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I know, I know: you’re probably thinking, \u00a0how can there possibly be so much to say about the poetic line?!? why is poetry so complicated?!? \u00a0@$%^& \u00a0<\/em>and I get it, I really do\u2014but the poetic line is seen by many as THE defining feature of poetry. There’s a whole book<\/a> devoted to its mysteries, and many, many essays have been written in its name. So, really, you’re getting off easy with just 2,000 words on the subject. Consider yourself lucky.<\/p>\n Okay. Last time we talked about enjambed versus end-stopped lines; this time, we’re going to to talk about length. Before we \u00a0get started, I want to make a disclaimer: different writers have\u2014surprise!\u2014different reasons \u00a0for choosing to write in \u00a0a \u00a0 \u00a0specific form and lines of the same length can be used for different reasons and to create different effects. \u00a0Which is to say, \u00a0I’m going to \u00a0be doing some generalizing about how short and long lines operate. DON’T DO THIS AT HOME. What you can \u00a0<\/em>do at home is use a similar strategy to figure out what the line is doing. \u00a0Okay? Okay.<\/p>\n We’ll begin with the short line; let’s take a look at the first stanzas of “Two Paintings by Gustav Klimt<\/a>” by Jorie Graham, one of the most celebrated contemporary poets living in the US today. Read the excerpt aloud, pausing at the end of each line.<\/p>\n I know, I know: you’re probably thinking, \u00a0how can there possibly be so much to say about the poetic line?!? why is poetry so complicated?!? \u00a0@$%^& \u00a0and I get it, I really do\u2014but the poetic continue reading<\/span>Although what glitters<\/em><\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 on the trees,<\/em><\/div>\nrow after perfect row,<\/em><\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 is merely<\/em><\/div>\nthe injustice<\/em><\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 of the world,<\/em><\/div>\nthe chips on the bark of each<\/em><\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 beech tree<\/em><\/div>\ncatching the light, the sum<\/em><\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 of these delays<\/em><\/div>\nis the beautiful, the human<\/em><\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 beautiful,<\/em><\/div>\n<\/div>\nThe short lines \u00a0slow you down\u2014I mean, yeah, duh, when you read them the way I told you to\u2014but even if you read them through, without pause, you still need to take a minute, collect yourself, remember what the subject of this long sentence that’s broken up into these little pieces \u00a0actually is (it’s, ah, “what glitters \/ on the trees”…right??). The slower pace of the short line makes it seem as if it is harder for the poet to speak\u2014as if, perhaps, what she’s saying is difficult for her to say. At the same time, though you might lose sight of the sentence, each line is, as a unit, quite clear and easy to grasp. The short lines are also highly emphatic: they place. More. Pressure. On. Each. Word. And (last thing!) they also create a sense of stillness rather than motion.<\/div>\n<\/div>\nBut the line isn’t short just for fun. The length of the line is closely related to the content of the poem: the short line \u00a0enacts \u00a0<\/em>“the chips on the bark”\u2014that is, each of these lines is itself like a \u00a0little chip. What’s more, if you look at the painting<\/a> \u00a0she’s describing, you can see that it’s made up of many small dots of color, rather than broader strokes\u2014JUST AS THE POEM IS MADE UP OF SHORT LINES! In short (teehee), the small dots of paint are like the short lines are like the chips on the bark. !!!!!!!!!!!<\/div>\n<\/div>\nAs you could probably guess, the long line is pretty much the opposite of the short. Still, let’s take a quick look at another excerpt from a different poem by Graham. This one’s called “Fission.”<\/div>\n<\/div>\nThe real electric lights light upon the full-sized \u00a0<\/em><\/div>\nscreen<\/em><\/div>\non which the greater-than-life-size girl appears,<\/em><\/div>\nalmost nude on the lawn\u2014sprinklers on\u2014<\/em><\/div>\nvoice-over her mother calling her name out\u2014loud\u2014<\/em><\/div>\ncamera angle giving her lower lids their full <\/em><\/div>\nexpanse\u2014a desert\u2014as they rise<\/em><\/div>\n<\/div>\nout of the shabby annihilation,<\/em><\/div>\nout of the \u00a0possibility of never-having-been-seen,<\/em><\/div>\nand rise,<\/em><\/div>\ntill the glance is let loose into the auditorium,<\/em><\/div>\nand the man who has just stopped in his tracks<\/em><\/div>\nlooks down<\/em><\/div>\nfor the first<\/em><\/div>\n<\/div>\nThese lines, the longer ones, move quickly and smoothly, they’re expansive and full. \u00a0The longer line diffuses the emphasis we saw in the shorter lines; the long line can hold more “filler,” more chat (not that it’s doing that in \u00a0this \u00a0<\/em>poem). The long lines are less clear, less immediately comprehensible, as units. They also create a sense of motion\u2014a sense that is compounded, in this poem by the use of the dashes, by the identing of every other line, and by enjambment. This sense of motion fits the content: in the first poem, Graham was describing an almost-Pointillist<\/a> painting; in this poem, she’s describing a movie (specifically, the opening scene of Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita).<\/em><\/div>\n<\/div>\nAs you can see, like the line break, line length can be used to modulate the speed at which a reader is able to travel through the poem\u2014it can also add \u00a0or remove emphasis, create or kill motion, make a line more or less clear. Of course, many lines are neither too \u00a0<\/em>long nor \u00a0too <\/em>short; they are \u00a0just right<\/em>. These “just right” lines (think Robert Frost, Shakespeare) can feel very different, depending on whether they’re enjambed or end-stopped, but we’re generally more comfortable reading them because they’re the line length most of us have been taught to \u00a0expect in a poem. Because of that, the middle-of-the-road line tends to feel more stable and steady; it’s a plodding walk at average pace. I have to admit I’ve grown to prefer the more extreme versions.<\/div>\n<\/div>\nAny more questions about the poetic line?<\/em><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"