This idea is not original to me and I am not pretending that it is. But when I started writing what I hoped would be “higher” fantasy – something approaching a “mythic” form of expression – I naturally fell into a style I called “poetic prose”.
If you start Googling the words prose and poetry combined you find the more common expression “prose poem” but little on its antonym or “poetic prose”. A prose poem is not poetic prose……the former is a poem written in a free style form, while the latter, “poetic prose”, is prose imbibed with some type of deeper poetic expression. The latter form is not so well defined simply because it’s not well known or understood.
That’s why I take a tiny bit of credit in trying to articulate this form. Reading 19th century writers, I have always felt a higher higher sense of the English language used back then but now lost to the Modern Age….an understanding of certain sides of it that have disappeared in our culture. At the same time the Modern world I feel has given us awareness, the intent and psychology behind why we say what we say, and an understanding of how much deeper our language can go in connecting us to each other and ourselves. Yet I’ve always felt something was lost. The break with the Victorian Age or Romantic Age seems to have left us with a use of language that feels disconnected from the world and Nature on some level that’s sad, distant, disaffected, unemotional, over-abstracted, absent, even hollow.
It was this ability to approach the mystical through language in a renewed and fresh revitalized way, seeing visions through it and walking into the hidden beauty expressed behind language, that interested me in trying to write poetic prose.
That’s when I started looking at my writing as something “beyond the words”…..as having a flow, a meaning, a visual, and an overall vision that is heightened. It felt needed, as if the mythic stage I was trying to describe had to have it if it was going to stand on its own two feet with Gods and characters that felt beyond-real to me.
To write prose poetically is simply about writing narrative with poetic expression and merging the hidden symbols and poetic metaphors and similes in it with the story. It’s the use of symbology, colors, allusions to Nature, and old world ideas that try and escape the Modern limited concrete world of narrative bound to realistic writing in order to fly off into the transcendental world of purist ideals. It’s about embracing the Greek idea of the Gods and of heaven as deeply connected to Man, connecting the reader to higher expressions in the language that escape the material and connect with more divine, heavenly, and primal concepts inside ourselves – of beauty, of ugliness, of light and dark, of the natural world, of mist and of time, of the inner meanings behind story and it’s fantastic worlds, and of the fleeting and fragile nature of life, of the world, and all language itself. Poetry often hides behind that sublime and sad truth.
But the traps found in using poetic prose I found often involve the Modern readers disinterest in what feels like flowery, disingenuous, rhythmic prose. On the surface it often feels artificial and naive, distracting even. That concept, I found, then started to erode the narrative of the story and disconnect the reader from it.
To combat that problem I intentionally removed “big words” and unconventional language rarely seen in Modern English use today. I also simplified very large sentences, returned to more a more protagonist focus between more poetic descriptive expressions, and tried very hard to see what I was actually saying in my writing versus what I meant to say in the more dreamier abstract prose. That’s not always easy to see in one’s writing. Any writer knows this.
But the disinterest in use and exploration of poetic prose much less reading of it may be its downfall for many in the end. It is simply one form of writing that has the ability to both elevate the story but also grossly distract from it if the ideas expressed by it are not fully accepted by readers or carefully constructed by writers. In that sense it comes with a certain level of risk for writers. It was a risk I was willing to take…..but I doubt few others will in the future if those limitations are not more fully articulated and addressed.
It is why I’ve started to fine tune my ideas about poetic prose and its use in writing mythopoeia, possibly going even farther than Tolkien in articulating poetic prose language as a medium in itself in helping to materialize mythopoeia and mytho-poetic writing styles yet with limitations. Because my own education in language is poor as it is and very limited, it’s had me pull back from the really rich, ornamental Victorian Age language and conceive of poetic prose as something greatly simplified for Modern readers….something more digestible or palatable, and used with purpose.
In that sense I’ve pulled back a lot of my interest in pushing it farther, and really building poetic prose as more of a sub-style of prose rather than a completely new medium. I’m sad about that as I think if pushed farther it could change how novels get written. But that may be a thing for future, younger writers to embrace. Because pushing poetic prose farther is going to take some skill and some acceptance that our Modern culture currently does not care to have.
With the advent of this new Metamodern Age, however, where there appears to be a return to some limited level of neo-Romantic views, it may be possible. I still feel “poetic prose” has some hidden value that’s not found in Modern prose that some people may be seeking from language that allows us all to escape the crude often crass Modern world of pulp, consumerist, pop culture language that feels stripped of beauty and meaning and allow us to return to use of language that connects us with the deeper mythology inside us.
THE GARDENS OF ABREA
“These gardens still so fair, so sweet, no feet had yet trodden nor hands dare touched, its fruits no lips yet tasted, its unnumbered buds and blossoms unwithered and unwasted, a virgin beauty still unblemished yet spread open to the skies. Bravely this land had withstood as by some overseeing power the brutal night that had sought to penetrate it wonders and plunder it, sundering it from its father’s light.
But with springtime’s fever upon it, with youthful passion Abrea had glistened in the vibrant air, full and fertile, calling as to a secret lover from afar, whispering wistfully upon the perfumed winds word of its own abundance fully unleashed and laid bare to be but loved in all its blossoming glory.”
– the Author