Finding Room to Grow

Finding Room to Grow

In previous posts I have written about a slowly growing awareness among those interested in syllabic, formal, haiku that they need their own journals, their own online spaces, etc., to share their haiku.  There is a sense of a parting of the ways, that syllabic haiku needs to go its own way.

I think a useful metaphor here is ecology.  Syllabic haiku is crowded out by other types of haiku such as free verse, one-liners, and consciously avant-garde approaches.  It is sidelined and left malnourished.  The specific skills, needs, and approaches of someone wanting to take a formal approach to haiku are not nourished in a free verse context and for this reason formal haiku tends to wither in a free verse setting.

Not all plants can grow in the same garden.  And not all forms of poetry flourish in the same setting.  To show what I mean by this I would like to contrast two series of haiku.  Think of them as excerpts from hypothetical anthologies.  I have chosen to use hypothetical anthologies because there is, at this time, no anthology of formal, syllabic, haiku.  So I wanted to contrast the two anthologies on an equal footing.  First, here are some haiku from a possible free verse haiku anthology:

in my silver

wedding shoes

. . spider webs

          Carol Montgomery

          (Haiku Moment page 138)

Slow swing of willows through my own fault

          Patrick Sweeney

          (Haiku in English page 239)

The sky is all black

then light comes slowly, slowly

while the cat watches

          Edith Shiffert

          (The Light Comes Slowly, Preface)

low tide

all the people

stoop

          Anita Virgil

          (Haiku Anthology page 243)

a single shoe

in the median

rush hour

          Elizabeth Searle Lamb

          (The Unswept Path page 140)

I have gleaned these haiku from published anthologies, with the exception of the haiku from Shiffert, which is from a collection of her haiku.  My purpose was to create a sequence that does not reflect my own taste.  All of these haiku have passed editors’ criteria of what makes a good free verse haiku.

Compare the above selection with the selection that follows:

Water registered

the quarrel of clouds and moon

with sudden blackout –

          Helen Chenoweth

          (Pageant of Seasons page 85)

The boys are in school;

fall leaves – the only swimmers

in the swimming pool

          Margot Bollock

          (Borrowed Water page 81

The sky is all black

then light comes slowly, slowly

while the cat watches

          Edith Shiffert

          (The Light Comes Slowly, Preface)

Night below zero,

And the long valley’s echo

The sound of the stars.

          David Hoopes

          (Alaska in Haikupage 65)

What makes them do it –

jaywalkers in dark clothing

at night, in the rain?

          Mary Jo Salter

          (Nothing by Design page 60)

Both series share the haiku by Edith Shiffert, the third one that begins ‘The sky is all black’.  In the first series the Shiffert haiku is surrounded by free verse haiku.  In the second series the Shiffert haiku is surrounded by formal haiku.  What effect do the different surroundings have on the Shiffert haiku?

In the first series the Shiffert haiku reads like a free verse haiku.  If you do not perceive this, try to look at the series through the eyes of someone completely new to haiku in English.  Because all of the haiku in the first series have different shapes, because none of them share any common formal features, the formal nature of Shiffert’s haiku is lost.  Someone new to haiku would not be able to discern the formal foundation of Shiffert’s approach.

In the second series all of the haiku share the same formal shape.  They are all syllabic.  They all share the three line 5-7-5 syllabic contours.  If someone completely new to haiku were to read the second series they could quickly and easily discern the formal nature of the poems.  In terms of Shiffert’s haiku, the formal connection to the other haiku is revealed, and therefore the underlying commitment to a formal approach emerges.  This adds a dimension to the reading which the first series does not have.

What I want to suggest is that the ecology of the two series differs.  The first series is an ecology that is defined by free verse.  It is an ecology that validates and encourages the growth of free verse haiku.   When a formal haiku in 5-7-5 is placed in such a series the particulars of formal haiku are lost and overshadowed by the surrounding free verse poems.  That is why it is so unsatisfying to have a formal haiku placed in an anthology of predominantly free verse haiku, or placed in a haiku journal that consists predominantly of free verse.

The ecology of the second series, in contrast, is an ecology that encourages formal haiku and the methods that give rise to formal haiku.  The syllabic structure, the underlying rhythm, the foundational counting, are present as dominant, even essential, features.  There is a sharing of these features as you move from haiku to haiku in the second series that is absent from the first series.  And there is a sense of communal understanding as to the nature of the haiku form implicit in such a series.  There is no sense of shared understanding in the first series.

From a free verse haiku perspective the need for distinct regions for formal haiku doesn’t make sense.  The free verse view is that they do, in fact, publish 5-7-5 haiku, so what is the problem?  The problem is that free verse has a corrosive effect on the form; the reader, particularly the new reader, cannot see the form because of the surroundings.  In a free verse context the 5-7-5 syllabics is perceived as adventitious and arbitrary.  In the context of a series of formal haiku, the 5-7-5 syllabics as seen as the ground from which the individual formal haiku blossom.

For a long time now, formal haijin have accepted the dominance of free verse haijin in ELH organizations and journals and have routinely submitted their haiku for publication and have, sometimes with reluctance, participated in such organizations.  But the felt uneasiness with this situation has become more articulate.  Formal haiku cannot grow in the ecology that is offered to it by organizations like the HSA and publications like ‘Modern Haiku’.  Formal haiku begins with different procedures, has different esthetic criteria, and presents itself in different ways. 

Slowly some spaces are being opened where an ecology in which formal haiku can grow is being found.  This is a two-step process.  The first step is the realization that free verse haiku and formal haiku have, over time, diverged to such an extent that they have, in fact, become different forms of poetry.  The second step is to follow through on that realization and create actual places that cultivate a formal approach to haiku.  This second step is just beginning; it is tentative and a little unsure of itself.  I think of it is a sunrise, a slow dawn, where details of the landscape are still being discerned.  Over time, I think, it will become clearer as the ecology which supports syllabic haiku emerges.

