In my MFA program, we once had a long and drawn out class discussion about the font that was used in poet Lynn Emanuel‘s collection Then, Suddenly. The offending character that began this argument? The question mark.

The font style used to typeset her book employed a question mark that was especially curly. Fat on the bottom and skinny on the top. I loved it. Adored it. Wanted to hug it and squeeze it and call it George. My fellow poets? It distracted them. Infuriated them. What’s the deal with the upside-down-looking piece of punctuation they wanted to know.

Not surprisingly, that argument ended in a stalemate and a stance of agreeing to disagree.

What’s the point you may wonder?

Well, while a discussion about punctuation may seem silly, it’s actually very important. Covers make books. Fonts make books. And there are also elements that make poems… or break them, as the case may be.

For me, personally I find the ampersand confusing, sometimes offensive, and always an interruption.

An ampersand, for those unfamiliar, is this symbol:

&

It stands for “and” and is conveniently found on your keyboard above the number 7.

And that location, as far as poetry is concerned, is where it should stay.

Every poet’s got a gimmick, whether they’re aware of it or not. For some (like e.e. cummings) it’s the lowercase letters. For others, they refuse to title their poems. And still more poets are having a love affair with the loud and complicated ampersand.

But I dislike the interruption of the ampersand. It’s obnoxious and jarring. Because, inevitably, every time I come across one, I can no longer just read and enjoy the poem. I am forced to sit back and wonder, “Why is this poet using the ampersand instead of the word ‘and’? What message are they trying to send?”

Plus, it’s lazy. Just type out the word “and” for pete’s sake.

Please chime in. The ampersand – does it have merit in poetry or not?