Don’t Force It: Let the Poem Come to You
- A chapter from How To Write Evocative Poetry -
Nothing is lamer than an attempt to force a narrative, political opinion, or a buzz word topic into your poetry. Unless you are passionate about it and extremely competent, the result will come across as tacky, and importantly, it won’t be impactful to the reader. I care about a multitude of issues, but I only put to paper the poems that come to me naturally. I am never happy with the results of forced poetry. After a month or two away from the piece, I find myself cringing at how obviously contrived my work was. Of course, I am critical of my normal poetry, but it is not in the same way. I had a few ‘forced’ poems that I could have included in my books, but I cut them all as I no longer feel what I supposedly felt when writing them originally, and upon reflection I don’t think I ever felt that way.
Take the poem Sad Zac is Sad and compare it to Paranoid Zac is Paranoid. When I wrote Sad Zac is Sad I was writing from the heart. It came through me, and at no point did I feel like I had to force the meaning. It tells an abridged version of real events. The emotions, thoughts, and reasonings presented are real because I have had them. Put simply, I am speaking truth. Contrast that with the process I used to create Paranoid Zac is Paranoid and it is clear why it is the far weaker of the two. For a moment I smelled a potential book or at least a themed series of poems following the same format as Sad Zac is Sad. I toyed with the idea of writing Stressed Zac is Stressed and a host of other pieces, all with the goal of using the choice word (sad, paranoid, stressed etc) as inspiration for both the mono-rhyme style (this kind of poem is discussed later), and theme of the poem.
The problem is that even the titles themselves fail at hitting the theme. Sad Zac is Sad works because it is as if a child, my inner child, is writing and naming the piece. I used younger sounding words to portray meaning, even within the title itself. But this isn’t the case with Paranoid Zac is Paranoid – someone that is paranoid probably wouldn’t write a title like that. In addition, whilst I have experienced feelings of paranoia, I have not lived it – at least not to the extent to effectively write poetry about it - thus, the forced nature of the piece. Finally, from a technical perspective, there is simply less options available in the mono-rhyme structure for words that rhyme with paranoid compared to sad – this is a hard limit that no amount of creativity can easily overcome.
Ultimately, I abandoned the idea for a series or book on this theme because I realised that many of the pieces that would potentially go in the book would feel far more like Paranoid Zac is Paranoid than Sad Zac is Sad. Furthermore, I simply didn’t want to write them as the process and the result would feel more like work than play. If I didn’t want to write or read them, why would anyone else?
I am not proud of Paranoid Zac is Paranoid, but I share it below for the sake of example. Contrast it against Sad Zac is Sad and decide for yourself if it feels forced or not.
Sad Zac is Sad
Sad Zac is sad
He’s feeling bad
He’s feeling like he’s been had
That the times he was glad
And feeling rad
Were in fact just a fadAs a wee lad
Sad Zac couldn’t relate to any comrade
He was bullied by Chad
Crying, he asked advice from his dad
‘Just punch his face a tad’
Lesson learnt, fists make a nomad
Add one tick to the notepad
No one approaches the battle clad
No one threatens the madSad Zac is sad
Remembering his dad
Remembering him before he was mad
Rereading the notepad
Reminiscing of the success had
Ruminating on his advice to play mad
And embodying it as a personality padSad Zac now fears the nomad
And trains daily for a fight he’s not yet had
Fear of the footpad wielding a doodad
Has grown into fear of every comrade
‘Where is the rest of the advice, dad?’
‘How can I avoid also going mad?’
‘What can I do to stay feeling glad?’
‘Who can I turn to, now that you’re just a notepad?’Sad Zac is still sad
But also a tad glad
Because putting these thoughts on this notepad
Has alleviated some of the mad
He still feels bad
But writing has healed some of his inner ladParanoid Zac is Paranoid
Paranoid Zac is paranoid
Unable to understand his fellow humanoid
Every look is perceived as annoyed
Every word twisted, meaning destroyed
He fears, so he avoids
He knows he’s hunted, so he seeks the void
Of course he is unemployed
Who’d want the burden of a schizoid?
