Switch-Ups & Inversions

A reversal is a kind of umbrella term for switching perspectives or doing things in reverse order. There are a number of reasons why we want to have reversals in poems. We kind of get stuck in habits of thought, habits of seeing things. When we switch perspectives, we enter a new or unknown territory. And in that unknown territory things are thrown into question, and we become perhaps more sensitive to what we’ve been missing. We’re not full of our old stories. We’re in a larger place within ourselves, where maybe we’re open to something from another level. So that kind of disorientation is a pleasurable feeling. It’s a wake-up call maybe. 

A reversal's action on the reader is similar to a joke. You set up the joke and then the punchline is something unexpected. It’s unexpected and true, or has an element of truth, right?

Billy Collins says in one of his interviews: 

There’s a Turkish proverb I heard the other day, which is an example of switching perspectives: "When the axe comes into the forest, the trees think ‘at least the handle is one of ours.’" … You get slightly dizzy when you hear something like that, a little disoriented.

When I was taking Ellen Bass’ craft talks, she would sometimes say, “Oh, here’s a reversal.” And she’d point out some line that uses reverse syntax that offers a different way of thinking about something. And she would say that you want to get those reversals in your poems where possible. You’re looking for those moments. 

Diane Lockward, in her poetry newsletter, points out a reversal in Thomas Lux’s poem “The Joy-Bringer,” “Notice line 5: [The joy-bringer] ‘Gives the fish the river, and the river the fish.’ This is a type of anthithesis known as antimetabole, a rhetorical device in which the second half of a phrase or sentence reverses the word order of the first half.”

A reversal offers us a new way to look at something, and we get this feeling of expanded awareness. A reversal can have a sobering effect, a delightful effect, a humorous effect.

Taking a Closer Look

In the poem "Happiness" by Stephen Dunn, the speaker spends the first half of this very short poem convincing us that happiness is fleeting and may not even exist:


A state you must dare not enter
   with hopes of staying,
quicksand in the marshes, and all

the roads leading to a castle
   that doesn't exist.

And in the second half, the speaker reverses their stance with the simple transition word "But."


But there it is, as promised,

with its perfect bridge above
   the crocodiles,
and its doors forever open.

In the poem "Otherwise" by Jane Kenyon, the speaker in the poem continues to remind us of the possibility of an opposite scenario. It's that switching of perspective that holds the poem together.

Practice: Two Writing Prompts

1. Here's an exercise you can try from The Poet's Companion by Dorianne Laux and Kim Addonizio:

There's an old joke that goes, "Your teeth are like stars. They come out at night." The second sentence reverses our expectations of "like stars." In a poem by Margaret Atwood, [you fit into me] a similar reversal occurs. The first lines read: "You fit into me / like a hook into an eye." Some clothes are held together by hook and eye — a small metal catch that hooks onto a loop, or an eye. The next lines, however, change the cozy image into something much more ominous: "a fish hook / an open eye." See if you can dream up some similes that change direction like this and surprise a reader's expectations of where they're headed.

2. Take a common piece of advice in the form of a maxim and write a poem that explores the opposite advice. A great example of this is Ellen Bass' poem "Don't Expect Applause," wherein the speaker in the poem explores what it might be like to be applauded every day.