I have spent a rather blissful couple of weeks revising my new poetry collection which I’m calling (at least for now) “Her Life Collected.” It’s been edited by the poet Katy Evans- Bush (aka Baroque in Hackney) and what an exhaustive job she’s done. She’s managed to highlight all my old bad habits and make me question many of my poetic assumptions. It’s absolutely true when I say it’s been fascinating taking this time to rework these poems — all 55 of them — and really great fun, too.
I’ve always said that there’s no difference between poetry and prose. What I’ve meant is that the best prose should strive for the same qualities of language that are found in the best poetry. But what does that really mean? After this latest batch of revisions I have come to realize that perhaps the most important “quality of language” is precision. What does a word really mean? Does it really carry the same meaning as you think it does or are you importing your own meaning onto it when you use it? Are some words actually markers for more concrete thoughts that you haven’t taken the time to uncover? We English speakers are blessed with an enormously rich language. We have all the words we need to say exactly what we mean. The first challenge is to figure out what it is we mean to say, and the second is to find precisely the right word with which to say it.
This certainly must be true for prose as it is for poetry. But I know that I am sometimes guilty of rushing, of laziness, of sloppiness in my word choices. But during this revision process I sat with every word and asked myself, “what does this mean?” “Does it mean what I want it to mean?” “Do I know what I want it to mean?” “Do I even know what I am trying to say in the first place?” As a writer, there are many types of work that I do, tasks I perform. But this one, practicing the high art of precision, is the most difficult, and most crucial.
For example, in one of my poems I wrote “deafening defiance.” Now I have to ask, what the heck does that mean? Does it mean anything at all? Did I just like the sound of it? Well, sound counts for something, but it isn’t enough. So I cut it, along with many of my other “darlings.” And did it feel good!
It is funny but today I was thinking about a similar thing. I’m working on a chapter for an English textbook and it has a section about word choice. In Botswana, as in many African countries, perhaps as a result of residual colonialism, there is a tendancy to believe speaking and using big English words means you are educated. You read school essays with extraordinary language, often quite humorous. I was trying to think of ways to get kids to accept that talk is an okay word if that is the word you need; in that case, actually, it is the only right word.
I, too, am guilty of holding tightly to words that I don’t truly know the full meaning of and using them freely. You are right. How can writing not be about the words?
This is an excellent point Sue, when you say “Are some words actually markers for more concrete thoughts that you haven’t taken the time to uncover?” this reminds me of something Aimee Bender, one of the best writing teachers I have ever had, said during a course a few years ago. She was talking about my use of the word “chemo” during a short story, which she called a “placeholder” for a big idea, a lazy placeholder. it’s a point that has stuck with me ever since, although I must admit have not combed through my stories with the same precision filter! Looking forward to reading your collection soon. xx
Very interesting, I know precisely what ‘deafening defiance’ means. Its a superb couple of words.
But of course, it had to mean something to the author, you, and you were correct in cutting it. Self discipline is important.
Interesting post and glad to discover your blog via a link from the Expat Expert.
I think editing is even harder than writing. Because precision is difficult. Congrats on cutting your favorites. That too, is hard!
Lauri: It’s funny how there’s an assumption by some that the bigger the words, the smarter the speaker. Certainly, kids feel that way, especially when they start writing – but the results can be hysterical.
Tania:This issue of the “place holder” is a big one for me, both for individual words and even entire scenes in my fiction. i’ve been known to gloss over things in early drafts as an unconscious way of avoiding addressing something too emotionally charged.
Glyn: It’s funny.”Defeaning defiance” must have meant something to me when I wrote it, but when I went back much later and looked at the poem, I hadn’t a clue what I had meant. I think I was right to change it, too, but I still do like the sound of it.
Chantal: I’m so glad you found me. Thanks for stopping by!
Fascinating – just found this. Sue – do you think you have to know exactly what you are trying to say, in poetry? In prose, if I look too closely at the reasons for writing, the writing dies.
Vanessa: Yes, I do think you need to know what you’re saying otherwise it can be a beautiful flow of sounds, and that’s music, not poetry. That doesn’t mean that your reader has to import the same meaning onto it as you did, and it may not mean that you have to understand completely what you are saying in a way that is beyond the chosen words, if you know what I mean. But if you look at what you wrote and scratch your head and go “huh?”, I don’t think that’s a great sign. Prose does feel different though, I agree. Though I would bet that when you go back and revise, you do make whatever you wrote in your 1st draft flow into something understandable.
Oh of course – but there’s ‘understandable’ and then there’s such clunky theme delivery it becomes badly done ‘fable’… I’m tussling with these things!