POETRY TIP #6: SHORT STANZAS: COUPLETS AND TRIPLETS

Hi everyone,

I want to talk about 2- and 3-line stanzas of verse. There is a tendency for some poets to rely on variations of the 4-line stanza but the shorter forms are surprisingly versatile and can satisfy a wide range of needs. Read on.

POETRY TIP #6: SHORT STANZAS: COUPLETS AND TRIPLETS

In 1959 I sat in an auditorium in Agnes Scott College in Decatur, Georgia to hear Robert Frost speak.  At 85 and rather frail, he still thrilled us with his famous poems read as only the poet can read them. Toward the end of his presentation, Frost confided that he no longer had the energy to compose longer works but he still loved writing couplets.

COUPLET/DISTICH

A couplet, that shortest of all stanzas, can stand alone as a single poem or be used as a building unit for longer poems of any length. Writing couplets is a great way to get into verse (structured poetry). Ogden Nash made mirthful use of the two line poem when he penned:

The cow is of the bovine ilk,
One end is moo, the other, milk.

In my case, I found frequent use of the couplet in BUGS, POEMS ABOUT CREEPING THINGS. For example:

The termite doesn’t eat the way it should.
It’s not his fault, his food all tastes like wood.

In the first case, Nash uses four beats per line of iambic meter so we call that structure iambic tetrameter. My poem is also in iambic but uses five beats per line, making it iambic pentameter. These two are the most popular forms but there are many other combinations.

For example, here are two samples from T. S. Eliot’s work, taken from his wonderful “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats,” which provided the basis for Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical, CATS. Eliot employed seven beats per iambic line to introduce us to GROWLTIGER, which begins:

GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.

It took eight stressed syllables per line to tell the tale of The Old Gumbie Cat:

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.

Contrast Eliot’s long, playful lines to my quick report in BUGS regarding my inability to manage a chocolate covered grasshopper:

Me chew it?
Can’t do it.

You can also write a two-line stanza of verse that doesn’t rhyme. There’s even a name for such a form. It’s called a distich. Change one word in Nash’s poem:

The cow is of the bovine kind,
One end is moo, the other, milk.

We have now established an internal rhyme (bovine/kind) in line one. Line two still retains its alliteration with moo/milk, and the two lines still form a perfectly valid poem. However, it’s now technically a distich rather than a couplet.

Many poems are written in a series of couplets. Again using BUGS for examples, I used two sets of couplets to tell about no-see-ums:

No-see-um’s tiny bite
Keeps you scratching half the night.
No-see-um’s no fun.
Next time you don’t see ‘um, run!

I took three sets of couplets to tell on these beetles:

Two dumb beetles set out to float
Across the sea in a tennis-shoe boat.
Sadly, the tennis shoe sank before
The beetles had sailed a foot from shore.
The beetles cried with red faces,
“Duh, we shoulda tied da laces.”


TERCET/TRIPLET/TERZA RIMA

A stanza one line longer than a couplet is a tercet. If all three lines of the tercet rhyme, it’s called a triplet. As you might imagine, finding three consecutive rhymes is not easy so the triplet is a fairly rare bird. However, it isn’t too unusual to compose three-line stanzas in which only two of the three end in a rhyme.

One version, called the terza rima, calls for the first and third lines to end in the same sound in stanza one. In stanza two, the ending sound of the middle line of the first stanza becomes the rhyme sound for the first and third lines of the new stanza, and so on.

Here are two examples of how I’ve used tercets. In “Daydreams,” from CONNECTING DOTS, I used three-line stanzas in which the second and third lines rhyme, leaving the first lines to set the scene for each of the six stanzas. Like this:

I remember the turtle
beneath our basement stair.
I see him sleeping there.

Maybe he’s dreaming of clover,
shade beside a tree,
days when he was free.

In THE MOUSE WAS OUT AT RECESS, the poem “The Bus” is told in tercets in which the first two lines rhyme and the third line is a kind of refrain that appears with slightly altered wording in each of the nine stanzas:

You know what’s cool
About going to school?
Riding on the bus!

You wave at your friends
When the day just begins
And you’re riding on the bus.

In “It’s Better if You Don’t Know” from THE MOUSE WAS OUT AT RECESS, I devised sets of three-line stanzas in which the second lines of consecutive stanzas rhymed. The third lines of the same stanzas also rhymed but not with the same sound. Like this:

There’s a Welcome sign
On the principal’s door,
(But try not to go.)

Her office is long.
There’s a rug on the floor.
(Never mind how I know.)

As you can see, two-line and three-line stanzas can be employed in a variety of ways to get your ideas told. To be such short forms, they are surprisingly adaptable.
 

