The problem of critiquing good poems.

SinK said:

The line 'this is good make it better please' seems somewhat finicky and sometimes the only way of giving constructive advice would often entail rewriting it yourself which is bad criticism to my mind. Good criticism should actively point to improvements but should allow the author to be the one to actually create them.

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This is something I do regularly -- however, I use my personal understanding of how the line appears and reads for me and offer examples of how the line could come across clearer, these are not rewrites but ideas by illustration of how certain concepts can be brought to the fore or even made more subtle. The poet may not actually have intended the said line to come over the way I address it, and these illustrative examples in this case also give clarity in what the poet can avoid in order to ensure that the reader does not have the same impression I did -- or if I am spot on, the versatility of language allows so much play with concept and actual phrasing that such examples can be used as templates or even a base on which to build. It's not about what must be changed, sometimes I find that suggesting anything will detract from what is there - hence why I only comment where I feel I'll be of benefit and the simple notion of posting a 'well done, you' doesn't help anyone -- perceptions and depth of insight, the offering of knowledge and not necessarily improvements but conceptual strengthening are always a better option than rewrites - the problem comes when what a person says is not easily understood in concrete terms; visual aided illustrative examples are therefore my first port of call when critiquing anything. Most who receive my line-by-lines are familiar with how I approach their piece. If they're a first timer, I try to remember to post a pre-crit note clarifying those intentions to dissuade the notion that I am saying I can do better or just simply rewriting or heavy-weighting my version over their own.

Good criticism should actively point to improvements but should allow the author to be the one to actually create them.

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Specific detail and suggestions are wonderful, but sometimes pointing to a general way of looking at a problem is even better. That may force people to think, and at the least lets people fill in their own blanks instead of being spoonfed. Sometimes it's actually best not to give out the best suggestion!

If nothing else, people want ownership of their own poems and may hesitate to take even the ideal wording into their poem -- because it came from outside themselves. If one can artfully lay out the possibilities, the top prospect may be obvious without one even having to point it out. This can be a bit tricky to do sometimes, but it is a generous tactic that is worth aiming for when possible.

SinK said:

On the topic of critiquing good poems: Does anyone have any thoughts?

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I already gave you mine. Thanks for noticing.

kborsden said:

//--edited--// I use my personal understanding of how lines appear and read for me and offer examples of how they could come across clearer, these are not rewrites but ideas by illustration of how certain concepts can be brought to the fore or even made more subtle. The poet may not actually have intended the said line to come over the way I address it, and these illustrative examples in this case also give clarity in what the poet can avoid in order to ensure that the reader does not have the same impression I did -- or if I am spot on, the versatility of language allows so much play with concept and actual phrasing that such examples can be used as templates or even a base on which to build. It's not about what must be changed, sometimes I find that suggesting anything will detract from what is there - hence why I only comment where I feel I'll be of benefit and the simple notion of posting a 'well done, you' doesn't help anyone -- perceptions and depth of insight, the offering of knowledge and not necessarily improvements but conceptual strengthening are always a better option than rewrites - the problem comes when what a person says is not easily understood in concrete terms; visual aided illustrative examples (and expansive explanations of thematic device, implementation, pacing by way of punctuation and even line-structure) are therefore my first port of call

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Another thought is -- no one says you HAVE to critique anything. If you have nothing to say or point out, why force it? There are times, as should be expected, that a poem is good enough per default and stands as solid as it can without the interference of others. This should be applauded, not scrutinized - and a reppie or a PM can do that better than a thread comment in a forum related to constructive criticism and advice...that is, unless the poem is so profoundly excellent or such a marked improvement that it warrants a gold star comment. Otherwise it can be intimidating to critique a poem that everyone has given the 'yay - thumbs up!' should the critter not be in agreement and spot a noticeable area.

Don't worry -- it's obviously my time of the month.

For me, many times when I'm critiquing and I encounter that phenomenon it's because there wasn't enough imagery built for my tastes. It could be the use of bland verbs or similes/metaphors, or perhaps it's the opposite and it suffers from being to wordy or obscure. In the end, I guess it all boils down to whatever feeling the author intended to leave the reader with and whether he hit his mark.

"If nothing else, people want ownership of their own poems and may hesitate to take even the ideal wording into their poem" - (I'm trying how to master the art of quotation.)

For the most part, I hate poetry. the classical stuff we had to learn in school was terrible I thought. What drew me in is the fact that it so hard to pin point. What is trash to one, is art to another. That goes for writers and readers alike.

What makes one poem great and another horrible? Expression. beauty. Choices of words. Strike that. Word choice. Simplicity.
I began writing poetry as a 13 year old kid and I hated what I had done. I got better, but I have never called myself a Poet.

