The Outerview Series: Part II - Where is poetry?

 

     In our first outerview we established that poetry is a mode of speech, coming about because audiences feel the words are worth preserving in memory verbatim.

     Our next question is:  "What happened to poetry?  Where did it go?"

     Two centuries ago the average literate person knew hundreds of poems and hundreds of songs.  Most of the latter may have come from church attendance.  Today, the average literate person can sing along to thousands of songs but not recite a single poem written in the last half century.

     Before performing her song, "Motherland", in this video Natalie Merchant interrupts herself to say:  "Oh, this is a poem by Natalie Merchant."  Here are the lyrics, with some color added to highlight some of the repeated sounds, including rhymes:

[Verse 1]
Where in hell can you go
Far from the things that you know
Far from the sprawl of concrete
That keeps crawling its way
About one thousand miles a day?

[Verse 2]
Take one last look behind
Commit this to memory and mind
Don't miss this wasteland
This terrible place, when you leave
Keep your heart off your sleeve

[Chorus]
Motherland, cradle me
Close my eyes
Lullaby me to sleep
Keep me safe
Lie with me
Stay beside me
Don't go
Don't you go

[Verse 3]
Oh, my five-and-dime queen
Tell me what have you seen?
The lust and the avarice
The bottomless, the cavernous greed
Is that what you see?

[Chorus]
Motherland, cradle me
Close my eyes
Lullaby me to sleep
Keep me safe
Lie with me
Stay beside me
Don't go

[Verse 4]
It's your happiness I want most of all
And for that, I'd do anything at all, o mercy me!
If you want the best of it or the most of all
If there's anything I can do at all
Now come on, shotgun bride
What makes me envy your life?
Faceless, nameless, innocent, blameless, and free
What's that like to be?

[Chorus]
Motherland, cradle me
Close my eyes
Lullaby me to sleep
Keep me safe
Lie with me
Stay beside me
Don't go
Don't you go

      The music couldn't be much simpler and the singing adds immeasurably to the experience.  Note the repeated sounds:  rhymes, assonance (i.e. vowel sounds), consonance (i.e. consonants) and alliterations (i.e. at the beginnings of words).  These make the poem easier to remember.  As memory aids called "mnemonics".  We remember the choruses because they are repeated but which verse do we remember most?  Might it be the most colorful one, with the most sound repetitions?

        Would this work as spoken verse?  

      "Why would anyone want to hear a song without its music?"

      Great question!  With the introduction of radio in 1923 people could listen to music 24/7.  This was much more convenient than going to a saloon, church, or music hall.  

      Think of how many lyricists you know.

      "Isaac Brock, Max Martin, Sly Stone, Claudio Sanchez, Barry Mann, Justin Vernon, Lana Del Rey--"

       I'd have gone with Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Ferron, and John Prine, but your list is fine.  Now, how many 21st Century poets--not counting lyricists--can you name?

       Crickets.

       Really?  Okay.  How many 21st century poems can you recite?

       More crickets.

       In the shower or while playing air guitar, how many 21st century songs can you butcher?

       "Jillions!"
 

       Alright.  So which should we learn first?  Metered verse, which can be turned into songs, or free verse, which aren't?  Something with billions of listeners worldwide or something with virtually none?

       "Is this a trick question?"

         No.

        "Then meter, of course!"

        Good choice.  We'll need to learn about rhythm, which we call "scansion", and sounds, which we call "sonics", including rhyme.

        "Can we learn about slams?  My friends say they're a lot of fun."

        We can have you competing in slams within a few weeks.  As for fun, that is another of Pearl Gray's paradoxes--

        "What's a paradox?"

         Something that seems contradictory but is actually true.

       "Okay.  So...why do some people write free verse?"

        Because they think it is easier and they figure, since no one is listening, why not take the path of least resistance?

       "And is it easier?"

        No.  In fact, it's five times as difficult, and there is no real chance of serious benefit--to the author or the public--because of the minuscule audience and, for that matter, readership.

       "So why do they bother?"

        Because being a poet has a certain cachet.  Status.  People who don't get enough attention love the thought that their words will be preserved in memory.

       "Even though they won't be."

        Exactly.  A person can dream.  It's a free country.

        "Is there any way to get people to read your poetry?  Without setting it to music, I mean."
 

        A person could get their work published in their university's press and hope students will be forced to study--sorry, interpret--it.  Or be selected to read a poem at an inauguration.  Or state funeral, perhaps.  We call these "occasional" poems.  Unfortunately, the last few of these have not been memorized, even by their authors.

        "That's it?"

        People just don't listen to poetry without music.  

       "Is there a workaround?  Some kind of cheat code?"

