Earl Gray

Earl Gray
"You can argue with me but, in the end, you'll have to face that fact that you're arguing with a squirrel." - Earl Gray
Showing posts with label Earl Gray. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Earl Gray. Show all posts

Thursday, August 15, 2024

The Outerview Series: Part VI - Super Sonics


     So far, we've learned that poetry is memorably speech.  It uses a lot of memory aids ("mnemonic techniques"), including cadence and meter, both of which are best identified if we scan the whole poem, line by line from right to left.  Two elements are key:  concision and repetitions of sounds, starting with rhymes.

     Every language has a set number of sounds, called "phonemes".  Even today, some African languages have over 100 distinct sounds.  As humankind emigrated to other areas many of these were lost.  Mandarin has 56.  English, 44.  Algonquin, 29.  By the time people inhabited Hawaii they were down to 13.  There is a tribe along the Amazon with as few as 7;  their babies learn to communicate through humming before they can speak!

     Many of these phonemes were originally onomatopoeic, like "moo", or "hiss".  Thus, regardless of what language you speak, you might be imitating the sounds of animals, some of which may have gone extinct thousands of years ago.

     Rhymes are a subset of sounds.  In going to the superset we transition from the easiest aspect of poetry to the most complex.

     "I just read ahead.  Do we have to know all of these different type of sounds?"

     No, but we need to know of them and the importance of their length and strength.  Sonics are what separate an amateur's work from an experts.  It is what attracts praise from sophisticated editors and contest judges.  In close decisions, it wins slams.  We will go with a "quick and dirty" approach, focusing on what someone needs to know, and footnote two excellent articles by Rachel Lindley at bottom.

     For now, we'll begin with, arguably, the five most pleasant sounding words ever written:
Ozone on the midnight wind
     ...and examine what makes these lyrics so unforgettable.


Length

     The time it takes to make a sound can set a pace [with other sounds of that duration] or make a phoneme stand out [from sounds of different lengths].  For vowels, the "i" and "e" in "bit" and "bet" are called "short" for a reason.  A long "oh", as in "ozone", is medium length.  A long "i" (e.g. "lie") sounds like "ah-ee" or "uh-ee", a combination of sounds tantamount to a dipthong (e.g. "oi" as in "oink" or "ou" as in "out").  Similarly, a long "a", as in "cake", sounds like a short "e" followed by a long one:  "eh-ee".

     Among consonants, ones that we can spit out (e.g hard "g" as in "get, "b", "k", and "p") are very quick.  The "s" sound in "yes" or the "zh" sound in "pleasure" or "joie de vivre" take longer. The "sh" (e.g. "shop") and "ch" ("chop") sounds are longer still.  We make "m" and "n" sounds largely through our noses and it takes a while to distinguish them.

     Thus, "Ozone on" ("Oh-zohn awn") is a very slow start to our example line, as is "night" ("na-eet" or "nuh-eet"), but the "i" in "mid" and "wind" is quick.  The line drives along slowly, as if in a construction zone, pumps its breaks with "mid", and then comes to a slow stop with "wind".  The word "the" ("thuh") is medium in duration, transitioning from the slothlike first half of the line to the cautious arrest.

A           | E       | I         | O       | U             
ah  aw  ai  | eh  ee  | ih  uh-ee | aw  oh  | uh  oo  oo  yu
cat paw ate | pet see | sit eye   | pot low | cut put gnu cue


Y             | Shwa <- Like a shortened "u" from "put"
ye  uh-ee ee  | ½ oo <-- between the b and l in "able".
yet sky   any | cook <- Sometime written with an inverted "e".
 
B   | C    s  | D   | F   | G  j   | H   | J   zh  | K   | L
but | cow ice | die | foe | go age | hot | jut raj | kit | lit

M   | N   | P   | Q   | R   | S   zh      | T   | V   | W   | X  | Z
man | now | pin | que | raw | see leisure | tea | vet | wet | ks | zen

Ch  | Sh  | Ph   | th  | th
chi | she | phil | the | thin


      As an exercise, try grouping the above sounds as "short", "medium", and "long" in duration.  Then create a second list, categorizing them as "soft", "medium", or "harsh":

Strength

      The softness/weakness or harshness/strength of consonants can echo and enhance an atmosphere of relaxation or tension, respectively.

      Poe's famous trochaic heptameter opening in "The Raven" uses a lot of strong consonants before vowel sounds to create tension/suspense:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

      Linking the sounds of "weak" and "weary", internal rhyming with "dreary", highlights our sense of ominous vulnerability.

