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 diaeresis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label diaeresis. Show all posts

Friday, August 13, 2021

Ta-Da!

 


     When British troops landed in India the residents, who spoke unstressed tongues, noticed a similarity between the "Left!  Right!" marching cadence and the binary stresses of the English language.  We accept the alternating stresses but why do we describe our speech as iambic as opposed to trochaic?

     Part of the reason is in the effect of pronouns and articles on our subject-verb-object pattern:

"She saw | the boy."

     Another reason is that ending on an accented syllable sounds more momentous, decisive or conclusive.  Trailing off seems tentative, wistful, or uncertain.  Thus, our poetry is iambic (de-DUM) or, occasionally, anapestic (de-de-DUM), and very rarely trochaic (DEM-de), dactyllic (DUM-de-de), or amphibrachic (de-DUM-de).

     What do we do when we want to finish with a flourish?  In sonnets we go from ending lines with distant/alternating rhymes to a couplet.  Typical would be the ababcc scheme in this sestet:


Prairie Prayer


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.


     A less formal approach is to use extra stresses.  In iambic work this creates a "Ta-Da!" effect, often as part of a double iamb.  For example, we note the last line of "Kemla's Aloha":


Kemla's Aloha

You showed me home is a person not a place.
I watch as time collapses in your wake,
as every story, fully told, can trace
a common path, each stream to the same lake.

Classical Diaeresis  

     A more elaborate technique is classical diaeresis, ending a poem with a word in the verse's cadence.  For example, the first stanza of the iambic pentameter "Beans" ends with an iamb;  all previous disyllabic words are trochaic.

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.


     Hand this text to someone and have them read it aloud.  Notice how "reviled" sounds like a finale?  This parallels the finality of the parents' death.  By contrast, the second stanza uses the spondaic approach, creating a sense of lingering consequence.

As close as coppers, yellow beans still line
Mapocho's banks.  It leads them to the sea;
entwined on rocks and saplings each new vine
recalls that dawn in nineteen seventy three
when every choking bastard weed grew wild.


    The stanza contains two iambs, "entwined" and "recalls", but that final line begins with, arguably, three pounding iambs ("ev'ry choking bastard"), setting up another instance of diaeresis, but the slightly less conclusive spondee, "grew wild", leaves on a more ominous note.

     The first thing we should learn about any technique is when not to use it.

Sunday, May 17, 2020

"Why don't people read or 'Like' my poetry?"

Terminal Diaeresis


     Newcomers often ask:  "Why don't people read or 'Like' my poetry?"

     It's not like others are every bit as fascinated by the autobiographies, diary entries, and yearnings of strangers as you are.  Or aren't interested in chatting and being sociable.  Or that poems and poets could focus on something more distant than our navels.  Heresy!

     It's not like you are asking for a significant investment on the part of a reader.  They skim a few lines, say something appreciative and encouraging, then they move on.  What's the problem?

    "So why are people ignoring my posts?  It's not like there is a competition going on here, right?"

     There may be any number of reasons unrelated to the work itself.  Everyone has their favorites, preferring them to unknowns.  Power politics may be in play, with others flattering those they feel may be able to help them.  There may be a quid pro quo playing out, with pairs trading favorable evaluations.  Styles may form alliances, with contributors of like mind supporting a group philosophy or aesthetic.

     Aside from these human foibles, there is a good chance that some of the contributors are using tricks.  Dirty, underhanded tricks!  And not even new ones!  Some of these go back centuries or millennia--even to the beginnings of language!

     These sneaky subterfuges come in two categories:  brevity (no wasted words!) and repetition.  The latter can involve anything from whole choruses and lines ("repetends") to sounds (e.g. rhyme, assonance, consonance, alliteration) and rhythms (e.g. iambs:  de DUM de DUM; the beats of a song, etc.).  It's as if these people are trying to get people to not only notice  their words but to remember  them as well.  Weird.

     To show what extent these bastards will go to, let us look at an extreme, admittedly obscure example.  Hand this stanza from DPK's "Beans" to someone and ask them to read it aloud to you:

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.


