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If this is what you consider your weakness (rambling) then the haiku may be what you need for own disciipline.hmmnmm said:Now of late I've wondered about actually looking into the discipline of form....
I'm leaning towards the haiku, mainly because of what seems to be something of an enforced brevity (since I do have a rambling tendency).
twelveoone said:If this is what you consider your weakness (rambling) then the haiku may be what you need for own disciipline.
My advice is to ignore form. Forms may be the biggest trap a novice falls into.
twelveoone said:. . . My advice is to ignore form. Forms may be the biggest trap a novice falls into. . .
TheRainMan said:a novice poet will never receive better advice than that.
miss you, number man.![]()
unpredictablebijou said:Disagree. Thoroughly. Fiercely.
In fact, sweetest, with the deepest and most sincere affection, I will go so far as to say, Screw that.
Form is playing your scales. Working in established forms makes you limber and flexible. Form teaches discipline and fluency within the mind.
Now, you don't necessarily get up in front of your concert audience and play your arpeggios and scales and finger exercises for them. But without that practice, you will not do nearly as well in concert.
More to the point, the grail of a poet should be to use form in a way that it is completely unnoticeable. The point of form is to shape a poem, not warp its natural shape, to give it rhythm and mastery, not to get in the way of the message. How can one learn the true skill of disorder unless one is willing to become fluent within order?
Unless you learn some of the rules and practices, the standard ideas of an art form, you will not be able to break them with any real skill. Learning about rhythm, for example, allows you to see how breaking a rhythm affects your tone.
Learning to write in different rhythms - trochees, iambic forms, anapests, - teaches you to effectively use rhythm to communicate an emotion or scene more effectively. It increases your vocabulary and your skills within word choice. Once you do the practice, it comes naturally. When I write, really write, I am not sitting down and saying "okay i believe anapestic hexameter would be good here," but my endless practice, my exercises, inform my rhythm. It comes through.
Learning about meter, line length, the pentameter and the alexandrine and the sestina, teaches the skill of line division and the framing of an idea or phrase within a poem. It teaches control, discipline, efficiency in expression.
One doesn't expect the practice sessions to generate much, but in many cases, I have accidentally landed on a good piece in the middle of my workout, something very much worth keeping. I may keep it in the form, or I may shift it entirely, but within the practices are the seeds of real art.
More to the point, those skills are essential within the editing process. (editing a poem? Gods forbid! you'll ruin my Fabulous Natural Voice!) One may not think in terms of technique within a rough draft, but going back to edit, it should be a very conscious tool. Could the rhythm of this line be more effective for the scene I'm trying to set? Would using some alliteration or sibillance make this more vivid? Am I just one word, one shifted rhythm, away from the perfect line?
Without the scales we play in private, the music won't be as good.
Haiku does not teach form. Haiku teaches haiku. As such, it is a noble form, and will be excellent for learning brevity if one tends to ramble. But many forms require similar brevity and precision. Allow me to recommend my personal bible: Babette Deutch's Dictionary of Poetic Terms. Use it. Read it cover to cover. Create an altar to it. There are many others just as good; that's just my personal favorite.
Deutch's definition of poetry has been a watchword for me for many years: A poem cannot be paraphrased without injury to its meaning." I have taken that to mean that I need to be able to defend every single word choice within a piece.
Until I started playing in the 30/30, I rarely showed my work to anyone before I knew I could do that. That didn't mean it was perfect yet; it meant that I'd paid enough attention to it to make it worth sharing with someone else. Why make someone else do simple editing work that I can get out of the way ahead of time? That way, the message can be the focus rather than the technicalities.
Order and chaos inform one another. Without one, the other is simple, incomplete. Poems need both to work.
and furthermore:
enjambment.
feh. double feh.
bijou
hmmnmm said:The varieties of thought here gives me a boost of optimism, not just with poetry but towards life overall. See, I like this take on the matter. I would also say the words come first, but again, I am ignorant of formal forms. Maybe I would scratch out a rambling paragraph or two, maybe the way a couple birds fluttered on the bushes. And then maybe if I knew forms, I'd see where it could be worked into a insert form here
I guess I see the worth of both ends of the spectrum - and if I could learn a little on the one end, and then be able to come back towards the middle, freely I might add, that'd be okay. Or even if no form is ever really mastered, at least work some brain muscles and then apply it elsewhere? Just wondering.
The scales analogy was really good. Being a half-assed guitar player myself, the scales/form connection came to mind. And I'll say they can definitely benefit, but I wouldn't likely record a bunch of scales and call it a song. Conversely, I might have a song that where fragments of a scale sprinkled in the right places (?) might add something nice. It's amazing how closely music and poetry correlate (or maybe it isn't amazing). There's so many ways to play the guitar, for instance... I'd speculate that John Lee Hooker didn't have a lot of scale training but on the other hand he spoke with a definitely recognizable style. Probably a weak comparison but it's the first that comes to mind.
Hmmm, had more but forgot...
That should do it for now.![]()
unpredictablebijou said:. . .
Form is playing your scales . . .

