Young Writers Society

Poets--


It seems I've seen a lot of poems posted that suffer greatly because of their line-breaks. To that end, here's a quick-study in them. These are rules of thumb mind you, not carved in stone, but they are good rules of thumb.

1. Where the breath lends itself.

This is much easier to describe than it is to do and it isn't that easy to describe. Since this is the hardest break to master, I'll begin with it and get it out of the way.

I'm going to start by discussing dialogue, as in fiction-writing dialogue. The secret to writing good dialogue is to make artificial speech sound like normal speech. If you were to tape-record a conversation and then transcribe it later, you would see how boring and dull everyday conversation really is. Sentences taper off for no reason, conversations are stuffed with ers and ums, words overlap one another, references are made that only the participants understand, etcetera. Good dialogue manages to clean up all those elements and still manages to sound normal. Writing good dialogue is an art unto itself and those who are good at it are few and far between. (An example of bad dialog would be the screenplay of Titanic, say. An example of good dialog would be anything written by Elmore Leonard, the acknowledged master.)

Where the breath lends itself then, would be to put a line break where one would naturally pause in conversation to take a breath. Easy, no?

Well, no. Because putting a line break where you would naturally pause, would make for some very long - or very short - lines, indeed. If you read a poem aloud and had someone mark the places where you took a breath, and then transcribed the poem, it would look ridiculous on the page. The breaks would make no sense at all. Putting a line break where the breath lends itself is to create something that feels normal from something that isn't. Much like writing good dialogue. It is extremely difficult to do well. After three or four lines of important imagery, say, a pause, followed by a short, simple statement, gives the reader an opportunity to "catch his breath" as well as the writer. Breath breaks are often used to end sections of poems.

2. Where the punctuation falls

This is remarkably easy to do, runs a slight risk (if overdone) of making the poem boring, but is, nonetheless, a perfectly sound reason for making the line break. Where any punctuation mark occurs is a good, safe place to break the line. Use it well, use it often even, but don't rely on it entirely.

3. Where the line break creates an interest in the following line

This is a common device used by poets everywhere and is pretty much self-explanatory. It's a line break made that can (although this should not be the sole motivation for the break) pique the reader's curiosity. Make the reader want to read on. These type of line breaks also help to keep the poem moving smoothly along.

4. Where it creates an ambiguity that enhances the original intent of the poem

This is one of the most important techniques used by poets today; it is also the second hardest. If a line can be broken in such a way that the break creates another image while remaining true to the original one , then a duality is created, a melody so to speak, that adds a depth and texture to a poem that might otherwise not be there.

At this point in this lesson, I've decided to use one of the poems I wrote as an exercise for a course I once took as an example. The poem is called Fisher's Ridge. Here's the poem:


From my doorstep the foothills roll away and up
to a broken ridge and signed stone that marks the end
of a piece of land a man put his name to years ago.
The hawks float lazy and dangerous over the bright-eyed
field mice desperately concerned with their life
between the burrows and the gone-dry creek.
Grasshoppers haunt the hedgerows, the tadpole pond.
Morning horses make their way down to the near fence
and wait patiently for the apples they know
I will toss them, casually as I have all summer.
This is why I came here, in part, why I stay.

At night sometimes, not often but at night, I find
my way up the lower hills, near the ridge, high
enough at least to recognize the faint light
of the train station, the bus depot,
the room I occupy a mile away, fragile
and flickering as though it were candle-lit.

The grass is cold but the earth itself warm enough
to hold me for an hour or so, humming quietly
all the songs I know or know part of, making my own
ceremony, as close to faith as I can bring myself.
For a little time finding myself restored and whole
again among the quilted, luminous hills, above
the town full of cares and promises easily broken.
Content enough to be in the company of my neighbors;
the hawks, the field mice, the sleeping land,
the man who saw it, perhaps for the first time,
and marked the place with a stone for me to find
and signed it with his name as a friend would.


It is now a bit too sweet and sentimental for my tastes, frankly, but it'll serve its purpose here. Now let's look at it again, parsing as we go. The poem begins using the interest breaks we discussed above (#3).

From my doorstep the foothills roll away and up

(Up? Up where?)

to a broken ridge and signed stone that marks the end

(End? End of what?)

of a piece of land a man put his name to years ago.

