. I think some things - and some writers - will affect us more than others depending on our tastes and histories. I know I am influenced by my reading in terms of how I write, what I write about, and how I think about writing, sound, line breaks, and more. My forthcoming collection, The Kentucky Vein, was inspired by my reading Ray Gonzalez, Maurice Manning, and a handful of others. There's much less of an obvious influence in my previous collections, but if I look closely at those, I can see Louise Gluck, Janice Harrington, Kim Addonizio, Lucille Clifton, Richard Hugo and others peeking through at me. If you read them, you may see others.

I've heard that many writing students balk at reading because they want to be original, they don't want some echo of a former writer to show up in their work. I believe that choosing to be poorly read is the same thing as choosing ignorance; being willfully un-knowledged. I would recommend instead that writers read as broadly as possible, and be influenced by as many as possible. As a writer, become aware of which writers you like, and try to articulate why it is you prefer them. After much reading and some studying with great writers, I can tell you that while I don;t prefer his storytelling overmuch, I like the mouthfeel of Richard Hugo and the way he plays with syllables, sounds and wordshapes in his poems. I get caught easily by good wavelike rhythms, like those used by T. S. Eliot and Lucille Clifton. I like the strong female protagonists and the harsher staccato rhythms in Kim Addonizio's work, I like much of the persona work done by Ai, and I prefer the storytelling of Louise Gluck and Natasha Trethewey. I love Kipling for his wit and humor, and Whitman for his exuberance and lack of restraint. I admire the gemlike precision and clarity of Czeslaw Milosz. I could go on forever, but the point is that I don't fear the influence of these writers...I pray for it. I hope that delving into the qualities of their work that attract me so much will help me hone those qualities in my own writing. Being able to recognize excellence is a precursor to training yourself to create it yourself, or to at least recognize when you are hitting the sweet spot with your pen!

How can you decide what you like in literature and writing, or more importantly, why you like it, unless you've exposed yourself to different flavors? The lovely poet and non-fiction writer Molly Peacock gave a lecture on "Literary Aunts & Uncles" when I attended Spalding University for my MFA. Essentially, she noted that reading other writers allows us to place ourselves in a particular tradition. If you are a writer, read widely and joyfully. Discover who your literary ancestors are. Read in your genre so you can place yourself (and also appear to be not a complete self-absorbed ass if someone asks you about your craft, heh heh). Read outside your genre for fun, for the brain-break it creates,and to connect with other writers and to identify the difficulties of their craft. (For instance, I am always amazed and impressed at the stamina of writers who work in long-forms, such as fiction novels and biographies. As a poet, I can make a transition by putting a new poem on the next page, whereas they have much more work to make leaps between subjects, areas, and characters happen.)

And if you are already a reader: as a writer, I say thank you. Your willingness to explore other worlds and give my words a chance keeps me going. Keep turning those pages!

Genres Like Potato Chips: Can't Choose Just One

I've been quite taken with experimenting with genres outside my training in poetry lately, and am surprised at how well that other-writing is going. My essay "Of Blue Collars and Electrical Tape" appears in the latest issue of The Sequoya Review. An edited version of the essay is included in the last section of The Kentucky Vein, forthcoming from Punkin House Press. There are a handful of essays in that collection (forthcoming sometime in mid-2011, Punkin & I will let you know when!), and I found working in essay form to be very interesting. A little bit more sloppy than my poetry, maybe, since poems have to be far more distilled, the essays more closely resemble my stream of consciousness. They're more conversation-like, somehow. (Perhaps a bit like my blog posts.) Of course, all of my academic and craft training is in poetry, so if you find the essays terrible or insufferable, the blame is all mine.

I also just got word from Kara, the editor at Midnight Screaming, that my short-short story "A Hound That Does Not Hunt" has been accepted for the January issue. My first-ever fiction placement! It's around 1800 words, a creepy (I hope) little vignette about how close we are to our beloved pets...and how close they might still be to wild animals with the need to kill. As a lifelong Stephen King fan, and a regular consumer of the horror/terror/paranormal genre, I am absolutely *tickled* to have placed that little piece!

And so, I'm back to thinking about genre-breaking, and wondering how often we as writers take advantage of the different word-containers available to us. I know some of the writers I admire most (Molly Peacock, Robert Bly, Phil Deaver, Frederick Smock, and many others) dabble in a bit of this, a bit of that, whether they combine their poetry with creative nonfiction, fiction, translation, or some other type of writing, some other type of brain-bending around language. Occasionally I feel guilty for mucking about in not-poetry, as though I am cheating my genre of time and effort. But really, sometimes I need something different. Something to cleanse the palate. Not all stories can be told the same way...the way just because soup is food does not mean it can be eaten from the same plate or with a fork and knife like a ribeye.

I'm happy to have found editors willing to indulge my dabbling with different forms, willing to offer me a piece of their audience to try my hand on. I'm happy to have multiple arenas to toss my creative energy into, hoping something takes good shape and survives. And I hope other writers don't limit themselves to whatever original writer label they slapped onto themselves. There's a whole universe of forms out there. Test them. Test yourself.

Pushcart Nomination! "When You Came Home From the War"

I woke up this morning to an email from Colin, editor of Lamplighter Review, informing me that I'm one of the authors chosen to receive a Pushcart nomination for this year for my poem "When You Came Home From the War."

When You Came Home From The War

your body was a war-torn city.
We rubbed against each other
and it sounded like violins scowling.
We loved like October maples scream
and we loved like kudzu, overtaking all things.
We were lovers because there was nothing else
we could think to do with our bodies
but burn them.

I am excited - this poem is one of my favorites, and appears in These Terrible Sacraments.

I was honored to be a nominee for the Pushcart Prize for the last round - it's heady company to be in, and given the quality of what was in the collection this year, I don't envy the judges their task. Well, I do envy their getting to read all that excellent work, but trimming it down must be quite difficult. I didn't make it past the nomination last year, but I'm crossing my fingers for this new round. Congratulations and best of luck to all the nominees for this year!

These Terrible Sacraments is Available from Bellowing Ark!

These Terrible Sacraments is available now from Bellowing Ark Press! Please go check it out - the cover is a beautiful glossy thanks to the dedication of my editor, and (if I do say so myself), I hope you find it to be a powerful collection. The poems reflect the impact of war not only on a soldier, but on his family and loved ones, and I hope the book finds a wide, interested, and compassionate audience. If you are feeling extra generous this holiday, order a copy.

It's important to remember those who voluntary place themselves in harm's way to serve a greater good, and their families who do without them. Thank a serviceperson as you travel this holiday season, and remember - you may be grumpy due to crowds and long lines, but the reality of a soldier's life abroad is much more difficult than that...and they don't get to complain. Remember to ask yourself what you are grateful for. As I say in the dedication of the book, to my brother Patrick (USMC), I am grateful he came home safe. I hope all our other men and women serving are as blessed.