Form and Meaning
A teacup has a particular form which is intimately related to its function. Loosely speaking, a teacup has a shape that can hold liquid and is small enough to hold easily in one hand. We recognize a teacup because of its form and the meaning of teacup, which is its function, is that form.
Some musical forms also display this kind of intimate relationship between meaning and form. This is particularly true of dance music. A dance form like a waltz has a particular form because its meaning is to act as a basis for a certain kind of dance. Thus meaning and form mutually interpenetrate.
The meaning of poetic forms, like sonnet, villanelle, tanka, etc. are not as easy to spot. This is because the function of poetic forms is not immediately clear in the way that the function of a teacup is clear, or the function of a dance form in music is clear. If I consider what the meaning of the form of a teacup is, I can easily access that meaning; the relationship between meaning and form is apparent. If I consider what the meaning of the form of sonnet is, I find that a more difficult question to answer.
But I think it is a question that is worth pursuing. Larry Gross wrote in the 1995 Tanka Splendor, “A form evolves and persists over time because it does certain things exceedingly well.” The Japanese Tanka has a written history of over 1300 years and its form has remained constant during those centuries. The sonnet has a history of about 800 years and its form has retained a sense of constancy during those centuries. Both of these forms do something “exceedingly well” which is why people are attracted to them, continue to mold their poetry to them.
But what is it that a persistent poetic form does? How can we access the meaning of the form in the way that we access the meaning of more concrete and functional forms, like a teacup? One approach is to start with the length of the form. Contrast, for example, the length of the sonnet with the length of the tanka. The sonnet is 14 lines with an overall syllable count of 140 syllables. The Tanka is five lines with an overall syllable count of 31 syllables. As many commentators have observed, the sonnet is the length of a typical English paragraph. It is well suited to presenting an argument; not argument in the sense of a logical argument, rather argument in the sense of presenting a view. An opening statement can be followed by examples, or metaphors illustrating that statement. There is time and space enough in a sonnet to make a fairly complete presentation of an idea.
In contrast, the tanka, simply by being short, lacks the time and space to present an argument. In such a short form it is difficult to go through all the steps of presenting a view, backing it up with examples or metaphors, and then coming to a conclusion. What a short form like the tanka is good at is the presentation of an image, or images and allowing that presentation to resonate in the reader. Many commentators on tanka have referred to this as a kind of “space”, or “dreaming room” that surround a tanka. Tanka does this superbly and one reason it is so attractive is that the form itself leads in the direction of a presentational approach, rather than an argument/view approach.
So part of the meaning of a poetic form lies in the overall length of the form. It is helpful in exploring meaning and form in poetry to start with two forms that are sharply distinct; like sonnet and tanka. From there one can move to an investigation of forms that share more characteristics.
The other day I was having a conversation with a poet friend when I brought up the cinquain. He had not heard of it, so I explained that it was created by Adelaide Crapsey and it has the syllabic structure of five lines with a syllable count as follows: 2-4-6-8-2; for a total of twenty-two syllables. My friend, Karl, pondered this for a moment and said, “That has a very different feel than the tanka.” “How so?” I asked. Karl said that the closing line of two syllables seemed to be strongly “cadential”, like the last chord in a piece of music. The cinquain at first opens up, then comes to a strong close with the last two syllable line. In contrast, the tanka has a feeling of opening at the end, more like a river entering the ocean, with the closing two lines of 7-7.
I found Karl’s comments helpful and I think these kinds of intuitions can help us understand the connection between meaning and form in poetry. Discussions of meaning and form in poetry will, I think, always be somewhat tentative. Unlike the clear connection between the form of a teacup and its meaning, the connection between the form of a poem and its meaning is more subtle. But it is still there and investigations into the relationship can prove fruitful.
Returning to the discussion of the short forms, such as the tanka and the cinquain, I would add into this mix some of the traditional Chinese forms. For example, there is a Chinese form that consists of four lines, seven characters per line, for a total of 28 syllables/characters. (For a collection written in this style see “Poems of the Masters”, translated by Red Pine, pages 181 through 367.) The syllable count falls between the cinquain, at 22 syllables, and the tanka, at 31 syllables. One difference is the number of lines, four lines for the Chinese form, five lines for the cinquain and tanka. But for me the most significant difference is that the Chinese form has a regular line length, while the cinquain and tanka change line length through the poem.
The regular line length in the Chinese form (and all Chinese forms I am familiar with have regular line length) gives Chinese poetry a sense of balance and elegance. The tanka, in contrast, flows, seems to move forward, it seems to be in motion. The Chinese form feels more like a picture to me. This difference is subtle, yet at the level of feeling, at the level of pulse, there is a definite difference.
What I am suggesting here is that a particular form in poetry has meaning that transcends any particular poem in that form. I am suggesting that the form of the sonnet is a kind of meaning, and that the form of the tanka is kind of meaning, independent of the content of a particular sonnet or tanka.
