This will be my final post as a columnist for DIY MFA. This is a bittersweet departure for me, but I’m excited to begin another chapter of my life! It’s truly been an honor writing for you all and I thought I’d leave you with some of the lessons I’ve learned from 7 years of writing poetry (I can’t believe it’s already been that long!). 

My hope is that by sharing these lessons, I can inspire some of you to keep pushing forward with your own writing and maybe even pick up a pen and try your hand at poetry yourselves. 

Without further ado, here are my top 5 lessons learned:

Lesson 1: Poetry Can Be About Taking Risks

Poetry can be risky business. Not in the sense of physical danger, but in the sense of vulnerability. When you write poetry, you’re often revealing your deepest emotions and thoughts. It’s an act of bravery to put those feelings out into the world. 

However, taking risks doesn’t have to be about vulnerability or putting yourself out into the world in ways that you’re uncomfortable with. It can also be about pushing boundaries and challenging the reader (and yourself) to see things in a new light. It can be about experimenting with form and structure, playing with words and sounds, and digging deep into your own emotions and experiences to find meaning in the world around you.

The best poetry often comes from taking risks, from trying something new and daring to be unafraid to taking chances and experimenting with language and form. 

So don’t be afraid to take risks with your writing—you never know what amazing things might come from it.

Lesson 2: Poetry Is About Finding Your Voice

When you’re first starting out as a poet, it can be easy to get caught up in the work of other writers. I find myself still doing this, too! You might find yourself trying to imitate the style of your favorite poets or their subject matter. 

But the truth is, the best poetry comes from finding your own unique voice. Your voice is what sets you apart from other writers—it’s what makes your work stand out, so it’s important to take the time to explore yourself as a writer, experiment with different styles and subjects, and find what feels true to you. 

Don’t worry about whether or not your work is “good” or “bad.” Just focus on finding your voice and expressing yourself honestly.

Lesson 3: Read Widely

Reading widely is an important part of any poet’s journey. It can provide inspiration, help you find your own unique writing style, and give you valuable insights into the various ways poetry can be used to express emotions and ideas. 

Reading widely also helps you become more familiar with different poetic forms, styles, structures, and techniques. 

Not only should you read a lot of poetry from different time periods, but I also recommend broadening your horizons by reading works from poets of different backgrounds. Diversity in literature is just as important as diversity in any other field. 

Finally, remember to take the time to analyze each poem that you read. Think about what the poet was trying to convey through their words and why they chose particular language or a certain structure to do so. This kind of thoughtful analysis will help your writing become even stronger in the long run.

Lesson 4: Poetry Can Be Collaborative 

Writing poetry doesn’t have to be a solitary activity. In fact, there is great power in collaborating with other writers, sharing ideas and inspiration to create something greater than the sum of its parts. 

Collaborations can take many forms, from writing duos to group poetry sessions. They allow for diverse perspectives and experiences to come together in a single work, creating something that can be unique and powerful. 

If you’re interested in collaborating with other writers, start by reaching out to fellow poets you admire or joining writing groups in your community. Experiment with different forms of collaboration and see what works best for you.

Lesson 5: Poetry Requires Patience

Writing poetry is not something that comes easily to most people. It takes time, effort, and patience. Sometimes you might find yourself struggling to come up with the right words or phrases, but that’s okay!

It’s important to respect the process of writing and take some time to explore and refine your ideas. Don’t get discouraged if things don’t come out as you expected. Instead, use it as an opportunity to learn more about yourself as a writer. 

As with all good things in life, poetry is a skill that takes time to develop, so don’t be too hard on yourself when you’re just starting out. 

My advice would be to practice regularly: set aside time each day or week to just sit down and write. Even if you don’t feel inspired, write something anyway. You never know what kind of magic might come from just putting words on paper.

And remember, patience also means giving yourself permission to revise and edit your work. Sometimes you’ll need to step away from a poem for a while and come back to it with fresh eyes. Don’t rush the process of perfecting your work—it takes time and effort to craft a truly great poem.

With that, I bid you farewell, poets! Keep writing, keep searching for your voice, and never stop taking risks with your words! I can’t wait to see what you come up with.  

Manuela Williams is a Las Vegas-based writer and editor. She is the author of Ghost In Girl Costume, which won the 2017 Hard To Swallow Chapbook Contest. Her second poetry chapbook, Witch, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. When she’s not writing, Manuela is busy drinking coffee and spending time with her blind Pomeranian, Redford.

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If you’re planning on traditionally publishing a full-length poetry collection or chapbook, you will typically work with a designer and the publisher to come up with a book cover design you’re all happy with. While this means you don’t have to search for a designer yourself, it’s helpful to keep in mind the elements of good cover design—in other words, what will make your cover look polished and professional. 

Good cover design is especially important for poets who are planning to self-publish their collections. If you’re going the DIY route with your book cover design, you’ll need to make sure you’re following best practices to create something eye-catching. If you’re hiring a designer, you’ll need to be able to find designers who specialize in your preferred style.

Read on to learn about some popular cover trends in the poetry genre and what makes these covers good starting points for your own publishing journey. 

1. The Typography-Based Cover

These covers typically center around typography—bold and colorful like Couplets and Why Fathers Cry at Night or classic and clean like the above alternate cover for Natalie Diaz’s Postcolonial Love Poem. 

Typography-based poetry covers usually don’t have a lot of extra ornamentation on them, such as illustrations or photographs. Instead, the focus is completely on the typography: its layout, color, and font type (serif, sans serif, brush, handwriting, etc.). 

