New Metrics in Poetry: Bringing Back the Rhythm

Every great English poem until the 19^th century was written in some form of traditional meter. Pulse is at the base of every lauded poem. Stylism attempts to show how form (collocation, cohesion, verb-transitivity, under-lexicalization) aids content (Barry 205). Much like early rhetoric, Stylistics is immersed in the study of identifying figures of speech and their impact on a given text (Barry 204). When Peter Barry, in his book Beginning Theory, talks about the shift from the medieval use of rhetoric in training people for diplomatic life and Church, to the study of identifying figures of speech, he uses the word "degenerated" and describes the subsequent study as an "arid and mechanical study of the mere surface features of language which involved, identifying and classifying figures of speech (205). However potent this critical angle, it fails to recognize sound metrics as an inherent strength in literature; it gives no terms for understanding how rhythm and meter structure a text, regardless of its literary genre. The metrical evaluation of a literary text is integral to understanding its merits.

Traditionally, the study of meter is praxis of poetic study (Fussell 14).To say that nearly all the great English poems until the 19^th century were written in some form of meter is not to say that meter alone made the poems great, but rather to say that the poet's attention to rhythm is only one cog in the mechanism of a good poem. Shakespeare's plays are embedded with iambic flow and trochaic substitution, the latter owing its placement to the former, thus allowing for Renaissance actors to easily remember their lines. The strictly iambic flow of Robert Frost's poetry is testament to the "moving" feeling of a rising and falling trochaic construction, which makes most of his work ear-worthy, at least. Early poetry was ostensibly not written; rather it was memorized, and recited as a means of remembering the work. It makes perfect sense that the mnemonic device of rhythmic pattern found its way into poetry from the very start. Beowulf's quantitative verse, in the Anglo-Saxon tradition, doesn't have a distinct rhythm, but its lines with 4 stressed syllables create a balance of stresses, or a pulse. It's quite possible that pulse is the root of rhythm in literature; this leads us to the most primal form of meter - the heartbeat.

In my conversations with young teaching assistants of English composition, my interest in how incoming undergraduates recognize rhythm prompts me to ask these young assistants how the students respond to certain lines of a poem, or a passage from a piece of fiction. In most cases, the lines that students admire have their basis in inherent metrical qualities. When students say "I like this line, but I don't know why", the praised line or passage is oftentimes given its significance by a simple metrical structure. Whether it's the ascending sensation of iambs, the top-heavy march of trochees, the waltzing beat of dactyls, or the hokey, childlike flopping of anapests, beginning readers of literature almost always recognize the merits of a line, without fully recognizing how meter aids it. Despite the merits of rhythm in literature, undergraduate students are merely taught how to extract subjective meaning from texts, and to recognize and memorize pivotal events, characters and plots, rather than understanding how the pulse of the text contributes to its overall greatness. The importance of rhythm is very often overlooked in place of cultural connotations of texts which are commonly given the burden of a text's worth. It is not unlikely that a student will finish an Introduction to Poetry course with absolutely no understanding of the ancient rhetorical device of meter. Perhaps the students learned a great deal about rhyme, line break, metaphor and image, and how to suck out a subjective-connotational understanding of each line, but in most cases the students are relegated to a smaller knowledge of poetry due to the downplayed nature of rhythm in introductory poetry courses. This is distressing, given the fact that meter is partly what made English poetry the literary giant that it is. It goes without saying that undergraduates are understudied in this realm. Students who receive "A's" in their Intro to Poetry courses without fully realizing the importance of pulse, are similar to tomato farmers finishing their farmer's degrees without planting a single seed.

The concept that makes poems metrically sound is the same concept that makes fiction admirable - attention to meter. It's true that a novel cannot be completely written perfectly in a given meter; with the vicarious and tangential nature of the English language, it is nearly impossible to write a novel with the metrical fortitude of say, Hamlet,but it should be pointed out that Hamlet is not a novel in the modern sense of the word. However grand Hamlet may be, students are not taught the metrical criteria which give the work solidarity, poetic excellence, and artistic relevancy. By relevancy I mean: the metrical structures in which Shakespeare used to compose Hamlet were nothing new, metrically speaking; the iambic flow of his extended passages is in step with other writing of the time.

And will not let belief take hold of him,

Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:

Therefore I have entreated him along

With us, to watch the minutes of this night;

That, if again this apparition come,

He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. (13)

This passage from Hamlet's first act, is almost perfectly iambic and strictly pentameter. This passage also shows how Shakespeare's use of medial and terminal caesurae creates pauses that allow the reader to reflect on the subsequent phrase. On the second and sixth lines there are patterns: three iambic feet, caesura, two iambic feet. This symmetry gives the short speech by Marcellus a balance of not only rhythm, but a balance of meaning as well. The first half of each sentence deals with the sight of the ghost, the second part deals with the speaker's actual interaction with it. Perhaps it is one of countless works written in this iambic form, yet it continues to be read nearly four-hundred years later. It seems that the essence of meter, when worked properly, gets lost in the voice of Marcellus, and according to Paul Fussell, this coupling and ambiguation of meter and meaning is what makes literature great (45).

