Narrative Poetry

Narrative Poetry


Poems can essentially be divided into two types: Lyric and narrative. The most obvious difference between the two is that narrative poems tell a story and lyric poems don’t. A good poet is comfortable with each, so this week we’ll talk about narrative poetry.
Narrative poems were in decline a years back but they are making a comeback now, due principally, I believe, to the work of the southern poets who never abandoned the form; the south is a story-telling region, so it only makes sense that the poetry of the region should also tell stories.

Elements of Narrative Poetry

Michael J. Bugeja offers six elements that he says are found in all narrative poetry:

Topic: All narratives contain a beginning, middle and an end. A story starts, builds and resolves. There’s a definite movement through time, a definite protagonist moving toward a destiny. If someone in your poem is struggling to accomplish something, you’ve probably got a narrative.

Theme: All stories have meaning, we know that. A narrative poem, then, while it is telling a story, implies the meaning of that story. Events do not simply happen; they are carefully chosen and constructed to convey a definite idea.

Voice: Who is telling the story? The character, the poet, an onlooker? Will you use the first or third person? If you’re using third person, will the narrator be someone involved in the action or a dispassionate story-teller? However, you choose to do it, all narrative poems will have a narrator.

Viewpoint: This is an extension of voice. As we know, everyone is the hero of his own story, so who you choose as the narrator will greatly influence how the narrative proceeds, what it ultimately means. A poker game described from the point of view of the loser is an entirely different game than if the winner is telling us about it. If you’re using a storyteller, he will tell the tale through some character’s perspective, so a definite viewpoint is always present.

Moment: the story takes place in time, as does the poem. But does the poem take place during the same time as the story? Ted Berrigan was a genius at creating the current moment in his poems; he made you feel as if he were writing them down at the exact moment they were happening. Other poets prefer to look back on events long after they have happened. Frank O’Hara’s “The Day Billy Holiday Died” does not try to recreate the day as if it were today; instead he is looking back into the past. Obviously, time creates distance. How closely do you want to be to the events? That will determine what period of time you choose.

Ending: you’ve got to close out the poem, send a signal that it is over. Basically, there are two ways you can do that. You can use an open ending or a closed one.
Open: the open ending implies the resolution. It says things do not end. Perhaps they close but their effects linger on, their emotional impact hangs in the air long after the event itself has ended. Think of a love affair; it ends but the effects are still present long afterward.
Closed: A closed ending signals a final outcome. Questions are answered, things are resolved. Whatever the topic was, it is over now.
Which ending should you use? That one that it most organic for your materials, of course.
Remember, every poem has an organic form it wants to be in. Your job is to discover it and use it. How? Mostly, by getting out of the way, lightening up your control and enforced direction and letting the poem happen.
Next time, we'll talk about lyric poems.

Abstract and Concrete Language

Abstract or Concrete?

Beginning poets often think that because they are dealing with big ideas, they need top use big sweeping language, abstract language. That's usually a mistake. Abstact language doesn't get big ideas across; it obscures them.

What are Abstrations?

Abstractions are words that represent things that only exist in our heads. The general semanticists initially made the case for concrete language by pointing out that the word is the map, while the real thing is the territory. With abstractions, the territory only exists in our heads. We can't see it, feel it, touch it or smell it. And since all of our heads are different, each of us will see a different thing in your abstraction.

Abstract Language Lacks Precision.

Abstractions, then, don't communicate. If you write "Love is the most wonderful thing in the world," you might have just told me that love is ice cream; that is, if I think ice cream is the most wonderful thing. Another person might see a cold beer. It's too much all over the place to be effective.

Concrete Language is Precise.

Concreteness, on the other hand, is the language of images, sharp details that appeal to the senses. With concrete language, the poet suggests thing that can be tuched, seen, smelled, tasted and overheard.
Instead of writing, "Love is the most wonderful thing...." you might want to get at it, as David Young did, with words like these:
I guess your beauty doesn't
bother you, you wear it easy
and walk across the driveway
so casual and right it makes
my heart weigh twenty pounds.
Young's way gives me a picture I don't get in the first one; he makes the feeling real for me.

Be as Precise as Possible.

