If you look again at the rhythmic verses from Chapter Five, you will find that as well as varying the number of syllables in each line, I have varied the quantities or syllable lengths. This, too, has an important effect on the rhythm.
14. | Old | clock 15. | Watch is | ticking 16. | Twenty to | nine,
| Tick | tock, | Seconds | flicking, | Running on | time,
| Strikes | eight: | Skipping, | hopping, | Gathering | speed
| I’m | late. | Never | stopping; | Down the in | cline.
| Quarter | chime: | Minutes | scurry, | Struggle | hard
| Breakfast | time. | Skitter, | hurry. | Up the | slope,
| Half | past: | Slowing | down:
| Eat | fast. | Can’t | cope;
| Strikes | nine: | Engine | coughs,
| School | time. | Pressure | drops,
| Steam’s | gone:
| Train | stops.
The slow, steady tick of the old clock in (14) is largely determined by the monosyllabic nature of the feet; but notice that the two disyllabic feet that do occur are even-feet, the weighted, plodding kind.
In (15) there are twelve feet altogether. Unusually, only the first is the ubiquitous long-short: the remaining eleven are the short-long variety. Pencil in the marks for length above each syllable of (15). If you now read the exercise aloud again, you should be able to appreciate how the shortness of the stressed, and therefore prominent, syllables helps to create the effect of the light, quick ticking of a small watch.
In (16) the effect of syllable length is probably not as significant as the number of syllables in each foot, but it does add something to the sound picture. There is a short stressed syllable in “Running” and two short syllables followed by a long one in “Gathering”: both of these words give a sense of speeding on. So does “Struggle” (the suggestion of effort here is largely due to the clusters of noisy consonants), while “Pressure” seems to drop quickly away (because of the quiet final consonant sound as well as the shortness of both vowels). The weighty even-feet in “Slowing” and “Engine” help to steady the pace at this point: the monosyllabic feet of the last two lines slow the pace further.
Now look again at example (17) from Chapter Five.
17. The | Horse is | trotting | down the | lane:
Ig | noring | rider’s | pull on | rein
She | canters | now with | drumlike | beat
U | pon her | swiftly | moving | feet;
| Galloping, | galloping, | faster and | faster,
| Hurrying | home so you’ll | never get | past her.
The galloping rhythm was achieved by increasing the number of syllables in the last pair of lines. The first four lines are alike, however, as far as syllable count is concerned, so the apparent change from trotting to cantering needs a different explanation. It is achieved by attention to syllable lengths. The foot created by the word “trotting” is unique in this piece of verse with its short stressed or beat syllable: the sound of the word is jauncy as well as its sense. This is a short-long foot. The firmer pull of the rider on the rein is echoed in the even-feet of “-noring” and “rider’s”, but we also realize that here the horse’s whole rhythm is changing: the steady, urgent movement of the canter is suggested by further examples of even feet in “canters”, “drumlike”, “swiftly” and “moving”.
Obviously these exercises were specially written in order to demonstrate rhythmic effects. “Surely,” sceptics are bound to ask at this point, “poets don’t write real poems in this mechanical way?” Of course they don’t. But although poets may tell you that they choose words with the right meanings, connotations and resonances — a matter of semantics — it is also clear that the best poets, whose poetry reads aloud well, care very much about the sounds of the words they choose. If you look at well-known poets’ draft versions of their poems, you will find that many of the changes they make do not greatly affect the meaning of what they say, and must be intended to make the sound-music more appropriate. Poets do not, as a rule, sit around saying, “I must find a short-long verb here;” but in trying out various possible words, they may well decide that “scurry” sounds more speedy than “scamper”, or “stamping” more weighty than “stepping”. (“Scurry” and “stepping” are short-long; “scamper” and “stamping” are even-feet.)
You may remember that in the last chapter I said that the commonest foot in poetry, as in speech, is the long-short. It follows that when other types of foot occur — short-long, or the much rarer even-foot — the ear registers the different rhythmic effect, which, in turn, calls our attention to those particular words where the change occurs. If you say these two lines from Eliot’s poem Macavity (scanned in Appendix One, number 12) and try to pick out the words that seem to be important or emphasized, the odds are that you will choose those feet that are not the common long-short.
The foot containing the stressed syllable in the cat’s name, “cavi” (short-long) stands out, as do the words “mystery” (even) and “hidden” (short-long). Be clear that it is the sound that first draws your attention to these important adjectives.
