How to Add Content and Create Tension in a Poem Using Line Breaks and Juxtapostion
The question is often asked, “How do I extend a poem, push it so that it isn’t one dimensional?” Jack Myers explains how to do that. Here is a list of some of the moves you can make in your writing.
Flow and Syntax and Line Breaks
From: The Portable Workshop, Jack Myers (Boston: Thomson Press, 2005)
Syntax is the ordering of words, or the grammatical structure of words, in a sentence. But syntax is considered one of the intelligences in a poem, a tool or order and flow by which the poet can evoke or nuance meaning by subordinating, sequencing, installing degrees of complexity of levels of thought, extending and elaborating content, counterpointing, or purposefully violating normal sentence conventions. . . .How the elements in a sentence are arranged harmonically with our against lines so that selected phrases and syntactical units are broken up, fused, continued through, or juxtaposed can make for some very interesting and skillfully wrong tension, surprises, and releases as a feature in the flow of a poem. –Jack Myers (Ibid, 165)
The Effect of Line Breaks on Sentences and Words—Transformation Line Endings
Lineation is one of the primary tools of free verse. Poets take out their scissors and cut the sentence, leaving one part of it on one line, another part on another. Every time they cut the sentence into different lines, they are parsing out how the poem should be read. They are telling the reader to pay attention to this phrase or that verb or noun. Of course, as Marvin Bell, a poet can make each line a complete sentence, letting it stand on its own. But that means, as he does leave it whole, he must also keep it contained within the margins of a page. No matter what a poet does, the line break demands he pay attention to why he is dividing it, severing one part from the other.
Since poetic verse, by its name, demands turns and twist, shifts in perspective, connections of like and unlike things, the use of the transformative line endings is one way to incorporate “verses” in your poems. I have seen, as an editor, many poems that just state what has happened, a simple recounting of an event or a descriptive presentation of a scene without any counterpoints, just a straightforward rendering of what happened. That is not a poem. I poem needs to have some shift, some turn, some surprise. Robert Frost said it succinctly: a poem starts out as delight and ends up in wisdom. Incorporating what Jack Myers shows in a transformative line is the beginning of writing true verse that ends up in wisdom.
Jack Myers describes five different line breaks that “create suspense, or emphatic line ending that highlight and emphasize previous content in a line or stanza. . .” that change the meaning of a word or phrase and transform the line. (Ibid. 158)
Grammatical change in which the break changes the word from being a noun into an adjective, or verb into a noun, or adjective into a verb, as the second line introduces a word that surprises the reader Ex. She walked in out the blue/ morning.
Synesthetic change: here a word that may indicate sound is actually visual. Ex. The dragster had a loud/color that made right/as it zoomed around the track
Ambiguous change: here the end-word seems to say “no” but the context of the second line reverses that assumption. Poems are often about reversing established assumptions. Ex. They necked until she yelled “Don’t/let my parents see!”
Literal to metaphorical change. Here in which what seems prosaic, everyday is shifted to another level. Ex. She was lost in the backwaters/of her desire.
Fused syntax line ending. Here the line ending can create action-reaction types of plot elements, shifting emotional levels. Ex. She called up Frank and her boyfriend/got mad. Note the emphasis falls on “got mad,” that heightens its import in a poem.
Emotional/physician change. Here the intention is shifted from emotional to physical, or physical to emotional as context changes in second line. Ex When my ex waved hello I sank/beneath the waves.
Play on words. Here the two words, the end-line and beginning-line words pun. Ex. She dressed so loud she might’ve been call/girl.
The Effect of Breaking a Line on the Movement of a Poem
These end-line and beginning-line breaks reveal how the poem is moving—its trajectory. Sometimes a poet may want a poem to move forward gaining momentum, pressing forward to a denouement. At other times, a poet may want to line break to force a reader to look back, to pause, and to gather what has been previous said.
Jack Myers calls this the internal and external movement of a line. He describes six different types of lines (Ibid, 156-8)
The end-stopped line simply stops by using normal sentence ending punctuation. In such a line, we are being told, “Pause here before moving on.”
The enjambed line indicates that the line does not stop when it ends but is carried over rhythmically to the next line by not ending the sentence and by breaking a syntactical unit before it is complete. These lines say, “Move on. There is more” as well as “Notice how I am breaking; these breaks are telling you something. Have your notice the end-word? What is it?”
The end-stopped/reflexive line. Here the syntactical movement of the line stops at its end, but there is an inner, reverse movement created by what the end-word refers to, which is buried in previous lines, These lines are saying, “Pause here but look back, the end-word is telling you something.”
The end-stopped/enjambed line is one that moves in two-directions, the syntax indicate an enjambment, while the phrasing calls for what could be called an end-stopped pause. W.H. Auden’s “Musee des Beau Arts” (see italicized lines below) has several lines using this line break. The line is saying, “Stop here yet keep moving.”