When critiquing, it is hard to get into the other person's mind. What one perceives as horrible, the writer may think is great because only the author knows what his intentions were. Get the rhythm right, the expression right, and the ideas right - with clarity, almost anything can be chorded as poetry - much like a guitar - individual strings do not make a good songs, nor do several good chords. The rhyme, meter, fingering, etc. all have to have a destination. When it all comes together, it becomes a concerto.

That said, it is very difficult to critique poetry. Many times it is best not to try. However, the author cries out sometimes for someone to give him/her validity/encouragement. A line by line crit has never bothered me, but it does others. Some even yearn for a line by line. some yearn for an idea by idea crit.

Some don't know a thing about meter. Some just can't seem to get their tenses straight. Some seem to have their thoughts as scattered as a shotgun and you have no idea where they are going, and having gotten there, you have no idea where they've been.

I don't disagree with what anyone has said in this discussion. I would encourage everyone however, to encourage others. Say something, especially to beginners. I have a tough skin I've gotten over the years. I am my own worst critic, so almost nothing anyone can say is going to phase me. If I like it, I'll keep it in my private collection. If not, I'll probably throw it away.

I have always been big on experiments, trying to see if I can pull this or that off. I love challenges. Please do - help others. Please do - tell me what you really think about what I may post. And I will - one of these days.

Excellent discussion topic!

I think that concrete suggestions are great. But I put a lot of value on general-impression feedback too... as long as it's descriptive. "Could be better" doesn't help. However, something like "I don't feel the main character's isolation" or "I don't understand the significance of the white horse" might be very helpful to me.

I always welcome suggestions, because even if I don't use them, they help me solidify my own intentions - I can state exactly *why* I don't use them.

Again, great idea for a thread.

I don't know how to critique poetry at all, let alone good poetry. Sometimes I have some thought I can share. Sometimes I can express how I'd have done it, if it were my poem. But I think these are both of incredibly limited value.

A thoughtful response from a sincere reader is always valuable; and man, if we only allowed feedback from people who "know how to critique poems", there'd be precious few doing it. I sure wouldn't be one of them.

I reckon, as SinK says above, that critiquing is valuable for the giver as well as the recipient - not to mention other readers who get a chance to see how others have read the poem. Critiquing gives us a chance to consider closely what we think of a poem, and why, and to express it clearly.

I really think the act of critiquing is of immense value to the critic. I hope you'll do it more, Bart.

You can always simply provide a reading, or, as poetinahat says, "a thoughtful response from a sincere reader. "

A great poem lodges itself in your memory, even if only in the form of fragments.

A good poem lingers; a great poem lasts.

If you can say through a critique which areas don't work, or that is to say, which don't work for you in your opinion () for whatever reason -- then we should also be able to say which parts do and why. I don't necessarily disagree with the 'whoop!' comments, but do feel such commentary is better suited to rep points, and a critique that references the well-written aspect or what it is that resonates with us as a reader should illustrate or at the very least give some insight into why that is. I recently (before the dataloss) critiqued a poem by Ambrosia - a poem I was totally smitten with - I felt compelled to comment on the reasons why, the sonic nuance of a certain build up of alliteration done so skillfully that it began peppered and worked up to a line where it peaked and then slowly desintergrated - there was other less aparent alliteration and assonance also used which complimented this by adding a fluxuating hard and soft edge to the words -- so that was what I commented on, highlighting and quoted the parts that worked especially well for me.

I think Medievalist's definition is general because the question is general. What makes a great song? What makes a great painting?

If it were that easy to define what makes a good poem or a great one, then we'd all be churning them out - either that, or we'd know we could never achieve it. No robust definition of a great poem can be prescriptive, and thank goodness for that.

People like different poems for different reasons. Those reasons may overlap, or they may not - they may even be contradictory.

Think of music - I love Debussy's Claire de Lune, and I love The Ramones' We're a Happy Family. You might be able to find objective attributes these pieces have in common. But they'll either have nothing to do with why I love these pieces. Or, if they are somehow relevant, they'll be subjective or vague.

If there were a formula for turning a good poem into a great one, we'd put it in a sticky and be done with critiquing. Well, actually, there'd be little point to having a poetry forum, hey?

Here are basic principles I try to follow when offering feedback:

- remember that feedback is a gift, and while it may or may not be acted on, it's always worth giving... and I'm worthy of giving it
- be candid
- be constructive
- explain: why do I like something? why don't I?
- be clear; take the time to make sure that what I write will be easily understood
- give examples rather than make suggestions (that's a personal thing; though I deeply appreciate any feedback, I don't really warm to rewrites as crits)
- keep it about the poem, not the poet
- read other crits, note the things you find useful in them, and add them to your critic's toolkit

In short, I'd say the Golden Rule is a good place to start: give the sort of feedback you'd like to get.