Listen now to some well-known lines of verse, usually loved and remembered as much for their sound as for their sense. First, here are some extracts from poems most often read to children.Much of the charm of Walter de la Mare’s Silver lies in its rhythmic repetitiveness, as well as in the repeated word “silver”. I have set out the first two lines with corresponding feet below each other to show that feet at the same position in the line have the same number of syllables.
| Slowly, | silently, | now the | moon | Walks the | night in her | silver | shoon.
If you read this aloud, it sounds delightful. This is largely due to the long vowels, the resonant /m/ and /n/ nasals and the lack of noisily explosive consonants. Part of the charm, as I said above, also lies in the fact that both lines have exactly the same syllable count in equivalent feet. All of these things make the beginning of the poem incantatory.
If you now mark in the syllable lengths, you will find that every beat syllable is long, adding to the quality of drowsy weight. The basic foot pattern throughout the poem is long-short. The extra light syllables in the second feet of lines one and two vary the rhythm a little to prevent monotony. The other two feet that differ from the norm are “Slowly” and “silver”. Both are the weighty-sounding even-feet. Their rhythmical difference calls attention to them, when read aloud, together with the alliteration, as if they are in aural italics, so these two ideas of slowness and silver dominate, creating the appropriate mood for the rest of the poem. Although the feet in the same position in each line have the same number of syllables, they do not have the same pattern of syllable lengths: if they did, these lines might sound too mechanical and flat.
In Windy Nights Robert Louis Stevenson achieves a gathering pace and excitement in:
— ° — ° ° — ° —
| All night | long in the | dark and | wet
° — ° ^ ^ —
A | man goes | riding | by.
— ° ° — ° ° — ° —
| Late in the | night when the | fires are | out,
— ° ° ° — ° ° — ° —
| Why does he | gallop and | gallop a | bout? |
The many syllables in three of the lines help to give the speed of a gallop, together with the short vowel sound in the word “gallop” itself. The mysteriousness of the rider is captured in the shorter and slower second line, in which there are far fewer syllables altogether and a final monosyllabic foot, while the key word “riding” stands out as the only even-foot.
Tennyson has a very interesting stanza in The Lady of Shalott. Mark in the scansion, that is, the foot boundaries and length marks, and try to explain how it is that the barges sound so heavy and slow while the shallop sounds light and fast. (Cover the marked version that follows while you do this!)
By the margin, willow-veil’d, Slide the heavy barges trail’d By slow horses and unhail’d The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d Skimming down to Camelot.
Tennyson’s poems are usually rich in sound-colour: The Lady of Shalott is no exception.
— ° ^ ^ ° — —
| By the | margin, | willow- | veil’d
— ° ° — ^ ^ —
| Slide the | heavy | barges | trail’d
° — ^ ^ ° — —
By | slow | horses and | un | hail’d
° ° — ° — ^ ^ —
The | shallop | flitteth | silken | sail’d
° — — ° ° — —
| Skimming | down to | Came | lot. |
The rhythm is more flexible than in some of the other examples we have looked at. In the first three lines weighty even-feet are: “margin”, “barges” and “horses“; in addition, “veil’d”, “slow” and “un” are monosyllabic feet. These sounds create the slow progress of the barges. The contrasting quickness of “willow” and “heavy” — short-long feet — keeps the whole scene moving. In the last two lines there are four short-long feet to speed the sailing boat on its way: “shallop”, “flitteth”, “skimming” and “Came-”. But, as in the earlier lines, there is contrast. The epithet “silken-sailed” is an even-foot followed by a monosyllable: not only does this give variety, but the rallentando makes the voice linger on the alliterated words, thus emphasizing the exotic richness of the silken sails. The sounds of the stanza, therefore, not only reflect the differing speeds of the boats, but highlight the visual quality of the trailing willows and the little sailing craft.
Many people know Thomas Gray’s Elegy in a Country Churchyard, although few can remember more than the striking first two lines. Here, too, we find a poet memorably echoing sense in sound. The whole poem is written in lines of five two-syllabled feet. Long-short feet predominate, as usual. Pencil in the scansion of the following lines.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea.
Four out of the ten feet are even-feet: “curfew”, “parting”, “lowing” and “slowly”. This is the main reason why the opening lines sound so slow and drowsy and delightful. Repeated /l/ sounds and soft burred /r/ sounds enhance the effect.
° ^ ^ — ° — ° ^ ^ —
The | curfew | tolls the | knell of | parting | day
° ^ ^ — ° ^ ^ — ° —
The | lowing | herd winds | slowly | o’er the | lea.