What has happened in modern approaches to poetic form is that form and meaning have been separated. This is particularly true when we consider Japanese forms in the English language. The form of Japanese poetry has, to various degrees, been abandoned. It is my contention that when the form of a type of poetry is abandoned, the meaning of that form is also abandoned. That is to say, when the form of haiku is abandoned, the haiku itself has been abandoned; when the form of a tanka has been abandoned, tanka itself has been abandoned, etc.
This would not be a difficult point to understand with pottery. For example, if someone offered you a flat tile and told you it was a teacup, you might laugh, but because the form lacked the meaning of teacup, such an assertion would not be taken seriously. Even if the tile was beautiful, it’s still not a teacup. In poetry, however, because the connection between form and meaning is more tenuous, more difficult to access, such a separation can be attempted without such an attempt being immediately dismissed.
What I am suggesting is that the forms of haiku, tanka, and renga (the three forms English speakers have taken an interest in) are meaningful as forms in themselves, as syllabic structures, that those forms have meaning in the same way that the form of a teacup has meaning. This contrasts with the primary societies devoted to these forms which seem to encourage an approach to these forms which abandons the syllabic bases of these forms, deferring to free verse norms. It is my suggestion that, to a significant extent, the transmission of these forms to the English-speaking world is the transmission of the syllabic forms because the meaning of those types of poetry is the form that they embody.
It is interesting for me to observe that most poets have an intuitive understanding of this connection. Outside of the official societies devoted to these forms, almost all poets write haiku or tanka in a way that affirms the traditional syllabic form. A good example is “The Calligraphy of Clouds” by Yeshaya Rotbard, published in 2007. The haiku and tanka included in this volume, excellently crafted, are syllabically rooted in the traditional form from which they derive. From the haiku of Richard Wright to such modern collections, there is a large body of English language poetry, rooted in Japanese poetic forms, that consistently finds the traditional syllabic contours meaningful and definitive.
I’d like to conclude with another observation Larry Gross made in the 1995 Tanka Splendor: “While the tanka seems to thrive on innovative content, it is less clear whether drastic alterations of form are equally welcome.. . . [T]he genre has remained remarkably consistent in form and technique through the centuries. When we treat it as any other 5-line verse, . . . we may be blurring an important distinction.”
Showing posts with label Syllabics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Syllabics. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Syllabics 8
In the early 90's Jane Reichhold began the Tanka Splendor Awards. This is a yearly contest that Tanka poets enter and it was a major stimulus for the emerging interest among English language poets in Tanka. Each year there was a judge for the entries. In 1995 Larry Gross was the judge. In the Introduction to the published winners, Gross wrote, "A form evolves and persists over time because it does certain things exceedingly well. The sonnet, vilanelle and even limerick are often-cited examples in the western tradition. Tanka is a worthy addition to that list." I would add that Renga is a worthy addition to that list as well.
This is a difficult position to maintain today because of the dominance of free verse views. I think, though, that Gross touched on something that is worth contemplating. Renga has evolved and changed over time. The main change in Renga has been in the number of verses involved in a Renga. There has been a steady shrinking of the number of verses from the standard of 100 Verses which dominated in the medieval period and in the Renga of Sogi, to the 36 Verse form that was the hallmark of Basho's efforts, to modern 12 Verse forms such as the Shisan and Junicho, highlighted on this blog. On the other hand, there are certain features of a Renga which have been maintained over the entire course of the history of Renga and I think the reason they have been maintained is because these particular features make it possible for Renga to do what it does "exceedingly well."
Among the features that have been maintained are 1) seasonal reference, and 2) topical references that include the moon, love, and blossoms. In addition, the manner in which Renga is written, with careful attention to link and shift, has been a constant throughout its history.
The above features are notable, but there is one additional feature which I think is worth mentioning, and that is that Renga has maintained its syllabic form throughout its long history. That is to say the sequence of verses alternates so that every odd numbered verse is 5-7-5 syllables and every even numbered verse is in 7-7 syllalbes. I think this is a feature of Renga which has not been emphasized enough.
The impact of having a standard syllabic form in Renga is that such a standard syllabic form provides a unity to the flow of images; it holds the images together at the level of rhythm. For the most part, westerners have not tried to mimic the standard syllabics of Renga. I would like to suggest that western Renga poets give the standard syllabics a try. This particularly applies if the Renga is done by a group. When all the poets in a participation Renga agree to a syllabic form, this, again, provides an underyling rhythmic unity to the images and voices being presented. It's a steady flow communicated to the reader.
I refer to this rhythm as the Tanka Pulse. I call it the "Tanka Pulse" because it is rooted in the Tanka form of Japanese poetry. Renga grew out of Tanka in a natural way and adopted the syllabic structure of Tanka.
