Free Verse

I see the term free verse thrown around on this platform to refer to anything without terminal rhyme. That’s fallacious—end rhyme is one element of form; meter is another, and a great deal of unrhymed poetry is metered. Blank verse is not free verse.

If you like end rhyme and indulge yourself with it, that’s your personal choice. Throwing around precise literary terminology is not a personal choice—it requires knowledge and understanding. Referring to a poem as “structurally bad” because it doesn’t rhyme is a blatant display of ignorance of what structure is. It doesn’t have anything to do with end rhyme, unless those sounds carry and resonate meaning.

You won’t see me lecturing about nuclear physics or trigonometry—I’m woefully ignorant in those fields. Literature and literary theory are a different matter. I’m delightfully knowledgeable about these things that I gave six years of my life to in the form of formal study and have continued to give my life to in the form of teaching ever since I completed my formal study. In this arena, I know what I’m talking about to the degree that I’m an expert. I’m not acting like a professor—I’ve been a professor for over twenty years. It is not acting, it’s being.

Back to free verse. Walt Whitman was a master of free verse, finding his own form when the existing ones didn’t fit his ideas. In addition to rhyme schemes, most strict forms also have specific metrical requirements—elegies desire falling meter while odes lean to rising meter, so the emotional expression may resonate through the rhythm of the words.

Let’s all stop pretending that creating end rhyme is challenging—it isn’t. Creating end rhyme that adheres to the form’s prescribed meter while resonating meaning in a fresh way is indisputably challenging, but if rhyme is the only leg of that triad that succeeds, the poem fails in terms of form. This fact will undoubtedly anger some, but rhyme is not the be-all, end-all of poetry: it is one element, and it will never succeed in isolation.

I cannot cure end-rhyme addiction, but I can assert that it requires support from other poetic devices if it’s concerned with literary success. If literary success isn’t a concern, the work shouldn’t be in the same room with pieces diligently focused on achieving literary merit. If the author hasn’t educated himself or herself or themselves about the elements of literary achievement, it’s a user-entry problem, not an unfair judging problem. When I read a winning piece and “don’t get why it won,” I assume that the problem is in my reading, not the work. If I’m truly invested, I read it again; if I’m not, I move on. Under no circumstances whatsoever will I attack the judges or the winners for my reading comprehension problems.

When I see these jealous attacks (sorry, that’s what they are: I’ve yet to see anyone complain about it being unfair that they won), I will enter the fight and ask for specifics about the “unfairness”, often receiving responses like “I don’t read the winning pieces but I know mine is better.” Arrogant smug ignorance will never impress anyone except other smugly ignorant allies. Assertion of informed knowledge while admitting refusal to examine the exhibits is antithetical to responsible criticism to the degree that it’s uninformed whining. I have no tolerance for that.

If you choose to complain publicly about every challenge, that’s your choice. Yes, freedom of speech. No, not freedom of consequences of speech. If you’re going to attack winning pieces, present a valid argument based on some school of literary thought or hold your peace: without a critical foundation, it’s not educated criticism, it’s a defense of preferences, which ultimately, are irrelevant.

Stop calling all unrhymed poetry free verse. Educate yourself about poetic device beyond rhyme. Learn your prosody terms. Learn meter scansion. Learn literary theory. Don’t assume that your preferences are legitimate literary criticism. Don’t attack the judges and winners for the failures in your reading. Don’t attack people who adhere to standards for having standards. And stop with the unfounded, front-loaded moralizing.

Ain’t you tired, Miss Hilly?