Free verse

[Maureen K Clifford]

Like Dave I sometimes am sparked by a picture to write and often rhyming verse doesn't do it.

Here are two old ones of mine the outback flood self explanatory the other one Butterfly Kisses written for my son who is now 47 - when he was a toddler his Aunty used to give him Butterfly kisses and we still do it today and wide mouthed froggy kisses - he used to love them. It is also set up as a audio clip (link and photo here if interested)

http://pool.abc.net.au/media/butterfly-kisses

I have put the photos here as well

OUTBACK FLOOD

Paroo river red gums.jpg

The weeping wands of the willow tree whisper - 'where now?'
A solitary grey Brolga asks - 'how long?'
The feathery fronds of the ferns shake their heads.

They do not know

The river rolls on regardless of the riddle.

A timeless land. Denuded , dry, dusty -
despairing after years of drought.

Water, a pipedream for so long, now trickles
languidly and lazily across the land.

It has its own agenda.


Maureen Clifford © 04/10

BUTTERFLY KISSES



I enjoy quiet moments in the forest
where I can escape into flights of fancy.
But oh how I miss your butterfly kisses.
Your wide mouthed froggy kisses,
and you.

And yet I know you are there.
I feel the warmth of your breath on the breeze,
hear your whispers in the soughing trees,
your footsteps soft in the leafy loam.
Giggles captured by the gurgling creek.

For a mere second a fleeting shadow -
close and yet distant, but comforting
in its presence flashes through my consciousness
like a bird on the wing. My flutterby.
My ephemeral boy.

But here you are, striding towards me
All grown up now – a man, strong, confident,
embracing life and love - taking chances.
You are my pride and joy. But oh how I miss those butterfly kisses
from my baby boy.



Maureen Clifford © 08/10

[manfredvijars]

I wrote that observation seven years ago.

Good points Nev ...
I still maintain that anyone who writes out a subjectively attractive paragraph and then selectively adds line brakes to present it as a poem is a fraud. This is the laziest form of poetry - no matter who writes it. Even your worse rhyming piece would require a greater effort to construct as a poem than "chopped up prose".

Would a blind person recognise the piece as a poem?

The so-called 'free' verse stuff falls into at least six categories (as I see it)

1. Lazy writing (see above)

2. Metaphor madness: Where the writer uses metaphor on metaphor and recursively implodes. Ask the writer to 'explain' and you (mostly) get some mumbo jumbo along the lines of ... "Oh, you OBVIOUSLY haven't reached MY level of enlightenment yet!"

3. Shock and horror: Self explanatory and usually liberally laced with the F & C bombs.

4. Jabble babble: a series of made up words or phrases with random words not meaning anything but purely for phonics.

5. Catharsis: Pure and unashamed outpourings of the heart (or anger).

6. Rich language: VERY rare but also VERY beautiful - yes, it's out there.

Les Murray?? He can say what he likes, it means nothing to me!

This still is a Rhyme and Metre site where we promote and encourage rich language in our (rhyme and metre) craft. We 'rhymesters' see no need to dabble in the first four sections above.

[Neville Briggs]

Manfred. I can see we need another couple of glasses of Cossacks Revenge under the awning.

[manfredvijars]

PS ...

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

This marvelous poem by the California poet Marsha Truman Cooper perfectly captures the world of ironing, complete with its intimacy. At the end, doing a job to perfection, pressing the perfect edge, establishes a reassuring order to an otherwise mundane and slightly tawdry world.

Ironing After Midnight

Your mother called it
"doing the pressing,"
and you know now
how right she was.
There is something urgent here.
Not even the hiss
under each button
or the yellow business
ground in at the neck
can make one instant
of this work seem unimportant.
You've been taught
to turn the pocket corners
and pick out the dark lint
that collects there.
You're tempted to leave it,
but the old lessons
go deeper than habits.
Everyone else is asleep.
The odor of sweat rises
when you do
under the armpits,
the owner's particular smell
you can never quite wash out.
You'll stay up.
You'll have your way,
the final stroke
and sharpness
down the long sleeves,
a truly permanent edge.
---

Well this piece is highly regarded by a Yankee Parrot Lorry8. Maybe I'm missing something that is obvious to everyone else in the world. I looked at this piece a few times, took out all the white spaces and VOILA! It transmogrified into a common paragraph of pretty ordinary writing (to me). OK, OK, I really don't get my jollies out of ironing.

This is not the first "Marvelous" piece of "Intimacy" I've applied this to.

Just what is it Nev, that makes this piece such a "marvelous poem"?