Poetry Tip #5, Syllabic and accentual verse

Hi everyone,

Free verse does not require the poet to establish a pattern of emphasized syllables but verse does, even when it doesn’t rhyme. There are many ways to present the structured lines of verse so that in total they create a meter, a rhythm, a beat that adds to the pleasure of reading the poem, especially aloud. The important thing to remember is that however we choose to write our poem, once we establish a format, we should stick to it for the sake of the reader. DANA GIOIA, Can Poetry Matter? states, “Meter is an ancient, indeed primitive, technique that marks the beginning of literature in virtually every culture. It dates back to a time, so different from our specialized modern era, when there was little, if any, distinction among poetry, religion, history, music, and magic.”

In this tip, I talk about poetic lines characterized as syllabic and those that rely on a different kind of pattern, accentual.

POETRY TIP #5: ACCENTUAL AND SYLLABIC VERSE


Poems are written in syllables arranged into packets of sound to form lines and stanzas. In the English language, syllables are stressed (accented) or unstressed so when strung in consistent patterns, called feet, they create a variety of meters and rhythms. The most common feet are iambic (da DA), anapestic (da da DA), trochaic (DA da), and dactylic (DA da da). Iambic and anapestic are characterized as rising meters while trochaic and dactylic are falling meters.

Poetry written in English, whether as verse or free verse, is built with the same units of speech used in everyday language. Verse requires structure so we search harder for a syllable, word, or sequence to fit the need. Though free verse is also comprised of accented and unaccented sounds there is no set rule about where they fall. Sometimes the poet has to guard against slipping into meter out of force of habit. 

Casual conversation is like free verse in that there are no rules for placing the accented sounds. We say what we want to say and move on. (In that last line, look for the accents: We say what we want to say and move on.) In Somebody Catch My Homework, the concluding line in my poem, “Monday,” goes like this:
Monday sure can be a bummer.  The line has eight syllables arranged into four trochaic feet (DA da DA da DA da DA da).
Chatting with a friend, we might put it slightly differently:
Monday can sure be a bummer.
This has the same number of syllables and the same number of beats, but the second beat (can sure) is now reversed from trochaic (DA da) to iambic (da DA), which changes how we scan the line.

Believe it or not this fractured line can, under the right circumstances, still be a legitimate line of poetry. When we write what is called accentual poems, we count only the number of beats in a line or group of lines. Where they are placed is less important than how many there are. Here is an example from Somebody Catch My Homework called “My Excuse.” The opening stanzas are:
But I did do my homework!
Yes ma’am!
I really really did!
Un-huh.

Mama wrapped fish bones in it.
See?
She really really did!
Un-huh.

And them old fish bones
Stinked up the kitchen
Till Daddy throwed ‘em out.
Un-huh!

Now our neighbor, she’s old,
And she’s got an old cat,
And she got in our trash can.
See?

In these stanzas, there is no prevailing meter. If you count the number of beats in each line, there is variation there too. But if you count the accents or stresses in each stanza, you’ll find ten in each, and that’s the glue that holds the poem together, especially when you read it aloud. The reader feels a sense of cohesiveness in the stanzas that keeps the poem rocking along. The poem sounds conversational, and it is, but there is an underlying structure that helps it sound that way. Accentual poems are nearly subliminal in their influence on the reader but they can be effective. 

Syllabic verse counts only the number of syllables in the lines or stanzas and is rarely used in English because of our system of stressed and unstressed sounds. Elementary students are taught to write two ancient forms of Japanese poetry – haiku and tanka – by counting and arranging syllables -- 17 for the haiku in three lines of 5-7-5 and 31 for the tanka in five lines of 5-7-5-7-7.

In Japanese writing, counting syllables is not the standard. In their own language Japanese poets use units called onji rather than syllables. An onji is the smallest linguistic unit in that language. Thanks to our adaptations, haiku and tanka are the most popular syllabic verse practiced in English even though we’ve interpreted the form according to our own needs and applications.

Poetry Tip #4, Visual Elements

Hi everyone,

I was going to post these tips on Fridays but in the morning early I’ll be at Harrison Elementary and may not have time to post anything before I get away. This is one of my favorite subjects because it reminds us that poets use words, lines, and spaces as integral elements in their poems. Visual elements add to the pleasure of reading a poem and lie at the heart of the old cliché, poetic license. In this tip I offer several examples. In your own reading and writing, you’ll discover many others.

POETRY TIP #4: VISUAL ELEMENTS 

A poem’s shape may lend a visual dimension to how we experience the words. In some cases the poet may arrange lines to create a spatial effect that provides the reader/viewer with clues to the mood or premise of the message. Georgia Heard helps us “see” the flight of her hummingbird in this poem from Creatures of Earth, Sea, and Sky (Boyds Mills Press, 1992).

