Laura Shovan: Why I Hate Rhyme

I'm delighted to offer another entertaining and informative post from TLD Contributor, Laura Shovan.  Thank you, Laura, for sharing your insight and experience with us again today!

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I hate rhyme.

Rhymes are pleasing to the ear, so when we first think one up our reaction is: “Wow! That sounds great!” We are so chuffed with our rhyme, we want to keep going. Which is the problem.

Those who write poetry or picture books for the children’s market know that many editors and agents specify “no rhyming text.” At writing conferences, editors and agents warn would-be poets that rhyme is extremely hard to sustain.

Why all the fuss? Creating rhymes is natural. It’s part of how we learn to speak, read, and write—matching words that have a similar sound. Rhyme is featured not only in poetry, but in the songs we hear on the radio, advertising jingles, even in common sayings like “He’s the man with the plan.”

For today, I’d like to focus on the elementary school writing workshop, where I encourage students to skip the rhyme and just write.

Let’s think about the task of rhyming in a poem. What exactly is involved?  I’m going to make up a silly poem about my dog to demonstrate.

Sam the big bow-wowzer

Sam is a Schnauzer,
a big bow-wowzer.

My opening rhyme sounds good and I think it’s pretty funny. Plus, Sam does bark a lot (we’re working on it), so the poem is true to my experience.

Now I have to make a decision. Am I going to go with an AABA rhyme scheme or AABB?

Attempt 1 (AABA):

Sam is a Schnauzer,
a big bow-wowzer.
When it comes to dogs
there’s no one louder. (near rhyme, but pretty lame)

Attempt 2 (AABB):

Sam is a Schnauzer,
a big bow-wowzer.
His eyebrows are fluffy
and his nose is stuffy.

Sam’s nose isn’t really stuffy. But it’s a great rhyme, isn’t it!?

This is the beginning of my poem’s downfall. Where an experienced poet might work come up with a better line (“And his beard is scruffy,” e.g.), an emerging writer will plow ahead, valuing the rhyme itself above the poem’s logic and meaning.

Of my two attempts, I like the second best. Let’s go for another couplet.

Sam is a Schnauzer,
A great big bow-wowzer.
His eyebrows are fluffy
And his nose is stuffy.
He’s scared of the thunder
and so he hides under (Uh oh. I have an incomplete thought. Is that okay?)
my bed or a table (Good save. Phew. Yikes! What rhymes with “table?”)
or my big Aunt Mabel (I don’t have an Aunt Mabel, but it rhymes!)

I started out great, but now I’m struggling with ideas. And I’ve thrown meaning under the bus as long as I can keep up my rhyme.

There’s a reason why this is happening.

We are not just asking emerging writers to rhyme when we ask them to rhyme. Since a rhyme typically falls at the end of a line, we are asking students to aim for a specific sound—kind of like aiming at a target. Just as in archery, a young writer will become so focused on reaching that target at the end of the line that everything else will dissolve to the periphery. What gets lost in the process? Meaning, logic, and his or her naturally creative ideas.

That’s what happened in my second couplet. It began:

His eyebrows are fluffy

Then my brain focused on a good rhyme for “fluffy.” My first thought was “stuffy.”

His eyebrows are fluffy
…………………. stuffy

Now I have to go back and fill in whatever will get me to that target word. “And his nose is stuffy” isn’t true. Sam’s a really healthy dog. But it works for the rhyme.

The same thing happened with my fourth couplet. Starting with the idea that Sam hides underneath things when there is a thunder storm, I have:

My bed or a table

Again, my mind becomes focused on that target word, a rhyme for “table.” Instead of thinking about what actually happens when Sam is frightened, my first thought is the name “Mabel.” How can I hit that target?

My bed or a table
………………… Mabel.

Which becomes the line, “or my big Aunt Mabel.”

In reality, I don’t hate rhyme. Instead, I recognize that using rhyme in a poem is a complex task.

When I set out to write a poem this morning, my goal was to describe my dog. I have so many stories about his cute quirks.

If I’d given myself time to think about Sam’s fear of thunderstorms, my freewriting might have looked like this:

He shakes a lot and sometimes he runs down to the basement. Oh! I just remembered! He’s also afraid of fireworks, which my neighbors light whenever the Baltimore Ravens score a touchdown. In fact, Sam now runs downstairs when he notices we are watching a football game on TV. Smart fella!

Unfortunately, I didn’t include any of these great ideas, which give a real sense of Sam’s personality. My mind was so focused on rhyming, I never even thought about sharing these details.

When I’m visiting an elementary school classroom, I encourage students to write down all of their creative thoughts and forget about rhyming (at least in a first draft). Young writers aren’t experienced enough to realize that rhyme should serve the tone and meaning of a poem. It’s not the poem’s job to be a scaffold for a series of rhymes. The result will be something sing-songy, often with forced rhymes and lines that don’t make sense. (An example: the current pop song “Dark Horse.” Rapper Juicy J compares Katy Perry to serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. Not exactly romantic, but hey, it rhymes!)

If your students are really gung-ho about rhyming, encourage them to use a word bank. They will still be working hard to reach their target rhymes, but a word bank will give them options.

Let’s close with a poem that I use as a classroom model. Notice how rhyme works as an element of the poem, adding to the rhythm and tone, without taking precedence over the imagery or meaning.

Swift Things are Beautiful
     By Elizabeth Coatsworth

Swift things are beautiful:
Swallows and deer,
And lightning that falls
Bright-veined and clear,
Rivers and meteors,
Wind in the wheat,
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.

And slow things are beautiful:
The closing of day,
The pause of the wave
That curves downward to spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening flower,
And the ox that moves on
In the quiet of power.

Laura Shovan is poetry editor for the literary journal Little Patuxent Review and of two poetry anthologies. Her chapbook, Mountain, Log, Salt and Stone, won the inaugural Harriss Poetry Prize. She works with young poets as a Maryland State Arts Council Artist-in-Residence. Her debut novel-in-verse for children, THE LAST FIFTH GRADE OF EMERSON ELEMENTARY, will be published in spring of 2016 (Wendy Lamb Books). Laura blogs about arts education at AuthorAmok.

Click HERE to read Laura's first post on Today's Little Ditty, "In Defense of Great Writers," where she challenges the presumption that a first grader's literary techniques are accidental.

If you read last week's spotlight interview with Irene Latham, you know that she's challenged us to write poems of address this month.  Did you see April Halprin Wayland's adorable doggie ditty earlier this week?  I hope you'll join in this month's challenge too!

Today's Poetry Friday roundup is being hosted by the ever-effervescent Renée LaTulippe... although she's feeling a tad wistful today.  Please join her over at No Water River.