Richard Wright Day -- 2015

Today is Richard Wright Day and this year I don’t have a long post or analysis of his work.  I’ve just been too busy.  Nevertheless I wanted to take a moment to pay my yearly tribute to Wright and to his contributions to English Language Haiku and syllabic verse in general.  It’s a good day to read Wright’s collection of superb haiku poetry, or maybe to compose a haiku tribute to Wright.

I spend time studying Wright’s work; there is a lot to learn from his approach to haiku and syllabics.  I am in the process of building a concordance of Wright’s published haiku.  I am almost finished with the concordance and several things emerge from this project.  First, the vocabulary is accessible by ordinary readers.  There are no high abstractions or obscure words, no made-up words.  The concordance appears to be dominated by nouns that name objects in the world that anyone can relate to. 

Second, the vocabulary is mostly short-count words.  Rarely you will find a word that has 4 counts or higher.  An exception is found in haiku 653:

You can see the wind

Absentmindedly fumbling

With apple blossoms

The word ‘absentmindedly’ is a rare 5 count word; but it works.  It’s an ordinary word, a word one hears in conversation.  So it fits the overall vocabulary.

Haiku 87 is another example that uses a 5 count word:

Meticulously,

The cat licks dew-wet cobwebs

From between his toes.

Here the 5 count word holds an entire line.

Again, such words are extremely rare, but when Wright does use them they don’t cause the reader to stumble.  They read smoothly and fit in with the overall sense of the haiku he is writing.

Another aspect of Wright’s haiku that comes through in the concordance is the ordinary syntax that Wright uses.  Articles appear in almost every haiku, as do prepositions.  Unlike many ELH haijin that have been influenced by the cerebral construction of an artificial syntax that is pushed by official haiku (what I refer to as 'Haiku Hybrid English'), Wright’s haiku accept the English language as it is.  From my perspective that is one of the chief virtues of his haiku and it is an ideal that I would like to see many more ELH poets adopt.

I will have more to say about what the concordance shows.  But for now this is enough.  Let’s take a moment of appreciation for Richard Wright and the haiku he has bequeathed us.

Pi Poems, by Becket -- A Reivew

Pi Poems, by Becket – A Review

One of the intriguing things about the emergence of syllabic forms in English language poetry is how often the syllabic shape of these forms is determined by mathematical constructs.  Forms that are based on some kind of maths include the Tetractys, Fibonacci, Etheree, and Lucas.  The Tetractys is based on Pythagorean number theory; the Fibonacci and Lucas are based on related number series; and the Etheree is based on the standard counting sequence of 1 to 10. 

Given that background, it makes sense that someone would use the number Pi as the basis for a syllabic form.  The number Pi is the ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle.  It is a mathematical constant.  It is also an irrational number; meaning that the resulting ratio continues without ever coming to a conclusion or repeating.

The poet Becket, who does not give us his first name, has published a collection of poems based on this numerical sequence.  As far as I know this is the first book of Pi poems.  Becket writes in his ‘Introduction’,

Similar to the way each line of a haiku is written according to a set number of syllables, the syllables for each Pi poem line is determined according to the number of Pi – 3.1415926535 . . . and on into infinity.  So the first line of a pi poem would be 3 syllables, according to the first number of Pi; the second line would be 1 syllable . . . and so on until the poem is finished.

The challenge in using an irrational series like Pi is that with the constantly fluctuating numerical count there will be a strong tendency for the poem to read like a free verse poem.  In the Fibonacci there is an overall shape to the poem, a steady increase in line length which the reader can feel as the poem grows.  The same is true of the Etheree.  But with an irrational number the series will fluctuate; there will be no perceived repetition of numerical sequences and no overall shape for the reader to use as a basis for comprehending the shape of the poem. 

Becket’s solution to this is to base the structure of his poems primarily on grammar.  But Becket is not consistent with this approach.  Here is an example where grammar defines the lines:

4

Do not stop.

Run.

Keep going on.

Push.

Never surrender

because our lives are journeys from peace

to peace,

between which dwell deserts

of misadventures,

tragedies,

and too much worry.

Fearfulness undermines progress.

So sidestep fear, leap over self-doubt,

push away biting

demons crouching interiorly,

remember

to breathe,

and be kind.

With the exception of the transition from line 14 to 15 (biting/demons) the lineation is grammar based.  Many of the lines end in periods.  Five of the lines are full sentences.  This works well and the reader can enter into the numerical sequence that underlies the lineation.

On the other hand, some of the Pi poems seem to have completely arbitrary lineation:

22

Flowering

thoughts

invigorate

my

curiosity.

This is a standard sentence and there is no strong feeling as to why the words have been laid out vertically rather than horizontally; nothing is added by their placement and the reader doesn’t really see anything new.

Sometimes Becket will use rhyme to define a line:

11

Right now will

pass

away like grass.

Fears

wither while sorrows

wilt like meadow heather in autumn

weather.

Whether I suffer or

jubilate, my life

keeps going.

So I go.

The pass/grass rhyme is effective, although there will be the tendency to sonically move ‘pass’ to the end of line 1.  And the use of ‘weather’ and ‘Whether’ as initial words for lines 7 & 8 resonates nicely with ‘wither’ at line 5.  Overall this is a good example of lineation which effectively uses a few devices to present to the reader/listener the underlying syllabic shape.

Here is one of Becket’s shortest Pi poems:

74

The present

is

the only gift.

Here is another example where this reader feels like the lineation is arbitrary, that nothing is really added to the thought by putting it on three lines.  ‘The present is the only gift’ seems to me to be just as effective.

The subject matter of the Pi poems is almost entirely focused on the poet’s inner feelings.  I think that is its greatest weakness.  Whether the poems are read as free verse or syllabic verse, the subject matter is remarkably self-centered; but oddly, we learn almost nothing about Becket himself and his specific life.  That’s a shame because he has led an interesting life.  Becket is a former monastic and is currently an assistant to Anne Rice; the author of famous vampire novels.  I would like to have read more about his specific biography in his poems. 

