Prompt: Volta

It is said that a young Japanese poet once asked a Chinese poet how to compose a Chinese poem. “The usual Chinese poem is four lines," he was told. "The first line contains the initial phrase. The second line is the continuation of that phrase. The third line turns from this subject and begins a new one. But the fourth line brings the first three lines together."

A popular Japanese song illustrates this:

Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto.
The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen.
A soldier may kill with his sword,
But these girls slay men with their eyes.

Many well-known four-line Chinese poems, particularly those in the jueju (or quatrain) form, masterfully incorporate a "turn" or a shift in perspective, mood, or subject matter in the third line, before the concluding fourth line brings the poem to a close.

Poems from all cultures often have a turn. That turn is known as the "volta" which comes from Italian, meaning “turn.” It traces back to the Latin verb volvere, which means “to roll” or “to turn." In poetry, it metaphorically represents a shift in thought, emotion, or argument. 

Petrarch, the 14th-century Italian poet, popularized the sonnet form that includes a volta between the octave (8 lines) and the sestet (6 lines). In his sonnets, the octave presents a problem or situation, and the sestet offers a resolution or counterpoint.  Later, Shakespearean sonnets adopted a different placement for the turn. It often appears before the final rhymed couplet.

Two examples of turns in longer English poems: In Shakespeare’s "Sonnet 18," the turn comes at line 9: “But thy eternal summer shall not fade…” —shifting from admiring nature to praising the beloved’s lasting beauty. In Elizabeth Bishop’s "The Moose," the turn moves from a mundane bus ride to a mystical encounter with a moose and transforms the poem’s tone and meaning.

"Question And Answer On The Mountain" by Li Po:

You ask for what reason I stay on the green mountain,
I smile, but do not answer, my heart is at leisure.
Peach blossom is carried far off by flowing water.
Apart, I have heaven and earth in the human world.

 For our September issue, we are interested in the shorter jueju form popular during the Tang Dynasty where the turn occurs in line 3 of the 4-line poem. Not unlike haiku, this structure allows for a "finale" and invites reflection. 

"On Returning Home," by He Zhizhang, is a double jueju, so there are two turns. 

When young, I left home, now old, I return.
My hometown accent is still the same.
Children don't know who I am.
Smiling, they point at the strange man.

I dismount my horse at the gate of my house.
I ask after the old friends I knew.
Where are the peach and plum trees, now gone with the spring wind?
The old man who lives there is no longer me.

A turn is a shift in a poem’s tone or mood. It could indicate a turn from sorrow to hope. It could also indicate a turn in perspective or speaker, or mark a turn in an argument, or imagery.

The turn (or turns, in poems of multiple stanzas) in a poem can add several things. It can add depth by introducing complexity and surprise. In a longer poem, it adds movement, keeping the poem dynamic. Near the end of a poem, it can present a resolution to earlier ideas, or even intensify rather than resolve them.

Your poem can be as short as those 4-line Chinese poems, or you can have multiple stanzas, BUT then each stanza must be 4 lines and each contain a turn. 

Submission Deadline: August 31, 2025, for our September issue.

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Poetry and the Atomic Age

The name “Trinity” was chosen for the first nuclear test by J. Robert Oppenheimer. He said later that he didn't know the exact reason why he chose it, but he cited as spiritual and poetic influences John Donne’s "Holy Sonnet XIV," which begins:

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer film leans heavily into these literary influences. The movie uses poetic symbolism—like water droplets mimicking atomic blasts and recurring visual motifs of eyes opening and closing—to reflect Oppenheimer’s internal reckoning. His love for Baudelaire, Eliot, and Dante also surfaces in the film’s tone and pacing, adding layers of introspection and ambiguity. Poetry was one lens through which Oppenheimer interpreted the world, especially the moral weight of scientific discovery.

This line invokes the Christian concept of the Holy Trinity — the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — and reflects a plea for divine intervention and transformation. Oppenheimer, who had a deep appreciation for literature and metaphysical poetry, found resonance in Donne’s intense spiritual imagery. The sonnet speaks of being broken, burned, and remade, which can be a metaphor that eerily parallels the destructive and transformative power of the atomic bomb.

In a 1962 letter to General Leslie Groves, Oppenheimer also referenced another Donne poem, "Hymn to God, My God, in My Sickness, quoting "As West and East / In all flat Maps—and I am one—are one, / So death doth touch the Resurrection.”

Though he acknowledged that this quote “does not make a Trinity,” it suggests a philosophical reflection on unity, mortality, and rebirth—ideas that may have been swirling in his mind as he named the test.

In a less poetic possibility, some scholars also believe the name was a subtle tribute to Jean Tatlock, a former lover who introduced Oppenheimer to Donne’s poetry and whose death deeply affected him. 