Typography-based covers have been around for a while and I don’t see this trend going away any time soon—and for good reason! They can be simple or elaborate, depending on the tone of your collection and they also don’t require purchasing or doing a lengthy search for good stock photos, illustrations, or other art, as—again—the typography is the sole focus. 

This style is especially beneficial for poets who will be self-publishing or presses with a tight budget, as the designer or DIY-er won’t have to worry about any heavy photo manipulation. It’s all about the font!

2. The Photo-Based Cover

These covers revolve around a central photograph, sometimes a self-portrait as Natalie Diaz did with the cover for Postcolonial Love Poem.

While photo-based covers can be a bit more challenging to DIY—for example, you need to make sure all photos you use are properly licensed for use on book covers—if you find a striking image that fits the theme of your collection, it can do wonders to add interest to your cover.

3. The Object-Based Cover

Like the description suggests, these covers revolve around a central object or objects without much extra ornamentation.

Oftentimes object-based covers are paired with interesting typography to add extra “oomph,” such as the cover for Odes to Lithium. The handwritten brush font and the illustrated objects on the cover work to compliment the confessional-style poetry within the collection. In other words, the tone of the collection is clearly conveyed by the stylistic choices of the book cover design.

Milk and Honey is another classic object-based cover (technically, bees aren’t an object, but you get my point) and I’m sure many of you have seen this one out and about online! Again, the cover is simple, featuring two hand-drawn bees and a simple, non-ornamental font. The cover reflects Kaur’s writing style perfectly: short, simple, sweet.

I would argue that object-based covers don’t pose the same challenges as photo-based ones, however, when searching for potential illustrations to use (if you’re DIYing the cover), make sure you have permission to use the images. If you’re working with an illustrator or designer, it’s always helpful to provide samples of illustrations that you like and want to see emulated on your cover.

4. The Art Cover

Last (but certainly not least!) is the art cover, which holds a special place in my cover-obsessed heart. 

Art-based covers focus just on that—art. They can include custom-painted covers or artwork from the public domain. 

These covers often have a more painterly and literary look to them, so if you write poetry in a more traditional style or form, you might consider an art-based cover. Poetry that tends to be lush and lyrical are also good candidates for an art-focused cover. I’ve seen many nature poets also use art-based covers, though that’s not a hard and fast design rule (for example, poet Mary Oliver has stunning photo-based covers!). 

Back to you poets! What are some of your favorite poetry covers? Is there a book cover design trend you’ve seen that I haven’t discussed here? Let me know in the comments! 

Manuela Williams is a Las Vegas-based writer and editor. She is the author of Ghost In Girl Costume, which won the 2017 Hard To Swallow Chapbook Contest. Her second poetry chapbook, Witch, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. When she’s not writing, Manuela is busy drinking coffee and spending time with her blind Pomeranian, Redford.

You can follow her on Twitter, LinkedIn, and Pinterest.

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If you’re familiar with prose, then you’re familiar with POV–first, second, and third person (and everything in between!). For a full cheat sheet on utilizing POV in your prose, check out Gabriela’s The Last Point of View Cheat Sheet You’ll Ever Need. 

The good news is that a lot of the considerations you make in choosing POV for your prose can also be utilized in the poetry world. That being said, I’d argue that poetry allows you to experiment with POV in some very interesting ways–ways that might not make sense if you’re working with more traditional prose. 

Let’s take a look at the most common POVs used in poetry, and how POV can affect the meaning, tone, and much more in your poems. 

First-Person Point of View

First-person POV refers to the “I” speaker in poetry (most commonly referred to as the lyric “I”). 

As one example, check out this excerpt from Shannon Burns’ delightfully named collection, Oosh Boosh: 

“I like that clean cloth. I like that fog that came in. I think the fog must have come in sometime a long time before I did and never went out. I like that blue thing feeling. In life I’ve loved sun and field and pumpkin and have claimed in distress to hate blue things and have then been afraid it was a dark sin.” 

from “Blue Thing Feeling”

When the first-person POV is used in a poem, it tends to create a more personal, intimate effect. The lyric “I” is often associated with the confessional movement, which I discussed in my article The Poet’s Toolbox: What is Confessional Poetry. 

Though the lyric “I” is often read as autobiographical, or as if the poet themselves is the narrator (referred to as the ‘speaker’), this is not always the case. For example, some poets–most notably Patricia Smith–use the lyric “I” to embody others in persona poems.  

Second-Person Point of View

Second-person refers to the use of the pronoun “you,” as in the below excerpt from Burns’ Oosh Boosh: 

“It’s okay to just look around
and think about yourself
You don’t need a magazine
on a plane
Let the people you’re looking at
bear the news away from you”

from “Poem in Case I Die on Thanksgiving”

Using the second person POV in a poem tends to create a more immediate effect for your readers. In other words, there is a sense that the poet is directly addressing the reader. The use of the “you” in the above example draws us in and gives us an emotional stake in the poem. 

Third-Person Point of View

Third-person point of view refers to the use of third-person pronouns such as he, she, or they. This can also refer to “characters” that appear in poems, as illustrated in the below excerpt from Lee Young-Ju’s collection, Cold Candies: 

“They say a house too old becomes human, but the old woman goes down to the basement sometimes. The place is packed with rained-on barrels, slices of pork roll on the floor. Why, the legendary world of a bountiful basement sometimes feel real.” 

from “Brewery”

The above example has a more narrative feel to it, as if the poet is telling a story. The “old woman” referred to in the poem is not named and–unlike in Burns’ poems above–the lack of first or second person creates a more distancing effect for readers. We are observing the scene from afar and aren’t necessarily in the speaker’s mind or experiencing the speaker’s thoughts. 

