Turning the Bad Poem into the Great

16 01 2014

gabbert

Over at The French Exit, Eliza Gabbert critiques Danielle Cadena Deulen’s “The Needle, the Thread,” a poem included in the most recent issue of Crazyhorse.  Gabbert’s critique is multifaceted–from noting grammatical problems to registering that the poem “oozes sentimentality”–however, the heart of Gabbert’s critique, it seems to me, is the poem’s lack of a turn.  Gabbert notes that the poem contains a “pretty flat register of emotion: awe all the way through.”  And, as a result, “there’s no real tension.”  What Gabbert would prefer is more drama; she states, “Give me a big Rilkean ending any day. But in a Rilke poem, you get 13 staid lines about a bust of Apollo before the flushed demand of the ending. There’s a sense of subtlety, a sense of balance.”  Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo,” of course, is famous for presenting a particularly stunning act of turning, of, in the words of M. L. Rosenthal, poetic “torque.”

In her contribution to the “Endless Structures” section of Structure & Surprise, Rachel Zucker discusses “Archaic Torso of Apollo” as a kind of turn that she calls “the Epiphanic structure.”  About poems using this kind of structure, this pattern of turns, Zucker states, “The pleasure in this kind of poem lies in the surprise (an ambush really) of the turn and the following resolution.  The sudden utterance at the end of the poem, sounding very much like a non sequitur, collides with description like a driver running a red light.  Whiplash, double-take, brief confusion ensues, but in this case, almost as soon as confusion registers, the rhetoric of the last line aggressively co-opts the description and defines the entire scene.  What seemed at first a rogue bit of language is suddenly manifested as the essence of the poem.  Dissonance gives way (rather quickly) to a feeling of rightness, of inevitability.”

Sure, some interesting poems don’t turn much at all–consider Ron Padgett’s “Nothing in That Drawer” or Peter Gizzi’s “Protest Song.”  And, of course, it’s a tall order for any poem to approach the strange majesty, the authority, of Rilke’s poem.  And there certainly are ways to value “The Needle, the Thread” outside of its relationship with the turn.  However, it also generally is the case that most successful poems work the way that Randall Jarrell says they do–Jarrell states, “A successful poem starts from one position and ends at a very different one, often a contradictory or opposite one; yet there has been no break in the unity of the poem.”  That is to say, they, as Gabbert notes in the comments section of her post, “surprise.”

*

Danielle Cadena Deulen’s “Corrida de Toros, it seems to me, is a Jarrellian “successful poem”–check it out here.





Super, Smart!

15 11 2013

FULL DISCLOSURE

The wise old
beginner—an applecheeked boy

practically—
born

laughing
into a huge white beard

is a sometime
friend and weird-

ly potent little
notion of mine

when-
ever I feel—that one

too many
lids are closing—

*

Since I don’t know how long, my friend and former student Dan Smart has been posting (at least!) a poem / day on Facebook.  Just at the level of quantity, it’s an impressive project.  What makes the project truly awesome, however, is the quality of the poems–so many sudden revelations and glorious surprises!

As with so many of Dan’s poems, “Full Disclosure” grabbed my attention.  And, as it seemed to me to be a new emblem poem, I thought I’d post it here for fans of the turn.

Many thanks to Dan for granting permission to reprint the poem, and for sharing his daily discoveries over on Facebook.





There’s a Turn There, Too

13 11 2013

 

sneakyhatespiralturn

Turns are everywhere…even, alas, in the all-too-familiar “sneaky hate spiral”





Billy Collins on “The Ride of Poetry”

6 11 2013

alphaomega

I recently read with great interest “The Ride of Poetry: Collins on Metaphor and Movement,” by Billy Collins (in Contemporary American Poetry: Behind the Scenes, edited by Ryan G. Van Cleave (New York: Pearson, 2003), pp. 66-69).  In this essay (a brief afterword to a selection of his poems), Collins discusses his desire for poems to present him an opportunity for “imaginative travel,” to transport him “into new territory.”

Though Collins does not specifically mention the turn in this essay, it’s clear that the turn is implied.  Turns simply are the ways that poems travel.  Collins states, “In teaching or reading poetry, a question I habitually ask my students or myself is how does the poem get from its alpha to its omega.”  And this sounds a great deal like Randall Jarrell, who states (in “Levels and Opposites: Structure in Poetry,” a lecture focused on issues related to the turn), “A successful poem starts from one position and ends at a very different one, often a contradictory or opposite one; yet there has been no break in the unity of the poem.”

Additionally, Collins simply seems to be a fan of the turn.  He employs the turn again and again in his own work.  (Many poems by Collins appear on this blog’s pages devoted to specific kinds of turns, including “Duck/Rabbit” and “Marginalia.”)  And, as an anthologist, Collins tends to select works that feature prominent turns–I don’t think it’s coincidental that the subtitle to Collins’s influential Poetry 180 is “A Turning Back to Poetry.”

