Schools of Poetry

Professor Meyerhofer

Schools of Poetry

There are many different schools of poetry reflecting (or reacting to) major shifts in history and culture. Here are just some of the different classifications and schools that affect us as contemporary writers. Some poets’ individual poems might fit into different schools, obviously, but here’s the general layout.

The Romantics (late 18^th and early to mid 19^th century)—these are probably the poets you read in high school. Romantic poets tended to write formally—that is, with strict rhyme and meter. Examples: William Blake, William Wordsworth, Lord Byron, John Keats, Mary Shelley, Samuel Coleridge, etc.

The Imagists (early 1900s)—these poets reacted to the lofty language of the Romantics by stressing clear, “simple” imagery (hence the name). Examples: T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, D.H. Lawrence, etc. Eliot’s famous poems, The Waste Land and The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock come out of this movement. Imagist poems are often a bit more overtly “personal”, but not quite confessional. This is often seen as the dawn of English free verse (although its granddaddy, Walt Whitman, died in 1892).

The Beats (1940s)—Examples: Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs. Mostly New York poets known for more political and social commentary, bawdy subject matter, free association, etc. Ginsberg’s famous poem, Howl, fits in here. Subjects like drug use, rebellion, and sexuality (also homosexuality) are often graphically addressed in Beat poetry. The Beat poets are known for high energy work that signaled an increase in the accessibility of poetry to a wider audience.

The Confessionalists (50s, 60s)—U.S. poets who drew off their own personal experience in a more direct manner. Examples: Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, John Berryman (famous for The Dream Songs), etc. Some would say that Sharon Olds and Marie Howe fit into this category. Note: this is when we start seeing female poets gain respect (and criticism). Before the Confessionalists, poetry was often considered a man’s game.

The New York School—seen as a reaction to the Confessionalists, started close to the same time (maybe a bit later). Their writing is often more abstract (maybe less “I”), more cosmopolitan (a little more focus on the world than on the inner self), although they had quite a bit in common with the Beats. Some drew inspiration from art, especially surrealist painters like Jackson Pollock. Examples of “New York School” poets: John Ashbery, Barbara Guest, Kenneth Koche and Frank O’Hara.

Deep Image (latter half of the 20^th century to present)—these poets rely on concrete images, allowing the imagery to tell the story (Deep Image poems are usually narrative) and generate the feeling (they often have a strong lyrical component as well). Examples: James Wright, Galway Kinnell, maybe George Bilgere.

There are many other schools—the Black Mountain poets, the San Francisco Renaissance, etc.—that are a little obscure. You also have Language Poets (inspired by Gertrude Stein, who died in ’46), who push the boundaries of form and syntax. Slam Poets, very popular right now, focus almost entirely on presentation rather than how a poem actually looks/reads on the page. The closer we get to the present, the harder it becomes to lump poets into categories or define the prevailing school of thought. You also have a lot of poets who might seem, say, Confessional on one page then Deep Image on the next.

All we can really say about now is that we’re living right smack dab in this hyper-social/super-political/mega-technological confusion we call the Postmodern Age. As with music—more than ever—there are countless different genres, forms, theories, reactions, and reactions to the reactions all floating around (and competing) simultaneously. Basically, you have to establish (and often reassess) your own Personal Aesthetic—that is, what you like, what you don’t like, and why—and go with it.

An Advanced Lesson on Sound

We've talked a bit about the psychological impact of sound as it relates to poetry (in other words, how different sounds, on their own, invoke a certain subconscious feeling).

Basically, this is an extension of what happens when we listen to music. This is a hard lesson to absorb but paying attention to the frequency (high, medium, low) of your vowel sounds can help you work your magic on the reader's subconscious. You can also invoke that through the use of "high, medium, or low" alliteration and/or imagery. More on that later.

Let's look at this from a purely musical angle. If you have the know-how and an instrument, now's the time to use 'em. Otherwise, here's a simple little program that will work fine for what I'm trying to illustrate.


Basically, you just click on a box from each column to play a note (press space bar to clear and start over). Boxes that are higher in the column produce higher notes, and vice versa. Mess around with this. Your goal: produce a sequence of notes that sounds melancholy, or downright sad, versus one that sounds more uplifting.

Once you've done that, look at the placement of those notes. You'll probably notice that a melancholy tune starts low or high, goes high, then ends lower. That last part creates the descending emotional feeling that can sound sad, or bittersweet, melancholy, etc. On the other hand, an uplifting tune might be all over the place but probably ends on an ascending note, and may have higher notes throughout.


The $50,000 point: it's entirely possible to replicate this with word choice. It's not easy, but it's what distinguishes lyrical from tone-deaf poetry.