Using Multiple POVs 

My next statement is written with the caveat that I have not read many novels or short stories with rapidly changing POVs–in other words, stories in which the POV changes multiple times throughout a paragraph or chapter. Readers, if you have any examples, I’d be more than happy to take a look!  

When choosing which POV to write your poem in, it’s important to not limit yourself and understand the ways in which you can experiment. One way to do this is to explore using multiple POVs in a single poem, as shown in the below excerpt from Louise Glück’s Averno:

“Persephone
was used to death. Now over and over
her mother hauls her out again--

You must ask yourself:
are the flowers real? If

Persephone ‘returns’ there will be
one of two reasons: 

either she was not dead or
she is being used 
to support a fiction--

I think I can remember
being dead. Many times, in winter,
I approached Zeus. Tell me, I would ask him, 
how can I endure the earth?”

from “Persephone the Wanderer”

In the above example, Glück uses not one, but three POVs in the span of five short stanzas. The first stanza begins with the third person before switching to the second person “you” in the second stanza. The excerpt returns to the third person POV before ending on the first person. 

So, what’s the effect of such rapidly changing POVs? I have a theory. The beginning stanzas have a more scholarly, distant feel to them. We are being taught about the Persephone myth. The addressing of the “you” in the second stanza reads like a professor giving instructions (“You must ask yourself…”). The final stanza, written in the first person, pulls us away from that more academic tone and brings us into a more personal, intimate space.  

Back to you, poets! Which POV do you tend to write your poems in? Let us know in the comments! 

By day, Manuela Williams is a copy writer, editor, and strategist. By night, she’s a poet. Her first poetry chapbook, Ghost in Girl Costume, was published by Birds Piled Loosely Press in 2017. Her poems have also appeared in Bone Bouquet, Wicked Alice Zine, and other literary magazines.

Manuela loves helping other people build their brands through written content. She’s obsessed with web design, logos, brand boards, color schemes, and fonts. When she’s not busy agonizing over font decisions, she can be found drinking tons of coffee and reading sappy romance novels. You can connect with her on her website.

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In the past, I’ve shared resources on the craft of poetry. Today, I’m excited to talk to you about some of the revision strategies I’ve used in the past. I tried to include a variety of strategies, but this isn’t an exhaustive list, and you should feel free to experiment.  

Before diving in, though, take a moment to do an assessment of your work (either alone or with a writing group). Are there areas in which you’re consistently getting feedback? Are there areas you want to improve upon? Make note of these and develop or find revision strategies that address your particular concerns. 

Make a Self-Erasure

This revision strategy involves cutting out most, if not all, of the narrative connective tissue, or explanatory language in the poem. When I use this strategy, more often than not, my poem shrinks considerably, and all that I’m left with are disjointed images, or an “erasure” of my poem. This strategy helps me better identify the moments in the poem that are stronger, and the language that feels most emotionally charged. Additionally, it helps me see where the language is weaker so I can cut or revise those moments in the poem. 

Expand by Exploring a Theme

During my last year of grad school, I suddenly developed a love (okay, more like an obsession) for the Gothic genre, particularly Gothic romance. I was interested in exploring this genre in a poem, but wasn’t exactly sure where to start. 

As I began to draft the poem, I researched some of the most common tropes found in Gothic literature, specifically Gothic romance. I wanted to incorporate this research into my poem, but was worried that I’d simply be rewriting or restating a Wikipedia article instead of doing something new and exciting with the knowledge. 

I turned to poet Louise Glück to help me, particularly her use of the lyric “I” and the seemingly personal/autobiographical reflections interwoven throughout her collection, Averno. 

For example, in “Persephone the Wanderer,” a more scholarly diction is used on pg. 75: “When a god grieves it means / destroying others (as in war).” Later, on pg. 76, this tone appears to be reversed, and the poem becomes more personal and reflective when the “I” reappears at the beginning of the final three stanzas: “I think I can remember / being dead. Many times, in winter, / I approached Zeus. Tell me, I would ask him, / how can I endure the earth?” 

I really admire this technique, and still use it today, weaving the scholarly material in between the more autobiographical elements. I think this adds more texture to my poems as a whole, and uses my research in a way that isn’t simply restating or rewording theoretical analyses or tropes, but reimagining them within the context of my own experiences. 

Start Earlier, End Sooner

The next revision strategy that has worked well for me is starting a poem later and ending it earlier. I often find myself taking a while to get to the “meat” or emotional center of the poem. When that happens, I’ve found that the beginning stanzas of the poem are weaker, or less exciting, than the second half of the poem. 

I’ve found it very helpful to identify the places where the language is the most intense. When I do that, I cut out everything that comes before that moment, or I rearrange the poem so that I begin with the most compelling images or lines.

Another one of my poetic tendencies is to explain the “moral” or “takeaway” of a poem in the last stanza. In order to solve this issue, I will usually look to my last stanza, since that is where I do a lot of the explaining work, and completely cut it. Often this is enough to open up the poem a little more, and prevent it from snapping shut too soon. 

Switch Things Up

Sometimes, a radical revision is the best kind of revision. Is your poem written in a more traditional form? Try writing it in prose instead. Did you write a prose poem? You might find it useful to use the “self-erasure” strategy above. 

Back to you, poets! 

Have you tried any of the above revision strategies? Let us know in the comments! 

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games. You can find her on Twitter right here.

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First, I’ll give a brief definition of poetry of witness before moving on to some ideas that complicate this initial definition. Finally, I’ll leave you with some recommended reading so you can further explore this mode of poetry. 

How is Poetry of Witness Defined?

The term “poetry of witness” was initially coined by poet Carolyn Forché in her 1993 introduction to Against Forgetting: Twentieth-Century Poetry of Witness. 