What I noticed is that there is almost nothing of the world in the poems: no tulips or oaks, no birds or beasts, no mountains or streams.  And the world of human beings is mostly absent as well: no trucks or bridges, no houses or offices, no specific men, women, or children.  A few times Becket introduces the wider world through metaphor or simile; see the above poem that mentions grass and heather.  But that poem is unusual; it is one of the reasons why it is one of my favorites.  More typical is a poem like this:

78

Fear never

ends

my yearning to

end

the sickness in me

that spreads from me whenever I fail

to love.

The world of Pi Poems is about the author’s own fears and psychological, as opposed to sociological, difficulties and his hope of overcoming these limitations.  I believe that his approach to these poems is rooted in the literature of affirmations.  I have to confess that I do not find this type of literature attractive.  I know my limitations; this kind of writing always strikes me as self-absorbed.  On the other hand, I have friends who have benefitted greatly from the use of affirmations; so I recognize that it can have value.  If you are one of the many who find affirmations attractive and helpful (e.g. readers of Louise Hay or Wayne Dyer or the Hazeldon books of affirmations) you will probably be more receptive to the subject matter than I am.

My difficulty with Becket’s Pi poems is their abstractness and their psychological orientation.  The above poem about the interaction between fear and love is not placed in any specific incident; it remains a floating abstraction.  Perhaps it resonates with your own experience, perhaps not; it is not clear what I can do with it or what there is to learn from it. I am intrigued by this collection and its attempt to use a numerical series that never repeats, and wildly fluctuates, as the basis for a poetic form.  At times Beckett meets that challenge effectively; at other times my feeling is that it falls short.  On the other hand, I am not particularly inspired by the subject matter; it is too self-fascinated for me.  So in the end I am ambivalent.  I want to give it four stars for trying out a difficult form and, at times, succeeding with it.  But I have a two stars feeling for the subject matter.  As I said above, other readers might find the subject matter more agreeable.

I wonder if others will follow the lead given by Becket.  My feeling is that there is a yearning among 21^st century poets for form.  But that yearning is not met in MFA programs, Universities, official poetry journals, or in the numerous volumes of free verse that are churned out year after year.  But this yearning will find an outlet and one of those outlets is the emergence of various syllabic forms that an individual poet finds attractive.  There have been a lot of these offered since the eighties.  A few, such as the Fibonacci, have developed a following, along with the older Cinquain and syllabic Haiku.  It will be interesting to see if the form that Becket has presented in his Pi Poems generates a following.

Pi Poems – for the one who needs them . . .

By Becket

ISBN: 9781941240182

$5.99

Available from Amazon.

Book Launch: Even in Winter

Book Launch: Even in Winter

I have just published my latest collection of poems.  It is called Even in Winter.  In this collection I take a new turn in how I have put the poems together.  Previous collections have been form specific: either the entire book was dedicated to a single form (such as Microcosmos which is dedicated to renga, or White Roses dedicated to haiku), or each section of the book is form specific.  An example is Lanterne Light which contains three collections of poems and all three collections are form specific; the lanterne, the tetractys, and the cinquain.

In Even in Winter I have mixed the forms, so the collection is not form specific.  All the poems are formal, but the forms are interspersed and not grouped into form specific collections.

Five forms are used: Etheree, Fibonacci, Lucas, the Even Sequence, and 100 Friends.  These forms are explained as part of the back matter in a section called ‘Afterthoughts’.  I felt that the different forms worked well with each other because all five of the forms share a similar overall shape.  All of the forms start with very short lines and then expand into longer lines.  What differs among the forms is the pace of the expansion.  Here is a quick look at the syllable counts for the five forms used in the collection:

Etheree:               1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

Fibonacci:            1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21, etc.

Lucas:                  2-1-3-4-7-11-18-29, etc.

Even Sequence:   2-2-4-6-10-16, etc.

100 Friends:        2-4-2-4-6-4-6-8-6-8-10-8-10-12-10

I think of this collection as a kind of bouquet of forms.  Hopefully they are attractively arranged.  The collection covers a number of themes; nature and seasonality are central.  Spirituality and my commitments as a Quaker are woven into the collection, hopefully in a not too obtrusive way.  I think I would say that the overriding theme is the human relationship to eternity in an ephemeral world.

Even in Winter

ISBN: 9781514224649

118 pages

$12.00

The Sociology of Form

The Sociology of Form

I have been struck by the lack of celebrations in the American poetry community regarding the 100^th anniversary of the Cinquain.  The form first appeared in print 100 years ago in a posthumously published collection of its creator’s poetry, the poetry of Adelaide Crapsey.  It is a distinct contribution to the world of formal verse and since its appearance numerous poets have found it a congenial vehicle for poetic expression.  Yet, I have not heard of any sponsored celebrations of its presence.  For example, I have not heard of any University conferences devoted to the form, nor have I seen anything like a Norton Anthology devoted to the Cinquain.  There has been a Norton Anthology devoted to English Language Haiku, called Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years, published late last year.  But nothing by Norton or any other publisher for the Cinquain.

I think it is instructive that the HIE anthology emphasizes free verse haiku.  Though there are examples of syllabic haiku, the preponderance of entries take a free verse approach.  In addition, the editors in their essays are clearly sympathetic to a free verse approach.  Overall, the haiku anthology fits neatly into the esthetics of modernism.

This has given me an opportunity to pull together some stray thoughts I have had about what I think of as the ‘sociology of form’.  Specifically, I am referring to the type of people who seem to be attracted to the syllabic forms that have recently emerged in English language poetry.

The first observation is that the appearance of syllabic forms seems to me to be very much a reflection of popular interest as opposed to the interests of the elites.  I mean here that, with some exceptions, MFA programs, University English Departments, and similar institutions of the elites, are not the source of these syllabic forms. 

