A question about diction

[cookala]

I've been told to spice up my diction off and on for awhile now, and I've been making a conscious effort to do so recently. But now, after posting a revision in High, I've been told I should make the wording simpler to make that particular poem simpler to make the personal side of it more accessible. So, now I'm confused. I'm wondering - should diction match the subject of a poem, as well as it's tone and intent? Or is fresh diction something I should always stive for? And, just so I gain a clearer understanding of what "good or excellent diction" is - maybe can someone give me a few examples?

Thanks!!

[Scavella]

Hey.

Been looking at that poem in High, and thinking about it.

When last did you look at Rachel's Filters (http://www.everypoet.org/pffa/showthread.php?s=&threadid=12867&poems)? Concentrate particularly on the parts about grammar & syntax, verbs and nouns,

Diction is the product of meaning, and a strategy used by a writer to convey that meaning. Diction, like any poetic strategy, can't stand on its own. It is woven into the content and the meaning of the whole poem. If the diction is sticking out and standing in the way of meaning, then there's something wrong with it.

A quick search on the web threw up the following references, with which I happen to agree:

[Diction is t]he choice of a particular word as opposed to others. A writer could call a rock formation by many words--a stone, a boulder, an outcropping, a pile of rocks, a cairn, a mound, or even an "anomalous geological feature." The questions always become, "Why that particular choice of words? What is the effect of that diction?" The word choice a writer makes determines the reader's reaction to the object of description, and contributes to the author's style and tone (see below).
http://guweb2.gonzaga.edu/faculty/wheeler/lit_terms_D.html

The choice of words, phrases, sentence structures, and figurative language in a literary work; the manner or mode of verbal expression, particularly with regard to clarity and accuracy.
www.poeticbyway.com/gl-d.html

Word choice, particularly as an element of style. Different types and arrangements of words have significant effects on meaning.
http://davinci.moh.bvsd.k12.co.us/kugler/AP/AP_Glossary.html

[Lola Two]

Hey, cookala. Good question. Diction is something that interests me greatly.

When people refer to diction in critiques, they mean one of two things: a specific word choice in the larger context of the poem, or the style of language you have employed to write the poem.

Diction should, ideally, serve the poem. I maintain that to write plainly and choose the most appropriate word in every case is the best way to do things. Should you always strive for fresh diction? It depends on what you mean by the phrase "fresh diction". Fresh diction is good if it means that you should never use "smile" when you can use a more specific term, like "grin". Fresh diction is bad if it means that you should never use "smile" when you can use a more specific term, like "white split-slice of teeth and pink rind." Believe me, in the latter case, "smile" is just fine.

"Make it new" has been the direct cause of some very dreadful poetry. In the struggle to sound original, people eliminate articles, pronouns, prepositions, gerunds--hell, I've seen poems entirely composed of nouns and verbs. People use obscure or elaborate words where simpler ones would service, and strain for the simplest images. Example. I am no longer allowed to write:

Crows settle on the crackling wires.

Instead, because I want to be original, I write:

Sixteenth notes blotch the aerial
staff. Ringless trees electrify
time and its dark signature.
"I have never seen such crisp
glissandos," the crucified pianist rasps.

Which makes no sense, but should, in my opinion, be nominated for some kind of prize. Anyway, so now that I've established that "bizarre and overreaching diction" does not mean "fresh diction", allow me to give you some examples of great diction.

The last strophe of Elizabeth Bishop's "Over 2,000 Illustrations and a Complete Concordance" is an excellent testament to Bishop's superbly tuned ear.

Everything only connected by "and" and "and."
Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges
of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.)
Open the heavy book. Why couldn't we have seen
this old Nativity while we were at it?
--the dark ajar, the rocks breaking with light,
an undisturbed, breathing flame,
colorless, sparkless, freely fed on straw,
and, lulled within, a family with pets,
--and looked and looked our infant sight away.

The gilt pollinates the fingertips, the dark is ajar, the flame is freely fed on straw, the family is with pets, not surrounded by barn animals, and, most importantly, we looked and looked our infant sight away. You could substitute a dozen other adjectives for infant and it would still be a good line, but infant is an exceptional choice, and hence the line is exceptional. The speech here is very plain, but terribly striking. Every word she uses is the right word, in its right place.