Under the influence of free verse views, the pulse of a Renga is lost because line length can vary dramatically from image to image. The result is, often, like a series of snap-shots, or a stop action movement, rather than a steady, pulse driven, movement from image to image. The Tanka pulse continues through the inbetweens of the verses. This is where formal syllabic verse has an advantage over free verse linneation, and I think for Renga in particular the virtues of a steady, formal, linneation can be heard clearly when reading a Renga. There emerges a kind of musical quality, a rhythmic coherence, from adopting the traditional syllabic countours of traditional Renga.
This is a difficult position to maintain today because of the dominance of free verse views. I think, though, that Gross touched on something that is worth contemplating. Renga has evolved and changed over time. The main change in Renga has been in the number of verses involved in a Renga. There has been a steady shrinking of the number of verses from the standard of 100 Verses which dominated in the medieval period and in the Renga of Sogi, to the 36 Verse form that was the hallmark of Basho's efforts, to modern 12 Verse forms such as the Shisan and Junicho, highlighted on this blog. On the other hand, there are certain features of a Renga which have been maintained over the entire course of the history of Renga and I think the reason they have been maintained is because these particular features make it possible for Renga to do what it does "exceedingly well."
Among the features that have been maintained are 1) seasonal reference, and 2) topical references that include the moon, love, and blossoms. In addition, the manner in which Renga is written, with careful attention to link and shift, has been a constant throughout its history.
The above features are notable, but there is one additional feature which I think is worth mentioning, and that is that Renga has maintained its syllabic form throughout its long history. That is to say the sequence of verses alternates so that every odd numbered verse is 5-7-5 syllables and every even numbered verse is in 7-7 syllalbes. I think this is a feature of Renga which has not been emphasized enough.
The impact of having a standard syllabic form in Renga is that such a standard syllabic form provides a unity to the flow of images; it holds the images together at the level of rhythm. For the most part, westerners have not tried to mimic the standard syllabics of Renga. I would like to suggest that western Renga poets give the standard syllabics a try. This particularly applies if the Renga is done by a group. When all the poets in a participation Renga agree to a syllabic form, this, again, provides an underyling rhythmic unity to the images and voices being presented. It's a steady flow communicated to the reader.
I refer to this rhythm as the Tanka Pulse. I call it the "Tanka Pulse" because it is rooted in the Tanka form of Japanese poetry. Renga grew out of Tanka in a natural way and adopted the syllabic structure of Tanka.
Under the influence of free verse views, the pulse of a Renga is lost because line length can vary dramatically from image to image. The result is, often, like a series of snap-shots, or a stop action movement, rather than a steady, pulse driven, movement from image to image. The Tanka pulse continues through the inbetweens of the verses. This is where formal syllabic verse has an advantage over free verse linneation, and I think for Renga in particular the virtues of a steady, formal, linneation can be heard clearly when reading a Renga. There emerges a kind of musical quality, a rhythmic coherence, from adopting the traditional syllabic countours of traditional Renga.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Syllabics: 7
I’ve worked in retail for quite a few years. Sometimes when someone makes a purchase they reject the pennies and ask the store to “pass them on” to another customer who might be short a penny or two. Say the change is $1.37; such a person will accept the $1.35, and then offer the two cents, the two pennies, in such a manner.
Sometimes when a customer is due change that is close to a round number, the cashier will give the customer a rounded up version of the change instead of the exact change. Say the change due to the customer is $5.49. Sometimes the cashier will give the customer $5.50 instead. The cashier might do this for a number of reasons. Perhaps the cashier has been given pennies by previous customers as outlined above. Perhaps the cashier is short of pennies. Perhaps the cashier is in a rush and can save a few seconds with the simpler change. Perhaps the customer is a friend.
These are examples of counting, but the final results of the counting are approximations. Such approximations are common in counting. In everyday encounters we often offer approximations instead of exact numbers. For example, I might say that I saw someone “about two weeks ago”; and people understand that this is an approximation, probably because I can’t remember the exact date and time.
In syllabics the same kind of principle applies. One starts with a count for a poetic form, but the specific circumstances of the poem may modify the count. If the count is accentual, and the poet is writing in iambics, an anapest substitution will generate an extra syllable and this is considered acceptable. On the other hand, a poet might shorten an accentual line by a syllable or two for emotional effect, or to pick up the pace of the poem.
In strictly syllabic forms, the force of ordinary speech might push the line beyond the normative boundaries a syllable or two. Or, as in accentual verse, a line might be shortened to pick up speed or heighten emotional effect.
As in counting change, the poet starts out with a specific result in mind. As in counting change, specific circumstances can modify that count.
