SIX

SYLLABLE LENGTH

Most scholars nowadays think that Ancient Greek verse was accentual: that is, that stress probably determined the essential nature of verse, much as it does in modern English. The Romans borrowed the Greek metrical terminology for a very different type of verse. Classical Latin metre was quantitative: that is, the lengths of syllables (literally how long they took to pronounce, relative to one another) determined the structure of verse. A line of Latin epic or lyric verse would not only be expected to consist of a particular number of feet, but the relative lengths of the two or three syllables occurring within each foot had to conform to a predetermined pattern.

By the early medieval period, Latin verse — still being written throughout most of Europe, for Latin was the international language of the Christian Church and of scholars — had become purely accentual. We know this because of the large number of instruction books containing chapters on verse-writing in the earlier period, and because of complaints by later clerics and scholars about the new-fangled verse, where the old rules concerning quantity (i.e. syllable lengths) were being ignored.

It is clearly confusing to label English verse with a terminology (such as iambic, trochaic) that has been used to describe a variety of metrical types in the past, and which is especially associated in most people’s minds with classical Latin metres. We do not need to make our poetry seem respectable by lumbering it with a critical apparatus and labels culled from the Golden Age of Greek and Latin literature, as so many writers of the past, especially in the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, felt obliged to do. (For a note on a few original thinkers about English versification, whose work has largely been ignored, see Bibliography.)

Forgetting, then, any confusing nonsense we may have been taught about metre by those conventional pedagogues who unquestioningly hand down to their pupils what they learnt at school, without regard for its inadequacies and incoherence, let us hear for ourselves the nature and effect of varying syllable lengths in verse, just as we earlier heard for ourselves the beat, or regularly recurring stress.

Between stressed or beat syllables there may be one or more lighter syllables, or there may be none at all. In impassioned speech, where the beat syllable is very heavily stressed, it may be followed by a large number of scurrying unstressed or light syllables. Here are one or two extreme examples:

Go a | way and leave me in | peace! | (2 light syllables, beat, 4 lights, beat)

How | dare you enter my room without | knocking! | (7 lights after the beat)
We rarely rage at this level of hysteria, however, and are much more likely when angry to be pointedly slow, heavy or sarcastic:

Go a | way and | leave me in | peace! |

How | dare you | enter my | room without | knocking! |

If we are confidently self-righteous, then we are more likely to say, through gritted teeth:

How | dare you | enter | my | room with | out | knocking! |

It is hard to say for certain what the maximum possible number of light syllables between beats would be. In normal, calm conversation it is not usually more than four, and such instances are infrequent. In verse of all kinds you will seldom find more than four light syllables between beats. (Gerard Manley Hopkins suggested up to four, with the occasional rare addition of two more: an absolute maximum of six.) Some dialect tunes, of course, allow of more light syllables than do others.

From the late medieval period until the time of Hopkins, however, most English poets went in for syllable counting. They preferred a measured tread, hardly ever allowing more than three syllables altogether in a foot, most commonly putting two. Dramatic verse has always been more free than lyric and narrative verse in this respect, but even here the norm is two syllables per foot. Chaucer’s five-foot lines generally contain ten syllables; less frequently there are nine or eleven syllables. The same is true for most pre-twentieth century sonnets, Paradise Lost, Pope’s long poems and the earlier verse-drama of the sixteenth century, including Shakespeare’s first plays. Even poets often thought of as innovators, such as Donne, Milton in Samson Agonistes, or Browning, have the two-syllable foot as their basic pattern. Let us, then, consider the structure of a two-syllable foot.

Theoretically, in a foot containing two syllables, there are three possibilities: the first syllable is longer than the second; the first syllable is shorter than the second; both syllables seem to be the same length. As a matter of fact, in speech and in verse and prose read aloud, by far the most frequent of these is the long-short pattern; the next most frequent is short-long; least common of all is the foot with syllables perceived as being of even length.

I shall begin with the two types that are perhaps easiest for the inexperienced listener to hear, although they are not the commonest.

DISYLLABIC FOOT: short-long (marked ° — ).
Some vowels are naturally short, some are naturally long. If you can prolong a vowel sound as long as you have breath, then it is technically long. Examples are the “oo” [u:] sound in “shoe”, the “ee” [i:] sound in “sea”, or the “ay” [ei] sound in “may” in RP (that is, Received Pronunciation, the accent of educated southerners, or what is sometimes called BBC English). The symbols in square brackets are those of the IPA or International Phonetic Alphabet and indicate the precise pronunciation of the vowel sounds cited.

If, even after taking a deep breath, you cannot sustain a vowel sound, then it is technically short. Examples are “a” [æ] as in “cat”, “i” [ɪ] as in “tin”, or “u” [ʌ] as in “cup”. (In some British regional accents and in English spoken in America, Australia, or other countries outside Britain, the vowels in these words may not be the same as in RP and may even be long.)