      In our example line, most of the sounds are soft ("m", "n") or medium ("z"):

Ozone on the midnight wind

      The only hard sounds are "d" and "t" and those come after vowels, not right before them.  The "t" at the beginning of, say, "tight" is harder than the one at the end, or the one at the end of "night".  Similarly, the consonants at the beginning of "bib", "dud", "gig", "kick", and "pop" are sounded more strongly than the same consonants at the ends of those words.

Connection

      Note that in the words "midnight wind" the "d" and "n" sounds switch, both coming after a short "i".  As with all sonic repetitions, this links the two words in our subconscious minds.  This linkage is made firmer by the fact that the two words, "midnight" and "wind", have more than one sound in common.  This is particularly strong if the sounds occur in stressed syllables.  Meanwhile, the "n" phonemes in "Ozone on" link those two words, creating the sense of being high--perhaps literally and figuratively.  This creates a mood of being euphoric in a dark breeze.

      In this way our words and our sounds can have different meanings, or the same meanings with different emphasis.

      Which of these two fabrics did Erin Hopson choose in her ekphrastic masterpiece, “How Aimée remembers Jaguar"?  Satin or linen?

where wel|come sat|in soothes | the burn.

where wel|come lin|en soothes | the burn.

     Both lines work as iambic tetrameter so rhythm/meter aren’t an issue.

     If Erin wanted to alliterate with “satin soothes” she’d have gone with the first line.

     Instead, she wanted to link the “l” of “linen” with the “l” in “welcome”. This makes the line about hospitality more than healing. More about the care than the cure.  A poet has to do this with every phoneme in every word.  Think of a game of Jenga.  One wrong word and the whole poem collapses.

 

To recap, in general:

- A group of long sounds slows the pace, creating a sense of ease.
- A group of short sounds quickens the pace, creating tension.
- A group of soft sounds eases tension.
- A group of harsh sounds creates tension.
- Hard consonants sound more so before vowels than at the end of words.
- Repeating sounds links the words that contain them.
- Repetitions involving stressed syllables make stronger links.
- Multiple repetitions (e.g. "wild" & "life") make stronger links.

Next:  Productions

==============  Footnotes  ==============

Heavy versus Light Syllables

AI:  A heavy syllable is a syllable that contains a long vowel sound or ends in a consonant. Heavy syllables are considered "stronger" or "weightier" than light syllables, which contain short vowel sounds and no final consonant. In prosodic analysis, the distinction between heavy and light syllables is important for determining the rhythmic structure and stress patterns of words and phrases.

From the Poetry Free-For-All "Blurbs of Wisdom":

Rachel Lindley - Aural Imagery and Sonics

Consonants come in two general "flavours" - voiced and unvoiced. Voiced consonants occur when you let your vocal chords vibrate as you form them. Unvoiced consonants occur when you don't. As a general rule of thumb, unvoiced consonants have a harsher sound than voiced consonants, which generally take longer to form because of the vocal chord involvement and are also softened by the vocal chord vibration.

The Speedy Ones

1. Unvoiced Plosives - that's a fancy way of saying that these are sounds you make when trapping air behind your teeth or lips and then releasing it explosively without letting your vocal chords vibrate. Unvoiced plosives include T and P. They're fast, they're harsher, and they're made in a "spitting" fashion. Using these sounds can help you create a sense of staccato speed. You could use them to emphasize a sense of shock or surprise, irritation, physical lightness, a sense of lightheartedness, and so on.

2. Voiced Plosives - the talkative version of the above. Voiced plosives include D and B. These sounds can create more sense of forcefulness than the above, but without the same harshness of sound and as such without the same effect in communicating, say, irritation. These are "bouncy" sounds and "demanding" sounds. Just look at what those two words start with. B's are great for building humour in imagery, and D's are great for building forceful urgency.

3. Unvoiced Glottals - Glottals in general are sometimes lumped in with plosives, because they are also made by trapping air and then explosively releasing it. However, in this case this is done in the back of the throat. The lone unvoiced glottal is K. Because of its clicking effect, it's great in enforcing quickness and urgency, and because of its unvoiced nature it's great at enforcing a sense of anger or danger, or a sense of snatching something quickly.

4. Voiced Glottals - The lone voiced glottal is a hard G. It can be used to create a "gurgling" effect ("gurgle" being a perfect example). Say you wanted to get across a sense of someone choking on their words or feeling indignation - a lot of G sounds can help build that effect. It has some of the demanding nature of a D and can also be used to enforce humour. It can increase speed, although not to the same extent as an unvoiced glottal can.

