Word Crafting

When I first started teaching creative writing (in the dark ages), I met a young student who taught me something about combining words. Like e.e. cummings, she was fascinated with the idea of creating new words by combining other words in unusual ways. I had studied cummings, but I had never really applied his poetics to anything that I had written. The student became a bit of an inspiration to me, and I incorporated what I called “word crafting” not only in my classes for years to come, but also in some of my own writing.

Crafting new words is a wonderful way to have students learn to play with language. It also shows them that, in poetry, there really are no rules regarding grammar. Poetry exists somewhere outside the realm of proper diction and syntax.

When cummings writes in “Chansons Innocentes: I,” that the world is “mud-luscious,” he is combining two words that seem antithetical to one another. Not many would think of “mud” as “luscious.” Usually, we reserve the adjective, “luscious,” for such things as lips or strawberries. Mud, in itself, doesn’t fit the stereotype of “all things luscious.” When confronted with the phrase, the reader is forced to tilt his or her mind in a different direction, precisely the effect that cummings is seeking. In a similar manner, cummings writes:

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn't he danced his did

Readers new to cummings are dismayed, appalled, frustrated, curious, or anything but comfortable with the style of language that the poet uses. Again, we are caught off-guard by something so unusual that it makes little, if any sense, to us.

I am aware that there are fine academicians who abhor cummings and his style of poetry. Hey, some people need everything in its proper place. I have nothing against such people, and I respect their right to be a little fastidious. However, to think that all people perceive the world in a uniform way is absurd. In some respects, cummings is to poetry what Picasso is to art. It’s all a matter of perception, and there are, as Wallace Stevens wrote, “thirteen ways to look at a blackbird.” In fact, there are probably an infinite number of ways to look at anything.

The point is that we have to teach students to be a little uncomfortable. We spend so much of our time encouraging them not to be prejudiced and not to stereotype other people, and so little time encouraging them not to “pre-judge” what good poetry, good fiction, or even good essay writing is. Too often, we provide our students with “models” of good writing and then expect them to approximate those models in their own writing. The flaw in that approach is that it assumes all forms of good writing have already been established. If that’s true, then what is the point of writing at all? Creativity is almost always revolutionary, and most new writers are applauded for their fresh approach to writing, in both content and style. Instead of worrying about what is “good” or “bad” writing, perhaps we should discuss what is “effective” and “ineffective” writing. To my mind, crafting words is effective in so much as it creates a momentary vacuum in the grey matter of rational thought, maybe only for a split second, but for even that split second, the mind goes, “Huh??” and the imagination tries to fill the void.

Let’s see how it works. Take something fairly common, such as a car. Then combine that word with something not normally associated with it, say, a crocodile. Now we can write a line of poetry:

 

i drive my crocodile-car

 

Immediately, the reader is perplexed. Just what is a “crocodile-car”? It’s a confusing phrase, and in the instant that you read it, your imagination tries to cover for the writer’s apparent lack of reason. It’s a car driven by a crocodile, perhaps. It’s green in colour?. Who knows? Who cares? For a split second, you do a double take, and there it is. You enter into the world of poetry. Let’s continue:

 

i drive my crocodile-car

into the warmwetwashtunnel of your love

 

 

For some of you, you’re already allowing your imagination to see something Freudian in the poem. That’s good. Is it sexual? Perhaps, but it needn’t be. I suppose adding the “warmwetwashtunnel” combination may cause some people to think of sex, but not everyone will. At least one of you is simply thinking about how much dirty laundry is lying around your bedroom floor. More:

 

i drive my crocodile-car

into the warmwetwashtunnel of your love

until the brittlespray of carnauba wax

reminds me of ournotsohonest kisses

 

The poem changes direction, doesn’t it? Instead of leading the reader towards an encounter of some sort, the poem hits the brakes with the word “brittlespray,” and then it comes to a full stop with “ournotsohonest kisses.” Combining the four words gives the idea more emphasis. Something is amiss. Our love poem has turned sour. Alas, it seems we have yet another tragedy in the making.

The use of word crafting is what gives the poem its effectiveness. I don’t particularly like the underlying metaphor of a car (crocodile or no crocodile) in a carwash as an image for a love relationship, but the poem still has an impact because the language is fresh and offbeat. The style alone is intriguing, and it makes me stop and think.

If you are doing a poetry unit, try reading some cummings with your class, and then have them enter into the world of word crafting. Some will think it all nonsense, and of course, they’d be right. All poetry is nonsensical in a way, but so are grocery lists, and hundreds of grocery lists are written every day.

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More information on e e cummings is available at Poets.org.