The HyperTexts
Drats, Rejected Again! (the Bias Against Formal, Metrical and Rhyming Poetry)
by Michael R. Burch
Drats, another rejection slip! I know I probably shouldn't complain, because
I've been fortunate enough to have been published over 900 times in literary
journals and sundry publications around the globe. Lately some of my poems have
even been "going viral," as people cut and paste them to blogs and other
websites. It seems teachers, students and peace activists like some of my poems
enough to "borrow" them, and I find it pleasing and gratifying when they do. But
I must admit that I still find myself a bit irked when editors who should know
what to do with good poems (i.e., publish them) tell me that my poetry is
"wonderful" but "not right for us." What does that mean, exactly? How can
something be "wonderful" but "not right"?
I'm an editor and publisher of poetry myself, and my
literary "Spidey sense" keeps telling me that I'm the victim of pseudo-intellectual snobbery. What I suspect
certain editors are telling me, in some sort of weird Morse code, is: "Personally, I really like your poems, but if I publish them people may no
longer consider me to be the über-reader that I want them to believe I am, so I'll have to pass
in order to keeping projecting my desired image."
What follows is my account of something that
happened to me when I submitted poems to a journal that seems to specialize in
literary fascism; if you care to read the story, you can judge for yourself.
"Fine, even beautiful," just not for us ...
This is a true story. The name of the journal has been changed to protect the
not-so-innocent.
As the editor of The HyperTexts, I believe I understand the most basic
job function of poetry
editors, which is to publish the best possible poetry that meets the
editor's written guidelines. For example, if a poetry journal publishes only haiku, then the poetry
submitted must fit the editor's definition of "haiku" while being simultaneously worthy of
publication. I would certainly have no objection to the editor of a haiku
journal rejecting my submission of a sonnet: indeed, I would be foolhardy and a
pest if I submitted a sonnet to Haiku Heaven. But when a poetry
journal's published guidelines say
that it "includes all fronts of poetry with as little bias as possible."
I might expect to be published if the editor of this journal—let's call
it Biasless Schizophrenic, or BS for short—found my poems to be "fine,
even beautiful." Alas, this is not the case, and I fear it's because some
editors still consider poems that employ meter and rhyme to be automatically
"outdated." But if this was the case, most popular songs and
many TV jingles would feel automatically archaic. Since Mick Jaggar and Eminem are
considered to be modern practitioners of the English language, not antiquarians, I
fail to see why poets should discriminated against if they employ rhythm and
rhyme. Since my poems are written in grammatically correct
modern English, I take issue with what seems to be a knee-jerk reaction against
rhythmical rhyming poetry. Here are some excerpts for the BS rejection missive I
recently received:
"Mike, Thanks for your response ... and thanks as well for the additional submissions.
Returning now to your work—the larger volume of pieces to review—it comes to
me that there is simply a stylistic difference here, with no real argument
... My own taste is toward a more decidedly
modern or current speech usage in poems, a poetry that may still be beautiful
but perhaps not in the same ways that it has been in previous times. I imagine
you might actually do well to submit to more classically leaning journals like
Poetry. Perhaps it's my oddball aesthetic philosophy at work here. In any event,
I do believe your poems are fine, even beautiful, and no sense splitting hairs
over phrases. It's just that these aren't fitting into the evolving collection
as I see it, and I am sorry not to be inviting you to include your work in this paticular
[sic] issue of BS. I believe at present I'll be guest/contributing editor just
this one time for now, so things are always changing ... Anyway, thanks again,
and may the Muse be with you!"
I will let the reader judge whether the work I submitted was written in
anything other than good modern English. Here are two examples:
See
See how her hair has thinned: it doesn't seem
like hair at all, but like the airy moult
of emus who outraced the wind and left
soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes
are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs,
and deepens on itself, as though mirth took
some comfort there and burrowed deeply in,
outlasting winter. See how very thin
her features are—that time has made more spare,
so that each bone shows elegant and rare.
For loveliness remains in her grave eyes,
and courage in her still-delighted looks:
each face presented like a picture book’s.
Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes.
Violets
Once, only once,
when the sun caught your hair
in a certain slant of light
and you laughed,
abruptly demure,
fragrant among violets,
suddenly,
I knew:
everything had changed . . .
and as you braided your hair
into long bluish plaits
the shadows empurpled,
the dragonflies’
last darting feints
dissolving mid-air . . .
we watched the sun’s long glide
into evening,
knowing and unknowing . . .
O, how the illusions of love
await us in the commonplace
and rare
and shadow our memorable hours.
