PD30 Day 24: Improving Your Imagery
September 24, 2008 by John Hewitt
Earlier, we discussed specificity and description and poetry. Here are a few more thoughts on the subject of what makes a good description.
One of the most common pieces of advice you will see is to use all five senses. Writers tend to rely on the visual almost exclusively. It is a good idea though, to think about how things smell, taste, sound and feel. You can train this by training yourself to write without visual descriptions. If you leave visuals out, you force yourself to think in terms of the other senses. If you do this long enough, you should eventually turn this into a habit. Once you are used to including the other four senses, you can work visuals back in. Then you can work on the quality of your modifiers.
Not all modifiers (adjectives and adverbs) are created equally. There are really two types of these modifiers, the descriptive and the evaluative. A descriptive modifier provides information without judgment (or with just a little judgment). Evaluative modifiers provide judgment over information. If you say that a dessert was “sugary” you are describing the taste. If you say the dessert was “delicious”, you are evaluating the taste. Evaluative modifiers are less interesting and evocative to the reader than descriptive modifiers.
The next key to improving your imagery originality, which is usually a product of specificity. Specificity separates your images from other poet’s imagery. When you are creating an image for your poem, ask yourself what information you can give that will differentiate your image from everyone else’s description of that image. Find your own way to describe something. Don’t rely on what has been done before.
When you are editing your poem, concentrate on eliminating any tired descriptions from your work. If you think you have heard a description before, the chances are pretty good that you have, and so has your reader. Find a way to change it and make it your own.
Today’s Poetry Prompt
Find an original way to describe a chair and make that the first line of your poem.
Related links
- 30 Poems in 30 Days set for September (1.000)
- All About 30 Poems in 30 Days (1.000)
- PD30 Day 1: I Believe in Poetry (1.000)
- PD30 Day 2: Generally Be Specific (1.000)
- PD30 Day 3: A Review of Meter (1.000)
Contact John Hewitt
Writing Content and Web Consulting
Email: hewitt@poewar.comPhone: (520) 261-6104
LinkedIn: poewar
Twitter: @poewar
Facebook: pwar2
To My Invaluable Chair
A sitdown encounter with ButtOffTheGrounder, i.e. my comfy Chair,
Has made me aware of the FaithHope&Chairity often offered there,
And so I say Dammit it may be inanimate but it is my Friend,
So restfully soundproofing of my lowdownpoofing–workhorse to the End!
Such hindsight reflective of ungenuflective neglect of this fine piece of work
Reminds (and it bolsters me) some reupholstery may improve its Perk,
Each newborn flatus DOES further degrade its Fabreze-with-a-twist-of-lime Magic
So unreluctant I truck ineluctably Chair/Pal to get it Un-
Tragic.
(I don’t know where everybody went. Maybe my poems stunk up the joint too much. Hold your nose because here comes another stinker. But I keep trying. I keep trying.)
Desk chair, oh my desk chair
Chair, oh chair, what a dumpster find you really were.
Youkeep on keeping on so many hours a day.
Youare like a beloved pet that has no fir, is no cur and doesn’t purr.
Youare faithful to my outlined butt imprint on your seat of grey.
Your stuck on afterthought of wobbly arms
Have been rubbed smooth but for a few grooves.
Did your first owner appreciate your charms?
Was she aware of your many wheel moves?
You, my dear, are adjustable unlike some loves before.
You have a big knob for a bellybutton that swivels you.
And you are always a gentleman who stays upright on the floor.
You never try to dump me no matter what I put you through.
Ithink you look younger than your given age.
Your spiked spider legs are chunky like a teen’s.
You are tireless as near as I can gauge.
You stay right with me through my wandering routines.
Inever use your back rest but I do enjoy my edgy perch
Together we ride across the office floor and into cyberspace
You are always ready to ride anywhere we go in our research
You would look so young, eager and ready to ride if you but had a face.
You have contoured yourself to my body like an extension.
You look like the sturdy workhorse that you are.
At night when I put my feet up, you relax all my tension.
You were built for industrial strength and you are a star.
And I love the sporty, rakish slinky hose on your back
The knob doesn’t work anymore but you mean well.
If it’s only comfort I need I can just go hit the sack.
Baby, you didn’t belong in the dumpster–you are too swell.
Maryellen Gradys last blog post.."AND ALL I ASK OF DYING IS TO GO NATURALLY." ("When I Die")
League Night
She overflowed the molded blue synthetic circle seat
She laughed the way a cat climbs a tree
The sound of it lodged in my sinuses
She seemed to want to be next to me all the time
She asked if my friend sitting across from me was my son
She touched my shoulder quickly then withdrew
She told me that she couldn’t conceive
I got up to bowl and lingered in front of the ball return
The moment I threw the ball I would have to turn around
I would have to figure out where to sit
I might just have to run away
I purposely threw the ball a little light
Watching it nick the far side of the headpin
Hoping to leave an impossible split
Or at least one pin
That I could take some time to look over
But I was doomed to roll a strike
The pins collapsed with a spiked crash
Only slightly drowned out by the sharp squeal
From the bright purple clad
Wedged in woman who probably needed a friend
That I did not want to be
I headed back to my seat where she was waiting for me
The night did not improve afterwards
@ Maryellen
30 Poems in 30 day is no easy task. Most people drop out after a while. Others (like me) write in bunches.
John you’re a riot, none can compare, with 633 comments, aye none would dare? What’s one more?…..oh yeah, 634.
A quietWriter I am seemingly underfoot but do not dispair,
your words sometimes breath taking,
out here in this cold thin air,
My aim is to write and not to read so much,
My intent is to speak, and choose my own words and such,
but I dare needed a break from the daily writer’s affairs, so
I wandered here and now find myself among purposely plagued poets discussing somewhat unsightly but comfortable cushiony chairs?
I sit, I read, I write, therefore I am. Feel the suspense.
Hello! I know I’ve hardly posted at all (feels weird to sit here typing and know that people across the world can read what I say–rather intimidating), but just wanted to say that I’m coming to the site several times a day and I’m doing my best to write all 30 poems in the 30 days. I’m only about five behind so it ought to be do-able. So yeah, even if I’m not posting much, don’t worry, all your hard work is still appreciated.
Beloved Chair
Dominating the room with its worn leather smell
And thick padding is your favorite chair
With a deep recline that draws one in
And numerous hours just speed by
Reading, resting, reclining
I remember how long you fiddled
And arranged the chair to your satisfaction
How the cushions must be placed just so
How the leather padding must be tug just so
How the chair must be maintained just so
But most of all
I remember you in the chair
With your come-hither look
And the numerous nights
We spent in that chair
I think I love that chair too
Or at least
I love being in that chair
With you.
deeply affecting
the perversity of rhyme
writing a genre
still top of the form
tempter the prognotist
fading memory intrigue
love is like darkness
light past grins
erotic the favor
any thing behold
the flavor rivots within
the flavor rivots the soul
Life Robbing Office Chair,
To the spirit, so secretly rough and scale,
at least you make wasting the day away, comfortable enough to bare.
On that, how many people have had to bare,
your soul sucking stench, oh office chair?
You smell like a mix, between new car and freezer air,
and a hint of stale chips,from the birthday of Mr. Frair.
You may feel cushy, but underneath that ruse,
you’re as soft as concrete, and your fabric has tooth.
You suck in the sound waves of our chit-chat on bad days,
and hear the groans,under our breath, on morning Mondays.
Oh how I hate you, awful office chair,
but I suppose you’re a nice thing to have, at least while working here.