Translations are another place to look to when you're studying diction. Obviously, translators are all translating the same poem, but each translation is different. Often, too, there ends up being a "definitive" translation of a certain poem. Here are two translations of Rilke's "Archaic Torso of Apollo".

Archaic Torso of Apollo

We never knew his fantastic head,
where eyes like apples ripened. Yet
his torso, like a lamp, still glows
with his gaze which, although turned down low,

lingers and shines. Else the prow of his breast
couldn't dazzle you, nor in the slight twist
of his loins could a smile run free
through that center which held fertility.

Else this stone would stand defaced and squat
under the shoulders' diaphanous dive
and not glisten like a predator's coat;

and not from every edge explode
like starlight: for there's not one spot
that doesn't see you. You must change your life.

Translation by H. Landman

Whatever, Mr./Ms. Landman. "That center which held fertility", my ass. Here is Stephen Mitchell's translation of the same poem.

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

The two translations resemble each other from a distance; but when you look closely, the uniqueness of each is obvious. In my opinion, the Mitchell translation is excellent; the Landman translation merely serviceable. Mitchell made better choices. Diction isn't the only element that makes one translation superior to another, but it contributes more than any other single factor.

I'm going to go finish that crow poem now.

Lola

[mindsweeper]

Lola,

Thanks so much for posting the two translations of 'Archaic Torso of Apollo'. I only had to read L 1 of each translation to know which was going to be the more compelling. And so it proved.

You couldn't have better illustrated (for me, anyway) the difference between serviceable diction and compelling diction. This example, together with your other explanations, has helped me to understand the subject so much better.

Many thanks.

Ruth

[Steph#2]

Hi, Cookie,
(He says, shyly waving from the back row!)

I’m so pleased you’re thinking about the diction you employ in your writing.
Even if it seems confusing right now, it’s the right way to go! The most serious error is to carry on writing and be unaware of the diction one is using. This problem leads to the greatest failing in regard to diction, which is “mixing it”! Much of the blame for this error can be directed at the current popularity of lyrical, free-verse poetry. I say this because there’s a common assumption that poetry is all about the writer’s “unique” voice, employed in the interests of “self-expression”; it’s my “style of writing” and who are you to criticise it! Control of one’s diction is a really big step towards competent writing, one I’m still trying to make, too!

Good luck, Cookie; I’m rootin’ for ay!

Steph

[Lola Two]

You're very welcome, Ruth. Glad to be of help.
You're lucky I didn't post the translation that began:

"We have no idea what his fantastic head was like,
where the eyeballs were slowly swelling."

Lola

[cookala]

Thank you so much, Scavella, for the urls - and yes, it's been awhile since I read Rachel's "filters" - but I'm printing it out for close study (that and the rest of her thread on critique while I'm at it) to use as a guide. Both this and that thread are excellent. Until I've gotten a good grasp on proper diction, I will have to keep reading both repeatedly. Thank you for responding and answering my questions - you've helped a great deal!

And Lola Two - thank you, thank you! for showing me by example what makes or breaks diction. I had this misplaced notion that fresh diction meant exactly what you referred to in "making it hard rather than simple". Reading the two translations really shed a lot of light on the power of diciton, and how it can make a poem sing or squawk. Pollinate - a few seconds after I read that I had that moment of illumination accompanied by a "wow". That is what's meant by weeding in or out that one right word.

Both of you, I appreciate your time and interest. Me thinks now I've got a much, much better idea of "diction" and how it should work for and not against a poem. This helps tremendously. :D

[cookala]

CHeers, Steph! (waving back at him, saying don't be so shy!)
Thank you for the support - I really appreciate it. Ever since you pointed it out to me, my diction has been on my mind. I still can't thank you enough for bringing it to my attention. It is definitely going to help me to grow. :D

[romac]

Just to throw something else into the mix:

Archaic Torso of Apollo

You’ll never know that terrific head,
or feel those eyeballs ripen on you –
yet something here keeps you in view,
as if his look had sunk inside

and still blazed on. Or the double axe
of the breast couldn’t blind you, nor that grin
flash along the crease of the loins
down to the low centre of his sex.

Or else he’d sit, headless and halved,
his shoulders falling to thin air –
not shiver like the pelt of a wolf

or burst from his angles like a star:
for there is nowhere to hide, nothing here
that does not see you. Now change your life.

(from Don Paterson’s Landing Light collection, Faber and Faber 2003)