Let There Be Poiesis

After making that post I thought the name Hubert Dreyfus looked awfully familiar. He was one of the co-authors of All Things Shining, the book mentioned in the second paragraph.

He's also the guy who did the lectures on Moby Dick and The Odyssey I blogged about some time ago. Where he talked about how the ancient gods represented different moods or attitudes, and would possess people. It sounds like the book covers all of his lecture topics from that series. I think I need to get it. Much quicker to read it than to follow all those lectures.

Sorry, I'll be waxing all poetic and stuff in here pretty soon. Just had to say that.

Last night I finished an initial read-through of Mary Oliver's Poetry Handbook. It's a very small book, but packed with some real quality info. She goes into some detail (briefly and efficiently) about some aspects of word mechanics I hadn't heard of before. I'll definitely be studying from this.

Also Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil (Les Fleurs du mal) came in. Man, the guy was seriously dark and—depressed or something. And he seems to have loved evil and twisted stuff. A powerful poet though, even in translation. it's a new translation (at time of printing) by Richard Howard. Let me see if I can find an excerpt to drop in here—

To the Reader

Folly, depravity, greed, mortal sin
Invade our souls and rack our flesh; we feed
Our gentle guilt, gracious regrets, that breed
Like vermin glutting on foul beggars' skin.

Our sins are stubborn; our repentance, faint.
We take a handsome price for our confession,
Happy once more to wallow in transgression,
Thinking vile tears will cleanse us of all taint.

On evil's cushion poised, His Majesty,
Satan Thrice-Great, lulls our charmed soul, until
He turns to vapor what was once our will:
Rich ore, transmuted by his alchemy.

He holds the strings that move us, limb by limb!
We yield, enthralled, to things repugnant, base;
Each day, towards Hell, with slow, unhurried pace,
We sink, uncowed, through shadows, stinking, grim.

Source—from a translation by Norman R. Shapiro
​

He was saying this is the condition of modern man. Including himself, and including you, the reader. Not me though.

I'm curious about the meter here, it sounds really good, and seems to keep changing:

Fol ly, / de pra vi / ty, greed, / mor tal sin

I'm not sure where to put the breaks, and I don't think I've got it right yet. Maybe it's:

Fo lly, / de pra / vi ty, / greed, mor / tal sin

(I actually think I had it right the first time)


Key:

Iambic (dun DUN)
Pyrrhic (dun dun)
Trochaic (DUN dun)
I forget, but it's the limerick foot—"there ONCE was / a MAN from," or "the CIR cus / mc GURK us"
Anapest (dun dun DUN)

It's intriguing that the first line is so different from all the rest, which seem to be ordinary iambic pentameter, with maybe a slight variation here and there like a missing head or tail, or an extra head or tail syllable. Ok no, without breaking it down, it feels like some of the lines have a few rebel feet smuggled in, a trochee or an anapest or amphibrach here and there. It makes for some nice variation that gives it all a more complex and dense feel. Keeping entirely to one meter mechanically sounds flat and dull in comparison. This is much livelier.

Ultimately I don't think it matters if you can perfectly scan all the lines of a poem—if you're writing one just keep all these feet in mind. No need to remember what they're all called. After a while you write it more by feel, by rhythym. Especially if you're moving toward free verse and prose poetry like I am.

I just went back up and read the first stanza. It's incredible. The changes in each line, never the same from one line to the next. I might need to parse the stanza now to see what knavish trickery is this. Nah, just feeling the changing rhythms of it is good enough. I want to start to move away from technical breakdowns of feet and meter and do it more by feel.

Damn, check this out, just noticed it as I was editing my typo—littered post:

I might need to parse the stanza now to see what knavish trickery is this.​

That's some very similar kind of rhythm. Feels like an extra head syllable on the front. Ok, most of it is iambic. Toward the end it messes with my head though, with all the knavish trickery and all. First that's a very Fritz Lieber phrase, and second the meter is all weird.

Knav ish / trick er y ​

A trochee and a—what? An amphibrach cretic (DUN dun DUN). It's the opposite of an amphibrach (detailed explanation of amphibrach a few posts below). And with that, I'm dun.

I'm going to try one real quick, just by getting a rhythm into my head (the way I did it on the infamous Dub-Yeff Lyric Duels thread). Words are just place-holders, like when Paul wrote Yesterday but it was about eggs and ham:

I went to the bathroom and took a big dump
It stunk up the whole auditor'yum
And now that I've done it I see a big lump
I can't think of a rhyme for "itor'yum"​

Now to scan it and see what I got. It sounds all sing-songy, like a limerick, but a little different. Oh, immediately I can see I used the same meter for most of it that's in The Raven. dun DUN dun. Okay yeah, that's the Circus McGurkus one. The limerick meter. But my form is a little different from a limerick. What is "And took a big dump?" An Iamb followed by another limerick foot? Seems to be. No, "And took a" is still in limerick meter. "Big dump" is an iamb.