Forché defines the poetry of witness as inhabiting the social sphere, a space between the personal and political (31). Forché’s anthology focuses on poets who witnessed, first-hand, events of extremity. This includes poets who “endured social conditions of historical and social extremity during the twentieth century—through exile, state censorship, political persecution, house arrest, torture, imprisonment, military occupation, warfare, and assassination” (29). 

The Question of Extremity

Complicating the above definition of poetry of witness is the idea of extremity. In compiling the Against Forgetting anthology, Forché included poems from those who endured social and historical extremity—for example, war, torture, and imprisonment. 

It is unclear, however, whether personal extremity fits into this definition of poetry of witness. Does survival after a more personal tragedy, such as the loss of a child or parent, allow a poem to be labeled as a poem of witness? 

Forché writes that applying the “personal” label to poetry “call[s] to mind lyrics of love and emotional loss,” so it could be argued that poems and collections dealing with personal loss and grief, such as in Sharon Olds’ The Father, do not fit Forché’s “poetry of witness” definition, as such work is mainly preoccupied with the personal and, at least on the surface, does not occur within a space of political resistance and struggle (31). 

Cathy Linh Che’s Split, however, might better fit Forché’s definition. Though Che’s collection borrows from the confessional mode and is rooted in the personal, the act of writing about sexual abuse could be seen as an act of resistance, especially when there can be a lot of shame and silence surrounding the abuse.  

What about Proximity to Extremity?

Further complicating Forché’s definition of poetry of witness is the idea of proximity to extremity. Forché does not address how close a poet must be to extremity in order to classify their work as poetry of witness. 

Many of the poets included in her anthology seem to have experienced conditions of extremity first-hand—for example, one included poet, Miklós Radnóti, worked in a forced-labor camp during the Holocaust and was eventually executed when the Germans evacuated the camp. 

It’s unclear, however, if witnessing and writing about an event from more of a distance classifies a poem as a poem of witness. 

Poet Patricia Smith, for example, did not directly experience Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, but witnessed it through news reports and other documents, excerpts of which sometimes appear as epigraphs in her collection Blood Dazzler. 

It could be argued that, despite Smith’s relative distance to the destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina, her poems in Blood Dazzler still occupy a space between the “personal” and the “political.” Many of the poems in the collection are “persona poems”, foregrounding the lyric “I” and individual experiences of the hurricane, but others gesture outward to encompass the political realm. 

What’s Next? 

It might be time to revisit Carolyn Forché’s initial 1993 definition of poetry of witness and consider the different ways in which events are witnessed.  

For instance, news reports and images that document a war are, in some places, widely distributed and accessible, making it easier for individuals to “witness” an event from afar. Though news reports and images can certainly be altered or edited in some way, this is not always the case. As such, Forché’s definition could be expanded to include a second tier: not only does poetry of witness encompass first-hand accounts (for instance, a prisoner of war), but also a form of “secondary” witnessing by those who experience an event through news reports, images, interviews, or other documents. 

Further, Forché’s initial definition seems to focus primarily on war and political extremity (issues that are reflected in her collection The Country Between Us), however, this definition could also be expanded to include other events of historical and social extremity, such as natural disasters and massacres. 

Recommended Reading

Carolyn Forché’s The Country Between Us

Carolyn Forché’s 1981 poetry collection, The Country Between Us, serves as a document of Forché’s time as a human rights activist in El Salvador between 1978 and 1980, a period when civil war was beginning to break out in the country. Split into three sections, the volume bears witness to shocking acts of murder, torture, and violence, as well as poverty and starvation. 

Patricia Smith’s Blood Dazzler 

Patricia Smith’s Blood Dazzler depicts the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. Many of the poems in the collection are “persona poems,” meaning that Smith inhabits an “other” or “persona” who serves as the poem’s speaker. Most notably, Smith embodies Hurricane Katrina in the volume’s four opening poems, which track the progression and eventual landfall of the hurricane in Louisiana. 

Even More Suggested Reading

• Against Forgetting: Twentieth-Century Poetry of Witness, edited by Carolyn Forché
• Poetry of Witness: The Tradition in English, edited by Carolyn Forché and Duncan Wu
• Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History, by Cathy Caruth

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games.

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A (Very) Brief History of Confessional Poetry

In 1959, Robert Lowell’s Life Studies was published, a collection that would later be described as “confessional” by critic M.L. Rosenthal. In his review of Life Studies, Rosenthal wrote that Lowell’s collection read as “a series of personal confidences, rather shameful, that one is honor-bound not to reveal.” He concluded with the following impression of Lowell’s collection: “[it is] impure art, magnificently stated but unpleasantly egocentric—somehow resembling the triumph of the skunks over the garbage can.” 

Ouch. Based on that review alone, one would assume Lowell’s work was incorrigibly self-centered and perhaps even too personal. 

Indeed, at first glance, Lowell’s poems are markedly different from the Romantic poets that came before him. Rather than hiding behind allusion and metaphor, Lowell brought so-called “taboo” topics to the forefront of his poetry. 

Lowell’s struggles with mental illness, his tumultuous relationship with his father, as well as his troubled marriage, are examined directly and written about with unflinching honesty throughout Life Studies. 

In one of his most well-known poems, “Skunk Hour,” Lowell writes: “My mind’s not right.” I’d argue that such a personal declaration wouldn’t have appeared in earlier poetry (or, if such a sentiment did appear, it would most certainly have been obscured by the poet). 

Though Rosenthal was apparently not a huge fan of the confessional mode, Robert Lowell’s influence can be seen in the work of Sylvia Plath, and elements of the confessional can also be seen in the poetry of Ted Hughes, Anne Sexton, W.D. Snodgrass, and John Berryman. 