Collins’s “The Ride of Poetry” simply further confirms Collins’s interest in, and deep and abiding engagement with, the turn.  Here are some selections from this essay:

“Of the many pleasures that poetry offers, one of the keenest for me is the possibility of imaginative travel, a sudden slip down the rabbit hole.  No other form can spirit the reader away to a new conceptual zone so quickly, often in the mere handful of lines that a lyric poem takes to express itself.  Whenever I begin to read a new poem, I feel packed and ready to go, eager to be lifted into new territory….

“If we view poetry as an affordable–cheap, really–means of transportation, we can see the development of a poem as a series of phases in the journey, each of which has a distinct function.  The opening of the poem is the point of departure; the interior of the poem is the ground that will be simultaneously invented and covered through a series of navigational maneuvers; and the ending of the poem is the unforeseen destination–international arrivals, if you will….I am hardly alone in saying that the poem can act as an imaginative vehicle, a form of transportation to a place unknown.  But I expect my company would thin out if I admitted that I usually fail to experience the deeper, more widely celebrated rewards of poetry, such as spiritual nourishment and empathetic identification, unless the poem has provided me with some kind of ride….

“I do not mean to suggest that poetry is a verbal amusement park (or do I?) but I do hold up as a standard for assessing a poem its ability to carry me to a place that is dramatically different from the place I was when I began to read it.

“To view a poem as a trip means taking into account the methods that give a poem vehicular capability.  It means looking into the way a poet manages to become the poem’s first driver and thus first to know its secret destination.

“In teaching or reading poetry, a question I habitually ask my students or myself is how does the poem get from its alpha to its omega.  Obviously, the question does not apply to the many poems that exhaust themselves crawling in the general direction of beta….”





Peter Meinke’s “The Poet, Trying to Surprise God”

15 10 2013

…is pretty freakin’ good.  Check it out here.





Fortune/Foreword

13 10 2013

fortune

Here is the fortune that is the foreword to pretty much every poem that I love…

I’d simply add, though, that that surprise also could be uproarious, unnerving, devastating, apocalyptic…





Word.

24 09 2013

 

buffam

“On Last Lines,” by Suzanne Buffam.





The Structure and Surprise Blog Turns 100!

23 09 2013

100

…well, kinda.  This is the 100th post on the site, and that’s something.  Here’s a little look back–

The book Structure & Surprise was published in (gulp) 2007.  I launched the Structure & Surprise blog two years later, on February 9, 2009–almost (gulp, again) five years ago.

The blog came about for one main reason: prior to the publication of the book Structure & Surprise, the turn received sporadic attention, and so the main drive behind the book was to make that sporadic attention systematic–the blog has been an extension of that effort.  I’d always thought that the book Structure & Surprise was the beginning, or a next phase, of a conversation–and so the blog became the place where I could continue that conversation.  More specifically, there was material that was left over from the book, material–such as additional supplemental poems–that was useful, but had not been published in the book; there were more structures to discuss than those in the book; I kept coming across resources focused on the turn about which I previously had not known (and, over time, I found that I was creating more and more of my own resources for talks and workshops), and I wanted to share these; and I wanted a space where I could post ideas for teaching the turn, for incorporating the turn into the classroom.

The blog, I think, really does gather together a great deal of disparate work on the turn.  It works to reveal the significant, if sporadic, work that already has been done on the turn, pointing to essays that have addressed the turn–under its various names, including Ciardi’s “fulcrum”Rosenthal’s “torque,” Lazer’s “swerve,” and Ullman’s “center”–in Turned onto Turns: Comments on Structure and even, in The Self-Reflexive Turn, pointing to poems that use the turn self-consciously, identifying its own turn even as the poem is taking it.  It’s also been my great pleasure to publish or republish work by colleagues–such as Bradley Paul and Erin Stalcup–and former students–including Vera MillerEmily Susina, and Anjelica Rodriquez, Stephen Whitfield, Brittany Gonio, and Colleen O’Connor–that resonates with, or even uses, the turn.

Even though the book Structure & Surprise offers a section called “Inspirations, Guides, Exercises,” the blog tries to go that extra step to offer resources and ideas for teachers so that the turn may be brought easily into the classroom.  It is my belief, and my experience in the classroom has proven to me time and again, that the turn is a powerful pedagogical tool, one capable of so much: of showing how a poem is not a statement, but rather an action; of getting students to focus on the effect of the poem, and helping them to revise more efficiently to create greater effect; of offering whole new kinds of exercises for students.  It was my great pleasure to find out that I was not the only one to think this–Scott Wiggerman used the turn to power a workshop he taught, and he was kind enough to let me post some of the work that emerged from that experience.

