When writing a poem, we think a lot about ordering our ideas. When thinking about fears we may order them from things we only think are a little scary to our deepest fears, or fears we think are personal to universal fears. But in poetry, jarring juxtaposition can grab a reader’s attention. Juxtaposition is placing two things next to each other to compare and contrast for an interesting effect. We may follow what we consider to be a small fear with a huge fear, then a personal fear with a universal fear. We might put a monster we don’t believe in next to the monster that lives under our bed.
Example Poem: “Fear” by Ciaran Carson from Poets.org
Fear
I fear the vast dimensions of eternity.
I fear the gap between the platform and the train.
I fear the onset of a murderous campaign.
I fear the palpitations caused by too much tea.
I fear the drawn pistol of a rapparee.
I fear the books will not survive the acid rain.
I fear the ruler and the blackboard and the cane.
I fear the Jabberwock, whatever it might be.
I fear the bad decisions of a referee.
I fear the only recourse is to plead insane.
I fear the implications of a lawyer’s fee.
I fear the gremlins that have colonized my brain.
I fear to read the small print of the guarantee.
And what else do I fear? Let me begin again.
~Ciaran Carson
How does this poem use juxtaposition for effect?
Prompt: List your fears that have come up this month. Then list all the little things that have gone wrong lately and how they led to change in behavior. Did any of those slight differences lead to good conclusions? In your poem mix your deepest fears with the daily goblins and gremlins that come up in daily life.
Possible form: Villanelle
~
[NOTE: Carson plays a deliberate game of scale-whiplash and it works. He jumps from “the vast dimensions of eternity” to “the gap between the platform and the train.” It keeps the reader slightly off-balance and makes us realize that our brains don’t distinguish between the cosmic and the petty. Fear is fear. One is life-ending; the other is… caffeine jitters. The pairing reveals how irrational and wide-ranging fear can be. He’s flattening all fear into one emotional plane. The mythic feels real. The real feels absurd. There’s almost humor in how earnestly arbitrary the list is, so fear is democratic. Some fear belongs to him alone (books not surviving acid rain). Some fear belongs to society (lawyer’s fees, murderous campaign). He bounces between personal neurosis and collective anxiety. The poem loops; fear is endless. He juxtaposes the illusion of closure with the reality of chronic dread. Carson deploys juxtaposition as a disruptive ordering strategy with alternating cosmix, mundane, fantastical, bureaucratic, personal, and communal. This creates emotional volatility, comedic relief, and a sense that fear is an infinite portfolio with no prioritization schema. The poem lands because the contrasts feel both absurd and familiar. A risk register where “existential void” and “bad referee call” are equal items.]
Inventory of Goblins
I fear the silence after a name is said aloud.
I fear burnt toast and urgent emails sent too fast.
A cracked cup can shame me more than a thundercloud.
I fear the late-night thought that God isn’t proud.
I fear the elevator button glowing, then staying cast.
I fear the silence after a name is said aloud.
I fear the train that never comes, the too-still crowd,
and shampoo stinging eyes with memories of the past.
A cracked cup can shame me more than a thundercloud.
I fear the monster waiting beneath the parent-approved shroud—
the kind that knows your secrets; the kind that lasts.
I fear the silence after a name is said aloud.
I fear a form I filled out wrong, and the humble, shrinking bow.
I fear forgiving myself too late, too slow, too last.
A cracked cup can shame me more than a thundercloud.
I fear the dark that follows daylight like a vow,
the lock that clicks and laughs, the future vast.
I fear the silence after a name is said aloud.
A cracked cup can shame me more than a thundercloud.
~ Oizys.