What Confessional Poetry Isn’t

Before continuing, I want to take a moment to unpack the idea that confessional poetry is somehow “unpleasantly egocentric,” as Rosenthal puts it. I strongly disagree! 

Though Rosenthal brings up some interesting points in his review of Life Studies, I think his initial definition—and subsequent dismissal—of the confessional mode is quite limiting and disregards the potential for confessional poetry to speak to a more universal human experience. 

While the work of “traditionally” confessional poets such as Lowell and Plath (and more contemporary poets such as Sharon Olds) examines particular sources of personal shame, guilt, and trauma, those sources aren’t inherently unique. 

For example, in her 1992 collection, The Father, Sharon Olds traces her father’s illness and death through a series of narrative poems. While the interactions between the speaker and her father throughout the collection are rooted in specifics, it can be argued that the collection moves beyond the personal and “egocentric” by addressing and grappling with the common human experience of death. 

While readers might not be able to identify with the specifics of Olds’s relationship with her father, they can identify, or empathize with, the emotions that arise out of a loved one’s illness and death. 

In other words, I am of the mind that, while confessional poetry is certainly personal, it is in the sharing and reading of the personal that we are able to connect outwards with others who’ve experienced something similar. 

Characteristics of Confessional-Style Poetry

The following isn’t meant to be a definitive list of what makes a confessional poem confessional. Instead, I’d describe it as a list of common characteristics of this type of poetry. 

Some poets and poems fit more comfortably into this category than others. As a matter of fact, I’d argue that many contemporary poets borrow a lot from the confessional mode—it’s a large umbrella! 

Contains autobiographical material. 

In writing Life Studies, Robert Lowell drew on personal experiences, including his mental health struggles as well as his marriage. 

Sylvia Plath drew on the similar subject matter in Ariel, but also expanded upon it. Her poem, “Lesbos,” for instance, reflects a venomous hatred towards the domestic. 

More contemporary poets, such as Kaveh Akbar and Sharon Olds, further expand on the “types” of personal subject matter explored in confessional poetry. Akbar, in Calling a Wolf a Wolf, grapples with alcoholism. Olds has often explored childhood abuse in her work. In Felon, Reginald Dwayne Betts writes about his incarceration. 

A prominent “lyric I.” 

The “lyric I” refers to the first-person speaker in a poem. When the “lyric I” appears in a poem, many assume that it is the poet speaking. For instance, when Sylvia Plath writes a poem using the “lyric I” to describe a troubled marriage, one might assume that she is writing about her own marriage to Ted Hughes. 

If you spot the first-person in a poem, it might be a clue that the poem is more personal in nature. 

However, it’s important to not always conflate a first-person speaker with the poet, as the “lyric I” can sometimes serve different functions within a poem (like in the personal poems of Patricia Smith). 

Writing Exercises

Now that you have a general idea of the history and common characteristics of confessional poetry, it’s time for you to try writing a confessional-style poem of your own. Here are some writing exercises to get you started: 

Exercise 1: One misconception about confessional poetry is that, in order to write something truly “confessional,” one must have experienced trauma or suffering. While it’s true that many confessional and post-confessional poets write about traumatic events, it is not a prerequisite to writing in this style. I’d argue that, at the heart of confessional poetry, is a self or “I” who is trying to express something, whether that be suffering or some other emotion. 

Your goal for this exercise is to write about an event that had a profound emotional impact on you. It does not need to be traumatic or upsetting in nature. Describe the event and emotions using figurative language. Play with the form of the poem. Invent a different “self” to insert into the poem. How do they behave? 

Exercise 2: A common theme in early confessional poetry is the idea of shame/guilt. Write about something you feel particularly ashamed of (and remember–you don’t need to share what you write with anyone if you don’t want to!). 

Tell us in the comments: Have you ever read confessional poetry? What did you think?

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games. You can find her on Twitter.

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To celebrate the almost end of this particular chapter of my life, I thought I’d share some of the books on the craft of poetry that influenced me the most over the past three years in grad school. In compiling this list, I wanted to focus on books that might be useful to brand new poets, as well as anyone looking to brush up on their knowledge. 

It was hard to narrow my list down to the five poetry books included below, but I think they offer a great starting place for beginning and experienced poets alike.  

1. The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux 

This was the first book on the craft of poetry I bought as a graduate student and one that I recommend to almost everyone who tells me they’re interested in writing poetry. 

When I first started grad school, I quickly realized that I didn’t have a lot of background knowledge on the nuts and bolts of crafting a poem. Sure, I could write poems, but ask me to explain how or why I made certain choices, and I’d be at a loss for words. 

Enter The Poet’s Companion. Divided into four parts, Addonizzio and Laux’s book includes chapters on subjects for poems, the craft of poetry, the writing life (including dealing with writer’s block and self-doubt), and a section of writing exercises. 

I found the language of The Poet’s Companion to be warm and inviting, which makes this an excellent book for poets who are just starting out. The writing exercises are also very helpful and can be used in the classroom or workshops.  

2. A Little Book on Form: An Exploration into the Formal Imagination of Poetry by Robert Hass

Over four hundred pages long, Hass’s Little Book on Form is anything but little. Expansive and covering almost every form imaginable, this book has been an excellent reference to me as I read and attempt to deconstruct and analyze the books on my reading list. 

How is a sonnet constructed? How might we analyze a prose poem? What does “scanning” a poem mean? And what the heck is a variable stanza? Hass covers all these subjects and more. 

