I had thought that poetry was something that simply existed. Turned out, poetry is what you define it to be today
Contemporary poet D. Rudoy teaches his readers life—and how to write English poetry
Gather ’round me people // There’s a story… and so on. I’ve got gonna some obscene advice to share. Obscene, because the person giving it is not a native speaker of English. And yet, the advice concerns a subject as linguistic as they come. In short, I’ll tell you how to write English poetry.
Notice I said ‘how to write English poetry,’ not ‘poetry in English.’ The term “English poetry” is what Kant’s fans might call a Ding an sich, or a thing in itself. This means that English poetry encompasses the works of Shakespeare and Byron, but not the angst-filled scribbles of a teenage boy in the school bathroom—unless his brand recall eventually exceeds the minimum threshold. In other words, this essay teaches you how to write real poetry—even in a bathroom stall.
Let’s cut to the chase. I won’t waste time on faux humility, pretending to stumble upon some grand realization about how my outsider perspective shapes this theory. No, I’ll state it outright: being a non-native speaker who went all the way to writing English poetry gives me a unique vantage point. And this perspective forms the very foundation of my approach to writing English poetry, which I want to share.
Ultimately, it’s simple: I am a born poet. You know how some obsess over quantum mechanics, sculpture, or oboes? Well, I’m consumed by writing (literature, to be precise, but I still haven’t written an explanation of why poetry tops the creative food chain, so hang on for now). Specifically, poetry. I live it, breathe it, and dissect it. This is already aggravating, I know. But here’s where it gets interesting.
I’m not “just a poet,” like Shakespeare or Byron or whoever you know and I don’t. Those guys mostly competed with their peers in verse—and occasionally in life, though usually in trivial ways, like tallying romantic conquests. I, however, compete with them overall.
Picture this: you hear Shakespeare, and you’re awestruck, dripping with reverence, etc. Meanwhile, I climb onto my metaphorical high horse, gaze down, and ask, “Dude, is that really what you meant to say? Cause one, you’ve already said it before, and two, so have I. And at least as well as you did.”
Cue the critics shouting, “The chap’s insane!” Fair enough—I’m not trying to convince you I surpass Shakespeare (not yet, anyway—but who knows where writing English poetry takes us?). My point is about objectivity. See, you can’t simply declare Shakespeare the greatest and defend it with, “Well, everyone says so!” No: imagine having to make a watertight case for Shakespeare being more than an overrated graphomaniac before a panel of skeptical judges.
Luckily, you could. What you need is a list of criteria that can be applied to Shakespeare and other poets to arrive at an objective conclusion through a fair evaluation. Coincidentally, a hefty chuck of these criteria parallel the very method I’ll share here for writing poetry, so let’s begin already.
The Warning
Poetry is about saying something. You wanna know how to write poetry? Then say something. But tread carefully, because people will notice what you say. What is it, hot bitches all over the club, but nobody will spit on the pretty girl’s pussy? Sure, we’ll give it some leeway. But, ultimately, poetry is about God—in whatever shape of form you can comprehend and capture it.
If you’re clueless about this, it’ll show, big time. Even if they blow their entire marketing budget to make you big, famous, bestselling, or “best”, the audience will still know the truth—and you will know it, too, which is worse. So, stay away from that honeypot if you think I’m talking to you. Living somebody else’s life never made anybody happy.
Now, here’s the beauty of being a poet: you get to teach people how to live. Everyone. Ask yourself: would you teach life to Donald Trump? Vladimir Putin? And I don’t mean in a dream—I mean face-to-face, with everyone present carrying a gun—except for you. A true poet has the authority to do exactly that. More than that, a true poet can do the same to the Pope. So, you go figure: there’s a helluva lot at stake behind the seemingly innocent question “how to write English poetry?”
The Basics
Let’s start with the basics. It’s okay if you didn’t know it yet, but writing English poetry must begin with a solid technical foundation. Remember this well.
English is one of the easiest languages to rhyme in. Why? Because the exact same English word can be a noun, a verb, an adjective, and even an adverb. This is extraordinarily handy when you need to rhyme: you aren’t locked into specific grammar which’ll always limit your expression in the long run. But wait, there’s more.