I had posted in this thread, but it was lost in the site problems last week. I'll try to re-create.

The poet posts something here for critique. I have to assume the intent is genuine, that the poet really wants critique. If I think the poem if good, maybe even can't find a thing to change, then I will say so. If the poem is excellent, I'll say that.

But, just as a poet wants to know what makes his poem not as good as it could be, I assume they will want to know what makes this particular poem good. What are the poetic techniques the poet incorporated into the poem to make it work so well? Is it the message? The plot? Specific poetic devices? Maybe it's what was excluded that leaves the rest so excellent.

Take time to analyse the good/great poem and identify what makes it so, then let the poet know. Just as knowing what didn't work helps the poet to improve, knowing what did work also helps the poet improve.

DAT

SinK said:

A perfectly fine, if rather glib, definition; but the problem posed here is how does one take that abstract subjective response and find the objective aspects of the poem that will turn examples of the former into the latter.

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Dude, if we knew the answer to that, I'd write a Perl script that would churn out poetry.

We don't know. Moreover, I'm reasonably certain that there isn't any one answer.

But for a poem to actually work as a text, it really does have to be something that haunts the listener's/reader's memory. It has to make the reader want to re-read, and to think about the words and lines and their relationships to each other. This is not the case with a novel, for instance, in the same way. Thinking about a novel involves much more thinking about plot and story and character, and less about syntax and word choice.

A critique need not be perfect or complete, nor "live up" to the poem. Sometimes it is the least likely stray thought that is the most out of character with the discussion which can pierce through the fog of consent and congeniality, however unwitting, to carom off the poet's skull and shake him awake to what needs fixing. Erudition or formal study of poetry are nice enough things for a critic, but pale next to insight, which can come from anywhere to anyone and even by accident.

So everyone should critique. Respectfully but unhesitantly. Even fragments of thought should not, merely because they are imperfect or incomplete, be discarded. If they can be assembled into even a tentative coherence, they should be shared. It may be that the poet as well as the critic is struggling with the clarity or felicity of a certain passage, and the critic's half-formed notions are a good match for the poet's and a perfect reflection of them. At times the poet could use some help hashing it all out, or seeing that it isn't yet hashed out so cleanly as he had hoped.

The thought or personal impression that is well out of sync with the crowd can also help. If nothing else, it can put the poet on alert and encourage him to channel the reader's experience more particularly toward a desired end and away from off-kilter readings that may spoil the poem.

The poet's sensibility may be some sort of glory, especially if he learns to express it artfully with any consistency. Regardless, it remains his prison. Any critic smart or silly, stuttering or mellifluous, spontaneous or considered, may hold a key that can let him out. Who cares how the door is opened or who holds the key?

I believe that what we commonly think of as intuition or insight comes from a ground fertile enough to let it flower. In the back of our minds and directed by the shape of our character and quality of attention are all sorts of odd, half-formed and fully forgotten things tumbling about that may one day bear fruition when prompted by the circumstance that calls them forth. When they do become liberated, we may not know how they occurred to us and think of them as a flash of insight or inspiration, or on the other hand as sheer randomness. But in fact they may have been boiling away in the witch's brew of our subconscious in one form or another for many years. It is not no work, but a lifetime of work that may be revealed by a sudden flash of insight.

I was struck by the quality of attention to language in a joke I read in the high school library when I was a teenager. It was in a Steve Allen book about comedy, and one of his many examples. The joke was simply, "I know how to spell banana, but I don't know when to stop." In its way, brilliant, and I had seen nothing like it.

Twenty-five years later, some people were talking about repetitive, mindless behavior compulsively engaged in. "I know how to spell banana, but I don't know when to stop," I said. It absolutely floored them -- and then they couldn't stop laughing as they identified with the thought process. I had to wait 25 years to find the right time to tell that joke! 25 years! It was worth it.

Nobody in the room had ever heard that obscure old "sort of a joke"; perhaps not even anything that much fit its pattern. But it had become part of my individuated arsenal, like all the other things, fully and partially formed, breeding with each other and creating angels and monsters and dull dirty dishwater, that bubbled about in my poor addled brainpan waiting for their main chance. I hope many more of them take a lot more than 25 years to come out.

All of us carry within us a world of odds and ends upon which we can pile ever more interesting things, between which we can seek out more interesting connections, or which we can let lie fallow or develop in foolish or uninteresting ways. It is an artist's challenge to put enough interesting things in there that he can manage to pull some interesting things out.

But everyone's got something in there he has been working on and working out in various forms for a very long time. Everyone is fertile ground for something. It may not take overt calculation to reach something worthwhile; it may come right off the top of your head after only thinking about it or keeping it somehow present in your consciousness for, oh, 25 years.