On the overuse of enjambment.

Try reading the following poem, by Kay Ryan, our current poet laureate, pausing at each line break.

Cloud

A blue stain
creeps across
the deep pile
of the evergreens.
From inside the
forest it seems
like an interior
matter, something
wholly to do
with trees, a color
passed from one
to another, a
requirement
to which they
submit unflinchingly
like soldiers
or brave people
getting older.
Then the sun
comes back and
it’s totally over.

Some argue that enjambment slows down the reading, others that it speeds it up. If that contradiction isn’t enough to throw the contemporary heavy use of enjambment into question, consider the following. If the purpose is speedup, why bother? The poem reads just as fast and arguably better without the enjambment.

Cloud
A blue stain
creeps across
the deep pile
of the evergreens.
From inside the forest
it seems like an interior matter,
something wholly to do with trees,
a color passed from one to another,
a requirement to which they submit
unflinchingly
like soldiers
or brave people getting older.
Then the sun comes back
and it’s totally over.

Could it be that most of the enjambment in contemporary poetry is merely a fad and an affectation?