         Well, it's possible to embed poetry in prose.  For example, imagine a movie about someone who performs poetry at, say, open mikes.  Beyond that, we're really only talking about song lyrics.  For now, at least.

        "That's depressing."

         It can be, but consider this:  There is more verse being published and heard today than ever before.

        "Yeah, but there's more people than ever before."

         True, but I mean as a percentage of the population.  Granted, 99.999+% of the verse is in song, but the hours individuals spend listening to verse are at an all time high.  And rising.

        "So if I'm a tone deaf poet--"

         You have one more reason to date a musician.

Next: Part III - What is rhythm?

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

 

Melody Is Memory

     All of us understand that poetry is a mode of speech defined by memorable words.  Prosody is the science of making verses easier to recall, either through concision or repetition.  Even if one were to argue that "forgettable poetry" is not an oxymoron a tautological question of relevance arises:  "If no one cares then who cares?  If a tree falls in the forest does anybody give a damn?"

     As with all speech, poetry requires an audience.  The vast majority of people today cannot recite a stanza written in this millennium but can sing thousands of contemporary lyrics.  As a practical matter, poetry is less a mode of speech than singing.  Those concerned about adding the medium of music will bear in mind that long before the 20th century disappearance of spoken verse its most successful example was Shakespeare's theater.

     What aspect of song penetrates our memories most efficiently?  A drum beat might meet with blank stares.  A chord progression might not be identified but two or three notes can spark recognition and many to sing along.  Verse being a participation sport, this defines modern poetry just as "verbatim" has defined it from its inception.

     Technically challenged poets speak vaguely of "musicality", a term that provokes cringing and eye rolls from geeks.  The truth is that poetry needs more than facsimile;  it requires actual music to attract an audience.  (And, perhaps, a readership.  Royalties from all contemporary poetry books combined wouldn't add up to those from one Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan lyric collection.)

      Content regents and corazoners will insist that the profound and poignant will attract attention [sooner or later].  All the evidence points to a very different conclusion.  Melody is everything in song and, thus, verse.  Allow us to demonstrate with two piercing examples:

      As with so many of her songs, "Ain't Life a Brook" (1980) is thought provoking and heart rending.  This song includes one of the greatest throwaway phrases of the last half century.  However, the rambling melody and accentual dimeter is not something you will sing in the shower.  Or remember at length.

I watch you reading a book
I get to thinking our love's a polished stone
You give me a long drawn look
I know pretty soon you're going to leave our home
And of course I mind
Especially when I'm thinking from my heart
But life don't clickety-clack down a straight line track
It comes together and it comes apart
You say you hope I'm not the kind
To make you feel obliged
To go ticking through your time
With a pained look in your eyes
You give me the furniture, we'll divide the photographs
Go out to dinner one more time
Have ourselves a bottle of wine
And a couple of laughs
And when first you left
I stayed so sad I wouldn't sleep
I know that love's a gift, I thought yours was mine
And something that I could keep
Now I realize that time is not the only compromise
But a bird in the hand could be an all night stand
Between a blazing fire and a pocket of skies
So I hope I'm not the kind
To make you feel obliged
To go ticking through your time
With a pained look in your eyes
I covered the furniture, I framed the photographs
Went out to dinner one more time
Had myself a bottle of wine
and a couple of laughs
And just the other day
I got your letter in the mail
I'm happy for you, its been so long
You've been wanting a cabin and a backwoods trail
And I think that's great
I seem to find myself in school
It's all okay, I just want to say
I'm so relieved we didn't do it cruel
But ain't life a brook
Just when I get to feeling like a polished stone
I give me along drawn look
It's kind of a drag to find yourself alone
And sometimes I mind
Especially when I'm waiting on your heart
But life don't clickety-clack down a straight line track
It comes together and it comes apart
'Cause I know you're not the kind
To make me feel obliged
To go ticking through my time with a pained look
In my eyes
I sold the furniture, I put away the photographs
Went out to dinner one more time
Had myself a bottle of wine
Had a couple of laughs
And wasn't it fine

      Contrast this with John Prine's child-like, tragicomic "Christmas in Prison" (or almost any other Prine song), published in 1973:

      Prine's trademark trinaries underscore the melody, creating an earworm.  His lyrics, while evocative and moving, are not near Ferron's in depth but we, individually and collectively, carry them into the future far more readily and easily than Ferron's work.

It was Christmas in prison
And the food was real good
We had turkey and pistols
Carved out of wood
And I dream of her always
Even when I don't dream
Her name's on my tongue
And her blood's in my stream
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothing on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God
She reminds me of a chess game
With someone I admire
Or a picnic in the rain
After a prairie fire
Her heart is as big
As this whole goddamn jail
And she's sweeter than saccharine
At a drug store sale
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothing on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God
The search light in the big yard
Swings round with the gun
And spotlights the snowflakes
Like the dust in the sun
It's Christmas in prison
There'll be music tonight
I'll probably get homesick
I love you
Goodnight
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothing on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God

          Again, the difference is prosody, yes, but mostly melody.  So what can we do with this?