The Slowpokes

5. Unvoiced Fricatives - These are formed when you release air continuously through a small opening between the teeth, lips, or throat without letting your vocal chords get into the game. These include SH (as in "sheep"), S (as in "sleep"), H, TH (as in "thick") and F (as in "fur"). Because of their hissing nature, lots of fricatives are used to good effect in creating a sense of threat, intensity, and sensuality. H can also have an effect found in voiced fricatives: it can communicate a sense of heaviness of atmosphere or physicality by the way the air has to be forced out the throat in order to create any sound at all. "Heave!"

6. Voiced Fricatives - the effect of the hissing sound is changed dramatically when you let your vocal chords vibrate. They include Z ("zoom"), ZH ("azure"), TH ("soothe"), and V ("vapid"). These are more sensual, buzzing sounds, long and drawn out. They can help create an erotic atmosphere, a relaxed one, a sense of peace, a sense of heaviness. Because Z and ZH are a higher-pitched vibration and are therefore more strident, they can also be used to enforce a constant annoyance, like a fly buzzing.

7. Nasals - nasals are formed by almost completely closing off the lips, teeth, or throat and letting things hummmmmmmm. These include M, N, and NG. These sounds are some of the most drawn out. I mean, you can hum on one breath for a long, long time. These sounds can have a huge range of effect. M tends to get the best job, and can be used to create a sense of relaxation, sensuality, and largess. N is middle of the road. It can be used to create similar effect, but it also has a touch of a higher-pitched nose vibration in it, which can create a more strident effect. The one with the ugliest job is NG. Because it is a seriously high-pitched nasal vibration, it can be used to create an atmosphere of irritation and annoyance and emphasize strong vibrational environmental effects. (for example, "clang").

8. Approximants - these are sounds that don't know whether they're vowels or consonants. They are the missing link between the closed sounds of consonants and the open sounds of vowels. There are two kinds of approximants: liquids / resonants, which include R and L, and semi-vowels, which include W and Y (although some would say that Y and W could also be diphthongs, they're so close to the edge). These sounds can seriously smooth out rhythm and tone, having a "liquid" effect on sound and imagery. R, being formed so close to the vocal folds, has more vibration and therefore can create a sense of "growling", good in communicating anger, desire, and such.

9. Affricatives - these are the diphthongs of consonants, made with a rapid-fire switch from one consonant sound to another. These include CH (chair) and J (judge). Since CH is a combination of T and SH, it has the explosive effect of an unvoiced plosive in combination with the hissing effect of an unvoiced fricative. It's the brother of SH, only more demanding. "Chomp!" J, being a combination of D and ZH, has a softer side, is more sensual, but has more oomph and emphasis than a standard voiced fricative. "Jump!" It's meatier than the slithering fricative types, juicier. Affricatives don't creep up on you with their charm, they beat you over the head with it.

Rachel Lindley - Rhythm and Sound in Poetry

Now let's add consonant and vowel phonemes to the mix. When you read a poem aloud, keeping in mind the rhythm as you do so, you may begin to get a sense, not only of the relative speed and pitch of the voice, but the overall "feeling" or "atmosphere" that may be generated by the sounds. (Remember: always read aloud.) For instance, if you have a lot of short, quick phonemes, such as a lot of unvoiced plosive consonants or glottal consonants like "t", "k", "p", or "g" and a lot of short vowel sounds like "eh", "ih" or "ah", a line moves quickly and sharply. Enough sharp, unvoiced consonants like "p", "t" or "k", and when read aloud you will feel as if you almost spit the words. Add a lot of unvoiced sibilant fricatives or affricatives like "s", "sh" or "ch", and a line may sound hissed, which can be either threatening or alluring, depending on the length of the vowels. Short vowels like "ah", "ih", and "eh" can increase pitch and speed; long, open vowels (especially dipthongs) like "aw", "oh", "ow" and "oo" deepen and slow the pitch and speed. Voiced fricatives like "th" in "them", "v", "z" or "zh" sounds in combination with nasals or semi-vowels like "w", "m", "n", or "y" will generally smooth (a perfect example, by the way) and slow a line.