What I really appreciate about this book is that it doesn’t read like a glossary, but more like a conversation. The chapters consist of short, informal “notes” on each form discussed, and I found Hass’s analyses to be especially helpful as I work to develop and hone my own understanding of poetic form and structure.  

3. A Beautiful Marsupial Afternoon: New (Soma)Tics by CAConrad

Overwhelmed and looking for reading recommendations in my first semester of grad school, I visited one of my professors and asked for “something different.” CAConrad’s A Beautiful Marsupial Afternoon is one of the books my professor handed me.

I would argue that this book isn’t necessarily a book on the craft of poetry (not like The Poet’s Companion, anyway), however, it is a great book of exercises, and it is deliciously unconventional. 

To give you a little taste of the wonderfulness of this book, here’s an excerpt from one of the writing exercises: 

“What is the best Love you’ve ever had in this world? Be quiet while thinking about that Love. If someone comes along and starts talking, quietly shoo them away, you’re busy, you’re a poet with a penny in your mouth. . . . Now get your pen and paper and write about POVERTY, write line after line about starvation and deprivation from the voice of one who has been Loved in this world.” 

If you’re interested in experimental poetry or are looking for less conventional writing exercises, then CAConrad—and this book—are must-reads. 

4. The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within by Stephen Fry

In his foreword to The Ode Less Travelled, Stephen Fry writes: “I have a dark and dreadful secret. I write poetry.” 

So begins a humorous, and very practical, guide to reading and writing poetry. This is another book I like to recommend to beginning poets, as Fry’s tone is incredibly encouraging and easy to understand. Like The Poet’s Companion, there are plenty of writing exercises included throughout the book, however, Fry focuses more on craft elements and form rather than subject matter. 

5. Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures by Mary Ruefle

I cheated a little by adding this book to the list since it’s technically not a craft book, but Mary Ruefle’s lectures on poetry, literature, and writing are absolutely captivating, and I really enjoyed the inclusion of personal anecdotes, as well as the instructive quality of the lectures. 

I actually stumbled upon this book when I was researching witchcraft and poetry, and though Madness, Rack, and Honey is definitely not a book about witchcraft, I think it captures the strangeness and magic of poetry in a way that feels a whole lot like witchcraft. 

For instance, check out this beautiful gem from Ruefle’s “Poetry and the Moon”: “I am convinced that the first lyric poem was written at night, and that the moon was witness to the event and that the event was witness to the moon.”

Magical, right? 

Conclusion

Back to you, poets!

Tell us in the comments: Are there any books on the craft of poetry I haven’t mentioned here that you’ve found particularly helpful?

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games.

The post The Poet’s Toolbox: Must-Read Books on the Craft of Poetry appeared first on DIY MFA.

A full-length poetry collection is typically between 50 and 98 pages. Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less. If you have fewer than 50 pages, you’ll be looking at a chapbook manuscript, which is typically between 25 and 30 pages. If you’re thinking about submitting your manuscript to presses or contests, make sure you keep these page ranges in mind, as some presses specifically request chapbooks (as opposed to full-length manuscripts) and vice-versa. 

It can be challenging to compile and organize a collection of poetry. Depending on your material, you won’t always have a clear beginning, middle, and end like a novel might. 

However, despite not being novels or short stories, I think some of the best poetry collections still have some kind of developmental arc. 

Maybe, like the original arrangement of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel, they trace the breakup of a marriage before ending with the images of spring, hope, and renewal. Or maybe, like Kim Addonizio’s Jimmy and Rita, the collection serves as a novel in verse, tracking the development and relationship between the two title characters. 

The arrangement of poems in a collection shouldn’t be random. Instead, think of the individual poems, through their arrangement, as working together to create larger meaning. When readers finish the last poem in your collection, what message do you want them to take away from the collection as a whole (as opposed to the messages of individual poems)? 

Here are some ways to think about arranging your poems to maximize the larger ideas and messages as you organize a collection. 

Start with Your Strongest Poems

Generally, when readers pick up your collection, they begin by reading the first few poems to determine whether to keep reading or not (very similar to readers of novels and short stories!). So it’s always a good idea to start your collection off with your strongest work. Think of the first few poems as your “hook.” If you don’t hook your readers early enough, they’ll put your book down. 

It might also be helpful to think about your first few poems as teaching your reader how the rest of your collection will unfold. 

What major themes will you be exploring? What problems will your collection address?

Organize a Collection by Narrative Arc or Emotional Development

If you find the majority of your poems revolve around a similar theme, event, or problem, consider arranging your poems in a way that mirrors a more traditional narrative arc, with a beginning, middle, and end. 

For example, let’s say you’ve written a series of poems about the death of a close family member. You could potentially arrange the collection in three different parts—poems that focus on the time before the family member’s death (perhaps developing the speaker’s relationship with the family member), poems that deal directly with the death, and, finally, poems that deal with the aftermath of death. This is a very rough outline, but it does show a narrative arc. 

Another option could be to focus on emotional development. You might focus on how a speaker (or multiple speakers) develop over the course of a collection. To use the Sylvia Plath example from above, if you’re writing about the breakdown of a relationship, you could start from a place of endings and brokenness and move towards a sense of wholeness and hope. 

Organize a Collection by Theme or Subject Matter

If your poems are more varied, consider arranging them by theme or subject matter. That said, in order to ensure your collection feels cohesive, make sure your themes are connected in some way. 

For example, if the main theme of your collection is loss, you might consider sections containing poems that deal with loss in different ways. If you write nature poetry, you could consider arranging the poems based on setting, or even season. 

If you find that your poems are a little too varied—to the point where the transitions between poems or sections feels jarring—you might need to cut some poems that don’t necessarily fit with the major themes of the collection. 

And that’s okay! 