Oppenheimer was drawn to metaphysical poets like Donne, whose works wrestle with themes of mortality, divine judgment, and transformation. The sonnet "Batter my heart, three-person’d God” resonated with Oppenheimer’s inner conflict of the paradox of destruction as a path to salvation. This tension mirrored his role in creating the bomb. He hoped the bomb might end the war, but feared it would unleash irreversible devastation.

Equally influential was the Bhagavad Gita, which Oppenheimer read in Sanskrit and often quoted. Upon witnessing the Trinity explosion, he famously recalled Krishna’s words to Arjuna: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”Some scholars feel that Oppenheimer likely saw himself not as Krishna, the divine force, but as Arjuna, the reluctant warrior compelled by duty, in which case it mirrors his struggle to reconcile scientific achievement with ethical responsibility.

One of the "Holy Sonnets" by John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurp'd town to another due,

Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,

But am betroth'd unto your enemy;

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

In his own writing, Oppenheimer expressed himself with lyrical depth. His poem “Crossing” evokes themes of isolation, transition, and irreversible change. He once said that poetry helped him “search for himself,” and it’s clear that literature wasn’t just a hobby. It was a sanctuary and a mirror.

"Crossing" by J. Robert Oppenheimer

It was evening when we came to the river

with a low moon over the desert

that we had lost in the mountains, forgotten,

what with the cold and the sweating

and the ranges barring the sky.

And when we found it again,

in the dry hills down by the river,

half withered, we had

the hot winds against us.

 

There were two palms by the landing;

the yuccas were flowering; there was

a light on the far shore, and tamarisks.

We waited a long time, in silence.

Then we heard the oars creaking

and afterwards, I remember,

the boatman called to us.

We did not look back at the mountains.

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To see our past prompts and more than 300 issues,
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Poets Commenting

Back in 2005, we used the prompt "Being in the Moment" with a model poem by Jane Hirshfield. It received 9 interesting comments. Most posts here don't get any comments and those that do (according to my analytics page) get only one comment. Poets are not big commenters. Or the posts don't inspire comments. 

Several of the comments posted on that prompt are addressed to "Lauren," though no one by that name appears in the post or the comments. Did a Lauren comment get deleted? In fact, all the comments there as of this writing are from "Anonymous." 

What kind of post inspires readers to comment? 

I agree with the person who said, "So many good thoughts here! This is what this type of discussion SHOULD be."

I'm reposting just the comments here because it is an interesting conversation about being in the moment, interpreting poems and interpreting prompts.

The comments begin with Anonymous on12/09/2005 7:38 PM

One of your links - the article - talks about Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi who uses the term "flow" to describe that time when you are so into an experience (she says making love, creating art, playing chess, having a profound conversation with a friend) that time no longer seems to exist.

I also think that her comment that this could be thought of as the rapture of mystics is a path that might be of value & interest to your readers.

You can find out some more about Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi at http://www.brainchannels.com/thinker/mihaly.html

Anonymous12/19/2005 1:37 AM

This idea you are presenting is better known to Zen followers as "mindfulness." Some people who encounter this term think it means that if you are mindful, you shouldn't think about the past or the future.

Better to think of it as being mindfully aware of what is going on right here and now, including thinking about the past or future.

Being in the moment does not mean that we are stuck there. Daydreaming can be creative and a good way to let the creative unconscious mind the opportunity to express itself - but it is very useful to have a part of our conscious mind observing.

You mention Billy Collins on this page and his poem "Shoveling Snow with the Buddha" is a lighthearted but accurate look at how we can be in the moment even in the act of work and be free and yet controlled.

Anonymous12/26/2005 8:53 PM

I find this a very tough prompt to write from. First of all, I need to get rid of all the Zen stuff which means nothing to me. And sports metaphors don't work for me either.

So now, it's just being totally involved in something. OK, that happens when I read, watch a film or play...

The poet says: "I ask this, who am myself the ruined siding, the handsome red-capped bird, the missing mate."

So in that play I'm watching - I am one of the characters - no I'm the set - no, the other actor - all the actors, all of the set & props?

I'm being silly but - where is this poem going? Am I the only one who doesn't get this?

Something feels false in that poem. Maybe that's it - the prompt works - the sample poem doesn't.

Anonymous12/28/2005 3:02 PM

I'm no authority on the poetry world or Jane H., but that's the kind of poem that reinforces the idea that poetry is supposed to be confusing and "deep". (not because it's so complex - in fact, it's too simple, to the point of having no meaning at all) It's the kind of poem that makes my husband say, "I don't see what you see in poetry."

Anonymous1/14/2006 10:36 AM

Writing to a prompt is something we do here because we like the challenge and the discipline imposed upon us. Each of us who has done this has found some prompts easy to work with and others have proved to be much harder than we thought. The challenge of this prompt is that we are being asked to think of a time in which we are completely lost in the moment. It seems so easy, but it’s not.

