What is a cliche?

I also hate plot clichés. E.g., on a sitcom the lowly staff member’s mom is coming to visit. They’ve been saying that they’re really the boss. They talk the boss into switching jobs for the week. Etc.

Any show that rolls out such stale tropes* is one I avoid.

Modern Family, despite it’s updated characters, did a lot of these. I’d see the exact ending coming early on. I tried a couple times to watch several episodes but the clichés just ruined it. Lesser shows like Everybody Loves Raymond were cliché-fests. (Which goes to show you that most people actually love clichés.)

  • Tropes aren’t necessarily clichés. It’s just that most “named” tropes and such are.

A quick lesson in poetry: if you see a declension of the verb “to be” strike it out.

Take a look at this translation of Brel’s “Amsterdam”:

The words skip lightly across images dark and painful, painting bittersweet pictures in your mind. They are the difference between showing and telling, between evoking and thudding. (DrFidelius gives something close to the David Bowie version, which repeats “there’s”, incorporating but hiding “is,” but that’s an effect that works better in balladry than poetry.)

Is the problem with your lines that they are cliché? Possibly. An old saying I just made up runs, “You can’t get them to read your second line if they stop at your first.” Maybe the rest of your poem is brilliant and your critic is unfair or unaware. We can’t tell when a stanza is taken out of context. But perhaps there are more important issues to think about.

I feel sorry for any girl trying to relate anything that happened over the summer while she was at band camp.

O.K. Here’s the complete poem:

Nostalgia

I’ve been abroad and scoured the world
for wisdom and for pleasure,
and now and then came back to base
with souvenirs to treasure.

There was a girl in Amsterdam,
and in the East a Buddha.
From one I learned the ways of love;
compassion from the other.

And now, as autumn days grow short
and chevroned geese fly southward,
my life assumes a measured beat
to mark my journey homeward.

I may not miss the madding crowd
nor cascade tears at leaving;
and yet the thought of rest at last
can’t quite dispel the grieving.

Regards, Medici.