To be continued.

Writing Song Lyrics

"Whatever is too stupid to say can be sung."

    - Joseph Addison (1672-1719)

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Introductory Lyric Writing:

     Humankind's first musical instrument was undoubtedly the drum.  When Paul Simon went to South America to record "The Rhythm of the Saints" (released in 1990) he was astounded to see Brazilian kids being able to drum for hours, still maintaining a regularity that computerized equipment could barely surpass.   Today, with forms like rap, we seem to have come full circle:  words and drums, nothing else.  As they say in the music industry:  "The beat's the boss." 

Tip #1:  Have your beats fall on important words:  the nouns and verbs that tell the gist of your story.

     As a budding songwriter you want your tunes to be "singable".¹  You want people belting them out in the shower or humming them absent-mindedly as they play their computer games.  You want music directors, agents and producers to think of your pieces as earworms.  You want people to stop hitting their radio buttons when they come across your work.  Next to melody and beat, the most important aspect of your composition is the lyrics--not their meaning, mind you;  just the sounds of the words themselves.  In short, you want your music to be catchy and your words to be memorable. 

Leonard Cohen

And who will write love songs for you
when I am lord at last
and your body is a little highway shrine
that all my priests have passed?

    - "Priests" by Leonard Cohen, describing having one's songs played on car radios

     In this post you will find advice on how to write effective lyrics.  Don't sweat the nomenclature;  you just need to understand a few basic concepts.

     The two things that will make your words unforgettable are repetitions of sounds and rhythms.  You're already familiar with rhymes at the ends of lines.  In song, these don't have to be anywhere near exact, like "mask" and cask".  Virtually anything with the same vowel sounds will do.

Bob Dylan

Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?

      - "Blowin' in the wind" by Bob Dylan

     In addition to rhymes, it is a good idea to repeat other sounds within the lines, especially in words/syllables that will be underscored by beats.  These "reps" are called:

1.  alliteration if they come at the beginning of stressed syllables;  if elsewhere,

2.  assonance if they involve vowels;  or,

3.  consonance if they involve consonant sounds.

     Your chorus is, essentially, one huge mega-rep used to burrow into unsuspecting brains.  

     Clearly, singing takes more time than speaking.  This, itself, helps underline your words, just as over-enunciating them slowly would (e.g. "READ...MY...LIPS...").  A sonnet takes about 65 seconds to recite but Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII, performed by Pink Floyd's David Gilmour, can take more than twice that long (2:56 minutes, in this case):



Melisma:

    While we're talking about Pink Floyd, consider these two lines from "Comfortably Numb":

Pink Floyd's David Gilmour

I
have become comfortably numb

    How can one word--one syllable, even!--be an entire line?  By having the performer sustain it for more than one beat.  This adds drama, poignancy and, above all, time to the performance.  Note that this elongation almost always involves vowel sounds, and usually long ones:  "pay", "paw", "pea", "pie", "Poe", "Pooh", or "pew" as opposed to "pen", "pin", or "pun", with "pan" lying somewhere in between.  Remember this when you are writing the last--the rhyming--word of your line.  Singers love to milk these!

Accentual versus Accentual-Syllabic:

    Most lines or songs are syllabic:  one note per syllable.  Take, for example, that second line from "Comfortably Numb":

have become comfortably numb 
DUM  de DUM DUM de dede DUM

Earl the Squirrel's Rule #82

    The music and singing both have a set number of beats--four, in this case--per line without regard to the number of other syllables between them.  Beyond that, there doesn't seem to be much of a pattern going on.

     Nevertheless, this "accentual" approach is how most English poetry was fashioned a thousand years ago;  to this day, it is still very common in English lyrics.

     More recent practice has shown that, if we put the same number of other syllables between each beat, we increase the song's singability.  These form units called "feet" which are either 2 or 3 syllables long, each featuring a beat.  That gives us five different possibilities, depending on where the beat lands within the 2- or 3-syllable foot:

1. First of two:  Trochaic (DUM-de): 

"Tommy | can you | hear me?"

   - Sound Repetitions:  "hear me"
   - Source:  "Tommy" by "The Who"

2. Second of two:  Iambic (de-DUM): 

"And we | will run | the rid|ges of | our green | land, Ten|nessee."