Adelaide herself is exceptional in this regard.  She was highly educated, went to Vassar and taught at Smith.  She also engaged in highly analytical examinations of English prosody.  If she had lived longer I suspect she would have been a significant presence in the academy.

But Adelaide is unusual in this regard.  The syllabic forms that have been created in the 80’s and onward seem to emerge from what I think of as a more working class background.  The rictameter was created by two cousins interested in poetry; one a fireman.  The tetractys was created by a British poet who wrote a large body of work, but was not of significant fame.  Both the fibonacci and the lanterne seem to have appeared in several different places at the same time, but were not created in an official or University context.  In general what I have noticed is that new forms are offered by those with a significant, and long term, interest in poetry, people who write poetry, people for whom poetry is an important presence in their lives, but are not of national or international status.  I am thinking of people like Etheree Armstrong Taylor and the creator of the Whitney.  They often do not have MFA degrees or are otherwise accredited.  They usually lack the kind of networks that help new poets break into print.  It seems, from what I have observed, that they may have a local following (at the County or State level), but have not entered into the national or international scene.

From the perspective of the University and official poetry magazines, like Poetry Chicago, the emergence of these syllabic forms is marginal or overlooked completely.  This is understandable.  Free verse dominates MFA programs and University literature departments, with a few significant exceptions.  But those exceptions are devoted to traditional metrical poetry.  I am not aware of a program at the University level that emphasizes a syllabic approach, or focuses on syllabic forms in English.  (Readers, please correct me if I am wrong.)  On the other hand, and this is significant, syllabic forms are taught in elementary schools.  For example, both the syllabic haiku and the cinquain are regularly taught to children.  Sometimes these forms are taught for didactic purposes (like clarifying grammar).  Sometimes they are taught in a highly simplified way because they are fun to do in the way that a game is fun to play.  One consequence of this is that many people have learned about these syllabic forms in congenial settings which bodes well for the future of these forms.

What I see in the emergence of syllabic forms in English is what I refer to as a ‘yearning for form’.  I think human beings enjoy creating form.  I think that is why people like to garden, compose tunes and sing songs, why they find carpentry satisfying, why they like to bake bread, etc.  I see the shaping of words into significant forms in the same light.  I think there is a spontaneous need for form and that this need gets instantiated in poetry with the creation of form.

For over a century the elites have emphasized free verse for English language poetry.  But my suspicion is that this runs against this almost biological need for form.  There is something truly satisfying about composing a well crafted poem in a form that others have used.  There is a feeling of connection and community when one enters such an approach.  There is also a sense of overcoming a challenge.  This aspect is similar to why human beings like to play games.  From hockey to chess, people like to be challenged by rule bound situations to see if they can live up to the challenge.  In poetry, this manifests as an acceptance of the rules for a form and then instantiating them in one’s own poetry.  Part of the thrill of writing, and reading, a sonnet, for example, is simply that one has been able to absorb the parameters of the form, to internalize them, and follow them out and still, amazingly, created something that others will enjoy.

From the reader’s perspective, formal poetry creates a sense of expectation on the part of the reader which, when met, is pleasing.  It is like knowing that a waltz will be have a certain time signature and then hearing that signature when listening to a new waltz.  Or it is like hearing a new song that uses a traditional song structure with verses and refrain.  In poetry, formal verse gives the reader an assist; the poet is taking the reader into account.  And, to a certain extent, flattering the reader by assuming the reader knows aspects of the form. 

This spontaneous appearance of syllabic forms in English has happened without official sponsorship.  From the perspective of official poetry organizations it is something that has happened under the radar.  In some instances it has happened even though official organizations have disapproved of it.  Specifically, the ongoing production of syllabic haiku has happened in spite of a concerted effort on the part of official haiku organizations to undermine the approach.  This indicates to me that the attractiveness of form is inherently compelling and can’t be ignored for too long.  My feeling is that the emergence of syllabic forms in 20^th century English poetry is an awakening to a dimension of poetry, the formal dimension of poetry, which had been dismissed and sidelined or ignored by elites.  What is intriguing is that this emergence of a formal dimension is taking place in a reconfigured context.  The movement of free verse had, and has, a strong ideological component to it.  This manifested as a dismissal of the relevance of the past for present day poets.  This created a break with the past in order to explore new ways of approaching poetry. 

One of the unforeseen consequences of breaking with the past is that the formal dimension of poetry can be uncovered in approaches that were not central to traditional English poetry.  One of these approaches is formal syllabic verse.  Formal syllabic verse is traditional in the sense that it accepts rules and regulations, relies on counting to shape a line, and views form as a positive means of expression rather than an impingement on individuality.  Formal syllabic verse is non-traditional in that it does not rely on metrics in the shaping of its forms.  This difference probably seems minor to a free verse poet because free verse poets do not want to be constrained by things like counting and both traditional metrics and formal syllabic verse constrain the poet through the mechanism of counting.  But I believe the difference between formal metrical verse and formal syllabic verse is audible; there is a different sonic presence and pacing between the two.  And it appears that some poets who are intrigued by the possibility of form in English verse are often attracted to the sonicscape offered by a syllabic context.

Syllabic poetry is still very new to the English poetic world.  But the fact that most of the interest in syllabics has emerged in a marginal, and unofficial, context says to me that it is emerging from strong roots.  Already we have seen a number of attractive blossoms.  The garden of English syllabic verse forms has only recently been planted and already that garden is attracting numerous visitors.  In a way, it is a hidden garden.  It is on the edge of the English speaking poetic world.  But when you have some time, come and take a look.  It is fresh and inviting and poets who visit this garden invariably find themselves enriched.

The Shapes of our Singing: Part 3

The Shapes of our Singing

By Robin Skelton

A Review: Part 3

In Part 3 of this review I am going to touch on a few other chapters from the book that focus on syllabic forms and then follow with some concluding remarks.