(Punctuation break)

The hawks float lazy and dangerous over the bright-eyed (bright-eyed what?) field mice desperately concerned with their life between the burrows and the gone-dry creek.

(But there are a couple of ambiguities there, too)

The hawks float lazy and dangerous over the bright-eyed.

(The line could have ended with a period there, almost. The line break is there because it now adds the possibility of two prey, the bright-eyed and the field mice.)

(While we're here, let's look at the lines)

The hawks float lazy and dangerous over the bright-eyed
field mice desperately concerned with their life.

(The image could have ended there, couldn't it? The field mice are desperately concerned with their life. But it makes the ambiguity by continuing)

between the burrows and the gone-dry creek.

(There's an enormous difference between field mice concerned about their life and field mice concerned about their life in the burrows and creeks.)

(The poem continues)

Grasshoppers haunt the hedgerows, the tadpole pond.

(Punctuation break. Also a breath pause. But note too the alliteration of haunt and hedgerows, a "hop, hophop" sound, which is also what grasshoppers do, isn't it?)

Morning horses make their way down to the near fence
(yes, and?)
and wait patiently for the apples they know
I will toss them, casually as I have all summer.

(There could also have been a period at the end of "they know".)

and wait patiently for the apples they know.
I will toss them, casually as I have all summer.

(The ambiguity here is are the horses coming for the apples they know, or are they coming for the apples they know will be tossed to them?)

This is why I came here, in part, why I stay.

(Punctuation break. Breath break. Stanza break. The poem itself could almost have come to an end here.)

At night sometimes, not often but at night, I find
(Find? Find what?)
my way up the lower hills, near the ridge, high
(how high?)
enough at least to recognise the faint light
(what light?)
of the train station, the bus depot,
(punctuation break)
the room I occupy a mile away, fragile
(Ambiguity. Is the room fragile?)
and flickering as though it were candle-lit.
(Punctuation break. Stanza break)

The grass is cold but the earth itself warm enough
(How warm?)
to hold me for an hour or so, humming quietly
(Ambiguity. Is the earth humming?)
all the songs I know or know part of, making my own
(Ambiguity. Making my own songs?)
ceremony, as close to faith as I can bring myself.
(Punctuation break)
For a little time finding myself restored and whole
again among the quilted, luminous hills, above

(Ambiguity. The line here could have ended with a period and begun afresh, as in)


For a little time finding myself restored and whole.
Again among the quilted, luminous hills, above
(Above what?)
the town full of cares and promises easily broken.
(Punctuation break)
Content enough to be in the company of my neighbors;
(Punctuation break)
the hawks, the field mice, the sleeping land,
(Punctuation break)
the man who saw it, perhaps for the first time,
(Punctuation break)
and marked the place with a stone for me to find
(Ambiguity. The poem could have ended with this line)
and signed it with his name as a friend would.
(which makes all the difference)


Before leaving this poem, I'd like to add one more point in passing. There's a "three tone" device that can be used very effectively in poetry. I don't think Dylan Thomas actually invented it, but he certainly perfected it. It's a way of ending lines with three distinct but different sounds. Dylan Thomas used it frequently throughout his poems, as in "bible black night" and it adds a musical quality to poems. The trick is to do it without the reader noticing. Look at the poem again. The "three tone" device is used twice, one after another.

between the burrows and the gone-dry creek.
Grasshoppers haunt the hedgerows, the tadpole pond.

I could have said,

between the burrows and the dry creek.
Grasshoppers haunt the hedgerows, the frog pond.

but that wouldn't have been the same thing at all, would it?


Having covered a few of the basic "do"s it seems I'm obligated to point out a couple of the "don't"s.

The first is, don't use any of these rules of thumb simply because you now know how to do them. Line breaks, as with all other aspects of poetry, should come naturally to the poem. They should be what the poem needs, not what you want

The second is, (this one is written in stone and is also the most common line break mistake made by bad poets everywhere) never, never, never create a line break for emphasis alone . It will sound pompous and stentorian and besides, it insults the intelligence of your readers by implying they don't know what's important in the poem.

The third is, have a reason for your breaks. "Because I feel it's right" or "Because it looks pretty on the page" or "Because otherwise the line would be too long (or too short) compared to the other lines" will not do. A poem is crafted, hand-crafted. Know what you're doing and why. If you can't explain it, your readers won't be able to understand it. And that wouldn't be a good thing at all, would it?


All the best,
Brad