What is Poetic Prose?

A masterclass from Elif Shafak

Sometimes writing works on us at an almost unconscious level: it moves us but we don’t know why.

This kind of writing is often called poetic prose. It is the perfect combination of rhythm and sense imagery in such writing that sends it straight to the heart.

Whenever I come across a passage of prose that perfectly unites sound and sense, I write it out, and my latest crush is a passage from the gorgeous and wonderful novel The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak.

Here is the passage, which you can find on page 330, with a short part omitted (indicated by […]):-

If you are an artist in need of inspiration, a blue jacaranda or a sweetly scented mimosa could stir your imagination. […] For wisdom, try a beech; for intelligence, a pine; for bravery, a rowan; for generosity, a hazel; for joy, a juniper; and for when you need to learn to let go of what you cannot control, a birch with its white-silver bark, peeling and shedding layers like old skins. Then again, if it’s love you’re after, or love you have lost, come to the fig, always the fig.

This piece of writing is so musically composed that it almost sings. Every word is chosen with care for the sound as much the sense. The sentences are crafted so that the greatest variety of construction is included and the whole passage is the equivalent of a complete poem, making it feel rather like a sonnet with a closing couplet.

In short, it is a virtuoso display and we readers, and most especially aspiring writers, will do well to attend to its every detail.

An analysis

The ideas here are somewhere between science and magic, with precise botanical examples which have apparently miraculous effects. Likewise, in the book as a whole, there is much hard factual information about trees (their growth, and resilience, occurrence in different places and situations), as well as magical stories of mythic trees, especially the fig. The novel is in fact partly narrated by a fig tree, as is this passage, in which it is boasting about its own importance. Because the fig is for love, and what is more important than love?

The associations of the different trees are, I think, mostly made up, but the rhythm and rhyme of the passage persuades us to believe every word. The pleasure of the language is seductive, just like the fig!

Word choices

Let’s begin with the word choices. The descriptions of the jacaranda and mimosa at the start, and of the birch near the end, are built on sense imagery. The artist, says the narrator, will respond to the colour and scent of the jacaranda or the mimosa, and the person who needs to let go will be helped by the sight of the birch bark peeling in white-silver strips.

The central list, however, works mainly on sound. The beech, pine, rowan, hazel and juniper are given arbitrary but convincing associations because of subtle word-rhymes. For instance, the ‘i’ in the intelligence matches the ‘i’ sound of ‘pine’. ‘Bravery’ and ‘rowan’ share an ‘a’ sound and the ‘en’ of ‘generosity’ is very close to the ‘el’ of ‘hazel’. ‘Juniper’ and’ joy’ alliterate, sharing the same initial ‘j’.

This is poetry!

It is assonance (the rhyming of vowel sounds) and alliteration (the matching of initial word letters) integrated with a plenitude of particularised names. Just remember all that advice in creative writing guidebooks about being specific: this is a masterclass on how to do it!

Sentence structure

And now we need to look at sentence structure. First we are lead in by ‘If you are…’, with an address to the reader and a long bridging phrase before we get to an actual tree. (“If you are an artist in need of inspiration, a blue jacaranda or a sweetly scented mimosa could stir your imagination”).

This is followed by a completely different construction: a short-form list which is built on the structure: ‘For [this], try [that;]’. (“For wisdom, try a beech;”). Each example contains a comma and ends with a semi-colon so that we can find our way easily through the sentence.

But it is not a rigidly repeated format. In the final listed item (for letting go, a birch), we go back to the long form of ‘this’ (“when you need to let go of what you cannot control”) and also a long form of ‘that’ (the birch tree that sheds its bark).

At the end, not content with repeating any of the opening styles of the previous sentences, Shafak clinches the deal with a new rhetorical flourish: “Then again, if it’s [this] you’re after,” which brings the reader back in and and signals the relationship of the closing sentence to everything that’s gone before.

Here, as throughout, there’s a razor-sharp use of punctuation to pinpoint the sense: we know that the remedy will work for someone seeking love as well as for someone suffering its loss because the latter alternative is carefully corralled by commas (“if it’s love you’re after, or love you have lost, come to the fig”).

The very last flourish uses repetition (“come to the fig, always the fig”) and gives the perfect ending cadence, with just a little bit of advertising in it, too.

Writing as a craft

I can’t tell you how much pleasure writing like this gives me. It’s not something that translates into any other medium, although tracking, close-up shots and so on in films are perhaps an equivalent in which the skill of construction translates directly into emotion in the receiver.

What Shafak demonstrates is that if you are a writer you also need to be a wordsmith. You need to select the best wood and learn how to make it into durable furniture, but also to be a true craftsperson and make it beautiful as well.

Learn by imitating

There is nothing wrong with learning from a master by imitation. Why not try using Shafak’s passage as a blueprint and putting in your own content? Think of something that you know many variants of, say cars or even authors, and follow Shafak’s model.

You can do this by writing a version of Shafak’s passage and replacing all the nouns and attending to their sounds. At the same time, keep all the connecting words and the punctuation exactly the same as Shafak’s. Here is the blueprint:-

‘If you are a — — — — in need of — — — — , a — — — — could — — — — . For — — — — ,try a — — — — ; for — — — — , a — — — — ;[repeat the last four words a few times with different things, but add detail in the final item]. Then again, if it’s — — — — you’re after, or — — — — you have lost, come to the — — — — , always the — — — — .’

Here’s my own attempt:

If you are a man in need of masculinity, a solidly-built, silent bulldog or jowly, compact Boxer could bolster you. For humour, try a pug; for loyalty, a Labrador; for foolishness, a poodle; and for reassurance and security, a sheep dog with its determination to make all safe by conscientious diligence. Then again, if its beauty you’re after, or the memory of beauty, come to the spaniel, always the spaniel.

Why not have a go yourself?

But DON’T publish this as your own! It is far too close to plagiarism.

Instead, let the elegance, accuracy and poetic music you have learnt to use seep into your own personal writing style; it will improve your range and give you the skills to write your own poetic prose.

What is Poetic Prose? was originally published in The Writing Cooperative on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.