O P I N I O N
As National Poetry Month draws to a close, it seems like an opportune time to broach the Kryptonite of poetry: I’m talking about the cliché.
Again and again, I deride the use of clichés in any writing, but especially poetry. A cliché has the potential to stink up a poem and leave a foul lingering stench for the reader. Tired and overused language is indicative of tired and lazy writing, and with the compression that poetry requires, it is toxic.
As an example, let’s examine Poison’s 1988 power ballad “Every Rose Has Its Thorn,” penned by Sir Bret Michaels. Apparently, Sir Michaels was doing laundry, waiting for his array of bandannas to dry, and he called his girlfriend on a payphone outside the Laundromat. When she answered, he heard another man’s voice in the background. Heartbroken, Michaels went back inside the Laundromat and let the muse work its magic.
This song—for our sake, we’ll examine it as poetry—can’t lay off the cliché, starting with the title. So here’s a close-reading of this colossal cliché complete with my own footnotes and annotations.
By Bret Michaels
We both lie silently still
In the dead of the night[2]
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside[3]
Was it something I said or something I did
Did the words not come out right
Though I tried not to hurt you
Though I tried
But I guess that’s why they say
[Chorus]
Every rose has its thorn[4]
Just like every night has its dawn[5]
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song[6]
Every rose has its thorn
Yeah it does
I listen to our favorite song
Playing on the radio
Hear the DJ say love’s a game of easy come and
Easy go[7]
But I wonder does he know
Has he ever felt like this
And I know that you’d be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
[Chorus]
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
[Bridge]
Though it’s been a while now
I can still feel so much pain[8]
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
But the scar, that scar remains[9]
I know I could have saved a love that night
If I’d known what to say
Instead of makin’ love
We both made our separate ways[10]
And now I hear you found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife[11] I guess
[Chorus]
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
_______
[1] Let’s see, “my love is like a red, red rose.” Heard that one? For the most part, avoid roses in any type of poem, unless you have a new and unique way of approaching the image. And “every rose has its torn” is one of the most overused expressions (metaphors) in the English language. Did this deter Sir Bret Michaels from using it as the title of his song? Hell no. The guy was hurting. Give him a break.
[2] “In the dead of the night” is “dead” language. There are multiple ways you can describe the night without having to resort to the simplest solution. If e.e. cummings was right, and poets say things in ways that no one has said it before, then you, Sir Michaels, need to try harder here. Take a look at Robert Frost, who was “acquainted with the night.”
[3] Show don’t tell. It’s the oldest directive in the history of writing instruction. And, yes, I realize he had to try the slant-rhyme with “night” and “inside.” And he’s making an attempt to use hyperbole. Yet the language is telling. I understand that our speaker feels disconnected from his lady friend—“miles apart,” in fact. But can we find another way to show that?
[4] Here we go again. Is his lady friend the rose? Is her gentleman caller in the background the thorn? Is this an implied metaphor? Or is his love for her a rose, as Sir Robert Burns said many hundred years before Bret? We don’t know. What we do know: Bret’s hurting and, reciprocally, his clichés are hurting me.
[5] Since when does every night have a dawn? Apparently, Mr. Michaels has never spent an extended amount of time in certain parts of Alaska. And, generally speaking, similes that point out the obvious are not going to be effective.
[6] Every cowboy sings “a sad, sad song?” Every single last one of them? And what year was this written? Were there still cowboys huddled around campfires singing woeful ballads about cattle herding in 1988? The cowboy simply doesn’t fit here, unless it’s referencing the cowboy hat that Bret dons in the music video. I must admit that I like Bret’s cowboy hat. It’s a good look for him.
[7] I’m not entirely sure who is more inane: the deejay who passes on this banal blather (“easy come, easy go”) or the guy who is listening to this and says, “Oh no. He’s wrong. It’s not this way for me. My lady friend has a gentleman caller at her house. The deejay doesn’t understand that every rose has its thorn.”
[8] Show don’t tell. Maybe you have to reinforce this at the bridge of the song, and I know how painstaking it can be to rhyme a word with “remain,” seeing that hard A followed by the N sound is so seldom used in the English language. By this point, we get the picture. You’re in pain. You’re hurting, Bret, and your bandanna are still slightly soggy. But the bridge will be not complete unless you end it with a nice cliché.
[9] Ask and you shall receive. Cuts like a knife? Wasn’t that a Bryan Adams song? And of all the similes that have been done to death, you hit on one of the Top Ten, Bret. But I hope you’re not going to sit pat and end this barrage clichés quite yet. I hope you find a way to fit the knife-cutting cliché in one more time.
[10] Well, you already ripped off Bryan Adams, you might as well rip off Journey, too. They made their “separate ways,” too. Although, don’t lose hope, Bret. Someday love will find you and break those chains that bind you. Wait, isn’t that another cliché? Different song.
[11] I knew you couldn’t stop at one knife cutting cliché. Clichés are the heroin of bad writing. You use one then you spend the rest of the song chasing the dragon. It cuts like a knife, doesn’t it? That must hurt.
