How to Use Enjambment Without Being Annoying
I've always found enjambment to dazzle the reader. You stumble into the next line in search of a conclusion when a line ends and the notion doesn't. When done right, it's a literal cliffhanger. When done poorly, it's... aggravating. Like when someone interrupts you in the middle of a sentence and says, "Wait, never mind."
Among the notable poets in the 20th century, very few played this game with flair, but nobody better than T.S. Eliot himself. Beautifully executed in The Waste Land, lines perfectly topple over each other like dominoes formed in an array:
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire…
(Eliot, The Waste Land, Part I: “The Burial of the Dead,” (Lines 1-3))
Every break has a fee. Uncomfortably, "breeding" lingers there till "lilacs" blossom underneath it. The break generates pressure, surprise, and momentum; it is not arbitrary. Eliot's enjambments are well-known because they never waste the pause.
So, how can you avoid making your own line breaks seem cheesy?
1. Apply force to the edge
Avoid using filler words at the end. Instead you should focus on finishing with with strong verbs, pictures, or concepts that compel the reader to move forward.
She reached for the door and
the wind did the rest.
Energy is produced by that tiny cliff that separates "and" from "the wind." Instead of hanging a line on breeding, Eliot made it painful (Eliot 1).
2. Want to create a surprise? Use Enjambment.
As a hinge, the line signifies one thing prior to the break and another following it. The power is in that double perception.
He said he’d never leave
quietly.
The meaning of the sentence is rewired by the pause. The line break serves as the pivot of a hinge of perspective, allowing the reader to perceive two truths simultaneously.
3. Don’t be obvious. Mix it up every now and then.
If every line enjambs, your readers will cease paying attention. Mix them up by giving them lines that land with finality and lines that run. Eliot struck a balance between abrupt breaks and frantic flow.
The night collapsed / into itself.
Then stopped.
To keep the reader awake and focused, even Eliot switched between sudden halts and flowing sprints (Eliot 12).
4. Listen to the tunes of your writing's rhythm.
Read aloud from your poem. The break will seem awkward on the page if it does in your mouth. Rhythm is controlled by good enjambment; extended spills allow for lingering thoughts, while fast cuts convey urgency.
The kettle screams / and still / I wait for quiet.
You can hear the strain being held and then released as each break paces the emotion.
To put it briefly: Let Eliot be your mentor. With purpose, pressure, and surprise, break your lines. You're not writing poetry otherwise. All you're doing is cutting sentences in half.
Written by Raymi Hidalgo
Raymi Hidalgo is a writer studying business economics and pre-medicine at the University of Chicago. This summer, she's been interning with the Poetry Society of New York while exploring how creativity connects to her interests in healthcare and finance. As she heads back to campus, she's excited to keep writing and working on medical research as she explores a future in healthcare investment banking.
