Words
Words are like raindrops.
They fall. Single and
Sublime upon the earth,
The shores and the
Stream that
Gurgles and splutters and
Tries to
Make sense.
Words join together in
Sentences of streams,
Rivers, overflowing, flowing
And flowing in roads connected,
Disconnected, passing each
Other,
Only to be joined, connected
And go on
And on.
Words flow calm and tepid,
Smooth and serene
Or hot and roaring, thundering
And screeching.
Gnashing themselves on
The rocks and dead
Foliage.
Words are holy—
The scriptures of religion.
They are the canon that tell the
Pope what to do.
Almighty, all powerful they are
More powerful than
God himself.
Words are the creator—
They made God.
They made everything possible.
They have the power to kill or
Maim, to love or hate, to admire or
Insult. Words. Soft, romantic and
Lustful. Harsh, bitter,
Revengeful.
Words hurt. Words cure.
They are the surgeon's
Tools. They cut and chop,
Disengage and defuse.
They bisect, dissect and
Resurrect.
Words explode more potent
Than bombs.
They can take away or
Legitimize a life. Prop you up or
Bring you down and
Turn you round and round.
Words—I salute you.
Copyright 2012 by Shirani Rajapakse
Critique by Jendi Reiter
A new year, a fresh start. Time to re-assess the familiar materials with which we've labored for the past twelve months, to rediscover the heart of our projects and re-commit ourselves to bringing forth what's essential. In December's Critique Corner, my colleague Tracy Koretsky offered a close reading and appreciation of some prizewinning work by our subscribers. In this month's column, Sri Lankan poet Shirani Rajapakse invites us to a similar appreciation of the writer's most basic tool—words.
In this data-overloaded culture, where words (or misspelled fragments of words) are largely disposable vehicles to convey information quickly, the poet's careful attention can be a subversive luxury. How often do we take the time required to ponder the subtle differences between words and reflect on why one is a better fit for this line of this poem?
Certainly, careless word choices can produce some howlers for contest judges. A misplaced word is like a nail sticking up from the road, causing a flat tire that stops the reader's journey. To continue the automotive metaphor, bad poems can result from tunnel vision: the author concentrated so hard on one dimension of the word, such as rhyme, that he didn't bother asking whether the word was also a fresh image or consistent with the poem's mood.
The many dimensions to consider include meaning, sound, syllable count and accents, degree of formality, historical period, and even the word's history of usage in other well-known poems. And then there's the question of how many words are required to make the point—elaboration and repetition versus minimalism. Writing instructors sometimes offer cheap shortcuts such as "eliminate adverbs" or "no more than one adjective per noun" (so long, wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie). A thoughtful writer, however, will allow the words in each poem to choose their own companions, whether few or many.
Rajapakse's "Words" are gregarious indeed, yet her theme appears simple. So simple, in fact, that sometimes I asked myself whether the poem displayed true movement or only repeated a single theme to excess. The short line breaks contribute to this impression of a lengthy but monotone list. But I think there's more here to reward the patient reader. Countering our tendency to skim text for the "take-home message", Rajapakse wants us to slow down, give each word the benefit of the doubt, and think about how it functions:
They are the surgeon's
Tools. They cut and chop,
Disengage and defuse.
They bisect, dissect and
Resurrect.
Poets are like collectors. We love words with texture, sparkle and edge; rare words; lively words that are not used as often as they deserve. Rajapakse is a connoisseur of active, specific verbs, as this passage shows. Do we need both "cut" and "chop"? Well, cutting is precise and calculated, chopping is rougher and perhaps aggressive. The surgeon needs both types of blades. So does the writer. Along with a range of meanings, different words facilitate different sound techniques. "Cut and chop, disengage and defuse" give us alliteration; "bisect, dissect and resurrect" add rhyme. Maybe it's best to think of this poem not as a narrative but as a variety showcase, a talent show for words.
The opening lines demonstrate another aspect of wordplay, namely mimicking the rhythm of the thing spoken about. Notice the choppy linebreaks and short sentences when the author is comparing words to raindrops, versus the longer and more regular lines in the passage beginning "Words join together in/Sentences of streams".
Not all of the unexpected linebreaks are as successful. For instance, "Passing each/Other" introduces an awkward pause that isn't justified either by the importance of the word so highlighted, or by the sound-picture she's aiming to create, since this is the section of the poem where the metaphorical water is supposed to flow smoothly.
Another rough spot occurs in "They are the canon that tell the/Pope what to do." I generally advise against ending a line with the word "the" because it is a weak word to emphasize, and the break goes against the natural cadence of speech. The author might consider breaking after "canon" instead.
Rajapakse has made the rather old-fashioned choice to begin each line with a capital letter, which calls further attention to words that have been placed in positions above their real importance. During revision, she might try switching to standard capitalization (only at the beginnings of sentences), to see whether it makes certain phrases flow more naturally.
A couple of stanza breaks could also improve the pacing. For example, try breaks after "Foliage" and "revengeful". Each new stanza would then begin with "Words", adding a visible structure to the poem. In our March 2011 Critique Corner, Tracy discussed diction families—related words that build up an extended metaphor. By setting off one diction family from another, stanza breaks could turn "Words" from a repetitive "list" poem to one that actually contains pauses for thought.
Finally, Rajapakse might consider a more universal ending. The authorial "I" felt to me like an intrusion, since the poem was not a first-person lyric up to this point. Switching "I" to "we", as suggested in our October 2011 Critique Corner, generously invites the reader into the poem. However, "salute you" is still a cliche, and the lines immediately before this one are not especially distinctive either. Perhaps she could tinker with the last four lines to stay completely within the military diction family suggested by "Words explode more potent/Than bombs. They can take away or/Legitimize a life." These are some of the strongest lines in the poem, in terms of meaning and rhythmic punch. They should either end the poem or be followed by something shorter, thematically connected, and equally powerful. Rajapakse has a lively vocabulary and a love for the raw materials of writing, which will serve her well as she polishes this poem further.
Where could a poem like "Words" be submitted? The following contests may be of interest:
Poetry Society of Virginia (Adult Categories)
Postmark Deadline: January 19
Prizes up to $250 for poems in over two dozen categories including humor, nature, and a variety of traditional forms
Slipstream Poets Open Poetry Competition
Entries must be received by January 31
British writers' group offers prizes up to 250 pounds for unpublished poems on a selected theme (2012: "Encounters")
This poem and critique appeared in the January 2012 issue of Winning Writers Newsletter (subscribe free).
Categories: Poetry Critiques