[Neville Briggs]

I don't know why someone thought it was marvellous, you'd have to ask them

I think it is a good poem. What makes it a poem is the line breaks. These make subtle pauses in the flow and intoduce the poetic feel. The last line is certainly a poetic device in my ear.

I don't think that it could be made into a paragraph of ordinary prose. Altering it in any way to make it a paragraph is bit like, if the evidence doesn't support the theory then .....change the evidence.
And I think it is hard to understand if one keeps asking the question, why doesn't this verse sound like a bush ballad ( cause it's not a ballad ) Know what I mean ? there must be something wrong with this square peg, it won't go into the round hole.


There was movement at the station, for the word had got around that the colt from Old Regret had got away, and had joined the wild bush horses.
He was worth a thousand pound, so all the cracks had gathered for the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far had mustered at the homestead, overnight.


apologies to A.B.Paterson.

[manfredvijars]

... line breaks do not a poem make ...

Your mother called it "doing the pressing," and you know now how right she was. There is something urgent here. Not even the hiss under each button or the yellow business ground in at the neck can make one instant of this work seem unimportant. You've been taught to turn the pocket corners and pick out the dark lint that collects there. You're tempted to leave it, but the old lessons go deeper than habits. Everyone else is asleep. The odor of sweat rises when you do under the armpits, the owner's particular smell you can never quite wash out. You'll stay up. You'll have your way, the final stroke and sharpness down the long sleeves, a truly permanent edge.

[manfredvijars]

... contrasting with one of my own ....

And at each turn in the journey that we faced together, you taught me more than I knew about my deepest inner senses. I embraced your soft sweet gentle teachings and I grew. Could not have come this far alone. Giving, for no other reason than, "it's what you do" (and not because you have to). So when sometimes I fell you would forgive and not hang onto 'hurts' to use - to keep me low. You filled my heart, yes 'You' alone.

Journeying these last miles of our lives I thought that we would travel them together, but you slipped into the Silver Night. Oh sweet Consort - my Queen, I'm left here with the deepest cut. I'm lost and empty - so alone.







Alone
(April 2010)

And at each turn in the journey that we faced
together, you taught me more than I knew
about my deepest inner senses. I embraced
your soft sweet gentle teachings and I grew.
Could not have come this far alone.

Giving, for no other reason than, "it's what
you do" (and not because you have to). So
when sometimes I fell you would forgive and not
hang onto 'hurts' to use - to keep me low.
You filled my heart, yes 'You' alone.

Journeying these last miles of our lives I thought
that we would travel them together, but
you slipped into the Silver Night. Oh sweet Consort -
my Queen, I'm left here with the deepest cut.
I'm lost and empty - so alone.
---

[Maureen K Clifford]

I'm almost inclined on those two exercises to say 'you win' Mannie - but but damn nope - not going to happen the words just wont come out

[Neville Briggs]

[quote="manfredvijars"]... line breaks do not a poem make ...
quote]
I don't think that can be said Mannie. Line breaks show the structure of the metre.In the usual bush verse style, line breaks come at regular intervals, plus the usual end rhyming sets up a sort of musical expectation.
The difference in the so-called free verse is that the writer is less structured in metre and the line breaks are more subjectively chosen to suit the mood.

Mannie, the example you have given falls completely flat written out in paragraphs. With the line breaks, it has a subtle rhythm which makes it poetic. I think anyway.
You have done exactly what I did with Paterson's. The effect is the same and shows the importance of line breaks.
I don't think it is valid just to analyse the poem as a piece of script, poems are meant to be said out loud. If the poem about ironing is read out loud in paragraphs then with the slight pauses at the line breaks , you should find an entirely different feel to the piece.

Our old mate Bill Williams for all his concern about metre, certainly understands the paramount importance of pauses and line breaks.

You don't have to say it Maureen speaking for myself, I'm not interested in winning I just have a passion for understanding the true nature of poetic expression.

If only I could do it...

[manfredvijars]

Mausie, as Nevvie says, it's not about 'winning'. This is robust discussion.

I would suggest that the piece about ironing was written out in paragraph form initially without any regard to metre. Aside from line-breaks, I don't see ANY poetic devices there, no metaphor, not even simile, no alliteration and most definitely no rhyme. At best, it's a simple documentary. Lazy, lazy - lazy!!! She would have been better off preparing a shopping list.

My piece, "Alone" is no literary masterpiece. It is simply an exercise in writing 'perfect' rhyme and 'perfect' metre such that when read out loud, you would be hard pressed to recognise the rhyming.
Mission accomplished??

The simple test for 'lazy writing would be for a third party to read it to a blind person, then ask them if it's poetry.

It could be argued that the author should read their piece. Well if the author doesn't want others to read their works - don't publish ...