Having recently not recognised the form of a poem on here
written as a Rondeau, and as Thomas Thurman has raised
the issue of form today, I`ve been giving the idea of form
some thought.

A famous English Rondeau is McCrae`s Flanders fields.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

In Thomas` terms The imagery, word play and emotion in
this are expressed most poignantly and - again in Thomas`
terms - the four beat of the metre and - to me -the effect
of those repeated `long O` syllables in the rhyme have the
kind of sad sonorous effect mindful of Owen`s `Anthem `.
and somehow expressive of the compass and scale of the
slaughter.

I would say that the form - used as it is here-as an opening
stanza of place, a shorter stanza reminding of a former happy
state, and a final stanza of exhortation to carry on their task,
(with that ironic opening three word repitition) is a great help
to both the hearer or the reader and-I think-would have been
a great help to the poet in getting his thoughts in order.

(Those who say that the last stanza is a bit revengfully `gung ho`
have never experienced the patriotic `wroughting up` required
for survival in war)

What does anyone think?

I, for one, have never been able to fathom out all that fuss made about line endings in the free stuff, I am - at the moment battering my head against trying to suss out the length of line in a free one (some hope)

Can anyone enlighten me?

I posted this late. So can I just explain that my point about `Anthem` in Owen`s poem referred to the title, and not to
the staccato gunfire and wail of shells of the first part of the actual sonnet.

Harry,

I am woefully unread (albeit I quite like being a poetic ignoramus) in that I do not have to fathom out form and endings etc. If I ever get it right, then it's luck.

When other poets on here start quoting from the great and the good it usually goes over my head completely.

Poetry should come from the heart, when its ready to come. What's more important in my opinion is a good vocabulary, good eyes, good ears (although my wife would say I have not good ears) and a surgically attached notebook.

There is also the issue of being influenced (whether consciously or sub-consciously) by others' work.

I suppose everything in this world needs form but I do not understand it and have no need of it in poetic terms to write what comes out of my head.

Line endings in free verse depends on all kinds of things.

Sometimes, the line ends at the end of a clause in the sentence.

Sometimes the writer deliberately ends the line just before or just after the end of a clause, in order to propel the reader onto the next line.

Or enjambs much the way a more formal poet would.

Or they have some arbitrary reason only known to themselves.

There are also reasons to do with the overall 'music' of the form, which may not be obvious to those who are used to the more formalist poetry, rather in the way modern jazz just sounds like noise to the classical music buff.

And then of course, there's the 'it just feels right' argument, or the 'it makes a nice picture on the page' argument.

All good poetry has form, free or not free.

The form of a poem helps to put over the meaning, or the emotion, or to give it a position in relation to a context. If you write a ballad form, or a sonnet form, or use or don't use regular rhythm, your writing points towards influences and can suggest where and when the poem is sited.

I used to write poems in my head while walking, and some of those poems have a walking rhythm.

I like the fact that you can choose the form. But I shy away from more artificial structures that are very clever, since I rarely want to write poems that say 'this is clever'.

As Steven says, all good poetry has form. Bad poetry has too quite often. Its just a lot more predictable.

"Form is never more than an extension of content" (Robert Creeley, as quoted by Charles Olson in the essay "Projective Verse."

You can tell bad verse because the form somehow mitigates against the content. Bad rhyme, inappropriate rhythm, too many words in a line, etc...

Sometimes, formal considerations can lead the poet to discover ways of saying that they wouldn't otherwise think of. People who use form well (George Szirtes for instance, or A E Stallings in America) let the rhyme lead them into these discoveries; but all too often rhyme leads people into banalities. Moon/June rhymes and tinkly rhythms are ok for light verse and songs; but for anything else, you have to work harder.

Of course, free verse can lead to discoveries too: because you don't know what the next line will bring you and there is no set rhythm. Again, it's about making it work, and listening to the sound the poem makes.

