April 18, 2003
What makes a poem? Tell me the ways
by Pari Noskin Taichert
COMMENTARY
It was lunchtime on a Wednesday. I was in sixth grade and had forgotten to complete my homework for English class - write a poem.
With the cockiness and brilliance of a truly desperate student, I stapled a leaf of lettuce to a piece of paper. Next period, I handed it in to my teacher and said, "This is my poem."
What started in a moment of recklessness has grown into a true fascination. For nearly 35 years, I've been asking: What makes a poem a poem?
From author and University of New Mexico professor Diane Thiel comes the following answer: "We know a real poem when it has an emotional charge, makes us think, and our bodies want to dance to it. It has rhythm, striking imagery, tension and a closure which reverberates."
But what, I wondered, would people out of academe say? I e-mailed and interviewed more than 140 people and then sifted through wondrous responses from poets and a probate judge, children and a systems analyst, from authors and an executive vice president, and artists and a flight instructor.
I wish I could include every answer in this column, but space and a good editor have prevented that. So the challenge has become how to give readers a true sense of the breadth of approaches this one simple question inspires.
"A poem is a scent, a taste, a touch, a glimpse, a whisper from the small voice in the heart," says Carolyn Rose, a former New Mexico news assignment editor who now writes mysteries for a living in Vancouver, Wash.
Her comment is representative of many that combined a series of short, evocative words to form an answer. Local artist Jan Phillips took an even simpler approach, opting for sensation above all else: "If it sends shivers up your spine, it's a poem."
A majority of the answers contrast the plodding workhorse of prose against the frisky pony of poetry. "Poetry is the impudent child of prose, thumbing its nose at margins," writes Alan Greenwood, a high school English teacher in Hobbs who writes poetry and fiction. And there's a consensus that poems do more with less. "Poetry is prose edited to its most descriptive and evocative essence," says Merri Rudd, a probate judge and writer.
Poet and high school English teacher Bill Nevins answered my question with a short poem of his own. "Thoughts buzzin in the head body buzzin in the bed/Frazzled hair from what you read what was bled what is said."
Oh, there are too many quotations from which to pick! Wisdom in wisps of words - yeah, I know I'm going crazy with alliteration, but it's difficult not to get in the mood - that make me think in new ways.
"Poetry is the secular form of prayer," writes David Corbett, an author living in California.
Closer to home, Lisa D. Madsen tackles the question succinctly. "A poem paints the largest picture with the fewest words," says the executive director of the Public Lands Interpretive Association.
And I have to include an answer from a child. "The rhyming words and the words with expression - good illustration makes a poem a poem," says Spenser Lotz, a second-grader at Bellehaven Elementary School.
There you have it: a small sampling of the myriad ways people think about poetry. Still, when I try to pin myself down to a personal answer, I stumble on words and concepts, each attempt lacking in eloquence when poised before this particular literary conundrum. I shun elitist explanations, those that would obscure meaning through convolution and definitions that seek to paralyze a fluff of whimsy into ponderous pronouncements.
My piece of lettuce - that first breaking out of thought born of foolhardiness - has long since wilted. But that doesn't matter. Poetry speaks profoundly and differently to each person. And therein lies its distinctive power and singular beauty.
Of the many answers I received, one came closer than any other to what I think makes a poem a poem.
"I know a poem is a poem by my physical reaction," says Nancy Rutland, owner of Bookworks bookstore on Rio Grande Boulevard. "I open my eyes a little wider as I catch my breath."
What do you think makes a poem a poem? Let me know.
Pari Noskin Taichert is an Albuquerque freelance writer. Her column appears the third Friday of each month. Reach her at www.badgirlspress.com or pari@badgirlspress.com.