There’s no help from the prescribed Freud
Zac knows those pills will turn him android
Just another slave to the queen arachnoid
Just another faceless polaroid
Obedience on steroid
Given cash in exchange for a brain control fungoid
Forcing him to accept the schadenfreude, of the doomsday asteroid
A forced poem doesn’t feel the same when you are writing it. Often a poem will flow from or through you and onto the page. It will feel like the synergy between inspiration and creation and will be a joy to write – not a job. If I find myself excessively straining, or researching, or consulting a dictionary or thesaurus, that is a warning sign. If I find myself pushing something that doesn’t feel alive, that is another. The only caveat is that sometimes you will find that you do need to use such tools to polish or finish off the last 10-20% of a poem – this is fine and normal, but using those tools to write an entire piece won’t be enjoyable to write, and even less so to read.
The majority of I Float came as an analogy to the feelings I was having when starting a new anti-anxiety medication. The dull malaise induced by the medication and the associated feelings of safety were contrasted against the distant knowledge that the true excitements of life were being taken from me - all whilst I was slowly losing the ability to care, or even remember what was being lost. I didn’t have to force anything about this poem, it simply came. The only things that I had to look up, or edit, after the fact was the removal of some superfluous words, as well as certain terms like ‘artificiality’ – I knew I wanted to describe a sense of ‘fakeness’, but until the piece was otherwise complete, that line remained ambiguous and unfinished.
I Float
The vastness of the ocean
Has been replaced
By the safety of a kiddy poolI float
Under a lifeguard’s watchful gaze
Passively accepting
The artificiality of my confines
Only vaguely aware
Of a time
Not long ago
When I could look upon the horizon|
And feel the sun upon my skinMemories
Of riding atop the waves
Both terrified and exhilarated
By nature’s limitless beauty
Have been replaced
By the scent of chlorine
Penetrating my nose
And irritating my eyesBut I don’t care
I am lulled by the warmth of the water
And comforted by the knowledge
That soon
I will forget
The taste of salt
And the thrill of that first plunge
Into the depth
Of the ocean’s
Infinite embrace
Interestingly, I Float came to me as I was trying, and failing, to force a different poem into existence. I had just woken up from an amazing dream in which I had met and interacted with a dream girl of sorts. A person that was the perfect fit for me. A cross between a guardian angel, a lover, and mythical creature, with her own unclear and possibly dangerous motives. As of yet, the poem hasn’t materialised beyond the following few lines (and another 300 words of rejected attempts). The poem may yet come, but I know that if I force anymore onto the page, I will not be happy with the result.
She Comes With The Moon
I have fallen in love
With a fantasy
She comes with the moon
A dream with in a dream
More real than reality…
I could have finished this poem off in a variety of ways – repeating the ‘I have fallen in love with’ refrain, or perhaps contrasted her ‘coming with the moon’ with her leaving with the sun. I considered tweaking it into an ABAB rhyme structure or continuing the fantasy/reality rhymes. Nothing worked, at least not without feeling forced. I could have ‘finished’ the poem in any number of ways, but ultimately it would be doing a disservice to the original idea, to myself, and to any readers unfortunate enough to stumble across the poem. Besides, this dream girl, the subject of the poem, deserves far more than to be immortalised upon the page in such a limited and pithy way. Perhaps I will return to She Comes With The Moon and by the time this book is out you will be able to read it in its entirety, or perhaps not. Maybe it will end up being the seed for a piece of fiction or some other work, or maybe here is the only place it will ever be referenced. Regardless, I am okay with this. I know that more poems will come, and I accept that for whatever reason, right now at least, this poem doesn’t want to be written.
Summary
The best poems you ever write will flow effortlessly through you and onto the page. This process may hurt, but it will not feel forced. Learn to accept that sometimes you will need to wait for a poem to be ready to be written.
This chapter is from the book How To Write Evocative Poetry