You ever wondered where the expression “four-syllable words” came from? Most English words are monosyllabic—like this whole string of words but the last, some with more than one vowel (though it’s hardly possible to compete on vowels with French). Shorter words are easier to not only rhyme (well, have you heard dactylic poems that let their final foot ring true?)—they also fit nicer when you need to pack them together in a meter.
Why am I telling you all this? I am teaching you how to write real poetry—not chunks of prose sold as such. This means rhyme and meter are indispensable. Yes, it’ll take a lot of extra effort, but she who writes with no rhyme or meter does not have the right to teach life to the Pope. Why would you half-ass a golden chance like this? I mean, either don’t bother asking how to write poetry, or learn in the right way. But remember: I always have the right to teach you life. lol
The Sense
Now that we’ve covered the basics (and weeded out some of the fakes), the real fun begins. See, the whole reason why they could toss rhyme and meter to inflate the sales was because they truly are not the most important thing in poetry. It’s not unimportant, cause how else are you gonna filter out complete shit, but it’s a lot less important than sense. Now, sense is the one true king of real poetry. So, if your poem makes sense, you’re off to a good start.
Plenty of romantics disagreed, but a feeling, no matter how consuming and genuine, still needs to make sense. This takes care of love and lesser emotions. Beauty is at risk next. What can be beautiful in a poem? A description that rendered an art masterpiece better than a picture? But what made the description? Beauty? Hardly: a billion people had looked at the same masterpiece and passed by. No, again, it was all the same: sense.
Who is the most sensible poet you’ve ever read? This is a tough question, all jokes aside. In fact, it’s so hard that it’s good if you actually thought of somebody. Just be careful: sensible is what we’re looking for. Now, I do have an advantage over most English speakers because I read Joseph Brodsky, but even if you don’t know who Lermontov, or Tyutchev are, here’s a hint: the most sensible is also the least flowery. They can be flowery, too, but even at their most the flowers will be but laurels to the poem’s overall sense.
Which finally brings us to to the beginning.
The Beginning
A poem has to start somewhere. Let it start on its own. Pay attention to words that form into sentences in your head. Did something make a lot of sense to you? Does it fold into a uniform rhythm, like iambic pentameter? It’s okay if it doesn’t: write the thought down and start playing with it. Can you convey the same in a slightly tweaked way, one that’ll follow rhyme and meter?
I am a poet, so this happens to me all the time: more often than I can take care of it. The beginning is the most important part, regardless of where it’ll fit in the end. Most likely, it’ll be either the very first, or the very last lines—the exception being when you get to combine several “beginnings” into a single poem, each defining a separate stanza.
Here’s how the beginnings work. Today at the grocery store I heard a different song by the guy who signs “How to save a life”. The earworm stuck in my head for hours. Then, as I was about to continue my novel (I’m a writer, too—I knew what I meant about the creative food chain), savoring the whereabouts of yet another risqué chapter, I was hit with:
Where did I go wrong?
I never did…
That’s it. A beginning like this is all you need to start writing English poetry. Just remember, writing poetry is like sex: if you can stick your dick somewhere (or some dick inside you), it doesn’t necessarily mean you should.
How to write English poetry. Conclusion
You many have noticed that this essay is considerably longer than the pages with formulaic advice on the subject, and that it ventures beyond the title. You know how AI generates articles, robotically going from one point to the next in a way that ensures that the last dumb ass will understand? Well, it’s very unlikely that a person looking for an answer on how to write English poetry is a dumb ass, so spoon-feeding you was never part of my plan. Writing poetry is about making connections: as a poet, you must generate valuable, non-trivial associations which give insight into the nature of everything (that’s what I meant by God in the introduction).
If you try something I do, being a classic poet in an age where some people won’t read your poetry because it rhymes, good luck. Remember: you can’t ask how to write poetry and ignore the role poetry plays in the society contemporary to you. Poetry on Tic Tok is not the same as what it was 50, or 150 years ago. What are you gonna do with brilliant poetry if nobody cares about the subject matter? Or the cover? Are you prepared to spend your whole life as an unrecognized genius and die a century before they put you next to Shakespeare?
If you answered “yes”, go ahead and write some poetry already!
January 21st-22nd, 2025