HUMMINGBIRD

Ruby-throated hummingbird

zig-

		zags

			from morning glories
to honeysuckle

		sipping

	honey

			from a straw

all day long.

In Paint Me a Poem (Boyds Mills Press, 2005), Justine Rowdon arranges her lines, screened colors, and even the sizes of her words to add a sense of galloping urgency to her poem about George Washington, which begins like this:

Why, of course, it’s George
Riding toward Valley forge.

	faster, Faster, FASTER!

		Trotting into surrounded towns,
		
			faster, Faster, FASTER!


In more obvious cases of line arrangement and shapes (concrete poems), the poet intentionally forms a picture with his/her words in a recognizable shape. I lack the tools and skills to present samples here of concrete poems but there are plenty available if you search the Internet.

More commonly poets use line breaks, punctuation, and capitalization to add visual effects to what they write. Paul Muldoon is a Pulitzer winning poet and one-time professor of poetry at the University of Oxford. In his rhyming verse poem, “You Gotta Take Out Milt (Peotry, The Humor Issue; July/August 2006, pp 293-294) Muldoon divides 46 lines into five stanzas and three refrains without punctuation but for a single question mark and not even a period at the end. Why?

For one thing, it’s a funny poem and gets funnier if you read it aloud the way a guy might sound given his discovery that his wife’s out to get him. Who would break for commas under such circumstances?

On the other hand, each and every line begins with a capital letter, a reminder to the reader that this is indeed a poem and the poet is aware that he’s breaking rules at one end of the line but is observing traditional etiquette at the other. Somehow the effect of starting each line with a straight face enhances the surprising antics of the lines themselves.

In “An Earl Martyr,” (William Carlos Williams Selected Poems, A New Directions Book, 1985, page 89) the poet begins the first word in every other line with a capital letter whether it needs it or not and even though the poem is told in free verse, which normally doesn’t require capitals except to start a new sentence or stanza.

Rather than permit him
to testify in court
Giving reasons
why he stole from
Exclusive stores 

Why? In my case as a reader, this tactic makes me slow down in reading to examine each line and consider why the poet chose to alternate capitalization while ignoring most punctuation.

You can find many other examples of poets who choose to punctuate, arrange, and capitalize their work to gain a certain desired effect. Here’s Constance Levy in A Crack in the Clouds (McElderry Books, 1998) with her poem, “Seagull Tricks.”

You may think
he’s not thinking
about your sandwich
because he is looking
the other way.

You may think
he’s not scheming
because he is dreaming
and stands like an innocent
statue in gray.

Notice how Connie arranges her lines and chooses her capitalization. These stanzas end in rhyme: way/gray, yet her lines all run over into the next (enjambment lines) so she begins them all with lower case letters to allow the reader freedom to keep moving.

In Music of their Hooves (Boyds Mills Press, 1994), Nancy Springer’s title poem is told in two 4-line stanzas. She chooses iambic and anapestic meters to echo the thundering hooves of galloping horses but also omits punctuation, capitalization, and even standard borders to free our spirits to run with the horse:

The earth is a drum
their hooves pound the beat
the cantering cantering
rhythm of their feet

My heart is a drum
every beat of it loves
the galloping galloping
music of their hooves

A poetry tip: the foot

Hi everyone,

On two previous occasions since 2009 I’ve posted a series of eight tips about writing poetry. Some apply primarily to verse (poems with structured language, usually told in rhyme) but free verse (few specific rules) is represented as well. If you know how to search my blog or scroll through the alphabetically arranged list down the righthand side, you can find references to every post I’ve ever made, including the poetry tips, but sometimes it’s simpler for me to make new posts. If you write poems very often, you know most or all of everything in this series of tips. I offer them solely as reminders for the seasoned poets and as helpful clues for those who might find them useful.

I should mention here that you may not agree with everything I say. Not all poets accept some of the traditional definitions and may offer alternatives to what I’ll be posting. They may also tell me I’m wrong. And maybe I am. There’s nothing wrong with debate that guides our thinking about poetry and pulls us deeper into its mysteries. Today’s poetry clue is about that singular unit known as the foot. I’ll try to post other tips at least once per week.