It is almost always better to be precise, to write in images that suggest ideas rather than in broad statements. What you imply is much stronger than what you say.
Give me a chance to play, also. By writing the big vague abstract statement, you don't let me into the poem. Using concete image-based language makes me a pareticipant in the poem.
And that's good.

Exercise

Take a commonplace idea, such as trees are majestic, Apples are good for you, or fast cars are fun.
Write a poem about it, using only concrete language. Do not state your idea but let your images suggest it instead.

Second Exercise

Go through some of your earlier work. See where your anguage is too abstract. Revise the poems to make them more precise. See which versions you like better.

What Exactly is a Poem Anyway?

One of the things a poet needs to think about is the question of just what makes a poem a poem. Your conception of what poetry is will determine what type of poetry you will write, what form or forms it will take, what it looks like on the page, what themes or ideas you'll take on and a lot of other things.
Robert Frost, who knew a few things about poetry, insisted that it had to rhyme. Writing poetry without rhyming, he said, is like playing tennis without a net. Most contemporary poets would now disagree with Frost; indeed, his idea was a minority position even when he made it. The popular write-from-the-soul books usually state that anything goes as long as it comes direct from the gut. Others suggest that poetry has to include all of the great technical innovations of the past: regular rhythm, iambic pentameter, metric line structure and the rest.
Let's try something. Read the following and determine whether or not it is a poem:
Nightmare #13
Get your cut throat off my knife.
That's by Diane DiPrima who calle it a poem and published it as one. Does it strike you as a genuine poem?
I'd have to argue that it qualifies. Sure, it's a single line but it has all of the things we generally associate with poems: there's a speaker, a dramatic situation, a few major symbols and a central idea. It also has rhythm and structure. It is concise, precise and suggests more than it states.
Good poetry does all of those things.
Can a single word be a poem:
Where Would I Be Without My Woman?
Morocco
That's by George Mattingly and again I'd have to argue that he's pulled off something major here; a single word that becomes a poem. If you don't think he has, try substituting the word "Boise" for Morocco. Or Birmingham. Yes, one word can be a poem -- if it's the right word. Morocco has a set of suggestions and ramifications to it, it has a culture, an allure, that makes it work.
Of course, both of these poems depend on their title for meaning, but that's true of many poems and it's one of the things a beginning poet needs to learn: the title is crucial. Choosing the right one can make your poem as strongly as the wrong one can break it.
What exactly is a poem, then? It's a piece of writing that contains most of the following:
Implication - it suggests rather than states
symbolism - it contains words that suggest more than their literal meanings.
Rhythm or rhythms -- it pulses, moves like a dance. Often it plays tricks with its rhythm; just as you think you've got it figured out, it gives you a variation.
Honesty - it comes from deep within its creator
Structure - it doesn't just fall out of a pocket. It is planned.
imagery - it contains precise language that appeals to our senses.
Sound values - the poem uses sound as a tool
Metaphor and simile - the poem often uses comparisons as a meaning device.
Multiple meanings - it connects with the reader on unconscious levels that generate more than one way of looking at things.
Effects - the effect of a poem is its emotional impact. It is what it makes us feel.
Tone - a poem reflects its author's way of looking at the material. It can be humorous, tragic, ironic, and so on.
Form - a poem has a definite form. One of the differences between poetry and other types of writing, though, is that each poem creates its own form.
If a piece of writing has all or most of these things, it's pretty safe to say it's a poem. As Paul Morris once said, "A poem is a lie trying to become true." It's a lie because it is made up and it is trying to become true on an intellectual or emotional level; it hits us in an honesty place in an honest way and that is its truth.

Exercise:

Bearing in mind that good poems are not written but are instead rewritten, try the following:
Take one of your old poems and read it over carefully. Check to see if it contains all of the elements listed above. If it does not, ask yourself if it would be more effective if you added them.
As an exercise, revise the poem so that it contains all of the elements in the list. Then keep the ones that help and remove the ones that hurt the overall poem. Remember, when you make changes, you can always change it back.
Oscar Wilde once described a day's work by saying he spent all morning putting in a comma and all afternoon taking it out. That's the revision process right there.