1/5 a) - A Very Short Essay on Poetry

You read something you like. You work out how the writer achieved that effect. You imitate it.

This is the process of Trying to Write Well, as described by creative writing coursebook editor Julia Bell in Cafe Monzanno, in the warm-down after a novel writing workshop I went to years ago (it was kind of a favour - tickets weren't selling well, and one of the organisers was a friend.)

I'm sure that's not the exact description, but the rough idea still resonates with me. I've seen it echoed in other places, often appended with a further note to the effect that your imitation will always end up like more of a mutation. You can never copy things exactly, but in attempting to copy them, you will inevitably come up with something slightly different, undeniably your own.

It holds true for most writing, but a problem arises when it comes to poetry. The problem is thus: the single trait I find most important in, and defining of, good poetry is character. By which I mean the inescapable feeling, once a particular poet starts to chime with you, that no one could or would write in the same way, that their poetry is Unique. I'm not talking the "Unique!" of book blurbs - just another coded way of trying to convince readers that the poet is the Next Big Thing - but unique in the way someone you know very well indeed is unique. Unique in that they cannot pretend to be anything else; you will always see through them. Unique in the way critics are trying to imply something is when they describe Mr. So-and-So's work as 'Vintage So-and-So' or 'Classic So-and-So', or maybe even 'One for the fans'.

It is this factor that makes me (and others, I suspect,) want to read more poetry even after I've read what is supposedly the greatest poetry ever written, the canon, the untouchable greats. Greats may be great, if indeed they are, but they can only ever be one person, and any exciting poetry shelf requires the distinct characters of multifarious poets. A single anthology will not do - why would you hold a party where the guests are only allowed to tell one or two of their best anecdotes?

Every misdemeanour, rule-reversal and literary faux pas can be excused if it's all part of a poet's character. To my mind, O' Hara is free to ramble, Rimbaud can rail for pages, Catullus can make personal digs, and Leonard Cohen can put his line breaks any place he likes. It only adds to their appeal. Character, if it comes across, if it's irrepressible, is a Get Out Of Jail Free card.

And it's the one thing you can't take from someone else's writing. You can't assume someone else's uniqueness. So the rule of Imitate-Mutate ultimately doesn't work so well when applied to poetry. You can do your most uncanny impression of Mr. Pound or Thomas or Yeats, but a fascination with someone else's character is only one of many quirks you will need to betray, in order to find your own.