This happened to me a lot when I was preparing a first draft of my own poetry manuscript. Although I absolutely loved some of the poems individually, I ended up having to cut them because they didn’t really fit with the narrative arc I had planned for the collection. 

Again, this is totally normal, and it doesn’t mean that you have to scrap the poem or poems entirely. Perhaps they can be a part of a different manuscript!  

Experiment!

The tips and tricks I’ve given above are pretty traditional and they definitely shouldn’t be viewed as hard and fast rules. Don’t be afraid to try out more experimental arrangements for your collection. The poems in Like by A.E. Stallings are arranged in alphabetical order, for example, and Tommy Pico’s IRL doesn’t contain individual poems or sections at all, rather, the collection is composed of one long poem! 

Have fun with it and, remember, you can always keep rearranging your collection until you’re 100% happy with it. 

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games.

The post The Poet’s Toolbox: How to Organize a Collection appeared first on DIY MFA.

What are Line Breaks?

To better understand how line breaks function, and what they can do for your poetry, I think it’s helpful to first consider Kim Adonizzio and Dorianne Laux’s definition in The Poet’s Companion: “…think of line breaks as effects; learn the different effects you can achieve, and then decide which you want.” 

Unless you’re writing in more traditional forms—such as the haiku or villanelle—that have syllabic restrictions, a set rhyme scheme, or other defined pattern, line breaks are generally not governed by hard and fast rules. Instead, it’s up to you as the poet to decide when and how to break a line. 

Rather than thinking of line breaks as purely random, it might be helpful to think of them as ways to enhance your poem. An enjambed line, for example, can help create a feeling of continuous movement in your poem. Irregular line breaks can be used to create a sense of surprise or tension within the poem. Again, as Adonizzio and Laux state in The Poet’s Companion, line breaks should be viewed as effects, and when you are familiar with the different effects line breaks can have on your poetry, you can use them to your advantage. 

Today I want to specifically focus on line length, enjambment, and end stops. I’ll talk about what each of these techniques can do for your poetry, as well as some of the writing exercises I use to experiment with line breaks in my own work. 

Line Length

If you’re writing a poem using a more traditional form, particularly one with syllabic restrictions, line length is oftentimes determined for you. The haiku is one example of this, as the line length is determined by syllables—the first line has five syllables, the second line has seven syllables, and the final line has five syllables. The sestina is another example of a form that has a set length as it consists of thirty-nine lines—all typically of the same length. However, if you’re not working within one of these forms, line length is completely up to you! Your poem can be written using short lines, long lines, medium lines, or even a mix of all three. 

Although every reader and writer of poetry is different, one way to look at the effect line length has on a poem is in the ways it either slows or speeds up the reading of the poem. Typically, longer lines are read at a much faster pace than shorter lines. Short lines tend to slow down a reader’s eye, especially if you’re also spacing these lines farther apart on the page. 

Long lines can also create the effect of breathlessness or urgency in a poem, especially if you also omit punctuation. Short lines can create more tension in a poem and, depending on where you place them on the page, it can also create a feeling of disjointedness. You can also choose to vary your line lengths, placing emphasis on the way they physically appear on the page. 

Line Enjambment

An enjambment is a phrase or line that carries over into the next line, like what appears in Louise Glück’s poem “Prism”: 

Who can say what the world is? The world

is in flux, therefore

unreadable, the winds shifting,

the great plates invisibly shifting and changing—

In the above example, the first line ends in the middle of the phrase “The world,” and carries over into the second line. By ending the first line on “The world,” the thought is incomplete, creating tension in the stanza. The final word of the line, “world,” is not followed by any kind of punctuation—a period or comma, for example—which places less emphasis on the final word and, instead, creates a sense of forward momentum, drawing the reader’s eye more quickly to the second line. 

Enjambed lines are an excellent tool to use if you want to amplify tension in your poem, and, much like using longer lines to create a sense of breathlessness or urgency in a poem, enjambment can be used in much the same way.

End-Stopped Lines

End-stopped lines are lines that end where a pause might occur, such as at the end of a sentence or thought. Most of the time, end-stopped lines are marked by periods, commas, semicolons, or hyphens. Natalie Diaz uses end-stopped lines in her poem “From the Desire Field”:

I don’t call it sleep anymore.

I’ll risk losing something new instead—

like you lost your rosen moon, shook it loose. 

The above three lines are all end-stopped lines—they are complete thoughts or phrases ending in periods or, in the case of the second line, a hyphen. Notice also how Diaz uses stanza breaks. Instead of closing the space between the second and third line, Diaz utilizes a stanza break; in the full poem, the third line stands on its own as a one line stanza. Not only does this draw the reader’s eye to the single line, but the space also disrupts the momentum of the sentence, causing the reader to pause longer between “instead—” and “like.”

End-stopped lines are good to use if you’re looking to create a sense of closure, or completeness, in your poetry, although that’s certainly not all they’re good for! End-stopped lines can also be used to slow down the rhythm of a poem. 

Writing Exercises 

Now that you have a better understanding of the different effects line breaks can have on your poetry, try practicing these different techniques in your own work. Here are a couple exercises to get you started: 

1. Take a short section of prose—something that you’ve written yourself or from a writer that you admire—and break it into both enjambed and end-stopped lines. Pay close attention to the effect your line breaks have on the reading of the prose—both on the page and out loud. Note also how the meaning of the prose might change slightly depending on where you decide to break the lines.

2. Take a poem that you’ve already written—or one that you admire—and try rearranging the lines so that they’re all enjambed, except for the final line. What effect does this have on the poem? 

3. Similar to the previous prompt, take a poem and rearrange the lines so that most, if not all of them, are end-stopped. What effect does this create? 