      Listen to the rhythm of those stressed syllables.  Ask them to read it to you a second time.

      Do you hear how final that last word seems?  How it sounds like a triumphant "Ta Da!" at the end of a performance?

      Diaeresis is an ancient stunt usually relating to a break in the middle of a line.  Here we have terminal diaeresis, which is more esoteric still.  The magic effect comes from ending an iambic (de DUM) passage with an iambic word ("reVILED");  all previous two-syllable words were trochaic (DUM-de, i.e. "WINters", "AILing", "VIEWing", "ALways", "SADdest", "EV'ry", "DOCtor'd", "MOMent", "ORPHans", "PARents").

     Over 99.9% of poets wouldn't know diaeresis from diarrhea.  It's that rare.

     How long has this stuff been going on?  Terminal diaeresis wasn't new when Shakespeare developed it in his sonnets, circa 1600.  Thus, today's poets are so desperate for attention that they are pulling 400 year old rabbits out of their butts!  Worse yet, there are sites and articles dedicated to proliferating these dark arts, this being one of them.

What You Need To Know About Poetry

     This is but one of the thousands of options in the hypermodern poet's bag of tricksThousands!

     How are you going to compete with that?

Friday, June 14, 2013

Why Your Poetry Fails - Part III

Earl the Squirrel's Rule #38
Judges, Editors, Forms and Meter:


    Stories abound of great poems or poets being rejected by editors.  The greatest poem of the 20th Century was initially put aside because the editor didn't know it was metrical and thought it was obscure rambling.  Ironically, the greatest piece [so far] in the 21st Century was rejected by the same outlet and under the same misapprehension:  that it was non-metrical and too obscure despite the fact that its theme was, literally, spelled out for them.

    "How can this happen?" you might ask.  "Twice, no less!  Are they crazy?  Stupid?  Utterly lacking in taste?"

Earl the Squirrel's Rule #16
     No.

     Too many people seem to think that contests and periodicals have dozens of screeners and judges/editors waiting for submissions to trickle in, each of which will be studied like the Dead Sea Scrolls.  Wrong at every level.  Judging and editorial staffs are always undermanned, almost always receive far more entries than expected and, with a deadline looming, have nowhere near the time for a "close read" of each poem or manuscript.

     Typically, like a sports franchise cutting players in training camp, the process involves slimming down the stack of entries using progressively more stringent criteria.  Only in the final stages will judges or editors be sufficiently familiar with the candidate works to consider subtle nuances.  It follows logically that "deep" poems are usually eliminated before these stages unless they also have an eye-catching exterior.  Gotta have some sizzle with that steak.

Earl the Squirrel's Rule #48
     Many assume that editors and contest judges are students of the craft.  Not so.  Most are students of the products of the craft.  Literature majors, not technique freaks.  More like car dealers than car mechanics.  This state of affairs isn't new.  Harriet Monroe was an excellent editor but would not have published "Prufrock" if Ezra Pound hadn't stepped in and scanned it for her.  True, T.S. Eliot got away with outwriting his editor but you won't...unless you have Ezra Pound riding shotgun for you.

     Today, thousands are earning MFAs, PhDs and positions as editors and contest judges without knowing the basics of verse, starting with scansion.  This is hardly an ideal situation--indeed, it's one of my pet peeves--but as long as we are aware of the editor's/judge's level of technical knowledge it can work in our favor.  We can treat them more or less as we would the average poetry lover, employing the tricks we speak of in this series without detection.  Many would ask:  "Isn't that as it should be?  Isn't poetry intended for poetry fans as opposed to poetry geeks?"  (I'm biting my lip here.)

     Given their lack of interest in and familiarity with the elements of verse, the easiest way to outwrite such editors or judges is to write in form.  It's too conspicuous, like speaking a foreign language around unilingual anglophones.  Rude, even!