The Outerview Series

The Outerview Series:  Part I - What is poetry?
The Outerview Series:  Part II - Where is poetry?
The Outerview Series:  Part III - What is Rhythm?
The Outerview Series:  Part IV - Scan Poems Backward
The Outerview Series:  Part V - Rhyming is Fun
The Outerview Series:  Part VI - Super Sonics
The Outerview Series:  Part VII - Production
The Outerview Series:  Part VIII - Manufacturing an Audience
The Outerview Series:  Part IX - Crafting Drafts
The Outerview Series:  Part X - Production
The Outerview Series:  Part XI - Attracting and Impressing
The Outerview Series:  Part XII - The Meaning of Meaning

Sunday, August 11, 2024

The Outerview Series: Part V - Rhyming is Fun


     At this point we understand what poetry is:  memorable speech.  We know where it is:  primarily, in song lyrics.  We know that lines find their rhythm, such that we can discern the cadence and meter by scanning whole poems from right to left.  Now we come to the fun part.

     A perfect rhyme is a repetition of a vowel sound and an ensuing consonant sound, if there is one, in a particular position.  Most often that position is at the end ("terminal" rhyme) of the line but it can be at the beginning ("initial" rhyme) or middle ("medial" rhyme) of the line.  For example, here is a closing iambic pentameter couplet:

We see | the rage, | but through | the lie | we learn
that we | don't age. | Not you | and I. | We burn.

     "See" and "we" are initial rhymes.  "Rage/age", "through/you", and "lie/I" are medial rhymes.  "Learn" and "burn" are traditional end-rhymes.

     Perfect rhyme works best with lighter, shorter works:  nursery rhymes, teen-oriented hip pop and rap, and humorous pieces.


     For serious works perfect rhyme is fine for a while but, like fish and visitors, becomes awkward after a while.  Long works like Shakespeare's plays and John Milton's "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained" are in blank verse:  meter, yes;  rhyme, no.

     In order to lessen the effect of rhyme in serious verse poets will adopt one of three tactics:  distance, form, or imperfect rhymes.

Distance

      Increasing the number of syllables between the two rhyming words makes their similarity less salient.  For example, in iambic pentameter the end rhymes will be ten syllables apart (e.g. "learn" and "burn" above).  Instead of having the next line rhyme, as in rhyming couplets, we could have rhymes skip a line or more.  For example, sonnets can have odd and even numbered lines rhyme.  We call this a rhyme scheme, with letters starting with "A" assigned to each different rhyme:  ABAB or even ABCABC where we wait three lines before the sound will be repeated.

      In bacchic (i.e. de-DUM-DUM) monometer there are only two words between the rhymes, as we see with "We Real Cool" by Gwendolyn Brooks:

We real cool.
We skip school.
We lurk late.
We strike straight.

     Note that this involves both initial and terminal rhymes, and the initial one, "We", repeats the exact same word.  This is called "identical" rhyming as we see in the first two lines here:
It takes trouble, and it takes courage to be free.
But you 'll find, it you are soft enough, love will hang around for free.
And the coldest bed I found does not hold one but it will hold three.
I hope you never have to know what that can mean. - "Cactus" by Ferron

Form

      We can break the lines differently so that the non-identical rhymes don't stand out as much.  For example, "We Real Cool" is actually written and performed like this:

We real cool.  We
skip school.  We
lurk late.  We
strike straight.

      This linebreaking is called "curgination".  Its effect is greater when the rhymes are more distant, as we see with DPK's classic curgina, "Beans":

September came like winter's
ailing child but
left us
viewing Valparaiso's pride. Your face was
always saddest when you smiled. You smiled as every
doctored moment lied. You lie with
orphans' parents, long
reviled.
    The hesitations before each tactful euphemism distract us from the rhyme.  For many, only when it is decurginated does the ABABA rhyme scheme become evident:

September came like winter's ailing child
but left us viewing Valparaiso's pride.
Your face was always saddest when you smiled.
You smiled as every doctored moment lied.
You lie with orphans' parents, long reviled.
    Another use of form to hide perfect rhymes is corata:  presenting the poem in paragraph form:
     The spring retreats, its promise spent on tulip kiss and poplar musk.  The summer's greening rays relent when day meets dark at purpling dusk.  Twin tumbleweeds roll past and part the dirt to sketch in chicken tracks, so soon obscured: convectional art mandalas till the winds relax.
     Can you see where the lines end?

     The sonnet exhibits a glaring exception to this distancing:  A sudden tightening of the rhyme scheme from ABAB or even ABCABC into a couplet signals the end of the poem.  Those last two lines sound like a "Ta Da!" finale:
Come autumn, combines comb the fields
to harvest gold canola oil
for toast before November yields
its cold. Like whitened coffee, soil
beneath integument snow extols
the blood and bone of remnant souls.
     T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" was a masterpiece in terms of distancing and softening perfect rhymes through the use of form.  In this case, that involved heterometric iambic lines with a lot of anacrusis (i.e. extra syllables before the iambs kick in, marked here in curly brackets). 