TheRainMan said:apples and oranges.
the thread was directed at "novice" poets, not advanced poets.
99% of the novice poets i've seen who begin with rhymed form never get past it.
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unpredictablebijou said:I don't think one has to choose between words and form. And perhaps a bit of clarification of terms might help.
There are "forms" like the sonnet, the sestina, the villanelle. They contain specific rhyme schemes and a specific meter. Meter is the combination of rhythm and line length or syllable count.
There are also poetic techniques. Alliteration, for example, parallel structure, assonance, slant rhyme.
Writing a sonnet, as such, has value as an exercise. Writing within a particular meter also has value. But much of what happens with form happens retroactively, as one works on a draft. You say to yourself, there's a natural rhythm to these lines; they're mostly anapestic, which seems appropriate for the galloping rhythm I'm using in this poem about wanting to seduce Black Shanglan. But here, you notice, is a line that is quite different in meter, right in the middle of a section:
We jump, and clear the shining stream with leagues to spare...
and you say, hm. That's a whole different rhythm. Whether or not you know that it is an iambic septenary doesn't matter; that you notice its nature is what's important. So you ask yourself, in a poem that features that triadic, galloping rhythm, in lines like
...as he rolls underneath me like sinuous waves in a tropical tide
and we ride here in tandem conjoined at the level of muscle and bone...
you ask, well, does the action I'm describing, the jump, merit a shift in meter? Does it communicate the way a horse shortens his stride, just before he prepares to clear an obstacle, or for that matter the way a man will shift his rhythm as he approaches climax? And you also notice that there's an internal rhyme created by "tide" and "ride", and you ask yourself: self? Is that a distraction, or does it actually assist the way the lines roll into each other in a sort of enjambment that echoes the steady stride of a horse?
Ideas, words, always come first. Craft, form, technique, assist in two ways: practicing them makes better words happen in first drafts, and knowing their function makes it easier to create an effective final version.
I should say something cutesy and self-deprecating here like, "that's just my personal very humble opinion" or whatever, but I'm not going to.
again, with all affection,
bijou
Angeline said:. . . Bad (or mediocre) poetry is not improved by ruling out practicing in a major genre of the art . . .

TheRainMan said:i agree with that.
i just don't think novice writers should do it, that's all.good rhymed and/or form poetry is very, very hard to pull off. it's best left to the advanced, i think.
and hi, Princess of Maine. nice shoes.
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Angeline said:It is hard to write, I agree. But how do you improve at it if you don't practice? Everyone needs to start somewhere. I guess I'd also agree that the "worst" bad poetry I ever read is usually rhymed.![]()
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TheRainMan said:apples and oranges.
the thread was directed at "novice" poets, not advanced poets.
99% of the novice poets i've seen who begin with rhymed form never get past it.
![]()

Angeline said:I feel that if someone can't ever get past rhymed verse, they wouldn't necessarily do such a great job with free verse, either. Bad (or mediocre) poetry is not improved by ruling out practicing in a major genre of the art.
wildsweetone said:. . .
best of both worlds? . . .
unpredictablebijou said:In thinking about it, I will add this modification:
Novice poets should never, never do anything with rhyme.
I differentiate that from form, meter, technique and so on.
No rhyming. Until you've written at least 500 pages of something else.
How's that for a concession, Sprinkles?