Sometimes when a customer is due change that is close to a round number, the cashier will give the customer a rounded up version of the change instead of the exact change. Say the change due to the customer is $5.49. Sometimes the cashier will give the customer $5.50 instead. The cashier might do this for a number of reasons. Perhaps the cashier has been given pennies by previous customers as outlined above. Perhaps the cashier is short of pennies. Perhaps the cashier is in a rush and can save a few seconds with the simpler change. Perhaps the customer is a friend.
These are examples of counting, but the final results of the counting are approximations. Such approximations are common in counting. In everyday encounters we often offer approximations instead of exact numbers. For example, I might say that I saw someone “about two weeks ago”; and people understand that this is an approximation, probably because I can’t remember the exact date and time.
In syllabics the same kind of principle applies. One starts with a count for a poetic form, but the specific circumstances of the poem may modify the count. If the count is accentual, and the poet is writing in iambics, an anapest substitution will generate an extra syllable and this is considered acceptable. On the other hand, a poet might shorten an accentual line by a syllable or two for emotional effect, or to pick up the pace of the poem.
In strictly syllabic forms, the force of ordinary speech might push the line beyond the normative boundaries a syllable or two. Or, as in accentual verse, a line might be shortened to pick up speed or heighten emotional effect.
As in counting change, the poet starts out with a specific result in mind. As in counting change, specific circumstances can modify that count.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Syllabics: 6
Syllabics: 6
English poetry is often divided into two great types. The first is Formal Poetry and it is thought of as the norm for most poetry written in English. I have read that as much as 75% of English language poetry is Formal Poetry. Formal Poetry is distinguished as accentual and its primary metrical usage is iambics, and among possible iambics, iambic pentameter dominates.
The second great tradition is Free Verse. Free Verse is not new. For example, the King James Version of the Psalms is Free Verse and has had a continuous influence on English poetry since making its appearance. But it is only since the late 19th and early 20th centuries that Free Verse has been a self-conscious movement. Free Verse dominates a lot of the discussion of modern poetry and is particularly dominant in Universities, though there are exceptions.
I would like to suggest a three-fold division of English language poetry. The three-fold division would be: 1) Formal Accentual Verse, 2) Formal Syllabic Verse, and 3) Free Verse. Formal Verse is poetry that uses counting as a means of organizing its syllables and words. Formal Accentual Verse is poetry that counts stressed syllables as its primary form of organization. Formal Syllabic Verse is poetry which counts syllables only, and ignores whether or not the syllables are stressed or unstressed.
One could look at this as a two-fold division with Formal Verse having two sub-categories, instead of a three-fold division. Either way works.
Formal Syllabic Verse, in terms of the quantity of poetry written, is the smallest of the three types of English language poetry. It is also, I think, the newest of the three. Nevertheless, there is an interesting body of poetry written in a Formal Syllabic manner in the English language. It includes work from the following poets: Dylan Thomas, Adelaide Crapsey, Richard Wright, Neal Henry Lawrence, a few poems by Richard Wilbur, a few poems by Mary Jo Slater, Thom Gunn, and J. V. Cunningham. I’m sure there are many others.
Japanese poetry is Formal Syllabic Poetry. That is to say Tanka, Haiku, and Renga are all Formal Poetry in that they rely on counting to shape syllables and words into their respective specific forms. Japanese poetry is syllabic (like French poetry) in that it only counts syllables, and does not count stresses, as Accentual Formal Poetry does in English.
Interest in Japanese poetry among English language poets has tended to reject the idea of using Formal Accentual procedures for Japanese forms in English. Though there were some early attempts in this direction, those interested in Japanese forms have almost universally rejected them. This makes sense since Japanese do not count stresses. Seeing English language poetry in terms of either Formal Accentual or Free Verse, English language poets have tended to opt for free verse as the type of poetry which is closer to Japanese norms than Formal Accentual approaches. Again, this makes sense if those are the only two options one considers.
There is, however, a third option and that third option is English Formal Syllabic Verse. Syllabic Verse in English is closer to how Japanese poetry functions than either Formal Accentual Verse or Free Verse. Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Free Verse because both English Formal Syllabic Verse and Japanese Verse count syllables while Free Verse does not. This is a critical point: because Free Verse does not count syllables it lacks a central organizing and shaping principle of Japanese poetry. For this reason I think that Free Verse is the most remote of the three types of English poetry from Japanese poetry. To make an analogy; if I were to compose a waltz, but decided not to count the meter, that is to say to ignore the 3-4 time that all waltzes have, the result would be remote from what people understand as a waltz. Free form, improvisatory Jazz, is a great musical tradition. And there is also the avant-garde tradition that does not use musical meter and counting as a means of shaping musical material. But if I want to write a waltz I need to count time and meter in order to do so.
Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Formal Accentual Verse because what is being counted in Formal Syllabic Verse and in Japanese poetry are the same; that is to say both are counting syllables. When I say that both are counting syllables, I mean that both traditions are counting sound units that make up words in their respective languages. As noted in a previous entry, some of the specific sounds will differ, but the process of counting what each linguistic community considers to be significant sonic units, that is to say syllables, is the same. A central organizing principle of the two traditions is the same.