In the ‘Korean’ chapter Skelton discusses two forms; the Kasa (which I had not heard of before) and the Sijo.  The Sijo is a syllabic form that has developed a small following in the U.S. (I’m not sure about Europe).  It is a form that I have written in sparingly; I’m not sure why I have not been more attracted to it.  Skelton’s description is fuller than many of his discussions of syllabic forms; but, oddly, he ignores the overall line count, instead focusing on the 3 and 4 count subdivisions of the line.

I found the ‘Welsh’ chapter one of the best.  Skelton covers a large number of Welsh verse forms including various types of Englyn.  I have become very attracted to Welsh forms and have written in two of them.  The transmission of Welsh forms into English (Welsh is a Celtic language) raises some of the same problems that I noted in previous discussions about transmitting Chinese and Japanese forms.  Skelton opens the ‘Welsh’ chapter noting some of these difficulties.  He begins with a discussion of Welsh ‘Cynghanedd’, which are patterns of specific sonic structures; often having to do with the repetition of consonant sequences or the placements of different types of rhyme.  Cynghanedd is a major focus of Welsh poetry, but it is very difficult, almost impossible, to map these techniques onto English.   Skelton notes, “While not utilizing Cynghanedd in the following poems, I have followed the principles upon which it is based and made constant use of internal consonance, rhyme, and alliteration.” (Page 286)

That is the same resolution that I came to in my own approach to Welsh forms in English.  In a way, Cynghanedd remind me of Kireji in Japanese poetry.  Kireji, or ‘cutting words’, and their placement in Japanese forms, is a major topic of Japanese poetry.  However, there is no equivalent in English for kireji.  Some translators use punctuation to translate kireji on the grounds that kireji serve the function of distinguishing grammatical units.  That makes sense.  But kireji also carry emotional weight and it is often difficult to integrate the grammatical with the emotional.  My observation has been that most ELH poets have simply come to accept that kireji do not map onto English and leave it at that.  It is kind of like noting that tonal placement in Chinese is a significant factor of Chinese poetry, and then accepting that you can’t map that factor onto English.

What you can map onto English from the Welsh forms is the syllabic count of the lines and the rhyme scheme.  My experience has been that these two factors find an agreeable environment in English.  And Skelton seems to have taken a similar approach.  Skelton covers a remarkable 27 Welsh forms.  In each case he gives an example he has written in English and then briefly covers the ‘formula’ for the form at the conclusion of the poem.  This chapter is one of the best in the book; the syllabic patterns are clearly stated and the examples are well written.  My one criticism is that Skelton isn’t always as clear as I would like about how, in some Welsh forms, the end rhyme of line A is placed within the following line; not at the end.  Or how a word in line A that is not an end word, becomes the end rhyme for the following line(s).  This is a feature of Welsh poetry which is distinctive and very attractive; it is one of the reasons that I decided to use some of these Welsh forms.  Though Skelton does mention this procedure, he does not offer a schematic of how this interweaving of rhyme happens.  This, I believe, might leave the reader who is new to Welsh forms a little lost.  Still, it is a rich and rewarding chapter to read.

There are others chapters that lay out for the reader many examples of syllabic verse forms.  The chapter on ‘Irish’ forms is, like the chapter on ‘Welsh’, very thorough and rewarding.  And there are some fascinating syllabic forms that Skelton illustrates from ‘Spain’.  If you have an interest in syllabic verse this book has more syllabic forms, and illustrates them with examples, than I have previously found.  You will enjoy exploring this wide world of syllabics and, perhaps, find a form that inspires you personally.

In closing I want to note that in the chapter on ‘English’ verse forms Skelton lists only one syllabic form: the Cinquain.  This makes sense; English poetry is primarily metrical and therefore the forms Skelton discusses in this chapter are metrical forms (the same applies to his chapters on other languages which are primarily metrical).  Interestingly, Skelton divides Cinquain into unrhymed and rhymed.  He gives two examples of the unrhymed approach, which most people follow, and then follows with examples of a rhymed Cinquain form in which the rhyme scheme is A-B-B-B-A.  It works.  Personally, I’m a big fan of the use of rhyme in Cinquain, though I have not used this specific rhyme scheme.  But it was good to see a poet working with rhyme in this syllabic form.

The newness of syllabic forms in English is reflected in the absence of such forms as the Tetractys, the Etheree, the Fibonacci, and other recent examples.  These syllabic forms arose in the 80’s and it is unclear if they will have any staying power.  Skelton died in 1997, and I suspect that the emergence of these new forms was not something that appeared in his reading or among his acquaintances.  I wonder if he would have been interested in or attracted to them?

The Shapes of our Singing is an entertaining romp through the word of formal poetry.  For those of you who might be interested in metrical forms, there is plenty to study.  For those of us who are interested in syllabic forms in English, the book has a rich trove of possibilities.  Though the book, now and then, has its shortcomings, the enthusiasm shown for formal verse is contagious.  It is the delight that Skelton had in verse form, and his willingness to engage in those forms to the extent of actually composing poems in those forms, that makes the book so inspiring.

Shapes was published in 2002 and, as far as I can tell it is only available used.  Fortunately, a lot of used copies are listed at Amazon.  Pick up a copy if you have any interest in the world of poetic form.  Skelton has given all of us a gift, a doorway into the world of poetic forms from around the world that, I feel, will greatly enrich all who pour over its pages.

The Shapes of our Singing

Robin Skelton

ISBN: 0910055769

The Shapes of our Singing: Part 2

The Shapes of our Singing

By Robin Skelton

A Review: Part 2

In Part 1 I gave a general overview and briefly discussed Skelton’s take on the syllabic verse forms of China.  In Part 2 I want to touch on Skelton’s view of another country whose approach to verse is syllabic: Japan.

Skelton’s discussion of Japanese forms runs from page 218 to 226.  It is unusually thorough; he discusses 14 different Japanese forms, most of which are obscure or of historical interest only.  With the single exception of the ‘Iroha Mojigusari’, Skelton gives us an example, which is followed by the number of lines for the form and the syllable count for each line.