As I read your comments, I noticed that you indicated that you were “totally involved” when you read, watched a film or play. Those are all wonderful activities, but all of those involve a text/words from another writer, and thus the experience isn’t totally your own but one imposed upon you by the writer of the book or play or movie.

What you probably need to look for is a more personal, authentic moment in your own experience. As a poet, you are an observer, a thinker and a person who reflects closely on many things. Think back to someplace or doing something where you were so absorbed that the world seemed to stop for a moment. As in any writing, you have to let yourself go and feel as well as think. This prompt is a very deep (albeit simple) one.

The excellent prompts on Poetsonline frequently push us out of our comfort zone and into places we might not otherwise explore. Both this poem and this prompt are challenging, but isn’t that why we read poetry and write it?

Anonymous1/22/2006 10:05 PM

Your own poetry (and that of many who publish in poetsonline) brim with sharp original observations of the natural world and of people. I don't think a poet can write like this without a special concentration; that is, unless you as the "seer" join the "seen object" in an original way. Maybe this creative act puts the writer temporarily into a reality where boundaries cease to matter so much. The poet forgets to ask "who is listening and who is singing?" Not every attempt at writing a poem succeeds in accomplishing this of course.

Anonymous1/22/2006 10:56 PM

so many good thoughts here! this is what this type of discussion SHOULD be! I agree that when a prompt forces you OUT of your comfort zone, it is then that you are just entering where you need to be in writing. perhaps it is THAT moment when I am most in the moment, when the poem & myself seem to be one. I don't mean anything as simple as autobiographical writing, but it may be close to automatic writing.

Anonymous1/28/2006 4:39 PM

The key to mindfulness is to be a nonjudgmental and dispassionate observer of life rather than maintaining a running commentary of the goodness or badness of life's events. Observe without judging, without editing or censoring it, without intellectualizing it or getting lost in your own incessant thinking. Poet - if you observe life rather than measure and evaluate it, you begin to see things as they are actually happening. What is there is there. This state of perception has to be learned. It takes regular practice.

Well, now it is your turn to comment. You can post one here about comments in general, or go back to the original post and add one about the topics there. 

I see you hiding in the back of the classroom, trying to be invisible, and I am calling on you to speak up.

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Follow this blog for all things poetry.
To see our past prompts and more than 300 issues,
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Endpoint

 We used John Updike's poetry collection  Midpoint this month for our call for submissions for our next issue. The title poem is Updike writing about what he viewed as the midpoint of his life. It is probably impossible to know when you are at the midpoint of your life, but we mark midpoints for times that are not hallway in time to any endpoint.

Updike also publish a collection called Endpoint and Other Poems at a time when he knew his life would be ending. This collection of poems are ones that John Updike wrote during the last seven years of his life and put together only weeks before he died for this. It is his final book. He died of lung cancer on January 27, 2009, at age 76. He had not smoked for 30 years when he died.

 Known as a novelist and short story writer, John Updike was always a poet. I like that much of his poetry celebrates the everyday. That is true in this collection, but his everyday also became addressing his own imminent mortality. The poems are more connected than those in Midpoint. He uses his last birthdays and his illness as ways to think about his life and all lives. 

This is particularly true in the opening sequence, “Endpoint.” He looks back on the boy that he was, on the family, the small town, the people, and the circumstances that fed his love of writing, and he finds endless delight and solace in “turning the oddities of life into words.”

The section grouped as “Other Poems” includes poems from the first years of his illness when, perhaps, he was more hopeful and unclear about his "endpoint." As described online, these poems range from "the fanciful (what would it be like to be a stolen Rembrandt painting? he muses) to the celebratory, capturing the flux of life." A section of sonnets inspired by travels to distant lands, and celebrating the idiosyncrasies of nature in his own backyard.

From a review in Booklist by Ray Olson
Perhaps especially on the strength of this final collection, Updike may eventually be seen as one of the few major novelists—Scott, Hardy, Meredith, maybe Melville—who are also important poets. His reputation is as a writer of light verse that rhymes, scans, and makes us laugh. Guilty as charged, but not always on all counts. The sequence that names this book consists of unrhymed—but only once, eccentrically scanning—sonnets and sonnet sequences that ruminate on Updike’s own past and present. Usually dated and spanning from Updike’s seventieth birthday in 2002 to the month, December 2008, before he died, these are personal but not egoistic poems. It seems as though Updike were aiming to record the end of the life of a successful enough American middle-class male, and in his novelist’s voice. He sees himself reminiscing, traveling, shopping, in the hospital, working (“A lightened life: last novel proofs Fed Exed—”), always as an intensely interesting and affecting character. There is light verse in the book’s later sections, and many more unrhymed sonnets as rich as those of “Endpoint.”

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Follow this blog for all things poetry.
To see our past prompts and more than 300 issues,
visit our website at poetsonline.org