{Let} | us go | then, you | and I,
{When} | the ev'n|ing is | spread out | against | the sky

     This is in addition to these long lines of iambic heptameter (in addition to trimeter, tetrameter, pentameter, and hexameter) creating distance between the rhymes:

My morn|ing coat, | my col|lar mount|ing firm|ly to | the chin,
My neck|tie rich | and mod|est, but | assert|ed by | a sim|ple pin

Imperfect Rhymes

     The most sophisticated and effective way to de-emphasize rhymes is to avoid perfect ones.  Find sounds that sound similar, not identical.  Think of "m" versus "n", or "layer" versus "air".  Or "bits" versus "bets".  These go by many names:  slant rhymes, half rhymes, off and consonantal rhymes ("pick" & "rock"), etc.  The strongest and most common, especially in singing, is assonantal rhymes where only the vowels are repeated.  "Cool" versus "boot".

     We saw an example of this above with Ferron's "Cactus":  free-free-three-mean.  Here is another from the same song, with "owl" rhyming with "town":

It's been a year
since you left home for higher ground.
In the distance I hear a hoot owl
ask the only question I have found
to be worthy of the sound it makes
as it breaks the silence of your old town.
These letters are another way to love you.



      Think of rhyming as a subset of our next topic:

Next:  Sonics



Wednesday, July 3, 2024

The Outerview Series: Part IV - Scan Poems Backward


      So far, we've established that poetry is the speech we preserve verbatim and that it is currently found almost exclusively in song lyrics.  To fit the music, poetry is in set lengths called "meters", alongside other lines that take about the same amount of time to bring forth.  In a sense, all meter is quantitative.

      Today, we're going to see how these meters work to create rhythm, especially in spoken verse.

      "Why the sudden focus on spoken poetry?"

      Because if it works in speech it will do so even more mellifluously in song.  Determining how we build cadence is called "scansion".  Knowing that meter involves counting something--alliterations, stressed syllables, patterns, tempos--let's begin with a historical perspective:  In 1066, the French counted syllables, perhaps because they didn't stress them as strongly as the English, who counted only accented syllables.  The result of the invasion was a mashup or compromise, with subsequent English verse being "accentual-syllabic".  Each line would have the same number of syllables with stressed ("DUM") ones interspersed with unstressed ("de") ones.  These form patterns called "feet" because each stress corresponded to a dance step.  These are the most common feet:

de-DUM = iamb <- Iambic pentameter:

 Gray wolves | surround | the eg|ret. Fox|es slink | away

DUM-de = trochee -> Trochaic pentameter:

 Time was | gravit|y as | shooting | stars des|cended.

de-de-DUM = anapest -> Anapestic hexameter:

Brock would say | no more val|orous war|rior exists. | Sure as ap|ple trees bud

de-DUM-de = amphibrach -> Amphibrachic tetrameter:

the pleas of | a peacemak|er can't be | imparted
while even | your traplines | have got to | be guarded.

de-de-DUM = dactyl -> Dactyllic pentameter:

Yours was the | song of that | egret, your | life like a | burning poem.

      This is one of the myriad reasons why we need to hear poetry.  Our ear will learn to detect these cadences--typically after only seven syllables.  All of this is, and so much more, lost on the page.
 
     "Wait, hold on.  I heard a lot more accented syllables than you highlighted.  Are you cheating here?"

      Good catch!  Yes, I "omitted" a number of stresses here to concentrate on the base rhythm.  Here I've added them back in for reference:

Gray wolves | surround | the eg|ret. Fox|es slink | away

Brock would say | no more val|orous war|rior exists. | Sure as ap|ple trees bud

the pleas of | a peacemak|er can't be | imparted
while even | your traplines | have got to | be guarded.

Yours was the | song of that | egret, your | life like a | burning poem.

  This shows that we can add accents to give the cadence some variety, some flair.  Toward the same end, we can delete all of the stresses in a foot.  For example, the second last foot in these two lines are "pyrhhics" (i.e. "de-de"), having no beat, when reciting the verse without music:

The rain | in Spain | falls main|ly on | the plain.

But I | have prom|ises | to keep,

     Here is a tribach (de-de-de) followed by a molossus (DUM-DUM-DUM):

out on the | wine dark sea

     These deviations are called "substitutions".  Do not confuse these with their evil twin, the dreaded "inversion", where the poet switches the order of the cadence.  Note the switch from de-DUMs to DUM-de in the second line here:

Pale fac|es, dough|like breasts  <- Spondee (DUM-DUM), iamb, iamb.
help me | forget.                <- trochee, iamb.