Oh wow, ok, the second line is almost identical, except it's missing the last syllable (few syllables actually, like a syllable plus a whole foot). If I wouldn't have put the apostrophe in Auditorium it would have been completely identical (no you idiot. It wouldn't). But dropping one syllable like that gives it a different feel, a little bit of complexity or variation. The last line is interesting and different. Two anapests and a limerick foot (i tor 'yum). I had to look up at the key from a few posts back to remember the names of these feet. It would be really handy to print out a sheet listing all the feet and tape it up next to my computer so I don't always have to look up the list online.

If you forget the words and just get the rythym going in your head, it comes from something I'm sure I've heard before, some song or verse or something. Like a nursery rhyme. Ok, a lot like "There was an old lady who lived in a shoe." At least that line is the same. I need to try putting different words to Baudelaire's verses.

Next time I'll start with an iambic base and build anapests and dactyles and trochees and the like into it, trying to maintain more of that solemn, dignified feel the Baud-meister got here. Probably should change my subject matter too.

A simpler way to look at it—my first line (in my made-up-on-the-spot verse) is four limerick feet (da dump da) but the last one is missing the final syllable. The second line is only three limerick feet, but all complete. It isn't even important to know the name or have an identifier for the type of foot, you just need to understand the sound or the rhythm of it—da DUMP da.

If you've seen the Dub-Yeff Lyric Duels thread, I was listing songs under each of mine that served as inspiration, often by Springsteen or The Beatles. The way I'd do it was to get a song in my head and then change the lyrics. But I think sometimes I'd intuitively also change a few feet here and there, whatever sounded good. it's like, since we've all heard so many songs (and quite a few poems and verses) we've already internalized the structures of them and the rules for inventing or modifying those structures. Easy, just get some little ditty in your head that has a pleasing rhythm and put your own words to it. Just make sure the words all fit properly into the feet. You can tell when something doesn't fit, it sounds off or flat.

So working this way, you don't start by thinking about iambs or anapests or dactyls, you start with a little song or rhythm or a known poem in your head, you modify it a little if you want to, and start trying to find phrases (not individual words) that fit it. It's exactly what you do anytime you make up a joke version of a song. Working this way at first you'll probably end up with some cliched lyrics, but keep modifying them to improve them. At this point you can work word by word, and probably need to if you want to craft something really good. I supopose you can also modify the rhythm itself, but that would probably necessitate changing a lot of the words within it. Probably best to come up with your rhythm first and then start playing with words that fit it. Then of course you can start modifying individual lines of it as well, to get that variation in.

I probably need to read a lot of iambic and other dignifird, poetic meters to internalize them. It's not as easy because they aren't set to music, and we haven't heard them over and over the way we have songs. Or nursery rhymes or simple children's poems.

I've started to internalize some of the poetic feet like anapests and trochees, to the point that I can remember the names, or if I see the names I know what their rhythm is. Lol, I always remember anapest, because I wrote a little verse about it:

A foot with three syllables, stress on the third, I joked that it's called a tricorder. ​

Hah! Looking back at my original poetry thread, I got that somewhat wrong, but it works better as a memory device this way, because it's all just one line now. It isn't written in anapests, actually they're limerick feet for the most part, but because it's a pleasing little ditty I can remember the words, and those tell me what an anapest is. Ann—a pest (not to be confused with Bud—a pest). Because I invented that and it's clever and silly, I can clearly remember it. This was one of the purposes of poetry in the first place, to make it possible to memorize important ideas before there was written language. Putting things into memorable little verses is an early version of a mnemonic or memory trick. I'll always remember Ankara is the capitol of Turkey because I came up with the device of a turkey running around on the deck of a ship carrying a huge anchor. That's a funny and startling visual, somehow those seem to work as well as verses. Though just now I wrote Angkor rather than Ankara, so it doesn't work perfectly. Hey it's been like fifty years since I invented it! Not too shabby I'd say, and for thirty of those years I could probably remember it right.

So my job now is to read a lot of iambic pentameter and blank verse (iambic pentameter that doesn't rhyme at line ends).