When one looks at the body of English language Formal Syllabic Verse one finds a rich trove of techniques and resources applicable to the composition of Japanese forms in English.
English poetry is often divided into two great types. The first is Formal Poetry and it is thought of as the norm for most poetry written in English. I have read that as much as 75% of English language poetry is Formal Poetry. Formal Poetry is distinguished as accentual and its primary metrical usage is iambics, and among possible iambics, iambic pentameter dominates.
The second great tradition is Free Verse. Free Verse is not new. For example, the King James Version of the Psalms is Free Verse and has had a continuous influence on English poetry since making its appearance. But it is only since the late 19th and early 20th centuries that Free Verse has been a self-conscious movement. Free Verse dominates a lot of the discussion of modern poetry and is particularly dominant in Universities, though there are exceptions.
I would like to suggest a three-fold division of English language poetry. The three-fold division would be: 1) Formal Accentual Verse, 2) Formal Syllabic Verse, and 3) Free Verse. Formal Verse is poetry that uses counting as a means of organizing its syllables and words. Formal Accentual Verse is poetry that counts stressed syllables as its primary form of organization. Formal Syllabic Verse is poetry which counts syllables only, and ignores whether or not the syllables are stressed or unstressed.
One could look at this as a two-fold division with Formal Verse having two sub-categories, instead of a three-fold division. Either way works.
Formal Syllabic Verse, in terms of the quantity of poetry written, is the smallest of the three types of English language poetry. It is also, I think, the newest of the three. Nevertheless, there is an interesting body of poetry written in a Formal Syllabic manner in the English language. It includes work from the following poets: Dylan Thomas, Adelaide Crapsey, Richard Wright, Neal Henry Lawrence, a few poems by Richard Wilbur, a few poems by Mary Jo Slater, Thom Gunn, and J. V. Cunningham. I’m sure there are many others.
Japanese poetry is Formal Syllabic Poetry. That is to say Tanka, Haiku, and Renga are all Formal Poetry in that they rely on counting to shape syllables and words into their respective specific forms. Japanese poetry is syllabic (like French poetry) in that it only counts syllables, and does not count stresses, as Accentual Formal Poetry does in English.
Interest in Japanese poetry among English language poets has tended to reject the idea of using Formal Accentual procedures for Japanese forms in English. Though there were some early attempts in this direction, those interested in Japanese forms have almost universally rejected them. This makes sense since Japanese do not count stresses. Seeing English language poetry in terms of either Formal Accentual or Free Verse, English language poets have tended to opt for free verse as the type of poetry which is closer to Japanese norms than Formal Accentual approaches. Again, this makes sense if those are the only two options one considers.
There is, however, a third option and that third option is English Formal Syllabic Verse. Syllabic Verse in English is closer to how Japanese poetry functions than either Formal Accentual Verse or Free Verse. Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Free Verse because both English Formal Syllabic Verse and Japanese Verse count syllables while Free Verse does not. This is a critical point: because Free Verse does not count syllables it lacks a central organizing and shaping principle of Japanese poetry. For this reason I think that Free Verse is the most remote of the three types of English poetry from Japanese poetry. To make an analogy; if I were to compose a waltz, but decided not to count the meter, that is to say to ignore the 3-4 time that all waltzes have, the result would be remote from what people understand as a waltz. Free form, improvisatory Jazz, is a great musical tradition. And there is also the avant-garde tradition that does not use musical meter and counting as a means of shaping musical material. But if I want to write a waltz I need to count time and meter in order to do so.
Formal Syllabic Verse is closer to Japanese poetry than Formal Accentual Verse because what is being counted in Formal Syllabic Verse and in Japanese poetry are the same; that is to say both are counting syllables. When I say that both are counting syllables, I mean that both traditions are counting sound units that make up words in their respective languages. As noted in a previous entry, some of the specific sounds will differ, but the process of counting what each linguistic community considers to be significant sonic units, that is to say syllables, is the same. A central organizing principle of the two traditions is the same.
When one looks at the body of English language Formal Syllabic Verse one finds a rich trove of techniques and resources applicable to the composition of Japanese forms in English.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Syllabics: 5
Syllabics: 5
People count what stands out for them, what has become discrete according to their observations. What stands out depends on the history of the culture and for this reason different cultures will count in different ways. For example, in counting months some cultures count strictly lunar appearances (e.g. the Islamic Calendar), other cultures count months on a strictly solar basis (e.g. the modern Gregorian Calendar and the ancient Egyptian Calendar), and some cultures count months on a mixed solar/lunar relationship (e.g. the Jewish and Chinese Calendars). Every culture counts months, but how months are perceived differs.