Listening is what it's all about (unless you're making visual poetry, which is a different discipline altogether).

Steven, are you equating 'visual poetry' with 'page poetry'? I don't understand your above point.

If your reference is to page poetry, I totally disagree that it is a different discipline at all. Written or spoken, the musical effect of poetry must be there; our eyes make music as well as the ears. But you make this point yourself,and clearly. So -what is 'visual poetry'? I'm obviously not in the loop.

Excellent comments have been made about line breaks. IMO, the good poet actively directs the reader's mind and will judge the line breaks according to intent. If the poet has no clear idea what the intent actually is, the breaks will be wishy-washy. For a poet to argue that my reasoning is for me alone to know is to say that I should be writing in a diary, not a public forum. Publication implies the desire to be read, and, presumably, understood.

When in doubt about a line break, read the poem aloud and check where your natural pauses of speech fall, which pauses would also imply a natural eye shift to the next line. Or, if one word leads inexorably to another, pull a line surprise and add a frisson of syncopation for emphasis by dropping the associated word to the next line.

The reasons for line breaks are endless, but, IMO, a rhythm and musical assonance must be inherent. There's no shortcut for a great vocabulary.

Thanks, Cynthia, for fetching a bit of common sense into
the `free` line break arguments. (particularly that bit about writing for a public forum and not in a diary).

A printed public forum implies a generally agreed method of public (typographical) communication in order for us to understand what is being communicated.

Page poetry allows some re-arrangement of the words on the page but the poet should have-at least-some idea of why he does this, and-however inadequately-be able to justify his reasons, which very well may be rhythm or musical assonance.

The crucial point is that the explanation must be tied to the words on the page.

Your point that `our eyes make music as well as the ears` is very true. It explains why ancient poetry lasts.

Armitage recently spoke about poetry`s connection to the civilian world, and Paul McMenemy`s comment that `it doesn`t seem to have one` should fill us with alarm.

I would love to hear Steven`s definition (with examples)
of the differences between listening and visual poetry.

Cynthia -

'visual poetry' has been called 'concrete poetry' in the past. That's different from 'page poetry.'

'Concrete poetry' depends on the visual appearance of words on the page, rather than the sound of the poem, though that can be a factor (for instance, Edwin Morgan's 'pomander' is in the shape of a pomander but can actually be performed and make a nice sound.)

I realise for some it's probably 'not really poetry' but it has its fans (I'm one), and I've dabbled a little myself.

I'm afraid you're going to have to look up examples for yourself as I'm pretty certain the format here would mess it up. Look up Bob Cobbing's Square Poem, for instance.

I think, Cynthia, your advice about line breaks is pretty good by the way. Personally, I often try to cut across the phrase in a viciously enjambed kind of way in order to create dissonances and new combinations of words. But that's all part of a poetic steeped in the history of avant-gardism, and you have to like walking a tightrope artistically to get away with it.

Just one more thing about 'visual poetry':

At one end it really slides into visual art using text as a basis, at the other end it's playing games with aspects of the appearance words/letters on the page such as font, size, colour, fragment and completeness, shape. Sometimes it can be 'read' in a normal way, though its verbal meaning isn't always very deep. Sometimes it's heads a lot closer to visual art where the text gets manipulated, erased or variously obscured. The way to 'read it' is to see it for what it is, and not try to read as if it's a normal poem. It's a 'visual poem' and should be read visually, even if there might be a verbal meaning as well.

And you don't have to like it, the same as you don't have to like a Jackson Pollock or a Constable. Neither, though, do you have to choose one or the other. You can like both.

For those that are interested, there is a new anthology of visual/ concrete poetry just published. Quite pricey, though ... http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=50022

Thanks, Steve. 'concrete poetry' is the name I know, and have known for years. And have played with. Many English programmes often used it as a teaching tool. Honestly, I should have remembered the usage of 'visual poetry' from prior Poetica meetings; it now rings a bell, probably yours.