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The Power of FormSometimes writers think that if there were no rules, writing would be easier! And to be sure, having limitless freedom to ramble about on paper (or computer screen) does seem appealing. However, if a person really wants to get somewhere, rambling about is not useful. He must have a destination and a way to get to it safely and efficiently. When the somewhere a writer wants to get to is a reader's heart and mind, following a map is a good idea. In poetry, maps are called forms. A sonnet is a form. A haiku is a form. A sestina is a form. Even—yes, it's true!—free verse is a form. Many people think that free verse is poetry without a form. But rather, free verse is poetry with an invented form. Think of it like this: someone who takes a bouquet of flowers and arranges them in a vase is like a poet who takes ideas, sounds, and meanings and arranges them in a form. Free verse writing, then, is first having to make the vase, and then arranging the flowers. Instead of being less work, good free verse is usually more work. Good free verse, in short, draws on all the skills that the poet has learned. The serious free verse poet has studied all the forms. He understands, for example, how to break lines intelligently. For instance, he knows from reading John Keats's ode "To Autumn," that a line break can be just as poetic and essential as a fine rhyme scheme. Notice how Keats carefully balances and breaks the lines here to underscore the sensation of someone's crossing a stream precariously: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep A good writer remembers what he has learned from Keats, even when he is not writing an ode (yet another form). All good poetry teaches how to write good poetry. The wise writer will not settle on one form--because he likes it or thinks he can be good at it--and so never try to gather skills from other forms. Getting acquainted with many poems makes him very good at reading maps, and even at making his own. Regular forms, like sonnets and haikus, make demands on the writer. But they also do part of the work for him. They help him draw out the meaning of his ideas and make it clear for others. And that is the whole purpose of poetry, or any writing: to make a message meaningful and memorable to the reader. It is no good at all for a poet to say, "Well, it means something to me. I like it." Such a view is not only self-centered, it is also limiting. If one wants to write, surely he wants to be read. And if he wants to be read, surely he wants to get paid. Neither of those results is likely to happen for the writer who writes to please only himself. So, to gain some skills for all kinds of poetry, let's try working with a technique called anaphora. "Anaphora" comes from Greek word parts that mean "carrying back." It is a method in which many of a poem's lines begin with the same word or phrase. It is one of the world’s oldest poetic techniques. You have probably already noticed it used in the Psalms. 1 Give unto the LORD, O ye mighty, give unto the LORD glory and strength. Anaphora has shown up in non-poetic places too. Winston Churchill's famous plea for steadfastness to fighting the enemy in World War II makes good use of anaphora: "We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender." Why do you think Churchill repeats "we shall" throughout this speech? Repeating "we" shows that unity is needed; everyone must be part of the struggle. "Shall" is a forward-looking word; it gives hope for victory. The speech stirred and encouraged millions of war-weary people to keep on defending their homes. And it worked. Looking for More Articles? | |||
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