Endings

· 3 min read

I enrolled in an MFA program recently. There was a questionnaire handed out on the first day of class and I spent hours thinking through the answers.

Selected responses follow:

Describe in 2-3 sentences what makes a poem shine to you

  • The poem begins and ends in a different place, either physically or through some other transformation.
  • It's not stacking metaphors or lyrics as a smokescreen for a lack of an idea.
  • I come away feeling like I stood with the poet and witnessed something.

Name 2-3 things that challenge you about poetry. Things you dislike or don’t understand. What would you like to understand about them?

  • Poems that tell you how to feel. Over-explaining. I’d like to understand why some poets feel that closure is necessary.
  • Lyricism without evident content. Under-explaining. When sound seems to lead and meaning follows (or doesn’t), it’s a struggle. I want to understand what that music provides.
  • Poems that rely on obfuscation as a mechanic. Anti-explaining. I’d like to understand what the poet wants to accomplish with this.

What can we do to make this classroom the most comfortable and inspiring it can be for you?

I often write short poems. I'd like assurance that these can be workshopped as complete works rather than treated as drafts that need expansion.

My work is idea-forward rather than lyric-forward. I use plainspoken language because I want readers who don't typically read poetry to find themselves in my work. I'm open to feedback that serves the poem's idea, but I want to be in a space where clarity isn't treated as a deficiency.

I went into this knowing I’d probably have a different aesthetic than many, but I also assumed there would be some common ground.

Early on, I realized this is different than anything I’d imagined. Praise was the general currency of the workshop. Some craft choices, like using mid-line whitespace, went through an entire evolution of appearing in one student’s poem, receiving praise, and replicating into poems by other students.

As more unquestioned craft choices replicated across the poems, they began to feel like mannerisms. New choices, such as using multiple fonts and text sizes, appeared every week.

When I provided feedback, I tried to balance suggestions, questions, and praise but I was pretty sure everyone viewed me as the guy who holds no praise in his heart. I realized how much it was hurting me to censor myself to fit the prevailing aesthetic.

When I received feedback on one of my short poems, alongside mentions of it being “ephemeral” there were suggestions to expand it vertically (more stanzas) and horizontally (linked poems). And… that was it. As if it wasn’t finished.

I thought a lot about this feedback. What would it mean for me if I accepted it?

After some thought, I realized a workshop where praise is the default response is good for a lot of people. If you’re taking your first steps into poetry this might be exactly what you need. Heck, I might have responded positively to that environment 20 years ago before I found my voice. The problem was that I was coming into the wrong program at the wrong time.

I chose to withdraw from the class and the program entirely.

As much as I want to tell you a typical story of how I bounced back despite the odds, it’s not true to the actual experience. This really did cost me something. I joined for a community and it hurt when I knew I could not stay.

The poem mentioned:

Quiz on Tuesday

It took months of debate
and impassioned pleas from parents
before new whiteboards were finally installed.

They were so clean.

In the photographs they showed us
you could still read the assignment.