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By Root 393 0

Spring," while it isn't a metrical poem, is more metrical than "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark." Halme's poem follows the cadences of everyday speech, its words arranged much as they would be spoken in conversation, but notice the craft with which those words are arranged. Despite its greater length, "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark" consists of only two sentences. The first prepares us to hear a secret. The long second sentence takes us on a tour, by boat, of a genteel Southern coastal city, giving us a history of the town, its battleship on display, a "ladyghost," the church spires, the old slave market and the old wood-hulled boats.

The main difference between these poems is that "Pale Spring" makes more use of end-stopped lines, while "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark" makes more use of enjambed lines. One kind of line isn't better, or even preferable, to the other. They're just different. The end-stopped lines of "Pale Spring" slow the reader down to linger over the lines. They give the reader pause to consider the sounds and meaning of the lines. The enjambed lines of "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark" push on, leading the reader to the next line and to the next, down the page, guided by the repetition of the word past. Past this, past that, down the river, all the way to the ocean.

In these poems, both poets assume the responsibilities of free verse to achieve different results. Free verse isn't exactly free. Clarke and Halme set different rules and goals for their poems. They establish different patterns. Each poem succeeds in its own way—not by ignoring such aspects of poetry as imagery, sound and metaphor, but by creating distinct free-verse forms appropriate for their poems. Free verse isn't complete freedom. It's the opportunity to make your own rules and play by them. That's what poetry is, after all, playing the language to the best effect.

PRACTICE SESSION

1. Select a short paragraph of prose you admire. Rewrite it as free-verse poetry: Write three drafts, each one with different line breaks. Don't repeat any line breaks. Rewrite the prose in drafts of short lines, long lines and a mix of short and long lines. If you find a metric rhythm in the prose, rewrite to emphasize the rhythm.

2. Write a free-verse draft ten lines in length. All lines except the final line must be enjambed lines. Include at least five of the following words: buzz, careen, dapple, father, maple, muzzle, ravine, steam, stutter, vamoose.

3. Write a free-verse draft in which all lines are four to eight syllables long. Include your favorite fruit or vegetable in the draft and describe its taste through a simile.

4. Write a free-verse draft in which all lines are eleven to fifteen syllables long. Include an exotic word, two similes, a metaphor and at least four internal rhymes.

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AN ASIDE:

ON WORK, LUCK

& OTHER ACTS OF IMAGINATION

Poems happen one word at a time. There are no shortcuts. The words become lines, the lines become stanzas, and the stanzas become a poem. A good poem, however, is greater than the sum of its parts. The words themselves, each alone, come to nothing. Together, carefully selected, thoughtfully arranged, they engender emotional and intellectual contexts. Images develop that appeal to the reader's senses. Figures of speech create levels of meaning, the literal and the metaphoric. Sounds play off each other in repetitions and echoes. Rhymes chime in, linking important words. The rhythm rolls (sometimes shudders) through the poem. The form of the poem, whether a traditional form or the open playing field of free verse, gives it shape. All these together engender the emotional and intellectual contexts: What happens in the poem affects the reader's heart and mind. This is what poems do at their best. It rarely happens quickly or easily.

Some poets think about a poem for days or weeks before they write the first word. An emotion or idea keeps returning to them. Other poets begin fresh every time, not knowing where the poem will go, but they, too, write on the emotions and ideas that take up residence at the