It's not an arbitrary device for poetry, it's one that gives balance and structure to what would otherwise be conglomerations of words, like so much contemporary "language" poetry. One need only thumb through a contemporary poetry journal to find a year's worth of poetry exhibiting "metrical ineptitude" (Fussell 50). If Paul Fussell is right, and the marriage of meter and content are so important, then it could be argued that a return to metrics would be a positive step forward in the goal of literary greatness. Perhaps it's time to revive metrics in our critical study of literature.

It should not be taken for granted that Virginia Wolff experimented with meter when she composed Mrs. Dalloway. It makes perfect sense that such a brilliant modernist would have the historical knowledge of metrics, having been a product of England's Post-Victorian cadre of authors. Her objects of study must have included works of rhythm. As much as the modernist movement expressed ideas of the omnibus narrative, free versification and intertextuality, it is safe to say that Wolff recognized the importance of rhythm in her work. What follows is a passage from page 47 of Mrs. Dalloway (1925).

"Peter! Peter!" cried Clarissa, following him out on to the landing. "My party to- night! Remember my party to-night!" she cried, having to raise her voice against the roar of the open air, and, overwhelmed by the traffic and the sound of all the clocks striking, her voice crying, "Remember my party to-night!" sounded frail and thin and very far away as Peter Walsh shut the door. (47)

Starting with the first line, we see the initial use of trochees to enhance the emotion of Clarissa's call to Peter. The next metrically important phrase occurs on the same line when Wolff seems to fall back into a natural rhythm of iambic flow, starting with "following" and ending at "landing." This smoothing out of syllables allows for a greater emphasis on the stresses between the phrase. Essentially, there is "Peter! Peter!" and "My party" which stand out from the line, due to the smooth flow of iambs which come between the two stressed segments. This technique is used over and over in Mrs. Dalloway as a means of aiding stress through form, where stress in content is obvious. It is only by coupling stress in form and stress in content, that great literature is written. The next line provides an example of 'ambiguous iambic flow.' Everything from "having" to "crying" is ambiguously rhythmic. One could argue that Wolff is not actively paying attention to the iambs in this passage - that may be true, but nonetheless, the form aids the content here also. Again, we see how two stressed dialogues, "My party to-night", "Remember" are separated by a clearly metrical phrase, ambiguous or not. This, again, supplements the contextual stress by creating rhythmical variations that shadow meaning. Most importantly in this line, "clocks striking, her voice crying" creates a sort of metrical-anaphora, or repetition of spondees which perfectly sets up the repeated phrase, "Remember my party to-night!" Clarissa's repeated request to Peter is almost expected here, as the repetitious double-spondee sets it up. The kicker is the very last line of this paragraph, "sounded frail and thin and very far away as Peter Walsh shut the door." As you may notice, this is almost perfectly iambic, save for one very important trochaic substitution - the word "shut" in the iambic phrase. Wolff is describing the way Clarissa's voice sounds frail and diminished, like an echo on its last repeats. This contextual design is perfectly qualified by the rolling lilt of the iambs in this last line. It seems as if Wolff struggled to make this line retain a rhythmic echo, by using only mono-syllabic words. As aforementioned, the most metrically important part of this line is the trochaic substitution of the word, "shut." Here, Wolff couples her rhythmic ear with her acute sense of narrative, creating a perfect marriage of meter and plot. Wolff even manages to use Peter's full name in the middle of the iambic phrase.

Through Virginia Wolff's Mrs. Dalloway, we begin to see the virtues of meter in all literature, not just poetry. If the metrical fortitude that runs throughout Mrs. Dalloway was completely incidental, it still matters. We can point out numerous examples of meter aiding content in just this short passage.

It is probably appropriate that at some point I show an example of a poem written in free verse, that is aided by rhythm. The following are the first six lines form Jack Gilbert's poem, "Refusing Heaven."