Acrostics:

     An acrostic is a poem that lists its theme with the first, last or other letters from each line--most often the first letter, as with "Beans".  Here is how they operate:

  • Person hears or reads the poem;

  • Person experiences a "WTF?" reaction;

  • Person has the time and curiousity to investigate; and, ideally,

  • Person looks at the poem on paper and sees the acrostic.  Mystery solved!


     The catch is that a judge or editor, pressed for time and inundated with cryptocrap, likely won't bother to check for the acrostic.

The Fate of Other Forms:

My sister, Pearl Gray
     When people complain that judges and editors are unpredictable I show them the Great Canadian Literary Hunt, an international writing contest sponsored by that country's national broadcasting conglomerate.  In tracking the winning manuscripts over time I have been so struck by the lack of diversity that I had my Rik Roots wannabe sister, Pearl, write the "Prosody Evaluation And Report Logger" (aka "PEARL") [in her favorite programming language, Perl].  By counting repetitions of rhythms and sounds, its algorithm revealed that, even though the contest employs different judges each year, the winners invariably hovered around 1.8 out of 10 on the PEARL scale.  This means they had less poetry than a weather forecast (which might repeat words like "rain", "heat", "temperature", etc.).  One year, the second place entrant in the prose competition scored a full PEARL point higher than the poetry side winner.  What is more, in all the years I followed the contest not one triumphant manuscript--these were collections,¹ not single poems--had a single line of verse in it.  Subject matter rarely ventured far from diary entries and feeble fables about coming of age in small towns.

     This makes two points:

  1. You must check out not just the judge's or editor's track record but that of the contest or periodical as well.  The sponsors always pick the same kind of judges.  Read their previous output carefully.  Indeed, most publishers' submission guidelines implore you to do so.

  2. Many, if not most, judges and editors take a jaundiced view of form (e.g. sonnets, villanelles, ghazals) and, if they can detect it, meter.  Biases range from "simplistic doggerel" and "light verse" to "precious", "trying too hard" and the Kiss of Death:  "too clever by half".

    It follows from #2 that if you are going to write in meter break it up into paragraphs (called "corata", like "Shadows") or irregular linebreaks (called a "curgina", like "Beans").  It isn't a stretch to assume that those who don't understand meter won't recognize it when it is disguised, however thinly.  Some don't even have someone read the submissions aloud to them.  (If I ruled the world contests and editors would pay Nic Sebastian to record every poem they receive but, hey, who listens to a squirrel?)

Earl the Squirrel's Rule #49
    As predictable as contest judges are, print periodicals are more so.  Few will publish anything that doesn't align with their aesthetics, philosophy or politics, all of which can be remarkably narrow.  Except for formalist magazines such as The Lyric and David Landrum's "Lucid Rhythms", I could find no magazine that scored higher than 4.0 on the PEARL scale, which is to say that most of their poetry isn't.  The three outlets that cracked 5.0 on a steady basis were all ezines.

    The takeaway from all of this, as encapsulated in Rules #48 and #49, is to use the tricks we mention in this series (e.g. diaeresis, bracketing, curgination, etc.) without making it apparent, just as your opponents have been doing. 


    "If knowledge hangs around your neck like pearls instead of chains...
  





Footnotes:

¹ - Recently, these collections have been limited to two poems each, no doubt in an effort to reduce the judges' workload.

² - If you do not own Alan Price's "O Lucky Man!" album buy it.  Thank me later.




Series Links:

  1. Why Your Poetry Fails - Part I - Diaeresis


  2. Why Your Poetry Fails - Part II - Brackets


  3. Why Your Poetry Fails - Part III - Judges and Editors




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Monday, January 16, 2012

Blank Verse


Let's take a break from our usual banter to take a look at some technical questions. If you find such discussions too dull for the blogosphere please don't hesitate to say so. We'll start with this one: How is a listener able to discern blank verse from an unmetered string of iambs (and substitutes)? Herman Melville's "Moby Dick" has whole paragraphs of the latter:

"I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass.

Yonder, by the ever-brimming goblet's rim, the warm waves blush like wine. The gold brow plumbs the blue. The diver sun -- slow dived from noon -- goes down; my soul mounts up! she wearies with her endless hill. Is, then, the crown too heavy that I wear?"