Skelton’s discussion of haiku is typical.  First he offers his example:

Gently on my cheek

the light kiss of my lover;

snowflakes in April.

Skelton then describes the haiku form:

“The Haiku is composed of three unrhymed non-metrical lines with the syllable count 5-7-5.  Haiku, traditionally, allude to the season of the year or to nature.” (Page 219)

Notice that Skelton defines haiku syllabically and simply maps the Japanese count onto the English syllable.  Skelton does this in a straightforward way, without alluding to any alleged linguistic differences between Japanese and English which would make such a mapping procedure problematic.  In other words, Skelton views the Japanese syllable and the English syllable as commensurable and comparable.  That is refreshing.  And, in my opinion, this is an accurate assessment of the two languages.  I am aware, though, that many ELH haijin, particularly those affiliated with what I refer to as ‘official haiku’, would find this approach to be deficient.

This is another good example of how a particular poet’s views will shape how that poet handles the transmission of a poetic form from one linguistic context to another.  The majority of haiku written in English follow Skelton’s procedure; they simply map the syllable count of the Japanese onto the English syllable.  A significant minority diverges from this procedure, arguing that the Japanese syllable and the English syllable are too different from each other to make such a direct mapping work.  Instead of the count, this group focuses on brevity and, often, juxtaposition, or the two-part structure of Japanese haiku, as the elements that need to be mapped onto an effective English version of haiku.

Interestingly, Skelton’s haiku is in two parts.  The second part is line 3, ‘snowflakes in April’.  I think it is a nicely ambiguous seasonal reference.  It is rare to have snow in April, but it does happen.  Because ‘April’ is a spring word, and ‘snow’ is a winter word, the third line dances a little bit with the seasonal parameter of traditional haiku.  Line 3 is a mild juxtaposition; it can be read as the seasonal context for lines 1 and 2, or as a metaphor for lines 1 and 2, or both. 

But notice that Skelton does not list the two-part structure as a defining element of haiku; it just happens that his haiku has these two parts.  Skelton defines haiku as having three lines of 5 7 5 with a seasonal reference.  This leaves open the possibility of single sentence haiku and list haiku as embodiments of the form.

Is the two-part structure an essential element for haiku, or is it an element that can be put aside?  It depends on the individual poet’s view.  As in the previous discussion on Chinese syllabics, what an individual poet absorbs and finds attractive will determine the parameters of the form as it appears in the new linguistic context.  Official haiku has focused on the two factors of brevity and juxtaposition, but opted to abandon counting.  Most haiku poets outside of those involved in official haiku organizations, in contrast, have defined haiku syllabically and have no difficulty doing so, but have opted to consider the two-part structure as a non-essential element of the form.

As in the discussion on the monosyllabic nature of Chinese forms, there is no objective way to determine which approach is correct.  And there is no reason why one group should be dismissive of the other group(s). 

For the syllabic poet Skelton’s chapter on Japanese poetry is rewarding.  Skelton discusses forms that are not well known in the west, as well as the more popular forms such as haiku and tanka (which Skelton refers to as waka).  Again, tanka is defined syllabically; as a five-line form with a count of 5-7-5-7-7.  For some reason Skelton’s further observations on waka are a little sketchy, or incoherent.  I’m not sure if that is due to faulty editing or Skelton’s own lack of acquaintance with the form.

But overall, the syllabic poet writing in English will find Skelton’s chapter on Japanese syllabic forms to be a useful addition to the growing body of works on syllabic prosody in English.

A Short Essay on Syllabics by Elizabeth Daryush: Part 2

A Short Essay on Syllabics: Part 2

Continuing with the short essay that Daryush wrote about a syllabic approach to English language poetry, in the next paragraph Daryush focuses on lineation.  Daryush writes,

“First, . . . the line-ending, the highest point of emphasis and tension, being no longer led up to by steps of regular stress, must be established and maintained by other means.”

In metrical verse there are three means for indicating a line break: 1) the metrical beat, 2) grammar, and 3) rhyme.  Daryush points out that in a syllabic approach we cannot rely on ‘steps of regular stress’ to indicate a line break.  Therefore, the other two must carry the weight and be relied upon to tell us that there is a line break.

Here I would like to point out that the meaning of a line break is that there is a caesura, a pause, in the flow of words.  Often it is where one would take a brief breath before continuing.  It is this caesura which gives the reader/listener a sense of the shape of the poem. 

This is also why, I think, in traditional English poetry a line begins with a capital letter.  The capital letter functions in the way that a bar line in music functions.  Technically music does not need bar lines and there are forms of notation that do not use them.  When I briefly studied Japanese music I discovered that their traditional notational systems do not use them.  But the bar line assists the musician by letting the musician know where the beat will fall, it is an explicit assist.  Similarly, the beginning capital letter of a line of poetry reminds the reader that this is the beginning of a poetic unit; in the case of syllabics it signals the reader that this is the beginning of a group of syllables.  It is simply helpful and considerate of the reader to offer this kind of assistance.

Returning to the essay, Daryush continues,

“The first few lines of a syllabic poem should when possible be complete sentences or phrases.”

The reason for this is that when grammatical structure and syllable count are coordinated the reader/listener is assisted in accessing the shape of the poem.  When the two are divergent, it is difficult for the reader or listener to perceive a shape with any clarity.  The effect of this is that the work drifts into ordinary speech, the essay, the diary, etc.; and the poetic effect is simply lost.

Daryush seems, as mentioned in part 1, to have in mind syllabic poetry where all the lines are the same length.  And her observation about grammar and line would apply strongly to that kind of poetry; say the syllabic sonnet.  Daryush, as far as I know, never wrote in forms that use a very short line.  I define a very short line as four syllables or less.  A remarkable number of popular syllabic forms use very short lines, including the lanterne, the tetractys, the fibonacci, and the cinquain.  How would Daryush’s advice function for a very short line?