The old women in black at early Mass in winter

are a problem for him. He could tell by their eyes

they have seen Christ. They make the kernel

of his being and the clarity around it

seem meager, as though he needs girders

to hold up his unusable soul. But he chooses (1)

At first reading, there is no inherent meter, but upon closer inspection, a base-rhythm is audible. On the first line, the passage from "in" to "winter" is iambic - this sets up the following "are a problem for him", nicely giving weight to the issue at hand - the man's self-awareness as unworthy of God's grace. Gilbert is clearly aware of the importance of base-rhythm and uses it again to set up the kicker in the next line. The phrase "He could tell by their eyes" is comprised of two anapests - units of two unstressed syllables followed by one stressed syllable. This drumming of triplets continues through "they have seen" but I will argue that "seen" falls into a spondee with "Christ." This spondaic substitution is a perfect example of meter aiding content. The act of seeing Christ stands out here, rightfully so. The iambic base-rhythm in the first line sets up the issue of "a problem for him" and the anapestic base-rhythm of the second line sets up the importance phrase "seen Christ." Again, strong examples of base-rhythm's importance.

The significance of rhythm in all works of literature should be evident now. Whether it's the iambs and caesurae of Shakespeare, the base rhythm of Jack Gilbert, or Wolff's genius in stress, meter in writing is just as inherent as the heartbeat within the chest of every human. It goes without saying that meter is most easily identifiable formal structure of poetry. It also goes without saying that most students of poetry have no idea of this.

This is serious cause for metrical evaluation of all literature that has ever endured the subjective meta-dialogue that 'cultural critics' have diverted us with for decades. It should not be a matter of simply dissecting lines and deciphering the metaphorical and connotational values in language, but rather to examine the audible characteristics of words themselves as a means of formal metrical study.

The implications of applying metrics to the study literature are manifold. Students will be more based in the technical aspects of what makes poems great, and not so much the connotational devices they are taught in high school and in introductory college courses. No longer will the work's merits be extracted from a connotational/cultural understanding of each line, or what each student makes of it, rather the study will begin by examining the inherent metrical qualities that prevail in work, regardless of whether the metrical qualities aid the poem or hinder it. After the rhythmic natures of literature have been analyzed, then the student can go on to understand how the deeper meaning of the work has been aided by them. In the hopes of learning how great literature is made, it is almost completely pointless to draw personal meaning first, and formal structures second. This process is similar to a mason building a house from the top down; all the important stuff is at the top, like the CEO's offices, the payroll, etc. It's impossible to construct a building without starting at the bottom, where the bricks and wood give foundation so the business can grow, and the CEO's can sprout and payroll departments can develop. Unfortunately, students of poetry rarely learn from the bottom up. They start right-in on their first poem by examining it for its contextual value, through subjective methods, rather than understanding the structural rhythmic principles by which the content is given eminence.

Another great implication from this backwards teaching of poetry is that students are not taught to love what we love, to paraphrase of Helen Vendler. She makes this point quite vehemently in her 1980 inaugural speech to the Modern Language Association. Vendler says that, "If we succeed at all, in teaching others, from freshman to graduate students, to love what we have loved, we hope that some of them will become the teachers who replace us, and that they will teach out of love, and write out of love, when they do write." (Smith 451)

Perhaps students could grow to love the work of Shakespeare and Virginia Wolff by growing to see the formal strengths in the texts, rather than being utterly turned off by the archaic diction, and simply tossing the work aside for something more contemporarily applicable. The same could also be said for contemporary literature which is less rooted in formal meter - students could gain a larger appreciation for their texts of study if they can understand the formal aesthetics required in crafting such work. Maybe a return to metrics is what is needed for the next generation of graduate students to fully understand the technical merits of literature. I see more and more students going the route of creative-writing as opposed to literature when the time comes to achieve their master's degrees. On the contrary, I see more tenured professors of literature who are currently teaching in universities which tells me a generational shift has occurred within English Departments. As an undergraduate at Northern Michigan University, I had a wide array of literature professors to choose from, the same could not be said for fiction and poetry. With the onset of cultural criticism and media studies in English theory courses, there is less room for the study of formal aesthetics. I urge the community of creative writing teachers to place more emphasis the age-old practice of meter in verse, as a means of restoring undergraduate interest in literature. Give them a window through which they can appreciate the work, and they will love what we love.

Barry, Peter. Beginning Theory: An Introduction to Literary and Cultural Theory. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002.

Fussell, Paul. Poetic Meter and Poetic Form. New York: Random House, 1965.

Gilbert, Jack. Refusing Heaven. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005.

Hummell, Austin. "The Importance of Meter" English 641 Class. Northern Michigan University, Marquette, MI. March 2007.

Richter, David H. Ed. Falling Into Theory: Conflicting Views on Reading Literature. 2^nd Ed. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2000.

Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. William Nicol. Ed. Harvard University, 1832. Digitized 2006 edition. http://books.google.com/books?id=Ml4tuuEijhoC&dq=hamlet

Smith, Bruce R. "Teaching the Resonances". Shakespeare Quarterly. Vol. 48 No. 4
Winter, 1997. 451-455

Wolff, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway. Orlando: Harcourt, Inc., 2005.