brown so long the cows turned brown. Wind barely stirs the leaves.
This leads us to more complicated problems, so let’s shift into a higher gear. More happened in the revision than I expected. By obeying one silly “rule,” I found myself forced to cut the fat from the statement that followed. That is the advantage of making up rules. If they are working, they should lead you to better writing. If they don’t, you’ve made up the wrong rules. Almost all young poets are using more syllables than necessary, more words than needed. In the above example, by using four additional words to avoid the phony sound of “so,” a word used for emphasis that begs our reaction in some way that I find annoyingly undignified, I found four unnecessary words in the next line—“and,” “just,” “lifts,” “and”—and took them out to make the statement fit this line. Here, I’ll rewrite a first stanza to make it adhere logically, then offer the stanza as written by the student, then suggest other versions.
In St. Ignatius the swallows hit
the dead end of the sky
then turn on themselves. They fly over Indians
who thanked the church long ago
and changed into trees, and over the boys
who are tired of fishing and throw a dog off the bridge.
Here, the swallows remain to account for the Indians and the boys, as if Indians and boys had no right in the poem without some relationship with the swallows. Here, the stanza as submitted:
In St. Ignatius the swallows hit
the dead end of the sky
then turn on themselves. Indians
thanked the church long ago
and changed into trees. Boys are tired
of fishing and throw a dog off the bridge.
Much better. Once something is established it is left, not used to make sure the next thing belongs. * A few problems left. Too many “the”s. Now if we take out the first one we risk sibilance by having the s of “Ignatius” run into the s of “swallows.” Maybe a comma will do.
In St. Ignatius, swallows hit
the dead end of the sky
then turn on themselves.
In the next two lines the words “long ago” seem somewhat flat because they follow what is dramatically important. Let’s try
Long ago
Indians thanked the church
and changed into trees.
The next two lines seem too leisurely for the pace of the poem to me. A possibility:
Tired of fishing
boys throw a dog off the bridge.
Putting it together:
In St. Ignatius, swallows hit
the dead end of sky
then turn on themselves. Long ago
Indians thanked the church
and changed into trees. Tired of fishing
boys throw a dog off the bridge.
But three lines in a row we’ve withheld the subject a moment. Too much stylistic monotony? Let’s pop the subject home first at least once:
Swallows hit
the dead end of sky in St. Ignatius
then turn on themselves. Long ago
Indians thanked the church
and changed into trees. Tired of fishing
boys throw a dog off the bridge.
Note that the monotony of self-introspective life in St. Ignatius is implied by the approximately equal length of the sentences (word count fourteen, ten, ten, syllabic count eighteen, fourteen, twelve) and the relatively flat tone. Connections are not stated, yet we know the three statements are connected. They are connected because the same poet wrote all three. That is, they are products of one vision that, along with style, becomes the adhesive force. This adhesive force will be your way of writing. Assume the next thing belongs because you put it there. The real reason may be clearer later.
Whatever the merits of the stanza (the inevitability of the progression remains in doubt, a risk normal to the flat tone), at least it moves from one thing to another without excuses and for no reasons external to the poem, such as narrative logic, or description. When writing assume the right of all things to be resides in the things themselves.
But that can get you in trouble too.
Check Your Barometer
Feeling alone, they reach for stars,
Making sure they have ten