Personally, I have taken the approach of writing a list, usually of nouns, when writing very short lines.  I believe this is consistent with the overall advice given by Daryush, though she does not mention it.  Each item on a list has its own integrity, a wholeness; but when combined with the other items creates an overall collage of meaning.  I found this especially helpful with the opening lines of the fibonacci (1-1-2-3 . . .).  I have, in general, found it unsatisfying when a sentence is chopped up and distributed among very short lines.  It feels forced and the specific shape of the form feels lost.  There are exceptions.  Dabydeen’s approach to the tetractys often takes a sentence and chops it up.  But Dabydeen is careful to distribute the sentence so that it falls into clear grammatical units or phrases, so that one can still feel the sense of the shape of the tetractys.  However, when, for example, a prepositional phrase is split among lines, this undermines the shape of the specific form and it is difficult for the listener/reader to comprehend what form the poem is in.  I have often observed this kind of writing in short syllabic forms and in general I think poets attracted to these forms might consider adhering more closely to Daryush's advice in this matter.  

“Rhyme is almost indispensable . . . “

Rhyme is the most powerful marker for communicating a line break in the English language.  I think that Daryush makes an excellent point here.  Personally, it was my study of Emily Dickinson that opened my understanding to the power and scope of rhyme.  For the syllabic poet rhyme is an indispensable tool.  A consistent use of rhyme will communicate to the reader/listener that shape of a poem.  In addition, rhyme is pleasing to the ear, people enjoy its presence, and it gives the poem a musical feeling.  Finally, rhyme makes the poem more memorable.

I wish I had read Darrush’s essay years ago.  Perhaps the long route I took to some of these same conclusions would have been shortened.  On the other hand, it is pleasing to discover that similar conclusions are reached regarding lineation when pursued independently.  My own journey started out in free verse and it was a slow process to a syllabic approach.  And that slow process was a gradual discovery that in order to write syllabic poetry it was necessary to put aside the norms of today’s free verse lineation. 

Modern free verse typically ignores grammar in a process that is referred to as radical enjambment.  This means that there is no coordination between grammatical structure and line breaks.  This is not an inherent quality of free verse.  For example, Whitman almost always breaks a line at a grammatical unit.  But it is a very widespread usage among today’s free verse poets.  I find it puzzling; it strikes me as fickle and arbitrary.  In addition, it seems to be thumbing its nose at the reader, refusing to offer even minimal assistance in the communication of meaning.  I’m not sure why radical enjambment is so widespread or how it started.  But I have become convinced that in order to write effective syllabic verse such an approach needs to be put aside.

This short little essay by Daryush reveals a very thoughtful poet who must have spent a lot of time pondering the subtleties of English language prosody.  It is filled with insight and tips which syllabic poets can apply to their own work.  It is my hope that Daryush’s poetry will be reprinted and that syllabic poets will find in her work both fine poetry and a rich resource for their own efforts.

Elizabeth Daryush on Syllabics: Part 1

A Short Essay on Syllabics by Elizabeth Darush

I have had a fondness for the poetry of Elizabeth Daryush for a long time.  However, my reading of her poetry has been from anthologies and the occasional poem I found on the web.  My interest in Daryush was first stimulated by coming across some of her syllabic sonnets.  I found them very attractive.  So, now and then, I would do a web search for her poems and was never disappointed with what I found.

Most of the poetry of Daryush is currently available only in used editions.  Recently I decided to buy her Collected Poems which was published in 1976.  It is a surprisingly slim volume; only 198 pages.  But that has its advantages as the collection gives the reader a good overview of her poetry.  I will have more to say about the poems in a future post, but what I want to highlight here is a short ‘Note on Syllabic Metres’, written by Daryush, found on pages 24 and 25.  I found it to be insightful and one of the clearest presentations of syllabics in an English language context that I have run across.  Here it is:

Note On Syllabic Metres

Some of the poems here re-printed are written on a syllabic system, and I should like to comment on what seems to be a wide-spread misunderstanding and under-estimate of what the principle implies: a strict syllable-count, although of course essential, is, in my view, merely the lifeless shell of its more vital requirements.

Accepting that not only a work of art but every aspect of its medium is intrinsically a contrived relation between the known and the uncomprehended, the fixed and the unpredictable, recalling, too, that in accentual verse, as in barred music, the fixed element is that of time, and the unfixed that of number (of syllables or notes) we can assess what part should be played by these factors in a truly syllabic system.  Here the position is reversed: the fixed element is no longer time but number; the integrity of line and syllable is challenged by the stress-demands of sense or syntax.  The aim of the artist will be so to balance these incommensurables as to reflect his own predicament of thought or feeling, thereby enhancing his consciousness of an imagined relation with the unattainable.  The rules for achieving this are by their very nature unwritten ones, but a few guide-lines can be laid down.

In general, meaning should make the greatest possible use of time-variety without losing sight of the number-pattern.  First, therefore, the line-ending, the highest point of emphasis and tension, being no longer led up to by steps of regular stress, must be established and maintained by other means.  The first few lines of a syllabic poem should when possible be complete sentences or phrases.  Rhyme is almost indispensable, but since it can be unaccented need be neither over-obvious nor monotonous.  The integrity of the syllable must be ensured by the avoidance of all dubious elisions.  Stress-variations are more effective in fairly short lines, and more easily obtained from those with an odd syllable-count, since here there is a choice of two equally accessible stress-counts.  Full advantage should of course be taken of the release from stress-restrictions, with their often unavoidable distortions of the natural speech-rhythm.  Inversions should now be used only for meaningful emphasis.

With these main principles in mind, the writer replaces the usual regular stress-waves by such other currents and cross-currents, such expectations and disappointments, as may further his purpose.  He may, for instance, introduce the same irregularities into the corresponding lines of a lyric’s every stanza; or he may repeat, often with great effect, in the last line of a poem, some startling upheaval in the first; or, again, he may use a similar break in a previously established pattern to express some violent change of mood or thought.  These and many similar devices will with practice become the instinctively chosen instruments of the poet whose ear is attuned to their possibilities.