POETRY TIP #1: THE FOOT

4 Basic Patterns of Meter
Iambic: da DA – above, below, a boy, a girl, reduce
Anapestic: da da DA – in the night, from the light, from above
Trochaic: DA da – doggie, kitty, morning, teacher
Dactylic: DA da da – following, teaching us, tricycle, Harrison

Iambic: The Farmer in the Dell
da DA da DA da DA
da DA da DA da DA

Anapestic: A Visit from St. Nicholas
da da DA da da DA da
da DA da da DA

Trochaic: Peter, Peter
DA da DA da DA da DA da
DA da DA da DA da DA da

Dactylic: The Cat and the Fiddle
DA da da DA da da DA da da
DA da da DA da da DA da da DA

Iambic line: The English language has a basic beat.
da DA da DA da DA da DA da DA

Anapestic line: You can practice the meter aloud by yourself.
da da DA da da DA da da DA da da DA

Two others should be mentioned.
Once in a while a poet needs a foot that has no accent in it: da da. That’s known as a pyrrhus.
It’s opposite, a syllable with two accents only, is a spondee: DA DA.

There are other kinds of poetic feet but these six basic arrangements will account for nearly all of what you need to function well when writing verse.

As a rule, once you establish a meter for your poem, you need to stay true to it. You have set up an expectation for your reader and if you allow your meter to wander very much or often, you’ll cause confusion and frustration. If you reach an impasse that causes you to force the natural flow of language to meet the meter requirements, then start that line from a different perspective. Search for suitable alternatives until you find one. Otherwise, you’re going to be disappointed in the result and so will your reader.

Poetry Tip #8: Rhyme

Hi everyone,

Today is the final post in the series of eight tips on writing poetry. I hope you’ve found them helpful. As I’ve said before, there are a lot of good books out there that go into far more detail. This series is mean only as quick references and reminders.

POETRY TIP # 8: RHYME

It is rare for verse not to contain rhyme or variations of rhyme. Skillful placement of sounds (color sounds) helps hold the reader’s attention and makes the lines more memorable. There are four main categories to consider: RHYME, ALLITERATION, CONSONANCE, and ASSONANCE.

RHYME (True Rhyme, Full Rhyme) occurs when two words begin with different consonants followed by the same sound:

Robin/bobbin
Jeff/chef
Sandy/dandy.

Rhyme is hard to miss. Political slogans, signboards, commercials, jingles, songs, greeting cards, and poetry employ rhyme for a good reason: We tend to remember lines that rhyme.

Can you close your eyes and repeat the first line on this page? Not likely. To remember prose we have to memorize it on purpose and read it a number of times before it sticks.

“It is rare for verse not to contain rhyme or variations of rhyme.”

That sentence is pure prose. Nothing very memorable about it. But with a little finagling I can rewrite it into eight beats of mostly iambic meter. Then I can break it into an unrhymed couplet (distich).

“With rare exceptions verse contains
rhyme or variations of rhyme.”

That helps. The fact that the statement is now told in meter is a strong aid to our ability to recall it later and perhaps pass it on to someone else. That, of course, was a primary function of early poetry, which was sometimes sung accompanied by a musical instrument to both entertain and inform listeners.

But the best solution, the truest mnemonic, is to recast the distich into a couplet, that is, end both lines with the same sound.

“A verse without a rhyme is rare,
some kind of rhyme is usually there.”

ALLITERATION is sometimes used broadly to mean any poetic devise that echoes sounds within a poem. It can refer to the repetition of initial consonant sounds close enough together that we’re aware of them.

“Billy bounced his ball into a bucket.”
“A sack of seven serpents escaped.”

A more formal definition of ALLITERATION can be stated:

1) The consonants just before the first accented vowels are the same: SWeep/SWallow;
2) The vowels are not pronounced alike: (swEEp/swAllow);
3) The consonants that follow the vowels are different: sweeP/swaLLow.

CONSONANCE is like alliteration except that the consonants both before and after the dissimilar vowel sounds are the same.

Truck/trick
Trance/trounce
Ball/bill
Chip/chop

ASSONANCE refers to the use of similar sounding vowels sandwiched between dissimilar consonants.

Hit/will
Disturb/bird
cat/sad

Here’s a poem of mine from EASY POETRY LESSONS THAT DAZZLE AND DELIGHT (Scholastic, 1999) that relies on assonance, consonance, and rhyme to sustain my desired mood and lyric quality.

FIRST BIRD OF SPRING

You’ve seen so much
since you’ve been away,
sing me a song.

Sing of the mountains
you crossed last fall
through starry nights
and blazing dawns,

Of rivers, bayous,
checkerboard farms,
glistening silos,
pigeony barns.

Sing of lightning,
wind-tossed waves,
ships at anchor,
tranquil days.

You’ve seen so much
it will take all spring.
Sing me a song.

ASSONANCE AND CONSANANCE together are sometimes referred to as near rhyme, slant rhyme, oblique rhyme, off rhyme, or half rhyme.