The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within
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Average rating4
15
Ratings10
Average rating4
Comedian and actor Stephen Fry's witty and practical guide, now in paperback, gives the aspiring poet or student the tools and confidence to write and understand poetry.Stephen Fry believes that if one can speak and read English, one can write poetry. In The Ode Less Travelled, he invites readers to discover the delights of writing poetry for pleasure and provides the tools and confidence to get started. Through enjoyable exercises, witty insights, and simple step-by-step advice, Fry introduces the concepts of Metre, Rhyme, Form, Diction, and Poetics.Most of us have never been taught to read or write poetry, and so it can seem mysterious and intimidating. But Fry, a wonderfully competent, engaging teacher and a writer of poetry himself, sets out to correct this problem by explaining the various elements of poetry in simple terms, without condescension. Fry's method works, and his enthusiasm is contagious as he explores different forms of poetry: the haiku, the ballad, the villanelle, and the sonnet, among many others. Along the way, he introduces us to poets we've heard of but never read. The Ode Less Travelled is not just the survey course you never took in college, it's a lively celebration of poetry that makes even the most reluctant reader want to pick up a pencil and give it a try.
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A book about the mechanics of poetry - form, rhyme, meter, etc. I listened to this which was probably better than reading it. First half was much better than the second, which had a lot of list reading and unnecessary profanity.
There are some books that teach us nothing more so than we just don't care. The Ode Less Travelled — witty, well-written, wonderful as Stephen Fry is and does — taught me that I care not a ounce about poetic form, my eyes glazing over with the mention of each passing form and the rules which bind those forms. It's not that I don't like poetry. I have been moved by poetry, though not nearly as often as I've been moved by prose. I've even written some poetry in my day, though of the dreaded free verse variety which poets of a certain ilk disdain. Writing for me is about giving rise to creative impulse, at the best of times born of fiery imagination, lighted by genuine inspiration. For whatever reason, formality as described here seems to extinguish that flame before it has begun.
I can read Shakespeare and experience deeply the genius without needing to analyze any poetic mechanics the man may have used. For me the thought and language driving the plays is sufficient. (Shakespeare was no stranger to prose himself.) In much the same way I can write music without needed to consult the underlying musical theory of what I'm writing. In the case of music, I know the theory, but having learned it, I forget it. Experienced intuition can dazzle as much or more than formal structure. As for the theory of poetry, I'd just rather not bother. Structure, apparently, is something I create myself or do without altogether.
Fry cleverly drags out the reading of this book by forcing the reader to take a vow to read all the poems aloud and to do all the exercises in the book. I did well until I came to the next-to-last chapter of the book, a chapter on forms. I admit it: I didn't do any of the exercises on writing pantoums and ballads and haiku. I fully intend to go back and do these at my leisure, but I felt a strong need to go ahead and finish the blooming book. It does count, right? I don't think we have any requirements about adhering to silly vows taken to a book, do we?