The enjambed/reflexive line is another two-leveled line in which the syntax of the line indicates it carries over to the next line, yet the end-word refers to something in the previous line, making the mind bounce back and forth. The lines say, “Keep going yet don’t forget.” Richard Hugo, “Degrees of Gray in Phillipsburg” uses this technique. (see italicized lines below)
The enjambed/reflexive/end-stopped line is the triple toe-loop of line endings! It syntactically refers forward to the subsequent line, semantically refers back to content in its line, and, with its heavy pause the end of the line makes an autonomous unit of the line-as-sentences, could be considered end-stopped. (see Hugo’s poem below, the highlighted in bold lines) This line says, “Stop, look forward, yet not so fast, look back too.”.
Practical Implications of Transforming Breaks and Internal and External Movement
As you write your poems, one question you may ask yourself—it something that I’m asking all the time—is where I want to make a line break.
Do I want a short line or long line?
Should I make the break where it makes sense at the end of a syntactical unit?
The long line would let the sentence, and units within a sentence, to stand out.
But if I break a line in the middle of a syntactical unit, the focus will shift from the sentence unit to the end-word, and, for that matter, the beginning-word.
In any poem, some breaks will honor the sentence as well as highlight the words. The shorter the line, the more likely the great the disruption to the sentence unit. Shorter poems, therefore, require a slower paced reading because the focus becomes more on words, and word choice, than on the sentences. Long lines allow the subject-verb-objects to stand out, and, if free-modifiers or relative clauses are added, the elaboration of the sentence is given prominence.
{Below are two poems, both which use a variety of these line breaks and which have different length sentences that unravel down the page. Note how they work, where the breaks are, and what that does to you as a reader.}
PRACTICE
To learn how to apply Myer’s ideas of transforming line breaks as well as enhancing the movement of your poetry, try breaking those “moves” by following this exercise.
Take a poem that is a draft. Save it in a document. (You will keep all your drafts on one document. Merely cut and paste on a different page as you follow these steps.)
Next, copy it onto separate page of same document.
Break the poem into sentences. Each sentence standing by itself, taking up as many lines as the sentence requires. Space between each sentence.
Next, look at the sentences. Note if it is a simple declarative sentence with subject-verb-object. Or if it is a periodic sentence with a subordinate clause or a free-modifier at the start before the subject-verb-object. Or if it is a culminative sentence with a free-modifier, subordinate clause, adverbial clause building of the main clause.
Next, play with the sentences on the page.
Is there any variety?
Are they all the same?
Can you combine any of them, creating a longer sentence?
Can you create a rhythm of short-long, long-short, long?
Next, look at the language in the sentences. With a highlighter, note nouns. With another color highlighter, note verbs. With another, note free-modifiers (prepositional phrases, relative clause (who, which, etc.), subordinate clauses (since, when, etc.), participial phrases (ing-words), adjectives out of order, absolutes (noun plus ing-verb, noun with prepositional phrase).
Are the nouns strong?
Are the verbs strong?
Are descriptive words powerful and detailed?
Add more description, better verbs, stronger nouns.
Next, decide on what words seem to invite attention and draw lines (/) to mark where you want to do a line break.
Save the document. Copy and Paste poem on a separate page and introduce line breaks.
Do they look good?
Do they transform the lines?
Do they create different movement on the page, some lines thrust forward, some reflexive, looking back?
Have some of the words jumped out on the page to focus on emotions of poem?
Is there a trajectory in the poem, the feelings and sense building and having a distinct Turn or Shift?
If you follow these steps, you will see how Syntax and Line breaks inform what you are doing. You will be more self-conscious about what you are doing, not as haphazard. If you practice breaking a poem down like this, eventually you will be subconsciously learning how to craft a poem and start to do it naturally as you once learned to drive a car, so that it becomes part of what you do when you craft a poem.
EXAMPLE POEMS:
Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg
BY RICHARD HUGO
You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago. You walk these streets
laid out by the insane, past hotels
that didn’t last, bars that did, the tortured try
of local drivers to accelerate their lives.
Only churches are kept up. The jail
turned 70 this year. The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he’s done.
The principal supporting business now
is rage. Hatred of the various grays
the mountain sends, hatred of the mill,
The Silver Bill repeal, the best liked girls
who leave each year for Butte. One good
restaurant and bars can’t wipe the boredom out.
The 1907 boom, eight going silver mines,
a dance floor built on springs—
all memory resolves itself in gaze,
in panoramic green you know the cattle eat
or two stacks high above the town,
two dead kilns, the huge mill in collapse
for fifty years that won’t fall finally down.
Isn’t this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn’t this defeat
so accurate, the church bell simply seems
a pure announcement: ring and no one comes?
Don’t empty houses ring? Are magnesium
and scorn sufficient to support a town,
not just Philipsburg, but towns
of towering blondes, good jazz and booze
the world will never let you have
until the town you came from dies inside?
Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty
when the jail was built, still laughs
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,
he says, I’ll go to sleep and not wake up.
You tell him no. You’re talking to yourself.
The car that brought you here still runs.
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it’s mined, is silver
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall.
Richard Hugo, “Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg” from Making Certain It Goes On: The Collected Poems of Richard Hugo. Copyright © 1984 by Richard Hugo. Reprinted with the permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. This selection may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Source: Making Certain It Goes On: The Collected Poems of Richard Hugo (W. W. Norton and Company Inc., 1984)
Musee des Beaux Arts
W. H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