Similarly, what constitutes a unit of sound worthy of counting, a syllable, varies from culture to culture. Some cultures count semi-vowels, such as “n”, “m”, and “ng” as syllables while others do not. Japanese counts an “n” as a syllable, but only if it appears at the end, it is not counted if it is an initial sound. Some cultures can have an initial “ng”, counted as a syllable, while in English “ng” is only an ending sound, never initial, and is not counted as a syllable. Some cultures count durations; almost all Sanskrit derived languages have both long and short forms of their vowels so that sometimes the sound “a”, as in “father”, will be counted as one syllable and sometimes two. Japanese also has this aspect of counting syllables with long and short forms of “o” and “a”. Some cultures will count what English speakers would consider a silence as a syllable; as in a glottal stop, or in French poetry where sometimes a silent “e” is counted as a syllable.
In comparing any two languages there are going to be discrepancies over what is considered to be a syllable, just as there are discrepancies among human groups over what is counted when months are counted. This is just a part of the variety of human experience. There’s no logical reason for why certain sounds are counted in one culture, but not in another. It is based on the particular history of that people and their language and just needs to be accepted as how a particular people hears their language; kind of like just accepting irregular verbs or other aspects of a language that one is learning.
The discrepancies in what is counted need not be a barrier for poets. It is the act of counting itself that is shared across cultural lines and it is the act of counting that allows for the transmission of a poetic form from one linguistic context to another. Whatever sounds Japanese count, they are still counting syllables. Whatever sounds English speakers count, they are still counting syllables. The fact that the two groups of sounds do not match is not a problem because the counting itself is shared. It is the counting which is the common ground, a bridge from one culture to another.
People count what stands out for them, what has become discrete according to their observations. What stands out depends on the history of the culture and for this reason different cultures will count in different ways. For example, in counting months some cultures count strictly lunar appearances (e.g. the Islamic Calendar), other cultures count months on a strictly solar basis (e.g. the modern Gregorian Calendar and the ancient Egyptian Calendar), and some cultures count months on a mixed solar/lunar relationship (e.g. the Jewish and Chinese Calendars). Every culture counts months, but how months are perceived differs.
Similarly, what constitutes a unit of sound worthy of counting, a syllable, varies from culture to culture. Some cultures count semi-vowels, such as “n”, “m”, and “ng” as syllables while others do not. Japanese counts an “n” as a syllable, but only if it appears at the end, it is not counted if it is an initial sound. Some cultures can have an initial “ng”, counted as a syllable, while in English “ng” is only an ending sound, never initial, and is not counted as a syllable. Some cultures count durations; almost all Sanskrit derived languages have both long and short forms of their vowels so that sometimes the sound “a”, as in “father”, will be counted as one syllable and sometimes two. Japanese also has this aspect of counting syllables with long and short forms of “o” and “a”. Some cultures will count what English speakers would consider a silence as a syllable; as in a glottal stop, or in French poetry where sometimes a silent “e” is counted as a syllable.
In comparing any two languages there are going to be discrepancies over what is considered to be a syllable, just as there are discrepancies among human groups over what is counted when months are counted. This is just a part of the variety of human experience. There’s no logical reason for why certain sounds are counted in one culture, but not in another. It is based on the particular history of that people and their language and just needs to be accepted as how a particular people hears their language; kind of like just accepting irregular verbs or other aspects of a language that one is learning.
The discrepancies in what is counted need not be a barrier for poets. It is the act of counting itself that is shared across cultural lines and it is the act of counting that allows for the transmission of a poetic form from one linguistic context to another. Whatever sounds Japanese count, they are still counting syllables. Whatever sounds English speakers count, they are still counting syllables. The fact that the two groups of sounds do not match is not a problem because the counting itself is shared. It is the counting which is the common ground, a bridge from one culture to another.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Syllabics 4
Formal Verse is poetry that uses counting as one of its means of organizing and shaping words.
Free Verse is poetry that does not use counting as one of its means of organizing and shaping words.
Free Verse is poetry that does not use counting as one of its means of organizing and shaping words.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Syllabics: 3
Counting is a primal human act. Meditators count breaths, customers count change, musicians count beats and measures, when a rocket is launched we count down, in a gym class we count up for team assignment, we count the days of a month and the years of our lives, astronomers count the stars in the sky.
Somewhere in the mists of time people found that they could count repeating units of sound that, when grouped together, make words. And thus formal poetry was born.
These sound units are what we today call syllables. Just as people articulate the flow of time by counting days, poets articulate the flow of language by counting syllables.
Along with this discovery came the understanding that some words have the same number of syllables and so they share a number in common; even if the two words have different meanings, they share the same number of syllables. This also applies to groups of words; two groups of words may have the same number of syllables and so have an underlying unity, a unity of number which can transcend a difference in meaning.
