A challenge, a dare — a call to dedicated writing and commitment
You can call yourself anything you like, of course. I daresay you’d take some exception to my calling myself a brain surgeon, but so long as I don’t open your skull — only suggest, slyly, that I might — who’s to stop me playing pretend?
Any craft requires dedication: effort, practice, a willingness to learn from one’s mistakes (God save us, each and all, from dilettantish brain surgeons!) Humility, if you will. It is a long way from, “I have an interest in neuroscience and anatomy,” to “Do you trust me to use a saw to open your skull, and probe your gray matter with a knife?”
Dabblers
You may laugh and think me mean to suggest that one or two seventeen-syllable verses does not a “poet” make, but rather, a dabbler in poetry. There is nothing wrong with dabbling in poetry, or writing, or art, or photography, or music, or dance! There would be no poets, no writers, no great masters of the arts, and no ballet without there first being dabblers. Don’t look to knock me off my pedestal — I am a dabbler, too.
Not when it comes to some forms of writing. When you have spent the better part of forty years practicing and being paid well to do a thing, perhaps then you can be forgiven for claiming, “I am a writer.” Because by then, it really is a core part of your identity, and it has kept a roof over your head and played some part in providing food for your family’s table. But there is no shame in being “an engineer and mother who dabbles in writing,” or a “retired schoolteacher and grandmother who dabbles in poetry.” There is no shame in that at all.
But there is a question: Do you want to be a poet? By that, I mean, do you want to put “Poet” after your name? Do you dream of overhearing someone say, “Oh, the poet?” when your name is mentioned in conversation? Could you see it written on your tombstone? If the answer is “yes,” then you must also cry out, “YES!” when asked, “Are you enthusiastically willing to do the work?”
If not, then look elsewhere for your vocations – I crochet, as a hobby, but I don’t have this kind of dedication to fiber arts. I don’t even have an Etsy shop. I have barely made one sweater than kinda-sorta fits. Don’t puff out your chest and proclaim, “I am a poet!” merely because you are able to count out seventeen syllables to write Haiku.
Poets who are truly dedicated to Haiku will not take offense; there is an art to Haiku, and some have devoted lifetimes to mastering this single form of poetry. When people lay wreathes on your grave, more than 200 years after you are gone, because your poetry is as enduring as that of Yosa Buson, you will have “made it” as a poet and a writer of Haiku.
Are you bothered by what I’m saying? Or are you energized — challenged — eager to learn, practice, and maybe move from dabbler to poet? Are you undaunted?
Good. Because this challenge is for you, the nascent poet — the dabbler, the enthusiast, the playful poetential poet. Let the others spend their effort and energy on writing me hate mail — you come and take my challenge:
Become A Poet
Learn About Forms & Terms of Art
Go learn more about the various forms and terms of art that poets use. You will find the most common, useful, and important ones here, at Poetry Foundation, and bookmark this page — you’ll be returning to it many times:
Glossary of Poetic Terms | Poetry Foundation
Develop an Ear for Rhyme, Rhythm, and Language
Listen to Poetry Read Aloud
Whether you aspire to be a poet or just enjoy reading and listening to poetry, go listen to A. Z. Foreman read poetry, old and new, in its original languages, dialects, and accents.
Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Table of Contents | A.Z. Foreman on Patreon
Follow A. Z. Foreman (@azforeman) on counter.social and subscribe to A. Z. Foreman on his YouTube channel.
Rhyming Verse: In or Out?
Rhyming verse seems to be losing popularity, if you judge by the submissions guidelines of many contemporary journals. For decades, it has been derided as doggerel or greeting-card verse. But is it? I ran an informal poll on several sites, about a year ago, and among readers who bothered to respond, it was the resounding favorite. If you enjoy rhyme, then by all means write rhyming verse!
That said, I’d avoid sing-songy, simplistic rhyming verse unless writing specifically for children. But there are many traditional types of formal verse that require rhyme – explore them. Try them on for fit. Sometimes, the restrictions of form, meter, and rhyme force your brain to work harder as you strive to think creatively within a strict framework.
