For some in the poetry community, the difference between intertextuality and straight up copying can be nuanced. The recent plagiarism scandal surrounding the Puschcart Prize, although painful and tragic for everyone involved, ultimately serves as a good reminder for poets everywhere.
Entirely composed of the lines from other poems, the cento (aka, the pastiche, patchwork, or remix poem), is one of my favorite poetic forms to read and write. But after reading about this case and others, I began to wonder if composing a poem entirely from lines written by other poets could be misinterpreted as a bit shady or even flat-out wrong.
Traditionally speaking, a cento is entirely composed of lines from other poems. According to Edward Hirsch’s The Poet’s Glossary, the practice goes back to “at least the first century” (98). Unlike a collage poem—such as T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”—which can draw on any source texts, the cento uses intact and unaltered lines of others’ poems. All of the lines may come from one poet (such as this poem I made entirely from lines written by Robert Frost) or each line may come from a different poem by a different poet, like David Lehman’s “The Oxford Cento” composed entirely of lines from poems that appear in [The Oxford Book of American Poetry], which he edited.
Ultimately, when writers use the Code of Best Practices in Fair Use for Poetry as adopted by the Poetry Foundation, a properly attributed cento isn’t plagiarism and doesn’t harm the poets whose lines are used in its composition. In fact, centos can help the poets of the original poems, the poet who creates the cento, and the poetry community. Everybody wins, and here’s why.
1. Respect for the Line
When we read a poem, we appreciate it as a whole, but certain lines may strike us as true or stick with us more than others. When I read with the intention of composing a cento, I think about and appreciate every line in a new way—as a unit complete unto itself, as if each line were a mini-poem that must make a kind of sense all on its own. I ask questions such as: Does this line loop back on itself? What meaning does this line convey on its own? What work does enjambment do? The answers to these questions not only affect how I’ll write the cento but how I view and write my own lines as well as.
2. Respect for Other Poets
A cento pays homage to your poetic heroes. Labeling your finished product a cento or remix instantly indicates that you’re using other poets’ words. But also listing the source poems and poets with the finished piece ensures you’ll avoid plagiarism while shining a spotlight on the poets whose words you admired enough to use again. Since we get the love we give, this helps everyone involved. A properly labeled and cited cento says, “Here are some poets I spent some time with. You should, too.”
3. Reading Poetry
Obviously, you have to read poetry to compose a cento. Ideally, reading centos can lead others to reading even more poetry. A well-composed cento can motivate readers to seek out the poems where the lines originally appeared, poems that they may never have discovered otherwise. Likewise, reading a cento’s source poems exposes you to more styles, techniques, voices, and approaches. That fills your creative well to draw on later, which leads to reason number four.
4. Writing (and Editing) Poetry
I will never write like Major Jackson or Naomi Shihab Nye, but repurposing and repositioning the lines that stood out to me the most from their poems helps me consider what they might have been thinking when they wrote them. Creating centos makes me think from the perspective of craft, purpose, and composition, which stretches me creatively and ignites my desire to write more of my own original work.
I don’t always use every line I’ve snipped, either, which is a bonus lesson in editing. I may still love all the lines just as much as when I selected them, but if a few lines don’t serve the poem that emerges, I have to force myself to let them go.
5. It’s Fun
While some compose centos using drag and drop or cut and paste tools on a computer, I prefer to print the selected lines, cut each with scissors, and rearrange the strips on my kitchen table like a puzzle whose picture emerges as it’s assembled. From the feel and sounds of the scissors clipping through the paper to the swishing of the strips as I rearrange the lines across the table top, the physical action of making a cento sets my synapses on fire and heart pumping. It’s tactile, kinetic, and electrifying.
Centos are a poetic example of what all artists do—collect, connect, create, and communicate. When I collect lines, my subconscious immediately begins making connections that later manifest through the manipulation of the other poets’ words. Creating centos helps me learn to trust my creative process and imagination as I join the infinite poetic conversation. I literally take from the conversation of my community and give it back new. Done respectfully, centos build and strengthen the poetry community. In fact, done right, centos are simultaneously self-care and community service.