Now, suppose you have a disyllabic word in which the first syllable is stressed, carrying the beat of the foot, and, furthermore, the first vowel is short and the second is long. Suppose also, that there is only a single consonant sound between these vowels. Logically you should have a foot which is short-long. Here are some examples from RP. (Remember that a doubled consonant letter is often used to represent a single consonant sound after a short vowel, whereas two or more different consonant letters together usually indicate a consonant cluster, that is two or more separate sounds one after the other.)

The formula for short-long is:
a disyllabic word with stress on the first syllable, of the form:
(C)   VS   C   V   (C)
[ C = a consonant, V = any vowel, VS = a short vowel, ( ) = optional ]

              ° —     °  —    °  —      ° —       ° —
short-long:   ever   sunny   hopping   finish   travel

DISYLLABIC FOOT: even-foot (marked ^ ^ )

The formula for even-foot is:
a disyllabic word, with the stress on the first syllable, of the form:
(C) VL (C) V (C) or (C) V C C (C) V (C)
[ C = a consonant, V = any vowel, VL = a long vowel, ( ) = optional ]

            ^  ^      ^   ^       ^  ^     ^    ^     ^  ^      ^    ^      ^^    
even-foot:  always   sunlight   tended   steamboat   poplar   neighbour   trio  

DISYLLABIC FOOT: long-short (marked — ° )

The formula for long-short is:
A stressed final (or only) syllable of a word, followed by a light syllable which begins (or is) a new word. This can be more neatly described as a beat syllable plus a light syllable, with a word boundary between them.

                  —  °                    —   °
long-short:   | What a | shame     The | sun has | set.

                  —    °                     —     °
          It’s | time for | bed.   The ac | count was | closed.

If you find it difficult to hear the differences between these three types of feet — and you need to be able to in order to appreciate the musical effects of good poets — perhaps the following verses may help, if you read them aloud. By the time you reach the fourth line of each piece, you should be aware of how different it feels in mood and rhythm from the companion exercises. Read to make sense, not thinking about the sounds of the words, but do not try to put too much expression into each: just rattle them off fairly briskly. Read them a second time — again for sense — but trying to hear the rhythms and feeling them in your mouth.

In each exercise there are the same number of lines and the same number of feet in each line; the last foot of each line is the same, a long-short foot in every case — except for the final feet of each stanza, each of which contains one stressed syllable. The reasons for these variations are to do with the structure of English: it was not possible to write grammatically at such length in so rigidly determined a phonetic programme without making some concessions. In particular, I wanted to avoid the problem of having to end lines of short-long or even-feet in mid-word.

Because of the number of short words in English, it is very easy to write exercises full of long-short feet. They are the commonest type of foot in English verse from the later Middle Ages to the early twentieth century. The next most easy to write was runs of short-long. Although you rarely find two or more together in verse, there are obviously many words in our vocabulary which fit this pattern. Runs of even-feet are grammatically very difficult to manage, hence the stylistic awkwardness of this part of the exercise. These feet are the rarest in syllable-counted verse. I shall look in the next chapter at the effect of studding verse whose feet are generally long-short, with short-long and even-feet at appropriate moments.

Now read aloud:

EXERCISES DEMONSTRATING TYPES OF DISYLLABIC FEET

Short-long   ° —   (C) VS C V (C)

In dapple shadowed rivers eddies run,
The cunning heron catches minnows dun;
In panic-stricken scurries rabbits slip
The freckle-feathered buzzard’s taloned grip.

The pigeons ravish honey-coloured crops
The swelling russet apple dully drops;
The arrow-skimming summer swallow’s gone,
But little Philip Sparrow twitters on.

Even-feet   ^ ^   (C) V C C (C) V (C) or (C) VL (C) V (C)

A snowy mountain cleaving cloudy sky,
A noble hoary giant rearing high,
With eagle’s eyrie crowning beetling face
And screaming falcons scything airy space;

The guardian ravens croaking warning cries
Are circling sombre pinewoods breathing sighs
Of windy grievance, branches showing forth
The unseen tempest’s armies marching north.

Long-short   — °   word boundary

1. With long vowels in the beat syllables:

The air is cool, light fades, and now the day
Will draw on scarves of cloud in brown and grey
To shroud his brow and hide his eye of gold:
For now the night draws near with gloom and cold.

The moon is pale as pearl; the stars are glass;
The rime is keen: it ghosts the leaves and grass
And leaves a slime of ice on all it finds;
Let’s light the fire and guard the room with blinds.

2. With short vowels followed by single consonants in beat syllables:

At one the man will come and cook a chop,
And in the pan the fat will spit and hop;
And then he’ll grill an egg, a bit of ham,
And cut the bread and spread it with some jam.

He’ll pick each speck and crumb from off the dish
And wash it up, and give the cat some fish;
And then he’s off to give the dog a run,
Then back he’ll trot, so glad that that is done.

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