Now, you may be thinking that if there are only 3 basic vowel frequencies (high = E and I, middle = A and Y, low = U and O), how can you get that kind of range? Well, first thing’s first. If you want to write an uplifting poem, basic limitations of language and spelling won’t let you use only words that have E and I vowel sounds. So don’t go nuts. You’re just going for a simple majority here. Also, you don’t have to restrict yourself to vowel frequencies. Mix in images whose denotation and/or connotation furthers what you’re going for.

So in practical terms: if you want an ominous poem, back up your lower frequency vowel sounds with some ominous imagery. Or maybe you use uplifting imagery but low vowel sounds to create a trapped feeling, a tension between the two. If you want a derisive and slightly hopeful poem, maybe you use ominous connotations but higher vowel sounds (or vice versa).


On the other hand, an uplifting poem with high frequency vowel sounds AND uplifting imagery might seem a bit cheesy—meaning, it doesn’t have enough grit in it, so throw in some lower frequency vowel sounds and less cheery imagery. And it's also worth pointing out that a poem with high frequency vowel sounds AND "happy" imagery can't really invoke a negative feeling, EXCEPT the feeling that it's cliche and/or cheesy, and two dimensional.


OK, now consider alliteration. Obviously, a hard K sound invokes a different feeling (all else being equal) than a smooth S sound. So if you want to invoke a soothing, steady feeling, you’re probably not going to use lots of hard alliteration (hard K, hard G, etc). On the other hand, you might use lots of hard alliteration if you want to build suspense, make things seem a little more chaotic.


Think of all these different factors (the psychological impact/connotation of your word choice, vowel sounds, and alliteration) as ingredients. How you mix them is based entirely on your lyrical aesthetic.


As with anything, there are plenty of exceptions to the rules. In fact, you might do exactly the opposite of everything I’ve said and still get from A to B with good results. Either way, though, developing an ear for this will greatly help your writing (whether you’re talking about poetry or prose) and I’d wager that on a subconscious level, this is exactly what all great writers and songwriters are doing.

Discussion Questions

1) Given the subjective nature of art, what can we actually do in terms of objective diagnosis when we read a poem or story? Phrased more bluntly, how can you tell if the writer actually invested real time and effort into her/his piece?

2) Pointed question: for those who don't necessarily plan to pursue an MFA in poetry and/or continue writing it, what possible benefit can poetry have on their fiction, nonfiction, screenwriting, and general human existence?

3) Another pointed question: how long does it take you to finish a ROUGH DRAFT of a 10-15 page story or piece of creative nonfiction?

4) Given the soaring number of journals out there (both online and in print), the odds are pretty good that even a "bad" piece can get published. Adding to this the subjective nature of art, what's the point in spending so much time crafting and refining a piece?

5) Here's a harsh truth: the majority of creative writing instructors (at both the undergrad and graduate level) do NOT offer very much honest, constructive criticism, instead relying mostly on praise or avoidance. Why is that?

6) Bearing all that in mind, let's work together to critique, compare, and contrast the following three poems by former Poet Laureate, Billy Collins.

The First Dream
by Billy Collins

The wind is ghosting around the house tonight
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning

as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.

He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,

how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.

Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,

except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,

you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.






Shoveling Snow with Buddha
by Billy Collins

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.
Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clear air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making,
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.



(This last poem was written in response to 9/11)

The Names
by Billy Collins

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

Syllabus

Poetry Writing (Spring 2014)

Professor Michael Meyerhofer

Monday, Wednesday, Friday in RB 105, 2 to 2:50 PM (308-001)
Tuesday, Thursday in RB 284 from 11 AM to 12:15 PM (308-002)

www.bsuenglish308.blogspot.com

Writing is thinking. To write well is to think clearly. That's why it's so hard.   
—David McCullough

I think one of my early motivations for writing was that other people's versions of experience didn't gel with my own. It was a gesture toward sanity to try to get the world right for myself. I've since learned that if you get it right for yourself, it often has resonance for others.  

—Stephen Dunn

Welcome to English 308! The easiest way to reach me is via email, mrmeyerhofer@bsu.edu. You can also drop by my office (RB246) during my office hours (MW, noon to 2 PM). When I am in my office, you can call me at 285-8573. If those times do not work, you are more than welcome to set up an appointment with me. 