Without them, there will be no poem.

E. D.

**

Here are some comments on the essay:

“. . . a strict syllable-count, although of course essential, is, in my view, merely the lifeless shell of its more vital requirements.”

I understand this to mean that Daryush is pointing out that a method of poetic construction does not guarantee attractive, or profound, results.  There is a dialectical dance between the learned constructive elements and the unpredictable elements; both of them are combined in a poem.  This is true for all artistic, or craft, methods: they do not guarantee beauty, insight, or depth.

“ . . . in accentual verse, as in barred music, the fixed element is that of time, and the unfixed that of number (of syllables or notes) we can assess what part should be played by these factors in a truly syllabic system.  Here the position is reversed: the fixed element is no longer time but number; the integrity of line and syllable is challenged by the stress-demands of sense or syntax.”

This is insightful and a useful analog to music.  Daryush is suggesting that accentual verse resembles the regular meter of music.  In a song that is in 4-4 time, the number of notes in a bar of four beats will vary: one bar might contain four notes, the next six notes, the next ten notes, etc.  But each bar will contain four beats.

Similarly, in metrical verse, each line will contain the same number of beats, but the number of syllables can vary.  For example, a poem written with four beats per line might have eight syllables if each beat consists of an iamb, or a combination of iambs and trochees.  If, however, one of the beats contains an anapest, the line will have nine syllables.  If one of the beats is a strong, single-syllable word, the line will contain seven syllables.  Even though the syllable count may vary, the four beats remains constant, just like in a song written in 4-4 time.

Daryush points out that syllabic verse reverses what is constant in a line.  In syllabic verse the number of syllables is constant, or determined, but the number of beats in the line can vary.  Musically, this resembles a melody in which the meter changes.  For example, a melody might have two measures of 4-4 time, followed by a measure of 3-4 time, then conclude with a measure of 6-4 time.  However, each measure would have the same number of notes.  For example, each measure could have three notes as follows: the two measures of 4-4 time would be quarter note, quarter note, half note; the measure of 3-4 time would be three quarter notes; and the 6-4 measure would be three half notes. 

Music like this is not very common.  But a few composers have, and do use, this kind of procedure now and then; Stravinsky and Prokofiev are two examples.  I am not aware of popular songs that use this procedure, but there might be some.  Musically you do hear this kind of flow, sometimes, in improvisational passages, where the musician is left to riff on a theme.

It should be pointed out that this analysis by Daryush only applies to syllabic forms that have lines that all share the same count.  Her analysis would apply to my quatrain poems, the ones were the syllable count is the same for all four lines.  But her analysis does not apply as well to those syllabic forms where the line count varies.  In my reading of Daryush’s poetry, I have come across few poems with varied syllable count.  As far as I know she did not write any cinquain or syllabic haiku; both of these forms vary the syllable count and the application of Daryush’s perspective here is more complicated.

Take, for example, the cinquain; a five-line form with a syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2.  It would be possible to compose a syllabic cinquain in which the first three lines all had the same number of beats.  You could do this by varying the metrics: line 1 would have two strong single syllables (something like ‘Stop!  Look!’), line two could be two iambs, and line three could be two anapests.  In this way you would have a steady rhythm moving from line to line, but it would apply to a varying syllabic count.  This is a possibility that syllabic verse can nourish or account for, one that would not be available to a cinquain understood as a metrical form with a gradually ascending number of beats (1 beat, 2 beats, 3 beats, 4 beats, 1 beat).

I have seen examples in the haiku of Hackett and Wright where the three lines all share the same number of beats, three beats, but I don’t know if this is conscious or simply a result of intuitive skill.  But again, there are examples found in a syllabic form, where the line count varies, in which the beats remain constant but the syllable count changes.

In spite of these limitations, I find the analysis Daryush offers to be useful and insightful.  It directly applies to syllabic forms in which the count of syllables is the same for each line.  This would mean forms like some syllabic quatrain forms (but not the Englyn Unodl Union, one of my favorite quatrain forms from Wales) and the syllabic sonnet.  Her analysis also applies to sequences of any syllabic form; and here I think the analysis is worth pondering.

When I read a syllabic form I prefer reading a group of them, rather than a single example.  My experience has been that there is a rhythm generated by the count that begins to emerge when reading a sequence of cinquain, or tetractys, or syllabic haiku, or syllabic tanka.  It is a kind of pulse that is unique to each syllabic form.

Yet there is also variety to the pulse; it isn’t always a simple repetition.  And Daryush’s analysis explains why that variation occurs.  If you read a sequence of cinquain, the syllabic count will be the same as you read one after the other, but the number of beats will change as one moves from one cinquain to another.  What I mean is, if you take line 3 of a cinquain, you will always have six syllables in the line.  One cinquain might have three beats (say 3 iambs), and the next cinquain might have two beats (say 2 anapests), and other variations are possible.  Thus when reading a sequence of cinquain (or syllabic haiku, syllabic tanka, or etc.) there is a constant in the number of syllables, but variation in the number of beats as one moves from poem to poem in the sequence. 

The effect of this, to my mind, mimics certain natural experiences.  I am thinking of watching the flow of a river as one example, where certain pulses in the stream reappear but with intriguing variations.  A sequence of syllabic verse offers the listener this opportunity to experience a kind of contrapuntal effect, where variation is experienced above the constant of the syllabic count.  I think this is a pleasing aspect of short syllabic forms when they are spoken aloud to an audience in sequence.  I first experienced this by reading such sequences myself in collections such as the old ‘Amaze’ journal devoted to the cinquain.  I also found it one of the more pleasing features of the haiku of Wright and Hackett.  And, of course, syllabic tanka also has this effect.  It was syllabic tanka, in translation, that really opened up this aspect of syllabic verse to me.  I think that is one reason why the classic anthologies of Japanese tanka have proven so durable.

More to follow in Part 2.