What is good poetry?

Very opinionated takes; thinking out loud

The point of poetry is to communicate qualia¹.

What is it like to be a bat? Instead of writing a philosophy paper, Thomas Nagel should have just asked the nearest bat for a confessional poem. A good poet is a sorcerer that triggers the subjective experiences they intend in the reader with nothing but words.

There are two parts to communication: what is being communicated (substance) and how it is being communicated (craft). Poems can be good or bad along both these dimensions.

Surprise!

Good substance is surprising. If you can predict what you will learn from a poem, what it is trying to tell you, or exactly how you will feel after reading the poem, you wouldn’t keep reading it.

Good craft is also surprising. Why don’t poets just say what they want the reader to feel directly? Because the best way to make someone sad through words is not to say “Now, you, reader, should feel sad. Go on. FEEL SAD.”² Poets are usually not sick people trying to torture their readers with confusing metaphors; poets are usually just communicating qualia in roundabout, and often more effective, ways. Most poetry is not meant to be read analytically³; most poems work best as communication devices when the words just wash over you and evoke the appropriate network of associated memories or feelings.

Hence the emphasis on “fresh language” in creative writing classes. Clichés are bad because they make the reader think of the flat-and-fake map; unique words or unique combinations of words evoke the bumpy-and-raw territory. Consider: roses are red and violets are blue. Does this make you think of love or of “love”?

The fact that good craft and substance both involve surprise should not be surprising; surprising things communicate more information, so surprising things should be good if poetry is about communication.

Problem: Gertrude Stein

But wait—if more surprising craft and substance makes better poetry, why don’t we all love Gertrude Stein?⁴

A Carafe, that is a Blind Glass

A kind in glass and a cousin, a spectacle and nothing strange a single hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing. All this and not ordinary, not unordered in not resembling. The difference is spreading.

(The qualia evoked by this poem is usually profound confusion. I’m not sure if that’s what Stein was going for.)

We don’t love Stein for the same reason that we prefer movies over TV static, even though the latter contains more information and is more surprising. Too much surprise is too much work for the reader; too little surprise is boring and ineffective at making the reader actually experience what the poet wants them to experience.

So from this we conclude: there’s some optimal level of surprise—too much and you get Gertrude Stein—which depends on the reader’s preference. But I think there’s a more specific claim that can be made about how this surprise is distributed among the what and how in a good poem.

Smells like a law

Here’s how I think the writing process works:

                            writer’s intention → words on page → reader’s qualia

Assuming this is accurate, I hold that there are two main ways to write poetry. The first is goal-directed, where you know the qualia you want your reader to experience and you’re choosing the words on the page with this in mind:

                                      writer’s intention → ??? → reader’s qualia

The second is exploratory, where you’re just messing around with words on the page, pretending to be the reader and seeing what qualia are evoked, then editing accordingly:

                                      writer’s intention → words on page → ???

In the first case, you’re holding the what (the substance) fixed. If it’s really predictable, then you’ll want to increase the surprisingness of the craft; if it’s already really surprising, then you’ll want to make the craft more predictable. Same for the second case.

This smells like a conservation law for good poetry: if surprising how, then predictable what; if surprising what, then simple how. Surprising what and surprising how is the realm of Gertrude Stein, a.k.a. acquired taste. Simple what and simple how is the realm of Rupi Kaur, a.k.a. flaming garbage.

N.b. that the predictability of the craft or substance of any poem depends on the reader’s past experience. Poetry is a weirdness treadmill. Read too much and, before you know it, you’ll only be able to stand stuff like

Excerpt from “Susie Asado” by Gertrude Stein

Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.

Susie Asado.

Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.

Susie Asado.

Susie Asado which is a told tray sure…

1. Obviously poems can communicate other things too. But I think poetry as a genre is uniquely good at communicating qualia.

2. Notable exception: “You do not have to be good.”

3. Notable exception: E. E. Cummings.

4. Please talk to me if you actually do love Stein. I’m trying to understand her.