Reader Reaction to "See" (most of the readers are accomplished poets):
"See" is quite extraordinary!—Zyskandar Jaimot
I liked both [poems] a lot, especially "See" for its extraordinary
delicacy.—Richard Moore
"See" is very lovely, the "elegant" and "spare" portrait, with all that emu
fluff and burrowing mirth.—Marly Youmans
"Exquisite!"—Esther Cameron
This poem is very clear, very simple, very loving, keeps the reader
abreast—and charmed—and the language as well as the meaning flows smoothly from
beginning to end. And the end is lovely. A very nice one, my compliments.—Tom
Merrill
"See" is a marvelous poem.—Greg Brownderville
This, Michael, is nearly faultless. I can't advance a single reservation as to
its diction, meter or general execution. One senses that you accomplished
precisely what you set out to do. From see how each wrinkle laughs
until and courage in her still-delighted looks, your individual style
and sensibility truly shine. A great poem.—Jeffrey Woodward
"Great news [about "See" and "At Wilfred Owen’s Grave" finishing 3rd
and 7th in the 2003 Writer’s Digest Rhyming Poetry Contest] and a
worthy recognition for your beautiful poetic touch."—Chesil, editor of
Poetry Webring
Rarely does one come upon so sensitive and sympathetic a portrayal of old age
... poems about old age express often pity, derision, even revulsion. Yours is a
lovely portrait, not a caricature."—Yala Korwin
"My sincere compliments to Mike Burch on his award-winning poems, "See" and
"At Wilfred Owens' Grave", which seem to me deep, qualified, interesting, and
well crafted. I found "See" particularly touching—rarely does one come upon so
perceptive a portrayal of old age—and "At Wilfred Owen's Grave" becomes a
clarion battle cry. For a better day. Clearly, these two poems deserve repeated
and frequent rereading. Many thanks for letting me see them."—Rhoda Bandler in a
letter to Yala Korwin
My many thanks for the opportunity to read Mr. Burch's two poems you sent. I
have read them many times—each reading a further revelation of his sensitivity
and word usage to convey each separate poem in each separate tone. To break down
the flavor of each this follows: SHE. This poem is a tender paean to an elderly,
lovely woman. It is so full of love without actually saying it, and that in
itself is intrinsic to its tug of the reader's heart. It presents a vivid
picture of the gallantry and courage of the aging. I quote a few lines that I
found unforgettable: ‘see how her eyes are gentler now.’ So sure in youth but
quieter with the acquiring of a certain wisdom. The image of wrinkles: ‘burrowed
deeply in, outlasting winter’ leaves a mark on the uncritical mind, that accepts
and sees the beauty carved by life. AT WILFRED OWEN'S GRAVE. Thoughts of war and
death in the years of youth can bring nothing but an ache in the heart. This
poem presents it with perfect pitch. The use of language to depict the horrors
of war without saying the word horror, but by describing existing in its midst,
trying to survive, yet almost surely knowing survival would be a miracle, that
death in wars denies life to the ordinary unsung as much as to the gifted cut
short untimely, fighting side by side. These are boys lived by family and
friends no matter what status in society. This poem is almost a painting using
words instead of oils to depict murder while the initiators stay home mouthing
phrases of patriotism. Yala, I hope I'm not too wordy. I am deeply affected by
both poems.—Emma Landau in a letter to Yala Korwin
Reader Reaction to "Drats, Rejected Again!"
With regard to those two wonderful poems of yours that the BS
publisher refused, all I can say is that having them on THT is our
gain and his loss. Both poems are exquisite. The first, "See", brought tears to
my eyes and an aching to my heart as I remembered my grandmother, my mother, and
now myself trying to approach old age with courage and bemusement. The stanza:
"suddenly/I knew:/everything had changed" in the other poem, "Violets",
is so transcendent, so universal, that, regardless of the fact that my
moment had nothing to do with violets and everything to do with football,
it made me feel again like that 15-year-old girl whose illusion of love was born
on an unremarkable Friday night in 1965. All the best, Catherine Chandler
In Conclusion
It's hard for me to understand why an editor whose guidelines welcome all forms
of poetry would reject poems he considered "fine, even beautiful" on the grounds
that he wanted something "decidedly more modern," when both poems are written in
perfectly good modern English. My "educated guess" is that the editor was afraid someone might
think he wasn't sufficiently sophisticated if he published rhyming poems that
convey a good deal of sentiment. But of course some of the best poems of all
time are rhyming poems that convey sentiment. I think the editor of BS is full
of BS, and there I rest my case.
The HyperTexts