I can also remember amphibrach (da DUN da), because amhibians are built that way—big and humped in the middle and tapering toward both ends (turtles, toads etc). I also equate the Amphi part with Ambidextrous, meaning able to use either hand equally well. That sets me up to think of it as something in the mdidle (the body) and something on each side (the hands). And the body is bigger, and goes higher (think the bathroom symbols) than the hands. It's the same shape. Then the Amphibian thing pops into my head, and I picture the way toads and turtles are built. It sounds complicated, but it's instantaneous, all these images and ideas just pop into my head almost immediately. I guess the trick is to come up with good memorable ones in the first place. And it strikes me this all works the same way my character mashing technique does. You can cram a whole bunch of ideas into your mind, and the unconscious absorbs them and fashions them into one thing (a whole) that you can remember and use, that comes alive in your head (that's a characteristic of the unconscious—everything in it is alive and connected).

The reason I'm talking about all this (memory tricks etc) is because I can see the value in knowing all the meters by name and immediatly knowing what rhythm each one is. That would of course be ideal. I just think you can work quite well without knowing all the strange latin names, just by feel (the way I generally do things).

Oh, one other thing that helps me remember what an Amphibrach is is Walt Simonson's signature:

​

Originally he did it horizontally and would make it look like a brontosaurus, one end the head and the other end the tail. Wish I could find that one (maybe I can?). It's still a bronto, you can see the little head on the far right side. It's just a lot more stylized now. Actually it kind of looks like a snail too. Are they amphibians? I know they can live on land or in the water. Nope, they're actually mollusks. Dammit reality, why do you have to be so complicated, and not conform to my little ideas? That would be so much better!

All of this just comes up as part of the mix when I think about the shape of amphibians (I know, brontos are repltiles, and imaginary ones at that, but they're the same shape. And seeing their shape stylized like this into a signature is a lot like seeing the shape of a turtle turned into a metrical foot).

The Origins of Free Verse has arrived. Too tired to post anything about it.

Trying to create some memory devices for these metrical feet
Oh wow I just realized, I said I always remember the Amphibrach, and yet whenever I see one I just call it the Limeric foot, or the Circus McGurkus foot—"There ONCE was / a MAN from." I guess I can't remember it backwards (make that couldn't, something tells me I'll be able to now). But when I saw the word amphibrach I'd get that humped shape in my head, high in the center and low at both ends. Now that I've thought it through all the way I expect to be able to do it backwards too—see a 'limerick foot' and immediately know this is an amphibrach (an amphibious brachiosaurus, which I believe is the real name for what was once called a Bronto, right? So that actually ties in Mister Simonson's signature perfectly). Amphibious and ambidextrous because it can just as easily go either way (like a Push-me Pull-you). Forward or backward. Toward the head or the tail. After all, dinsoaurs had tiny little brains, and they had a separate one for the tail. Lol I might just be muddying up the water now though. None of this helps with a memory device. Just keep in mind Amphibian (like a toad or a turtle, high and humped in the middle, low on both sides) and a Brachiosaurus (like Walt Simonson's signature, which looks like a brachiosaurus and ALSO like a toad or a turtle) (or a snail).

Yeah, I think that'll do the trick. That solves two of the mysteries—what is an Amphibrach and what is the name of the limerick foot. Turns out they're the same thing. So it also reduces the numer of remaining mysteries. Only a few more left and I'll know the names of all the important metrical feet. I need to review and test myself a few times on the ones I think I know.

• Anapest? Easy—"A foot with three syllables, stress on the third, I joked that it's called a Tricorder." I remember the name of it because the name of that poem is Ann—a pest (not to be confused with Bud—a pest).

• Trochee? The backwards Iamb—two syllables, stress on the first one. Luckily the phrase Ok ie / dok ie / art i / chok y is made entirely of trochees (just realized that one). By great good fortune, the word Trochee is also a trochee.

• Iamb—I never needed a memory device for that one. Unfortunately the word Iamb is a trochee rather than an iamb. But if you make sure to always pronounce it like in Iambic, the stress there is on the Am, the seconnd syllable. If you now erase the third syllable it becomes an iamb. Not sure that's a great device, but I think it would work for me. Just—whenever you see or think the word iamb, say it like i AM. That way it becomes an iamb in your own inner lexicon.

That's enough for now. You don't want to try to memorize a bunch of these in a row, they'd wipe each other out of your brain. Just pick one, work on it for a while, and test yourself a few times each day. You should be able to learn one each day, or maybe two (or even three). But I'd only do like one an hour or something. Keep them distinct and separate in your mind.

Also just realized—you could do the same trick with Amphibrach and Anapest. They're both trisyallbic feet, meaning they have three syllables, and the names are also tri-syllabic. Just start pronouncing them as what they are.