      Lines often "find" their rhythm as they go along, such that patterns at the end of the line are more reliable than those at the beginning.  Thus, don't sweat the first foot.  In fact, we'll often see unaccented syllables--second class citizens, essentially--dropped entirely from the beginning of line.  For example, is this line trochaic, missing a syllable from the end ("[x]" marks the spot):

Tyger, | tyger, | burning | bright [x]

    ...or is it iambic, missing a syllable from the beginning :

[x] Tyg|er, tyg|er, burn|ing bright

         Trusting the ends of lines more than their murky beginnings, we already know the answer:  iambic tetrameter.  We have already discerned that, if scanning a line to detect its cadence or meter, we should start at its end and work backwards.

     There is another critical aspect in this particular poem.  Were we to have seen Blake's entire piece there wouldn't have been a mystery in the first place:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame | thy fear|ful sym|metry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist | the sin|ews of | thy heart?
And when | thy heart | began | to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And wat|er'd heav|en with | their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he | who made | the Lamb | make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame | thy fear|ful sym|metry?

    We note that, while 18 lines are ambiguous, trochee or iambic, there are six lines of perfect iambic tetrameter and zero lines of complete trochee.  Ergo, when someone hands you one line and asks you to scan it, the proper response is not iambic, trochaic, dactylic, amphibrachic, or anapestic;  it's:  "Let me see the whole poem!"

    This is line 1 from the first canto of Lord Byron's "Bride of Abydos" (1813):

Know ye the land where cypress and myrtle

    Can you tell me what meter this is in?

    "Where's the rest of it?"

     Perfect answer!  When Edgar Allen Poe read this he said the poem could not be scanned, but if he had continued reading he'd have seen many verses of perfect anapestic tetrameter and no lines of anything else:

Where the light | wings of Zeph|yr, oppress'd | with perfume,
Where the cit|ron and ol|ive are fair|est of fruit,
Where the tints | of the earth, | and the hues | of the sky,
And the pur|ple of Oc|ean is deep|est in dye;
'Tis the clime | of the East; | 'tis the land | of the Sun
Where the vir|gins are soft | as the ros|es they twine,
Can he smile | on such deeds | as his child|ren have done?
Are the hearts | which they bear, | and the tales | which they tell.    

     He'd have been able to see that this line is simply missing two unstressed syllables in its initial foot:

[x] [x] Know | ye the land | [x] where cyp|ress and myrt|le
Where the rage | of the vul|ture, the love | of the turt|le,

     "Wait, what about the "-le" at the end of the lines, messing everything up?"

     These have a weird "schwa" sound.  We see it most often in "-er" and "l" sound endings (e.g. "pencil").  Consider these semi-syllables:  counted if needed, ignored if inconvenient.  In the same poem we see the "-er" overlooked in "flowers" while the very same "er" is counted in "ever" twice, and "never" in a subsequent line:

Where the flowers | ever blos|som, the beams | ever shine;
And the voice| of the night|ingale nev|er is mute;

     "I see what you mean when you called unstressed syllables 'second class citizens'."

     They are like Rodney Dangerfield.  They get no respect.  In fact, the might even be replaced by commas.  Check out the second of these two lines from Shakespeare:

The best | of men | have sung | your at|tributes,
Breasts, | lips, | eyes, | and gold|en hair!

      That's iambic pentameter with only 7 syllables!  Imagine the shame:  three perfectly good syllables, the basis of our language and civilization, replaced by lowly commas!

      There are fancy names for most of these irregularities.  Syllables missing at the beginning of lines?  Acephaly, meaning "headless".  Missing syllables at the end of lines?  Catalexis.  Extra syllables--full ones, not just the semi-syllables we mentioned--at the end are hypercatalexis.  Extra syllables at the beginning of lines?  Anacrusis, as we see with T.S. Eliot's heterometrical "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock":

Let | us go | then, you | and I,
        (iambic trimeter with anacrusis)
When | the ev'n|ing is | spread out | against | the sky
        (iambic pentameter with anacrusis)
Like | a pat|ient eth|erised | upon | a tab|le;
        (iambic pentameter with anacrusis)
Let | us go, |through cert|ain half-|desert|ed streets,

     While we often use the terms "line" and "meter" interchangeably, "meter" refers to the syllables that form feet (iambs, in this case).  The syllables elsewhere (e.g. the first word in all four of the lines above) and the semi-syllable at the end [of "table"] are part of the line but not the meter.

