How To Write A Beautiful Poem

by Kemal Faruquee

What Is Bad Poetry?By bad poetry, I, by no means am referring to work which is amateurish or unpolished. I see poems every day on the forums which have typos, poor phrasing, and insufficient imagery. That's fine. I love some of those poems! I love the ones where you can sense that the poet really means it! And, you know, there's just no faking that. When one is writing about a person, experience, or anything that significantly altered her, the piece dazzles like a kaleidoscope in the sun.Sometimes I'll read one of those poems repeatedly, and it will just keep knocking me on my ass. There is something so intrinsically wonderful about writing a poem which is heartfelt. Somehow, even the untalented, and, in extreme cases, borderline illiterate will find a way to sing in verse. That seems to be some type of divine intervention: a balancing act which intervenes to allow anyone to communicate felicitously--if only those sentiments matter enough to them. Yes, indeed, there is something very wonderful in this, and each will find her own way.Thelonious Monk SaidIt's interesting that a Thelonious Monk quotation should demand my attention now. And, on second thought, what could possibly be more fitting? Monk, of course, was a black American genius, which, as I've written elsewhere, may very well be the reason why so few Americans know his name. In a more perfect world (and that world is coming!) we would have a national holiday to celebrate this musical mastermind, but, let me stay on point (though, it's often fun not to : ) )...Thelonious Monk said, "I compose my piece with a formula I created myself...I find inspiration in myself." And, that's what I'm talking about! What is it about your life that is your source of inspiration? What really matters to you? Whatever it may be, choose it as the material you write about. That, in my humble opinion, should be the foundation of creative writing. Determine where your heart lies, and you will have an endless supply of material.Different Levels Of LiteralnessSo, to illustrate the point, let's consider three poets who wrote very differently: Langston Hughes, Pablo Neruda, and Wallace Stevens. These three poets so well represent the literal-to-abstract spectrum, and, all three are marvelous...some of my absolute favorites. I don't think it's possible to say which is definitively the best, which is the whole point of this: they wrote differently; each wrote like only he could write, and thus comparisons of quality lose absolute meaning and become more a matter of personal taste. So, let's take a look at a poem from each poet to explore this issue in greater detail.Langston Kicks It On The LevelI remember when I first read Langston Hughes: I was fifteen, and an artist I knew out in Manhattan had one of the paperbacks in his studio. I read the book and it had that quality about it: that visceral sting that indicates the real thing. Here is one of Langston's poems:CrossMy old man's a white old manAnd my old mother's black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I'm sorry for that evil wishAnd now I wish her well.My old man died in a fine big house.My ma died in a shack.I wonder were I'm going to die,Being neither white nor black?Okay, thank you Langston. Moving right along now:Pablo Kicks It Down The MiddleI wanted to try to maintain consistency and say, "I remember when I first read Pablo Neruda..." But, I don't remember when that was. All I can tell you is that Pablo's awesome, so let's take a look at one of his poems:In the night we shall go inIn the night we shall go in,we shall go in to steala flowering, flowering branch.We shall climb over the wallin the darkness of the alien garden,two shadows in the shadow.Winter is not yet gone,and the apple tree appearssuddenly changed intoa fragment of cascade stars.In the night we shall go inup to its trembling firmament,and your hands, your little handsand mine will steal the stars.And silently to our housein the night and the shadow,perfume's silent step,and with starry feet,the clear body of spring.Wow, holy cow man! That's Pablo Neruda. Okay, I do remember when I first read Wallace Stevens. I believe that was 1990, and I was right here in Pennsylvania, and the book had a yellow cover, and I believe it was an anthology. Okay, let's take a look at Wallace's approach: Wallace Kicks It In The CloudsPoem Written at MorningA sunny day's complete PoussinianaDivide it from itself. It is this or thatAnd it is not.By metaphor you paintA thing. Thus, the pineapple was a leather fruit,A fruit for pewter, thorned and palmed and blue,To be served by men of ice.The senses paintBy metaphor. The juice was fragranterThan wettest cinnamon. It was cribled pearsDripping a morning sap.The truth must beThat you do not see, you experience, you feel,That the buxom eye brings merely its elementTo the total thing, a shapeless giant forcedUpward.Green were the curls upon that head.Right From The Heart: Write From The HeartHopefully these examples have successfully portrayed the central idea of this essay. You see, these three poets wrote quite differently from each other; and they are all great. And why? Because they're writing as only they can write: right from the heart about what matters to them. And, that approach is one that everyone is capable of following. It should be noted that I don't mean to stylistically pigeon-hole these three poets. There were periods when Langston wrote in a much more abstract, thoroughly modern way, with abrupt phrasing, simultaneous voices, the whole deal. And, there are poems of Pablo that are quite straight-forward: similar to the Langston poem quoted above.In conclusion, write your poem: the one that only you are capable of writing.

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