   - Reps:  "run" - "ridges", "green land Tennessee"
   - Source:  "Run the Ridges" as sung by the Kingston Trio

3. First of three:  Dactylic  (DUM-de-de):

"Raindrops on | roses and | whiskers on | kittens"

   - Reps:  "Raindrops" - "roses",  "whiskers" - kittens
   - Source:  "My Favorite Things"² by Rodgers and Hammerstein

4. Second of three:  Amphibrachic  (de-DUM-de):

   "It's four in | the morning | the end of | December"

   - Reps:  "four" - "morning", "morning" - "end" - "December"
   - Source:  "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen

5. Third of three:  Anapestic  (de-de-DUM):

"We crossed ov|er the bord|er the hour | before dawn."

   - Reps:  crossed, over, border, hour, before
   - Source:  "Roads to Moscow" by Al Stewart

     It would help if you were to learn the basics of scansion (roughly:  rhythmic writing) but, for now, let's simplify:

Tip #2:  Keep either one other syllable between each beat or two other syllables between each beat.

     Note that what is considered a stressed syllable in poetry is not the same as in song, where, again, "the beat's the boss."  For example, if you were speaking, this sentence would be pronounced thus:

"And we will run the rid|ges of our green | land, Ten|nessee."

     ...as opposed to the song where, because of the beat, every second syllable is accented:  "of" is promoted to a stress while "land" is demoted to an unaccented word.

"And we | will run | the rid|ges of | our green | land, Ten|nessee."

Sonic Tempo:

     Earlier we mentioned how some vowel sounds are slow (e.g. "pay", "pew") while others are fast (e.g. "pin", "pen").  The same is true of consonant sounds:  "sh" and "j" take much longer than "p" or "t".  For example, compared to "pit", the word "josh" takes forever and a day to say.  To avoid unbalancing your line, then, try to distribute both types of sounds/words evenly within your lines.³

Tip #3:

Do not crowd a bunch of slow sounds into one spot and faster ones elsewhere.


Tip #4:  Better to have one syllable too few than one too many.

     Cramming too many syllables into too few beats can lead to people mishearing your lyrics, as in this famous case of eleven jammed around three:

tell them a hookah-smoking caterpillar



Tip #5:  As in life, if you're going to mess up, do so earlier, not later.

     Here is an example of a great lyricist going wrong:



     Note that sqeezing three syllables before and between beats works okay near the beginning of the line:

And¹ when² you³ rise and listen¹ to² the³ song again

     ...but it fails miserably here, at the end of a line:

there are wings on the raven¹ on² the³ wind

     Much better would have been:

there are wings on the raven wind

In Conclusion:

     I understand that country folk may not be your genre of choice but, on the subject of singability, study the earlier efforts of the master:  John Prine.



     Note that we said your lyrics should be "memorable" or, ideally, "unforgettable".  We didn't mention "discernible" or "intelligible".  Remember the scene from "27 Dresses" where Jane and Kevin butcher the lyrics to Elton John's "Benny and the Jets"?  This reinforces the point that lyrics are about sound, not meaning.



     Songs are about what the audience hears, not what the singer says.

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Footnotes:

¹ - For what it's worth, there is a natural tendency among successful songwriters to write less singable, more complex tunes later on in their careers.

² - Technically, this lyric can be scanned as dactylic, amphibrachic or anapestic.

³ - Some of us geeks believe the same is true in metrical poetry, saying that "all verse is quantitative."  Should all lines of English language poetry take the same time to recite?  That debate rages on.

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Earl Gray, Esquirrel

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The Question

In "Who Killed Poetry?" we saw how poetry got its ass kicked by song, starting in the early 1920s. It follows that the only question we need to ask ourselves is: "How can words trump lyrics?"

Let's begin with what we know or can confidently surmise:

• Every culture developed both poetry and song long before the ability to record either.
  
  
• Before the written word, at least, what distinguished poetry and song from what we now call "prose" was that verse was memorized, performed and preserved word-for-word.
  
  
• When literacy was developed the convenience of text tilted the balance in favor of poetry. That is, before 1920 people could recite more contemporary poems than contemporary lyrics.
  
  
• Poetry's advantage was nullified when, due to radio, music became at least as easy to disseminate as poetry.
  
  
• The cross-cultural decline in poetry's popularity since the 1920s has been neither universal nor uniform. By far the hardest hit has been anglophone popular culture, from which contemporary poetry has disappeared.
  

The sky hasn't fallen. Indeed, this disappearance has gone largely unnoticed. Out of sight, out of mind. (Indeed, when that expression was translated literally into Russian and back into English the result was "invisible idiots"; that's not a bad description of how poets are regarded today!) Society seems to have survived quite well without poetry. For the sake of this discussion, though, let's assume that poetry could matter and that our culture would benefit from absorbing more of it. Rather than complain about the lack of iconic contemporary verse or sing silly choruses of "Yes, we have no watermelons" let's consider the question:

"How can poetry compete with song?"

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