     We now know the key to scansion:  scan poems backwards.  Not just one line in isolation but the whole poem.  Practice this with your favorite poems and songs [bearing in mind that they could be accentual instead, in which case just count the stresses in each line].

     200 years ago every grade six graduate (which Poe was not) understood this.  Today?  Not so much.

Next:  Scan Poems Backward

The Outerview Series

The Outerview Series:  Part I - What is poetry?
The Outerview Series:  Part II - Where is poetry?
The Outerview Series:  Part III - What is Rhythm?
The Outerview Series:  Part IV - Scan Poems Backward
The Outerview Series:  Part V - Rhyming is Fun
The Outerview Series:  Part VI - Super Sonics
The Outerview Series:  Part VII - Production
The Outerview Series:  Part VIII - Manufacturing an Audience
The Outerview Series:  Part IX - Crafting Drafts
The Outerview Series:  Part X - Production
The Outerview Series:  Part XI - Attracting and Impressing
The Outerview Series:  Part XII - The Meaning of Meaning

 

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Episode 4b - Poets Say the Funniest Things

     When we last left our hero, Juan Vidal amused us with the notion that virtually nothing written before the death of poetry in the 1920s constituted poetry because it wasn't political.

     You may need to reread that last sentence for comprehension and effect.

     Believe it or not, this was not his punch line.  No, he saved that for last.  To fully appreciate its silliness in all its glory we need to bear in mind two indisputable facts:

1.  There is more poetry¹ being published today than ever before; and,

2.  Nobody Reads Poetry.

     This is news to no one.

Marc Bolan
     Mr. Vidal prattles on about the disappearance of "political poets¹".  You know, the kind we see in the millions at slam and open mic soirées.  The kind that cause those of us in attendance to mutter "Bob Dylan knows (and I'll bet Alan Freed does) there are things in the night that are better not to behold."

     With no hint of irony or self-awareness, Juan Vidal ends his argument with the most ridiculous question ever posed in earnest:  "Did they stop speaking, or have we stopped listening?"

     Mr. Vidal missed his cue [by generations] and his calling [as a sitcom writer].



Footnotes:

¹ - I rarely use the term this loosely.



Links:

Episode 1 - Poets Say the Funniest Things

Episode 2 - Poets Say the Funniest Things

Episode 3 - Poets Say the Funniest Things

Episode 4a - Poets Say the Funniest Things

Episode 4b - Poets Say the Funniest Things


Sunday, August 12, 2012

Squirrel Sex

Female Sciurus Carolinensis
     It has come to my attention that humans, including scientists (who should know better), are spreading the myth that it is difficult to tell male from female gray squirrels.  This is outrageous enough, without mentioning the fact that there doesn't seem to be much consensus as to what to name our genders.  The dispute seems to come down to "buck and doe" ("Oh, deer!") versus "boar and sow".  If I dared to call my sister, Pearl the Squirrel, a "sow" I would never be able to sleep with both eyes closed again. 

    For what it's worth, we prefer "studs and vixens", thank you very much.

   
Male Sciurus Carolinensis
     Male squirrels are fashion plates.  We groom ourselves much more than our sisters and no self-respecting male sciurus carolinensis would ever be seen in public without a tuxedo.  Note the smooth fur and the clean lines between the white and gray--the shirt and the jacket--on our chests.  Note how we keep our cylindrical shape, at least until we reach my age and have eaten too many peanuts.

    Stud squirrels are typically more independent, less sociable.  If you find a squirrel eating from your hand it is far more likely to be female.  During courting season we boys will challenge each other but will avoid physical conflict as much as possible.  We chase the females until they let us catch up to them.
   
Pearl Gray
     By contrast, even before pregnancy, adult female squirrels tend to be more pear-shaped.  As my sister says, "we don't remain tubular belles for long".  More telling, though, is the fur on their bellies:  far less defined or napped, more swirly and expansive.  If you see a squirrel from the side and a lot of white peeks out on the underside it is almost certainly female.

    Vixen squirrels are slightly smaller but tend to have more "personality".  They are more adventurous than their relatively skittish male relatives, although this difference narrows as we all enter our dottage.

    Hey, if you think discerning the gender of squirrels is a challenge, when was the last time you went downtown on a Saturday night?


Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Directions - Part I: Up Versus Out



"Make it new." - Ezra Pound



Before the age of skyscrapers, settlements grew into cities by expanding outwards until they ran out of room, then inwards, crowding buildings and people closer together. Modern cities grow upwards and sometimes, where the ground permits it, downwards.