Buy or bookmark a rhyming dictionary or two. This is a special sort of dictionary that categorizes words by the sound of their endings, and the number of syllables in the word. A few examples:
If you prefer print, I highly recommend The Complete Rhyming Dictionary: Including The Poet’s Craft Book, by Clement Wood. I have a very old and tattered edition — this one is updated and expanded.
Another thing to avoid is “slant rhymes” — words that don’t quite rhyme — especially when it’s obvious that you’ve given up and resorted to forcing the words to fit a particular rhyme scheme. Now and then, you can make a close-but-not-quite rhyme work, but more often than not, it’s the hallmark of an amateur who isn’t trying hard enough. It feels like cheating. Consider different word choices, but if you must reach for the rhyme, see if you can do it without it being jarring to the reader’s ear. Read:
Rhythm or Meter
Some people are blessed with an innate sense of rhythm. Some of us had to endure hours of remedial rhythm training and still struggle to clap on the downbeat at rock concerts.
When I was very little, my parents enrolled me in ballet lessons. I imagine they hoped it would make me more graceful; I hoped it would lead to pointe shoes and sequined tutus and the ability to fly. Neither of these things happened. Instead, we discovered that I had no natural rhythm. For this crime, I was sentenced to hours of listening to “Baby, Take a Bow,” and instructed to look into a mirror while clapping on the downbeat. It did not cure me.
Meter in poetry is nothing more than the natural rhythms of language – the pattern of stressed (accented) and unstressed (unaccented) syllables in the words we choose. Any good dictionary can confirm for you the proper pronunciation of a word and on which syllable the downbeat, or accent, is placed.
But beware of rigid adherence to “rules.” Conversation does not strictly follow any particular “beat.” It is said that Shakespeare wrote much of his work, including sonnets and plays, in iambic pentameter because it closely mimics the patterns of English speech. And that’s true, but had he doggedly stuck to iambic pentameter, without any variation, his work would quickly lull us to sleep.
But there is an art to dancing with words. And, now and then, there’s an art to knowing when to do it with your two left feet tied together. Linguistics and Music Theory can only take you so far; at some point, you also have to trust your intuition. Just remember that when weaving a dream, you want to avoid putting the dreamer into a dreamless sleep or startling the dreamer awake.
Read:
Poetry is a Thing You DO
For the real challenge, now: Go back to the link in the #1, and beginning from A — Abecedarian — and devote one day to each term. Write a poem that demonstrates it and your understanding of it. Work at it until it “clicks.” Some will be much easier than others. Cover two in a day, if you like. Keep a journal or a blog, and keep notes on what you learned, how difficult it was, and what insights you gained from the exercise. Not all of the terms listed here are forms — on the days when you run across a term like “rhyme” or “meter,” simply write a poem that relies on rhyme, or meter, and discuss that in your journal entry. There are 275 terms listed at Poetry Foundation. This means you can take most weekends off, if you like, and still finish in a year. Or take your time. There is absolutely no rush at all.
Bonus challenge: Commit to submitting your poem to a poetry journal or other publication within the month, or to gathering enough of your own poems to publish a chapbook within the year. If you don’t know where to start, sign up for an account at Submittable, go to the Discover tab, and search for calls for poetry.
If you take on this challenge, no one dare raise an eyebrow if you call yourself “Poet.” I cannot guarantee that a year’s daily practice will make you a “great poet.” It probably won’t. It certainly hasn’t made me one – yet. But you can puff out your chest and proudly declare that you are a “poet,” and I will nod and say, “Yes, absolutely — now, keep at it, because the day we stop learning and growing, we can call ourselves dead poets.”
Amazon links (amzn.to, when you hover over them), added for your convenience, are affiliate links. If you buy using them, I may earn a few pennies and it will not cost you extra. But as always, you have choices, and if you choose not to use my links, I’d urge you to support your local brick and mortar, independent bookstores.
Holly Jahangiri is VP and Program Chair at Poets Northwest, which meets in Houston, TX. Her poetry appears online and in print. Holly is the author of Trockle; A Puppy, Not a Guppy; and A New Leaf for Lyle. She draws inspiration from her family, from her own childhood adventures (some of which only happened in her overactive imagination), and from readers both young and young at heart.
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