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games.

The post The Poet’s Toolbox: Line Breaks appeared first on DIY MFA.

Ideally, your reader community is a group of people who absolutely adore your work–readers who will buy every book you write, leave glowing reviews, interact with you and other fans online and, perhaps most importantly, tell the world about how awesome your books are. A snazzy website, social media presence, and an author newsletter can do wonders. They attract a community of loyal readers, but you also have to make sure you’re putting in the work to develop and maintain those relationships with a nurtured reader community. 

Read on for some tips on attracting (and keeping!) fans and nurturing a community of loyal readers. 

1. Write Good Books

This is probably a no-brainer, but it is so, so important. Although what constitutes a good book can be somewhat subjective (for example, I’m not a fan of every book that graces the New York Times Best Seller list), I think we can all generally agree that, as readers, it’s much easier to fangirl over a well-written book than a mediocre one. 

So how do you write a good book? I won’t speak to specific genres in this article, as that’s up to you to research and practice on your own, however, I will say that a well-written book generally has the following qualities: 

• It’s edited and proofread. No one wants to read a typo-riddled book. It’s confusing and frustrating and, ultimately, just no fun to read. Before hitting “publish” or sending your manuscript off to agents, it’s important that you’ve carefully edited and proofread it (or hired a professional to do so for you). 

• It meets reader expectations. This one’s a bit more complicated, as reader expectations vary by genre. Make sure you’re reading extensively in whatever genre you’ve chosen to write in and keep an eye out for what works and what doesn’t. It can also be helpful to take a peek at what reviewers are saying about books within your genre–what does your reader community love about a book? What don’t they love? 

2. Remember: It’s Not Always About You

Yes, it can be tempting to constantly advertise your book all over social media and your website. After all, you worked hard on your book and it deserves every chance in the world to succeed–you just need to get it into as many reader hands as possible. You might be fighting the urge to send out yet another email blast about your latest release. You might even feel the need to constantly message your fans and maybe even complete strangers about buying your latest book or signing up for your newsletter. Resist those urges! 

As a general rule of thumb, too-frequent and too-aggressive advertising is the quickest way to drive readers away from you rather than toward you, and that’s definitely not something you want. Instead of subscribing to the scammy sales technique of attracting more readers, try providing something of value (besides your book). For example, what might readers take away from following you on social media, or signing up for your newsletter? Here are some ideas:

• Share book-themed recipes. If you love cooking, share a recipe that relates to your book in some way. Does your main character love a specific kind of martini? Share that recipe? Does your book partially take place in a bakery? Share a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. Okay, now I’m just making myself hungry…

• Share book recommendations. Can you think of any books that your readers might love to read after they’ve finished reading yours? Make a list! For example, if you write cozy mysteries, you might want to make a “Top 10” list of your all-time favorite cozy mysteries. Not only does this provide value to your readers, but it’s also a great way to support other authors like yourself. 

• Share writing tips. I personally love reading about other authors’ writing routines and advice. If you have any tips for budding writers in your genres, share them in a blog post or in your next newsletter. If you feel comfortable with it, you can also do a “desk tour.” What do you keep at your writing desk? Or do you write somewhere else (your patio, kitchen table, etc.?). Share it with your readers! 

3. Interact With Your Fans

This can be a bit tricky, especially if you’re shy like me, but interacting with your fans is key to making sure you hold on to them as you grow and write more books. 

When I say “interact with your fans,” I’m not saying that you need to be BFFs with every single one of your readers. As a matter of fact, I’m a huge advocate for setting boundaries. After all, you’re a human being with a life outside your creative work. That being said, you never want to make your readers feel unappreciated, or like you’re just using them to get more sales or publicity. 

Here are some ways you can interact with your readers (while also maintaining healthy boundaries): 

• Share reader-made fanart. If you’re fortunate to have a few artistically inclined readers who love drawing fanart of your main characters, setting, etc., then consider sharing some of those on social media or in your newsletter. 

• Conduct polls. If you have the means to do so, it can be a lot of fun to have readers vote on cover art for your next book. If that isn’t up your alley, you can also have readers vote on character names, settings, and more. Not only can this help you make some executive decisions regarding your work, it also gives your readers a voice, and ensures that they feel like a part of a community. 

• Create an ARC team. If you’re looking to build an ARC team, consider inviting some of your readers to join. It’s a great way for you to get feedback and glowing reviews on your latest release, and it benefits your readers, as they get free copies of your books. It’s a win-win! 

4. Never Take Your Community For Granted 

Last but not least, it’s important that you never take your reader community for granted. Treat your fans with the kindness and respect that you expect from them, and you’ll have loyal fans for life. 

Here are some brief tips for ensuring that your community (whether that be on social media, in your newsletter, or on your website)  is a positive and safe place for both you and your fans: 

• Avoid drama and negativity. Never, ever badmouth a fellow author or a reader. It’s a terrible look and one of the quickest ways to turn readers away from your brand. Typically, you’ll want to remain positive and upbeat, however, some authors are comfortable sharing their trials and tribulations with their readers (which is fine!). Whatever you decide to do, make sure you’re consistent and, again, make sure you set boundaries. 

• Express gratitude. Make sure your readers know that you’re grateful for them! You can do this by posting a quick thank you note on your social media or, if you’re feeling extra grateful, maybe giving away some freebies to your newsletter subscribers (a deleted chapter, perhaps, or the first chapter of your newest book). 

Manuela Williams lives and writes in Nevada. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks and one paranormal fiction novella. When she’s not writing, Manuela loves reading romance novels, drinking *all* the coffee, and playing video games.

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