Counting syllables grounds the poet in an activity that all human beings share. Because it is an activity that all people share, counting is a kind of humbling activity, keeping the poet connected to the ordinary. When the poet counts syllables, that counting is the same counting that ordinary people do when they count whatever they are counting (change, plates, votes, etc.).
By counting syllables poets replicate a pervasive human mode of comprehending existence. I think this is a central reason why formal poetry, based on counting syllables, is so attractive to people. The regularity of counted lines instantiates, and then displays, a mechanism that is central to our humanity, something that all of us do every day numerous times. Lines that are based on counting, are, therefore, immediately accessible, resonating with this pervasive, and very human, way of interacting with existence.
Somewhere in the mists of time people found that they could count repeating units of sound that, when grouped together, make words. And thus formal poetry was born.
These sound units are what we today call syllables. Just as people articulate the flow of time by counting days, poets articulate the flow of language by counting syllables.
Along with this discovery came the understanding that some words have the same number of syllables and so they share a number in common; even if the two words have different meanings, they share the same number of syllables. This also applies to groups of words; two groups of words may have the same number of syllables and so have an underlying unity, a unity of number which can transcend a difference in meaning.
Counting syllables grounds the poet in an activity that all human beings share. Because it is an activity that all people share, counting is a kind of humbling activity, keeping the poet connected to the ordinary. When the poet counts syllables, that counting is the same counting that ordinary people do when they count whatever they are counting (change, plates, votes, etc.).
By counting syllables poets replicate a pervasive human mode of comprehending existence. I think this is a central reason why formal poetry, based on counting syllables, is so attractive to people. The regularity of counted lines instantiates, and then displays, a mechanism that is central to our humanity, something that all of us do every day numerous times. Lines that are based on counting, are, therefore, immediately accessible, resonating with this pervasive, and very human, way of interacting with existence.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Syllabics: 2
Poetic theory discusses different approaches to poetry. Two of the most common are accentual and syllabic. (There is also a third approach, durational, which I find now and then mentioned; but for the sake of simplicity I’m going to stick to just accentual and syllabic approaches.) The idea here is that some languages organize poetry according to accent, or emphasis, and some languages organize poetry according to syllables.
English is considered to be an accentual and syllabic poetic culture. The most common example of this is “iambic pentameter”. What is counted in pentameter are five accents, or emphases, in a line. Most such lines will contain 10 syllables because an iamb consists of both an accented and unaccented syllables. But there are exceptions; such as the feminine ending where there will be five accents but an extra syllable which is unaccented. There are also other mitigating usages which can alter the syllable count from the standard 10. But the five accents is primary; hence an accentual approach dominates English language verse.
Japanese and French are examples of syllabic approaches to poetry. In Japanese and French only the syllables are counted in defining a poetic form. This is because both of these languages are far less accented, or alternately stressed, than English (or other Germanic languages).
I have a somewhat different approach. In my view all poetry is primarily syllabic. And poetry is the shaping and crafting of words through the medium of syllables. In the way that baking is primarily the craft of shaping flour, poetry is the craft of shaping syllables. In the way that pottery is the craft of shaping clay into specific forms, poetry is the craft of shaping syllables into specific forms.
In other words, I view syllables as the basic medium of poetry, just as flour is the basic medium of baking, just as clay is the basic medium of pottery, just as wood is the basic medium of carpentry. Various tools are used to shape syllables and the use of these tools is what I mean by syllabics. Among these tools are: counting, accent, duration, rhyme, rhythm, meter, grammatical phrasing, etc. Different languages tend to emphasize some of these tools and to ignore others. English tends to use accent, counting, and rhyme. Japanese poetry tends to use counting and grammatical phrasing (I am referring to the use of cutting words). Chinese tends to use counting and rhyme. But all these different approaches have syllables as their basic medium.
English is considered to be an accentual and syllabic poetic culture. The most common example of this is “iambic pentameter”. What is counted in pentameter are five accents, or emphases, in a line. Most such lines will contain 10 syllables because an iamb consists of both an accented and unaccented syllables. But there are exceptions; such as the feminine ending where there will be five accents but an extra syllable which is unaccented. There are also other mitigating usages which can alter the syllable count from the standard 10. But the five accents is primary; hence an accentual approach dominates English language verse.
Japanese and French are examples of syllabic approaches to poetry. In Japanese and French only the syllables are counted in defining a poetic form. This is because both of these languages are far less accented, or alternately stressed, than English (or other Germanic languages).
I have a somewhat different approach. In my view all poetry is primarily syllabic. And poetry is the shaping and crafting of words through the medium of syllables. In the way that baking is primarily the craft of shaping flour, poetry is the craft of shaping syllables. In the way that pottery is the craft of shaping clay into specific forms, poetry is the craft of shaping syllables into specific forms.
