Beware the Frankenstein Poem!

Magi Gibson on poems that maybe shouldn't see the light of day

A few weeks ago Ali sent me a poem, wondering what my thoughts on it were. It wasn’t Ali’s own poem, but by someone else, an experienced writer, and it had been published in a prestigious magazine.

Now, when Ali and I send each other poems like this, we never reveal what our own thoughts about them are. So I’m aware that she might have sent something because she thinks it’s a thump-to-the-heart winner - or just as likely, because she thinks it’s a wilted cabbage that should be in the bin. This modus operandi adds a certain frisson to the exercise. Will we be totally at loggerheads?

On this occasion, I read the poem through a few times. Something wasn’t right. But what? I got back to Ali, “It simply doesn’t work,” I said. “I mean, there are some lovely images, some excellent lines, but it’s as if they don’t all fit together. In short, it’s a Frankenstein poem.”

Maybe you’ve also on occasion created a Frankenstein poem? I know I have. And that, I imagine, is why I’m able to recognise one when I see it. But what do I mean by a Frankenstein poem?

When you read the best poems there’s something beautifully organic about them. As if they’ve grown naturally, effortlessly, gracefully, reaching towards the light.

Natural, effortless, graceful

But when you read a ‘Frankenstein poem’ you get the sense that it’s been composed from bits and bobs stitched together, most likely from lines and images the writer has found in their notebook. Lines that seemed too bloody good not to use somewhere.

Imagine the poet at her desk, or sitting in a cafe, her capuccino growing cold as she struggles for inspiration. Or her wine glass growing emptier. No matter how hard she concentrates nothing comes bubbling up from the depths of her soul, which is, we all know, where elusive inspiration lurks, bat-like in a dank, dark cave.

She starts flicking back through an old notebook, and there they are. Images and lines that have… something, some magic. So maybe, she thinks, maybe she could link them together, create a whole from the disparate parts. It would be such a shame not to do something with such striking images, such musical lines.

Self-deception is one of my biggest enemies when writing poetry. Kidding myself on that I can breathe life into a poem even as it’s lying there lifeless on the page. Going so far as to fetch an imaginary defibrillator to shock the corpse into life.

But seriously, if you find yourself frantically stitching together a Frankenstein poem, desperately beating its chest and screaming at it to jolt into life, stop, take a deep breath and prepare the poor thing for burial. Have a private wake for it too, maybe with a few whiskies, to ease the grief of its passing.

Then keep very quiet about it.

What you shouldn’t do is send it out with a batch of other poems hoping the editor of wherever you’ve sent it won’t actually notice its bizarre disjointedness, its lurching awkwardness, and worst of all, its lack of a beating heart.

But must it always be like this, I hear you cry. Is it not possible that there’s a way for me to link all those amazing lines together, to create something beautiful, something unusual, something worthy of publication. Why, maybe even win a prize!

And the good news is, Yes! Once in a while you can hit lucky. Sometimes disparate notes and lines can gravitate towards each other and form themselves into a living, breathing poem that’s so perfect it seems to leap off the page.

When that happens though, it might be best to keep quiet about it too. It’s a strange phenomenon, but when we read a poem most of us want to believe it sprang perfectly formed from the soul of the poet and pirouetted its way effortlessly onto the page. Best, perhaps, to leave the reader thinking that that’s how you always write.

Finally, perhaps youre wondering, did Ali agree with me about the poem she’d sent? Well, she couldn’t stop laughing at the idea of a Frankenstein poem, so I never did find out.

Many thanks for reading Magi’s short recovering-from-flu article.

We do very much welcome comments and interactions with our readers! So do let us know your thoughts on the Frankenstein poem. Have you fallen victim too?

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Thanks to Daisy Anderson for the top photo here.