And the Structure & Surprise blog has spawned one spin-off blog: from blog page Voltage! emerged the new web site Voltage Poetry.  Co-editor Kim Addonizio and I launched this online anthology of poems with great turns in them.  For Voltage Poetry, contributors submitted a poem (by someone else) that they thought had a great turn (or turns) in it, and then they composed a brief reflection on that turning.  Voltage Poetry already has published approximately 75 contributors.

And there’s still more to come.  I have the idea for at least one important new structure to add to the list of New Structures.  Using Mark Halliday’s review of the book, I’ve been meaning to write a consideration of the very self-conscious turning in Tony Hoagland’s Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty–I hope to get to that in the not-too-distant future.  I started a three-part discussion of Keats and turn, but I only got one part in.  Over at Voltage Poetry, we’re planning another round of publication this year, and possibly a print anthology (knock on wood).

And even more: I keep discovering that others are interested in and talking–or have talked–about the turn.  Just in the past few days, I discovered Leslie Ullman’s incredibly interesting takes on the turn.  There certainly are more such documents out in the world.  Or (hopefully) there will be.  And when I find them–or when I’m pointed to them–I’ll post them.

So, if you’ve been a reader of the Structure & Surprise blog, I hope you’ll keep checking back.  If this is a first visit to this blog, I hope you’ll explore, and let me know–via comments or email–what questions or further ideas you may have.  Let’s keep the conversation going–at least for another 100 posts.





Spirals, Centers, and Dark Stars: Leslie Ullman and the Poetic Turn

21 09 2013

ullman

It’s been my great pleasure over the past few days to read more deeply into recent criticism by Leslie Ullman.  Attracted to her essay “A Spiral Walk through the Golden Mean: A Foray into the Structure of Thought & Invention” in the recent issue of The Writer’s Chronicle (46.2 (Oct/Nov 2013)), I also was moved to read her essay “A ‘Dark Star’ Passes through It.”  While neither of these excellent, insightful and adventurous essays focuses solely on the turn, the turn certainly is a major concern of each.

The central subject of “A Spiral Walk” is the application of the Golden Mean to poetry.  However, a key part of this discussion is an extended meditation on the sonnet’s volta, and especially the Petrarchan turn from octave to sestet, a place that Ullman, citing Phillis Levin’s introduction to The Penguin Book of the Sonnet, refers to as “a Golden Mean-related divide.”  Ullman’s analysis includes a discussion of William Stafford’s sonnet “Time,” a poem that includes some radical turning.

In “A ‘Dark Star’…,” Ullman meditates on the poem’s “center,” that is, “a line or group of lines, which reveal the heart of the poem but should not be confused with theme or content. Rather, they are lines with a particular sort of energy, almost always a heightened energy, and one way to identify them is to imagine that when the writer drafted these particular lines, she could feel the force and trajectory of the finished poem even if many details still needed to be worked out—that the poem from that time forward held mystery and  potential completeness for the writer and would indeed be worth finishing.”  While a poem’s center does not necessarily have to be its major turn, very often, it seems, it is.  As Ullman notes, though “[t]he center can occur anywhere in the poem…[and] can be a phrase or a stanza,” the center “also may reveal its energy in the gap between stanzas” (a space where many turns take place).  Ullman also states that the center “can be a moment where the poem’s tension is most palpably enacted, where the poem’s time frames or layers interact simultaneously, where the texture of the poem undergoes significant variation, where the poem contradicts itself, or where the poem seems to quicken and gather itself into a passage that acts as a kind of net.”  This certainly sounds like a turn, and the link between center and turn is quickly solidified when Ullman notes that the center “nearly always…contains a pivot or surprise that gives the whole poem simultaneous light and darkness, hence considerable range.”

If you’re intrigued by the turn, be sure to read these excellent essays by Leslie Ullman, and then read her poems (such as “Consider Desire”), which themselves are full of pivoting surprises–





The Sublime Turn of Kenneth Rexroth’s “On What Planet”

20 07 2013

archambeau

Over at the Samizdat blog, Bob Archambeau offers a perspicacious reading of Kenneth Rexroth’s “On What Planet,” a reading that focuses on the poem’s turns.  It’s a terrific analysis of a terrific poem–check it out here.

There’s a particularly lovely moment when Bob moves to begin discussing the poem’s major turn, and Bob, ready to dive in, says, “There’s so much going on here I hardly know where to start.”   For me, that is (at least) the (initial) power of a great turn–it just bowls you over with its power, its surprise, its radical reconfiguration of everything you’d thought to expect.

A strong critic, Bob, of course, rallies and goes on to say some very smart things about how the turn works in the poem, and what the turn means, especially when considered in the contexts of Romanticism and the sublime.

If you like Bob’s take on Rexroth’s “On What Planet,” be sure to check out his reading of the turns in John Matthias’s “Friendship” over at Voltage Poetry–check it out here.