How does the ear distinguish this iambic prose from, say, Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet"? How does it discern that Pound's "In a Station of the Metro" is free verse...

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
petals on a wet, black bough.


...and not enjambed iambic pentameter (i.e. with a lame foot after the semicolon)?

The apparition of these faces in
the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough.


Let me deconstruct the question for clarity:

  • A reader can look at the page, see the boxy text, and recognize that the lines all have approximately the same number of syllables. VoilĂ ! Blank verse!

  • Rhymes would go a long way toward defining the meter.

  • Detecting the rhythmic feet is easy enough but how does the ear, not known for its counting ability, notice their quantification into meter?

  • Note that, while blank verse itself is rare enough these days, heterometrical blank verse is virtually non-existent. Even an experienced ear--one that can discern the four meters in "Prufrock" thanks largely to the rhyming--would have difficulty detecting different meters within blank verse.

The short answer is that something happens at the end of each line.


"Beowulf" was written as one long string of text, metered accentually. For convenience, we'll confine our discussion to accentual-syllabic verse. Let's examine some strategies, listing them in rough descending order of frequency, for forming feet into meter without using rhyme. To demonstrate the ubiquitous nature of these techniques--to say nothing of the genius of the Bard--I'll draw all of my examples from Mercutio's speech in "Romeo and Juliet", Act I, scene IV.

1. Poem length. It takes blank verse more time to establish and confirm its meter than rhyming verse requires. Not surprisingly, almost all blank verse is sonnet length or longer.

2. Rhythmic attenuation. Lines "find the cadence", the poet front-loading most of the noisy substitutions, especially inversions (i.e. trochees, in this case). Acephaly and, to a lesser extent, anacrusis are more common than catalexis or hypercatalexis (which is rarely more than a shwa-based semi-syllable in blank verse).

Drums in | his ear, | at which | he starts | and wakes,

The trochaic inversion is followed by four perfect iambs.

3. Endstopping, partial and full. Completed phrases and/or punctuation end each line. All other things being equal, blank verse tends to exhibit slightly less enjambment than rhyming verse. In this excerpt we see every line ending in punctuation: colon, semicolon, period or comma.

Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees,
O’er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;


4. Breath pauses. Poets create enough--ten, generally--distinct, unpunctuated syllables to force a breather at the end of the line.

And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two

If "being" and "prayer" were not compressed this line would be twelve syllables long. Meanwhile, the sibilance and long vowels contribute to the actor's need to come up for air after this unbroken line.

5. Echoes other than rhyme. Sonic devices (e.g. assonance, consonance, alliteration or, to cheat a little, pararhymes) end the lines.

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,


The assonance of "blades" and "wakes", "Mab" and "backs", "bear" and "hairs", along with the alliteration of "bodes", "backs" and "bear", demonstrate how the repetition of sounds announces the ends of lines, albeit less conspicuously than rhymes would.

6. Irregularities. Enjambments pose a challenge that can sometimes be handled with either sonic surfeits or metrical irregularities at the start of the subsequent line.

And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a’ lies asleep,


The trochaic bump, "tickling", and the tongue-twisting overalliteration of "tithe-pig's tail tickling" combine with the lack of punctuation (see #4, "Breathe pauses", above) to force a tiny lacuna after "tail".

7. Classical diaeresis. This, the rarest and most subtle of these techniques, involves using cadential words (e.g. iambic words in an iambic poem) at line or stanza breaks. Here we see that "asleep" and "anon" are the only iambic words in the whole section. They come with a sense of finality, even though neither ends a sentence.

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a’ lies asleep,
Then dreams, he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two




"But virtually no one writes blank verse anymore," one could say, "so why is any of this important?"

Verse is making a comeback. Granted, it is almost exclusively rhymed verse but look at the nature of those rhymes. As modern metrists move toward more and more imperfect rhymes the importance of these other meter-markers rises in lockstep. Regardless of circumstance, they identify the poet as a master of the craft.