This trend is universal. For example, crude predators like cats look for new ground to despoil while we more sophisticated squirrels expand our population upwards into trees.

In the search for new things to say a writer stretches our borders laterally, bucking against the "nothing new under the sun" brick wall.

It's horizontal.

Even if the author succeeds, someone else could come along and produce a superior work on the same theme. We don't remember the first, we remember the best. Expressed in clichés, then, the search for excellence is a "rise for the prize" as we "stand on the shoulders of giants".

It's vertical.

Barring a few obscurities, poetry added new forms until free verse, which had been around for more than half a century, established itself in the 1920s and 1930s. Having expanded as far out as it could, poetry moved inward thematically, as with confessionalism, and structurally, with a marked reduction in the variety of forms used. As universities crank out so many new poets things are getting crowded. It's time to move upwards.

Thanks to YouTube, we have the site. We even have a Foundation. Now we need to develop a new architecture.



Next: Directions - Part II: Architecture.


Monday, April 18, 2011

Who Killed Poetry?

This mystery survived for almost a century after the crime. Forensics determined that the fatal blow was struck in the 1920s, the patient lingering for a while afterwards. Suspects and speculations were legion. My favorite crackpot theory is that bridge was to blame. You know, the card game. It's not quite as outlandish as you may think. The timing is right: bridge was invented in the late 1920s. The demographics are right: bridge supplanted poetry as a social medium for young sophisticates before the 1970s and is still the favored diversion of retirees. Perhaps most importantly, bridge became the venue for celebrities including, among many others, John Wayne and Omar Sharif 30-40 years ago, Bill Gates and Alan Alda today. By contrast, poets didn't tend to be as photogenic or refined. In the 1980s I suppose you could, with some effort, dress up Charles Bukowski and Alan Ginsberg but you certainly couldn't take them anywhere.

The prime suspect had always been Modernism in general, non-metrical poetry in particular. This theory fails for a simple reason: the suspect wasn't within a continent of the crime scene. Indeed, the two are not even in the same dimension. Before giving up entirely, trade magazines and newspapers published almost exclusively popular verse. Free verse and prose poetry are and were largely limited to literary magazines. Poetry's death scene was far more public than that. Thus, when we say "poetry is dead" we really mean "commercial poetry is dead" or, if you prefer, "'popular poetry' is an oxymoron". Academic poetry is doing just fine, thanks to the largesse of taxpayers and, occasionally, patrons.

Question: If John Q. Jones pumps a dozen bullets into someone and, much later, an attending doctor removes life support, who killed the victim?

Today, we will finally unmask the gunman, whose identity will surprise many. We will reveal his motive as being, essentially, what we now call "identity theft". We begin, though, by unveiling the physician who put the patient out of its misery by removing the lifeline.

Ah, the lifeline. That was the clue. There are so few people who were alive when poetry mattered that our CSI team was forced to rely on historical accounts. Our investigation indicates that poetry's lifeline--its lifeblood--was the free and open exchange of verse among those who loved it. This knowledge led to us to the physician.

The doctor was born in Berne, Switzerland, in 1886, and graduated on July 1, 1909. Starting on January 1st, 1923, as a precaution against possible pandemics, this physician initiated a worldwide quarantine, preventing the free proliferation of poetry. This isolation, which was intended to protect poetry, cut it off from its life source. Worse yet, because poetry could not breed in captivity, it perished without issue.

Discovering the role of Copyright Law didn't bring us much closer to the shooter, though. Who and where was the mysterious Mr. John Q. Jones?

"Follow the money."

Who profited from this unspeakable crime?

Our historical research proved that before WWI people could recite dozens of recent poems but could sing along to only a few contemporary songs. Why? Convenience. Poems appearing in magazines and newspapers might be heard in bars or parlors later that same day. Songs required either a touring band or the purchase of sheet music and considerable practice. One rarely heard the same song more than once a week.

Radio reversed this, starting in the early 1920s. With the drop of a needle listeners from L.A. to New York could hear the same song. If a hit, they'd hear it again and again. Immediately, the poetry/songs ratio reversed. Today, the average individual can recite the words to thousands of contemporary songs but nary a single contemporary poem.

Indeed, the complete disappearance of poetry has given rise to conspiracy theories, speculating that poetry staged its own death, had a makeover and is living on in lyrics.

Songwriters who have profited from poetry's demise or metamorphosis don't deny this.

Do you, Mr. Jones?



Coming Soon: Time for some good news