In other words, I view syllables as the basic medium of poetry, just as flour is the basic medium of baking, just as clay is the basic medium of pottery, just as wood is the basic medium of carpentry. Various tools are used to shape syllables and the use of these tools is what I mean by syllabics. Among these tools are: counting, accent, duration, rhyme, rhythm, meter, grammatical phrasing, etc. Different languages tend to emphasize some of these tools and to ignore others. English tends to use accent, counting, and rhyme. Japanese poetry tends to use counting and grammatical phrasing (I am referring to the use of cutting words). Chinese tends to use counting and rhyme. But all these different approaches have syllables as their basic medium.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Syllabics: 1
Good Friends:
I am starting a series of posts today under a common title which I’m calling “Syllabics”. The overall purpose of this series of posts will be to present the case for a syllabic approach to Japanese Poetry. One of the purposes of this series is to present the idea that English language poets can approach Japanese forms of poetry by mimicking the syllabic structure of Japanese forms of poetry. Basically, I am presenting the idea that just as the Sonnet was transmitted from Italy to France and England by mimicking the original syllable count as it appeared in Italian and then mimicking that syllable count in French and English, so also such forms as Haiku, Tanka, and Renga can be transmitted to the English language world through mimicking Japanese syllable count in English.
This is a minority view. Most poets currently writing in Japanese forms in English do not mimic the syllabic structure of Japanese poetry when they write in English or other non-Japanese languages. There are a number of reasons for this; the issue is complex. Accordingly, this series will have two major emphases. The first, and more important, is to present the positive case for such a syllabic approach. The second, is to present an alternative view regarding the idea that such a syllabic approach is misguided.
It has been my experience that discussions along these lines can become contentious. So I want to say here that my purpose is not to argue that people should only write poetry in a particular way, or that there is only one way to write Haiku, or Tanka; I am not trying to lay down universal rules for correct Renga. Rather I view this series as apologetic in the sense of a defense for syllabic mimicking as a valid approach to Japanese Poetry in English.
I originally set out to write something systematic. The influence of my philosophy background pushed me in that direction. As I attempted to do so, however, I found the approach yielded a heavy, complex, pedantic, overly repetitive, and overly argumentative document that even I found boring. So I decided to change my mode of presentation. Since this series deals primarily with Japanese Poetry, I decided to adopt a style sometimes known as the “flow of the brush”, or “pen”. This is to say letting the pen lead and not sticking to an outline or sequential presentation. This style is famously known in Kenko’s “Essays in Idleness”, but it has deep roots in East Asian culture. For example, the “Analects” of Confucius can be viewed as written in this mode. I refer to this mode of writing as the “collage” approach. The overall impact emerges from viewing the whole work and the interaction of the sections.
I hope that others will find this series on syllabics of some use. Comments are, as always, greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
Jim
I am starting a series of posts today under a common title which I’m calling “Syllabics”. The overall purpose of this series of posts will be to present the case for a syllabic approach to Japanese Poetry. One of the purposes of this series is to present the idea that English language poets can approach Japanese forms of poetry by mimicking the syllabic structure of Japanese forms of poetry. Basically, I am presenting the idea that just as the Sonnet was transmitted from Italy to France and England by mimicking the original syllable count as it appeared in Italian and then mimicking that syllable count in French and English, so also such forms as Haiku, Tanka, and Renga can be transmitted to the English language world through mimicking Japanese syllable count in English.
This is a minority view. Most poets currently writing in Japanese forms in English do not mimic the syllabic structure of Japanese poetry when they write in English or other non-Japanese languages. There are a number of reasons for this; the issue is complex. Accordingly, this series will have two major emphases. The first, and more important, is to present the positive case for such a syllabic approach. The second, is to present an alternative view regarding the idea that such a syllabic approach is misguided.
It has been my experience that discussions along these lines can become contentious. So I want to say here that my purpose is not to argue that people should only write poetry in a particular way, or that there is only one way to write Haiku, or Tanka; I am not trying to lay down universal rules for correct Renga. Rather I view this series as apologetic in the sense of a defense for syllabic mimicking as a valid approach to Japanese Poetry in English.
I originally set out to write something systematic. The influence of my philosophy background pushed me in that direction. As I attempted to do so, however, I found the approach yielded a heavy, complex, pedantic, overly repetitive, and overly argumentative document that even I found boring. So I decided to change my mode of presentation. Since this series deals primarily with Japanese Poetry, I decided to adopt a style sometimes known as the “flow of the brush”, or “pen”. This is to say letting the pen lead and not sticking to an outline or sequential presentation. This style is famously known in Kenko’s “Essays in Idleness”, but it has deep roots in East Asian culture. For example, the “Analects” of Confucius can be viewed as written in this mode. I refer to this mode of writing as the “collage” approach. The overall impact emerges from viewing the whole work and the interaction of the sections.
I hope that others will find this series on syllabics of some use. Comments are, as always, greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
Jim
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