Texts:

Always Danger by David Hernandez (Southern Illinois University Press)

Folly by Norman Minnick (Wind Publications)

Imitation of Life by Allison Joseph (Carnegie Mellon)

No Object by Natalie Shapero (Saturnalia)

Strike Sparks by Sharon Olds (Knopf)

Class Description: This course is designed for aspiring poets and people seeking to increase their knowledge and understanding of poetry. Since we are all contemporary writers, I tend to focus primarily on contemporary (aka “living”) poets. I’ll push you to develop your own personal aesthetic—meaning, decide for yourself what makes a poem a poem. We will also discuss the formal elements of poetry like alliteration, assonance, extended metaphor, etc. This class also consists of intensive workshops in which we discuss each other’s poems, as well as the poetry of well-established contemporary poets like Sharon Olds, Dorianne Laux, Tony Hoagland, George Bilgere, Marie Howe, Kim Addonizio, Billy Collins, and others. Since no one is expected to consistently turn out great poems on the first or second draft, constructive feedback is also a vital component of the revision process, which factors heavily into the final portfolio. Each student in class will be expected to duplicate copies of his or her poems for class discussion. 
 

Class Requirements:

—A portfolio of 8 poems, written over the course of the semester, ALL revised by semester’s end (30% of final grade)

—Journals (30% of final grade)

—Class Participation (20% of final grade)

—Midterm exam (10% of final grade)

—A class presentation on a contemporary poet and/or collection of poems or school of poetry not discussed in class (10% of final grade)

Class Rules: Plagiarism: Don’t do it. The point of this class is for you to create poetry that is unique to you and to learn about yourself as a writer in the process. Turning in someone else’s poetry as your own prevents that from happening, and is grounds for automatic failure of and dismissal from the class. As for turning in work from previous courses—in general, I frown on that because odds are, you’re a better writer now than you were then. I might be willing to make exceptions if you talk to me first, though. My philosophy on workshops is this: if you don’t care about what you’ve written, we probably won’t either, so please only turn in work that you care about. 

Absences: You can miss up to three classes without penalty. If you miss four to five classes, your final grade will be reduced by one letter grade. If you miss six to seven classes, your final grade will be reduced by two letter grades. If you miss eight or more classes, you fail for the semester. However, attendance isn’t just a matter of being there on time; it’s a matter of good participation. I reserve the right to mark as absent any student who disrupts class or fails to be respectful to others.

Journals: I expect you to turn in a journal (two full, double spaced pages, typed) for each of the assigned texts. Don’t just say “I like this” or “I hate this.” Give me specific lines or techniques that caught your attention. You don’t have to like all the writers I assign, let alone all the poems in a given book. In fact, I welcome disagreements! Let’s get some good discussions/debates going so basically, look at the journals as prep for class discussion. Oh, and you can submit the journals either printed or over email, if you like. I grade journals ASAP so if you email your journal but don’t see a grade up on Gradebook by the next day, that means the email must not have gone through; in that case, contact me ASAP and we’ll figure something out. Finally, please be advised that the tradeoff for getting your journals graded so quickly is that I rarely have time to provide feedback on them, but I’m very willing to meet with you and discuss them if you like.

Class Participation: The way we improve as writers and critics is by practice and participation. In other words, this is a workshop class, not a lecture one. That means everyone must participate by giving feedback to class members. Both oral and written comments on poems by your classmates are required. This workshop is a writers’ community, and all members of the class are expected to give thoughtful, tactful, and serious consideration to work written by class members. Also, always feel free to ask questions about any aspect of the class. In terms of your final grade, strong class participation will help you greatly, especially if your grade is borderline. So don’t be afraid to speak up, and to speak your mind, but do it with consideration for the opinions and feelings of your classmates. Going along with this, you are expected to behave respectfully in class. That means please don’t chat, interrupt, play with cell phones or laptops, etc.

Midterm: Your midterm exam will cover some of the terminology and aesthetic philosophies discussed in class. If you pay attention (and ask questions), you’ll do fine.

Another Point About Workshops: We’re going to cover a lot of stuff in this class—the technical elements of contemporary poetry (especially free verse), different aesthetic philosophies, the various types of authorial risk, and naturally, all sorts of personal, political, and cultural topics that often inspire us to write in the first place. The best way to do this is through sincere but relaxed class discussions and workshops. You’ll find that rather than give formal lectures demanding rote memorization, I’ll dispense most of my lectures on craft through workshops. So please stay involved, even if your particular piece isn’t being discussed; often, a piece of advice or an observation that benefits someone else can benefit us, too.

About Your Instructor: I have published three books and five chapbooks of poetry and have won quite a few national prizes. I also have a literary fantasy novel forthcoming. Feel free to swing by my website and check out some of my work, if you're bored. This is my seventh year as an Assistant Professor at Ball State. Before this, I taught composition and creative writing, and worked as a tutor, at Southern Illinois University for four years. I am also the Poetry Editor for Atticus Review. As my prior students can attest to, I believe very strongly in being an advocate for my students. So if you have questions or concerns, let me know!