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Theory Of Poetry: The Unsaid And The Said "Metanym"

For a long time, I have believed that poetry is more about what is said than what is unsaid. Nailing the truth seems to be a sort of fascinated, self-obsessed modus operandi.


Consider the great poet Sylvia Plath. Exactitude like a knife impaled into your flesh.


It's naturally what seems to get most writers going: delineating and dictating the truth. But is there more to poetry than that?


In novels, it's often said that we should "show but not tell", so why should poetry be much different?


The most subtle poetry does not tell either. It shows, by the absence and highlight of particular thoughts. We could call this: METANYM.


Note that "metonym" is a slightly different concept - not the same - although it helps to understand what each of them actually means. I suggest that 'metanym' means, at its core, a transcendent naming of the truth of any particular matter.


So...should we always aim for metanym?


Maybe we should, but poetry, being a reflection of life itself, is non-simple. Sometimes we sit on things, sometimes we relax, pause, take action, make a reaction, sometimes we say what's at the surface of our thoughts, and much more.


I may want to edit this post and include great examples of metanym at work...or if you have any, please send them to me!


I haven't got to the bottom of this: I just wanted to explore, at a certain depth. Thanks.


 
 
 

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WILDAIR THOUGHTS: GIFTS FOR THE ORACULAR

11 May 2026

Preening myself in this sweetsick lake’s plage,
My majesty of plumage, wet with decoupage,

Stirring the grasses, wind under my wings,
Silent, to hear how your own brilliance sings!

Cold to the moisture, clay to melted earth,
Forming of heart and its bursting-proud berth,

Needling to wicks of fragrance, stark in air,
Whence crawls the creaks of love, once nestled there.

The querulous, the queer now standing here
Smaller than they appear, remember with good cheer

The gifts of heartstrung chattels, whet with hands
To hold me dear, where flung the mountain sands!

Come forward, ye who travelled here alone!
Whence we have strayed, and given, soon be gone!

Whether from ice of throne, or steel icon—
Whence we have strayed, and given, soon be gone!


 

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© Marcus Ten Low, 2026

Please be considerate of intellectual property and its origins. Kind To All Beings!

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