• am / PHIB / rach (like "a rib rack")
• an / a / PEST (like antipast-o, just without the o)

Get those pronunciations firmly set in your mind, always say them that way, maybe even make it a mantra and repeat it over and over for a while to set them in there firmly. And whenever you see the words you say them that way (internally) and also instantly call up the visual or poetic memory devices. These things should all hit you in the brain at the same time—it's the way memory tricks work. A certain word becomes a trigger that unleashes whatever memory device you programmed in there.

A good resource to use in figuring out the feet and meters is the Wiki page on metre (poetry).

It's handily divided up into sections for the disyllables, trisyllables, and tetrasyllables. I haven't even started to look into tetrasyllables yet (maybe that's why I can't figure out how to scan certain parts of certain poems?). There are also one or two trisyllables I haven't worked down into my brain yet. I think they're pretty rare, or I would have encountered them by now. There are probably a few I have encountered that I decided I wasn't ready for yet, like when I first ran across the amphibrach and said "I'm not even going to look that one up—it's one of those trick feet." A little later I broke down and looked it up, and now it's a regular part of my knowlege of poetry.

I did just notice this on that page though, and this will be easy to memorize, because it's just the opposite of one we've already got a memory device for—

• The Amphimacer. Three syllables, first and last one stressed, middle one un-stressed. DUN da DUN ("Grab my gun!" "Kick his face!" "Oh my God!")

So it's the anti-Amphibrach—an amphibrach flipped upside-down.

The Amphibious Brachiosaurus—high and humped in the middle, low on the ends (like a turtle)—remember him? Well, maybe he got maced by some passing knight and now is lying on his back, so he's the opposite of what he normally is—low in the middle (maybe his whole midsection deflated like a ballooon in a cartoon, or he's lying in a depression in the ground) and high at both ends. Or maybe the knight hit him in the center of the humped back with his mace, and he spasmodically raised his head and tail.

It's also called a Cretic (which apparently is pronounced "Critic"). I could see coming up with a memory trick for that one. Like maybe the Amphibious Brachiosaurus was cruising around in dinosaur-land when suddenly a critic jumped on his back, and was so huge and heavy (the weight of all his criticism of the dino's poetry) that he sagged in the middle and then spasmodically raised his head and tail. Because the critic, wearing his armor, is hitting him again and again with his critical mace. I always picture these as cartoons, it just works way better. Simple and to-the-point, unlike reality.

Another way to remember it might be it includes the term Amphi, which links it to the amphibrach, and means amphibious or ambidextrous—capable of going either way (left handed or right handed, or going in the water or on land). It has two sides and a middle. The middle is either humped and high or it's depressed and low. The fact that it includes the term 'amphi' means both sides are at the same level—either high or low, and of course that means the middle (the body) is the opposite. So either the middle is high and both sides are low, or the opposite. That's pretty simple.

The Ode Less Traveled, by Stephen Frye, has arrived, along with a book by Rimbaud collecting A Season in Hell, The Drunken Boat, and Illuminations. He's considered the father of prose poetry.

I just read a little of Rimbaud's (which apparently is pronounced like Rambo—no, for reals!) The Drunken Boat. I wanted to try to find an online copy I might pilfer from and post a snippet here, but all I've found so far is a translation I don't like as much. In the book it's translated by Lionel Abel—the one I found on the Poetry Foundation is by Walter Fowlie. I suppose I'll be typing up a few stanzas myself here in a bit. But in all the searching I also ran across some good info about him and the poem on Wikipedia.

I hadn't yet realized the poem is written from the point of view of the boat—I thought it was a dude in a boat, who was drunk. No, the boat being drunk means it's partially filled with water, It's just drifting freely around on the ocean witnessing by turns immense beauty and atrocities, like the carcass of a whale, rotting, trapped in fishing nets, and drown'ed men. But also "the yellow-blue alarum of phosphors singing."

Other interesting factoids—Rimbaud was sixteen when he wrote it, it's considered a masterpiece of French Romanticism and Symbolism. He was greatly inspired by Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil as well as the newly-published Twenty Thousand Leagues Beneath the Sea. And scenes in Rimbaud's po'm are based to some extent on scenes from Verne.

... And parts of that are written in iambic, doubtless with an anapest or two, and now and then I'm sure you'll find a trochee or another metric foot enfolded in the mighty mega mix for you to view.

Hey, this is fun! I'm already play'ng around with something like prose poetry, just winging it and fixing anything that doesn't seem to fit the fu-fu-fu feelies.